‘So you’re a star-gazing fan?’
She nodded. ‘I’ve always wanted to see the Northern Lights. I’d just about talked Charlie into agreeing to go on holiday to Finland, to stay in one of those hotels where the rooms have a glass ceiling so you can watch the sky as you fall asleep and hopefully see the Northern Lights.’ She shrugged. ‘But then he was killed. And going on my own, or even with a friend, wouldn’t have been the same.’
That gave him pause for thought. A couple of times now she’d hinted that her marriage hadn’t been completely great. But what she’d just said: did it mean Charlie was the love of her life and she was still broken-hearted over his death? ‘I’m sorry,’ he said awkwardly.
‘Thank you.’
She looked embarrassed, and he wished he hadn’t been so clumsy. ‘There’s a good chance you’ll see the lights while you’re up here.’
‘Wouldn’t I have to go to the Orkneys or something, to be far north enough?’ she asked.
‘No, they’ve been seen here in Edinburgh.’
‘Maybe I’ll get Dad to forward his text alerts to me, then,’ she said. ‘Oh! Look up!’
He followed where she was pointing, and saw a meteor streaking across the sky.
‘That’s beautiful,’ he said. ‘I get why you like the night sky. I’ve never actually noticed a meteor before.’
‘They’re not hugely common, except when there’s a big shower, and then if the moon’s bright you might not actually see that many.’ She smiled. ‘You’re supposed to wish on a falling star.’
What would he wish for?
A magic wand, perhaps, to fix things for people when they went wrong.
Or maybe to fix the broken parts of himself, so he actually had something to offer someone. So he’d be able to let a partner close instead of keeping those last barriers round his heart, scared that if he let her closer she’d find him wanting and walk away—just as everyone in his life had since his mother’s death, except his dog.
Truffle didn’t expect him to talk about feelings; she was happy just to be with him, to walk with him on the beach or over the hills, and curl up by the fire with him. She accepted him for what he was. Whereas a relationship meant talking and sharing feelings, letting someone see deeper into him and risking that they wouldn’t want what they saw.
‘What would you wish for?’ he asked, to distract himself.
‘Ah, no. Telling what you wish for means it won’t come true.’
What would she wish for? Obviously to have Charlie back, for him not to have died.
But if by any chance her wish was to fall in love again, could it be with him? Could they find some way to make this work? He had no idea.
But here, with the meteors streaking across the sky, he was starting to think there were possibilities. That maybe they could help each other over their pasts, step by tiny step. He just had to find the right way to suggest it.
Over the new few days, Georgie really felt that she was settling in and enjoying everything Edinburgh had to offer, from the theatre to the pandas at the zoo; and she found herself enjoying the fact that Hayloft Cottage was in the middle of nowhere. She liked getting up and seeing the sheep from next door peering in through the kitchen window; she liked sharing her space with a dog who’d grown used to her enough to curl up on the sofa next to her when she sat reading a magazine, with her chin resting on Georgie’s knees; and she liked the feeling of freshness and hearing the birds sing when she walked out of the front door in the morning.
She enjoyed the hospital, too—and she was glad that Ryan was on with her in the PAU when a mum came in, panicking. ‘My baby! He’s all floppy and he keeps being sick and I can’t get to see my family doctor and...’
‘It’s OK,’ Georgie reassured her. ‘You’re in the right place.’
Ryan took the baby and started to examine him, while Georgie tried to ascertain the medical history. ‘Tell us about your little boy.’
‘Max is four months. He’s never been a good feeder, and my milk’s drying up so I’ve been giving him a few bottles to keep him going,’ Max’s mum said. ‘I thought he’d picked up a bug, because he’s been sick and had diarrhoea for the last couple of days, but then this morning I noticed this rash, and he was wheezing, and he’s floppy—and all the baby books say if he’s floppy it’s really serious, and... Please, just help him,’ she begged.
Georgie was pretty sure she’d seen cases like this before in London. ‘So you’re giving him formula as well as breastfeeding? Has he been sick before when you gave him formula?’
‘He was sick on the breast, too,’ Max’s mum said. ‘Do you think it’s the formula that’s made him worse?’
‘I think there’s a strong possibility he might have a milk allergy,’ Georgie said. ‘And that’s not just the formula—if you’ve had any dairy, that will go through your breast milk. Are there any allergies in your family, or does anyone have asthma or hay fever?’
‘Nothing like that.’ Max’s mum looked worried.
‘I’d like to do a blood test to check my diagnosis,’ Georgie said.
‘I think she’s right,’ Ryan said. ‘Have you seen any blood or mucus in Max’s stools, when they’ve been solid?’
‘Yes. I was so scared it was cancer or something like that.’
‘I’m pretty sure it’s a milk allergy,’ Georgie said again. ‘That would explain why he’s not feeding well, too. Once we get that sorted out, you’ll find he gains weight well and you’ll be a lot less worried about him.’
Max’s mum bit her lip. ‘If he’s allergic to formula, what am I going to do? Give him soy?’
‘Often there’s an allergy to soy as well,’ Georgie said. ‘We can give you a hypoallergenic formula to try.’
‘And a calcium
