A Family Affair (15 page)

Helen followed him into his consulting room – so large and sunny by comparison with her own. An elderly woman, rather overweight, wearing a tweed coat and headscarf, was sitting in the patients'chair, which was stacked around with shopping.

‘Mrs Uphill, may I introduce Dr Hall?' Dr Hobbs smiled at her graciously. ‘Dr Hall will be working with us from next Monday, replacing Dr Stephens here in Hillsbridge. She'll be looking after you in future – with your permission, of course.'

‘Oh!' Mrs Uphill's expression was both startled and suspicious.

‘So perhaps you wouldn't mind if she sat in on our consultation today?'

‘No – no …' Mrs Uphill sounded thoroughly disconcerted.

‘So – what can we do for you?'

‘It's me bunions, Doctor. They're giving me gyp.'

‘Let's have a look, shall we?'

Mrs Uphill somehow managed to remove her stockings without exposing so much as an inch of bare flesh above the knee and stretched out her feet for inspection. Her toes were swollen and deformed, the big toes almost at right angles to her feet.

‘This is going to mean an operation,' Dr Hobbs told her.

She looked at him in horror.

‘An operation? You mean go into hospital?'

‘It's the only thing that will give you any lasting relief.'

‘Oh – I don't want to go into hospital! I hate the places …'

‘Worth it, though, surely, if you can walk about without being in pain? I'll get a letter off today, see when they can fit you in.'

‘If you think it's really necessary, Doctor.'

‘I do.'

‘There's one other thing, Doctor.' She glanced furtively at Helen, looked away again quickly. ‘What you said about me having to change doctors. If Dr Stephens isn't going to be here any more, I'd rather come on your list.'

For a moment Helen was too stunned to feel the pain of rejection.

‘I thought you said I could choose,' Mrs Uphill said, a little belligerently.

‘Well, yes – but …'

‘Then I'd rather come with you, Doctor. And I'm sure my Frank would say the same. If it's all the same with you. I mean, you can't be too careful when it's your health you're talking about.' She glanced at Helen again, and all her doubts were there in her face. A new doctor. A young doctor. A young
woman
doctor.

‘My list is very full, Mrs Uphill,' Dr Hobbs said warningly. ‘And Dr Hall is very experienced, up to date with all the latest developments.'

‘Just the same, Doctor. If it's all the same with you.'

‘I'm sorry, Helen,' Reuben Hobbs said as Mrs Uphill left the surgery. ‘I did my best.'

‘Yes, of course. It's understandable, I suppose.' But she didn't understand. She felt inordinately hurt. In the hospital no-one had given a second thought to her age or sex. They'd simply been grateful that someone was there, treating them.

‘I only hope the rest of Paul's patients don't feel the same way or there won't be a great deal of point having you here!' Reuben Hobbs gave a small tired shake of his head. ‘People round here can be so old-fashioned in their thinking.'

‘I hope so too!' Helen said emphatically. But as she returned to her new surgery she felt totally crushed. Supposing no-one was prepared to give her a chance? What then?

She flicked through a few more files but her heart was no longer in it. She sat down in the swivel chair, swinging it from side to side, then standing purposefully. Patients waiting in the hall or not, she was going to bring in some of her things. They'd have to get used to the idea she was a part of the practice sooner or later – it might as well be sooner.

Her hand was practically on the door knob when it opened. Take by surprise she took a step backwards and collided with the newly arranged patients'chair.

‘Oh, sorry – I didn't know there was anyone here!'

Paul Stephens. He came into the surgery, a tall, well-built man in his middle thirties with hair that was already receding at the temples and a square-jawed face. His eyes flipped past her, taking in the changes she had made to the surgery and frowning slightly.

‘What in the world … ?'

‘I moved things around,' Helen said.

‘I can see that. What for?' He looked genuinely puzzled; Helen, already feeling hurt and vulnerable, bristled.

‘I thought it was an improvement.'

‘Hmm.' He didn't say what he was obviously thinking – that there had been nothing wrong with the layout of the surgery before – but his disapproval communicated itself to her anyway.

‘I have to do things my way,' she said defensively. ‘After all, I'm the one who's going to be working here.'

‘Yes, but not until next week.'

‘I'm sorry,' she said sharply. ‘Have I inconvenienced you?'

‘Actually – yes. I only had a few patients at Tiledown this morning and I've come back to help Reuben out with the surgery here. From the crowds still out there, it looks as if he could do with some assistance.'

Her face flamed.

‘I did offer to help out myself, but he said he could manage.'

He ignored this and she realised what he was waiting for her to say that she would make herself scarce and leave the consulting room to him. She felt mutinous suddenly, as well as rejected by all and sundry before she had even begun, but she was painfully aware she didn't actually have a leg to stand on. She wasn't supposed to be starting work until next week, but it seemed ridiculous to be so pedantic about it. She'd arrived full of enthusiasm – her only fault as far as she could see – and they seemed not to want her there. Could it be that they had heard similar reactions to her appointment as the one she had witnessed from Mrs Uphill earlier on, and were beginning to regret choosing her to fill the vacancy? In that moment it seemed to Helen to be the only possible explanation.

‘I take it you'd like me to go,' she said.

His face changed; he was clearly taken aback.

‘Look – I didn't mean …'

‘Don't worry about it.' Her tone was still brittle. ‘I can always come back later. Or leave it until next week.'

‘If I could just have the use of my surgery for half an hour.'

‘Of course.' She felt hurt and oddly disappointed. In the big impersonal hospital she had so looked forward to having her own surgery. Now here was Paul Stephens still referring to it as his, and obviously resentful about the changes she had made. ‘So long as you don't mind using it the way it is,' she added wickedly.

‘Helen …'

Some sort of disturbance in the passage outside, followed by a knock at the half-open door interrupted him. He turned and opened the door wide. A gangling youth wearing a butcher's apron stood there, red-faced, out of breath and agitated.

‘Clive?' Paul said. ‘What's wrong?'

‘There's been an accident down the street. Can you come, Doctor?'

‘What sort of accident?'

‘A woman's got knocked down. She's in the road by our shop. Mr Evans told me to come for you.'

‘I'll go,' Helen said.

‘Helen …'

‘Let me, please. My bag's in the car.'

‘But …'

‘I am a doctor too,' she said with asperity. ‘And I've spent the last five years doing my share of A & E. What's more, I'll be out from under your feet.'

‘Well – if you insist …'

‘I do.'

She pushed past him. The people still waiting in the corridor moved their feet for her to go through, gazing in open curiosity, excited by this unexpected diversion, getting ready to speculate as to what had happened and who had been hurt the moment the door closed after her.

Helen collected her medical bag from the car, already wondering about the wisdom of her hasty decision. It was possible she might have upset Paul Stephens by taking it out of his hands, but she'd had just about enough today of being treated like a raw student straight out of medical school and if she didn't start as she meant to go on, it might very well continue that way.

She went down the hill, Clive the butcher's boy hurrying along beside her. A group of people had gathered on the pavement outside the shop where he worked, and to her surprise she saw one of the green baize-covered wagons that delivered parcels from the railway station pulled up in the road, the great horse that drew it standing patiently between the shafts. For all her casualty experience, Helen's heart came into her mouth. If the woman had gone under the wheels of the wagon or been trampled by the horse, it could be very nasty indeed.

She crossed the street towards the small crowd.

‘Could you all move back please? I'm a GP.' They moved respectfully, but not so far as to spoil their view of the drama. ‘Please! Let's give her some air.'

She went down on her haunches beside the woman – thin, elderly, sprawled awkwardly with her skirt rucked up to reveal long-legged Directoire knickers. Gently Helen pulled her skirt down enough to preserve the woman's dignity.

‘Hello. Can you tell me your name?'

‘It's Maud Perkins,' one of the onlookers volunteered. ‘She was just crossing the road and a boy on a bike went straight into her!'

For the first time Helen noticed a lad standing a little apart, looking worried and holding a bloodstained handkerchief over his knee. So it hadn't been anything to do with the delivery wagon. And there was no sign of any obvious injury either.

‘Can you tell me where you think you're hurt, Mrs Perkins?' she said to the woman.

‘My shoulder … my arm … oh!' She winced and cried out as Helen investigated.

‘Your back doesn't hurt too much? Can you move your legs?'

Mrs Perkins did so. Helen investigated further.

‘I don't think you've done any serious damage, Mrs Perkins. But your shoulder is dislocated. I'm going to try and put it back in for you. It'll be very painful, but only for a moment. Hold tight now.'

‘Come on – stand aside!' The voice was authoritarian, bullying almost. Still holding Mrs Perkins'wrist Helen looked up, startled, to see a heavily built man towering over her. ‘Stand aside!' he ordered again. ‘I'll deal with this.'

Helen frowned. ‘I beg your pardon?'

‘Out of the way, Miss, please. Leave the lady to me.'

‘Who are you?' Helen asked, annoyed by his overbearing attitude and the way he appeared to be on the point of physically manhandling her out of the way.

‘I'm a trained first aider, that's who.'

‘Really?' Helen said coldly. ‘Well, I'm a doctor and I'd be very grateful if you would let me get on with treating my patient.' She turned back to Mrs Perkins, completely missing his flabbergasted reaction. ‘OK – let's get this shoulder back in.'

As the shoulder blade snapped back into place, Mrs Perkins screamed.

‘What do you think you're doing?' The man's voice was at a fever pitch of outrage now. Helen ignored him.

‘I'd like to take you over to the Cottage Hospital for a few X-rays, just to make quite sure there isn't any other damage,' she said to the woman who, although still white and shaken, was obviously now more comfortable. ‘My car is up at the surgery. If someone could give you a seat while you're waiting, I'll fetch it.'

‘She can sit down in my shop.' That was Percy Evans, the butcher.

‘Fine.' Helen helped Mrs Perkins to her feet, and Percy armed her inside the shop.

‘You shouldn't have done that!' The first aider was following Helen along the pavement, belligerent once again. ‘She shouldn't have been moved!'

Helen stopped and turned to face him.

‘You are Mr … ?'

‘Gilson.
Superintendent
Gilson, actually. Of the local St John's Ambulance Brigade. And we advocate …'

‘I'm sure you do an excellent job, Mr Gilson, but I'd be grateful if you would take account of the fact that as a GP with five years' experience, I am probably better qualified than you. Now, if you want something to do I suggest you have a go at that boy's knee and elbow.' She indicated the lad who had crashed into Mrs Perkins. ‘It looks as if he's grazed them quite badly.'

Leaving him almost apoplectic with rage and humiliation she hurried back up the hill.

The queue in the waiting room had reduced to a handful and Paul Stephens was in the doorway of their shared surgery on his way to call the next patient.

‘Can I have a quick word?'

‘Yes, surely.'

She went in, closing the door behind her, and explained to Paul what had happened and what she proposed doing.

‘Is Mrs Perkins one of our patients?' she asked when she finished.

‘She is, yes. One of the “heartsinks”, I have to say. You know – the ones who make your heart sink when they appear round the surgery door? But you've clocked up some brownie points today, no doubt – especially by taking her to hospital in your own car. If there's one thing Maud Perkins likes, it's having a fuss made of her.'

‘She had that all right!' Helen smiled grimly. ‘A man who said he's the superintendent of the local St John's practically had a tug o'war with me over her.'

‘Albert Gilson. Thinks he's God Almighty. You have to handle him with great care, though. The St John's can be very useful.'

‘I didn't do that, I'm afraid. Tact isn't my strong point in that sort of situation.'

‘Don't say you upset him!'

‘'Fraid so.' Although the memory of his belligerence could still make her blood boil she was beginning to regret the way she'd spoken to him. ‘Anyway, I'd better get back down to Mrs Perkins. Having her sitting in the shop looking like the knell of doom is probably putting off all the butcher's other customers.'

‘Nonsense. I expect he's doing a roaring trade with everybody going in to find out what they can about what's happened, if I know anything about Hillsbridge!'