‘And he’s had a horrible weekend—I don’t mean with you arriving,’ Parminder said hastily, ‘but that poor baby on Saturday morning.’
‘Baby?’
‘Didn’t he tell you?’ Parminder winced. ‘We had a little one in with a non-accidental head injury.’
‘Oh, no.’ Georgie went cold. That was the sort of nightmare case every paediatrician dreaded.
And it made things drop into place: everyone she’d spoken to seemed to think that Ryan was lovely. But nobody would be lovely after a case like that. It was the sort of thing that would make anyone short-tempered. Perhaps that was why she and Ryan had got off to such a rocky start.
‘He had to come in yesterday to talk to the police,’ Parminder said. ‘And I guess it’s the sort of thing you think about over and over, wondering if you could’ve done something differently to change the outcome—even though I don’t think anyone could’ve done any more than he did.’
This didn’t sound good. She had to ask. ‘The baby didn’t make it?’
Parminder swallowed hard and shook her head.
‘I’m sorry,’ Georgie said, feeling guilty about the way she’d reacted towards Ryan on Saturday. Grumpy McGrumpface. She’d had no idea. She would never have been so frosty with him if she’d known he’d had such an awful day. No wonder he’d seemed all over the place on Saturday night, incapable of even making cheese on toast. She’d just assumed he wasn’t happy about sharing the house with her and was being difficult on purpose.
Then again, he hadn’t told her what had happened, so how could she possibly have known? She wasn’t a mind-reader.
‘It’s not your fault, hen.’
It still didn’t sit well with her. But right now there was nothing she could do to solve it, and she had a job to do. ‘Let’s see our first patient,’ Georgie said with a smile.
That morning’s caseload was similar to those she’d dealt with at the assessment unit in Hampstead: rashes, head injuries, a Colles’ fracture and the first of the winter’s bronchiolitis cases. But Georgie found herself really struggling to understand her patients’ parents. In times of stress, anxious parents often gabbled their words, but with a strong Edinburgh accent on top Georgie found herself needing to ask people to repeat themselves over and over again.
Her new colleagues were kind and asked her to go to lunch with them in the staff canteen, but again she found them hard to understand; was it her, or did everyone in Scotland speak really quickly? Nearly all the conversations seemed to revolve around football and rugby—things she knew nothing about—or about people she didn’t know, and she found herself growing quieter and quieter as the break went on.
How was she going to cope with six months of this? And how could she learn to fit into such a different environment? Back in London, everyone talked about movies and music and gin. She knew what she was doing there. Here...she felt really out of the loop.
It seemed she was going to have to learn a bit about football, she thought. And maybe she could try a charm offensive tomorrow. Bring in some brownies—which maybe she should’ve done today.
She called in to pick up some ingredients from the farm shop on her way back to the cottage, and discovered that Truffle was there.
‘Are you sure you don’t mind taking her home, lass?’ Janie asked. ‘Ry mentioned this morning that you weren’t used to dogs.’
‘I’m fine,’ she said with a smile. And she could always vacuum the dog hairs out of the car.
‘I haven’t had a chance to walk her, mind. If you could?’ Janie asked.
It couldn’t be any harder than the previous day. At least now she had a better idea of what to expect. ‘Can I buy some poo bags as well?’ Georgie asked. ‘It’s just I’m not sure where Ryan keeps them.’
‘Don’t worry yourself, lass. Here.’ Janie handed her a roll of poo bags. ‘They’re on the house. And I’m guessing it would matter to you, so I can reassure you they’re the biodegradable sort and not the ones that just clog up the landfill.’
‘Thank you. That’s good to know.’
Truffle didn’t seem to mind jumping in the back of the car, and Georgie dropped the bits she’d bought back at the cottage before taking the dog out for a walk.
‘It’s as much to clear my head as to exercise you,’ she told the dog. ‘It was one hell of a first day, even though the patients were all easy. I like my colleagues, but half the time I can’t understand what they’re saying. They must all think I’m stupid.’ She sighed. ‘And Ryan. I had no idea he’d had that terrible case on Saturday. Maybe it’ll be easier between us this evening.’
They were back at the cottage before it got dark, and Georgie made a fuss of the dog before baking a batch of brownies and making a veggie chilli. ‘It’s hard to make friends when you can’t even follow what everyone’s saying,’ she said to the dog. ‘And, apart from Parminder, I got the impression that none of them think I’m up to Clara’s standards. Or maybe I’m just being paranoid. I guess we’ll just have to get used to each other.’
The dog nudged her, as if to say, ‘Like you and me.’ Georgie smiled and scratched the top of Truffle’s head. ‘Yeah. You’re right. Tomorrow is another day.’
She microwaved half a pack of basmati rice to go with her portion of the chilli, and fed Truffle a cup full of the kibble she’d found in the cupboard. The dog curled up on the sofa next to her while she flicked through the TV channels.
‘I have no idea if you’re allowed up here,’ she said, ‘but if you don’t tell Ryan, neither will I.’ Having the dog leaning against her, sharing warmth, felt surprisingly good. If anyone had told her five years ago that she’d quite enjoy having a dog around, she
