A Mother's Secret

That was interesting. Logan had implied she was there to learn the ropes, rather than there for her expertise. Was he worried the mother would object to a specialist referral?

Logan settled into his chair. ‘So, Rudy, what seems to be the problem?’

Gemma liked that. She liked that he asked Rudy what was wrong, rather than the mother.

Rudy dropped the puzzle on the table and lifted his leg. ‘I’ve got a sore foot.’

‘I see. Well, why don’t you take your shoe off so I can take a look?’

Rudy pouted. ‘Don’t want to.’

Gemma pressed her lips together to hide the smile that could appear. She was already getting the impression that Rudy was used to getting his own way.

Logan sat forward in his chair. ‘How did you hurt your foot, Rudy? Were you jumping, kicking, playing football?’

Rudy had moved over to the window and started playing with the blinds, tugging at the cord. ‘Leave that, Rudy.’ His mother’s voice was quiet, ineffectual. As if she knew she should be saying the words but that she really didn’t want to.

Logan reached over and took Rudy’s hand. ‘Come over here, young man, and let me see this sore foot.’

Rudy’s face immediately fell into a frown. ‘No.’ He folded his arms across his chest.

Gemma turned to the mother. ‘Has Rudy been limping?’

She shook her head.

‘Did you notice any red marks or lumps on his foot earlier?’ Logan was obviously trying to ascertain a little more of the history, but Gemma had an instinct for these things. And it probably wasn’t going to end well.

Mrs Sinclair shook her head again. ‘No. He just said it was sore.’ She held up her hands in frustration. It was obvious she wasn’t the person in charge in her household.

Gemma resisted the temptation to say anything. This wasn’t a conversation for a seven-minute GP consultation. She settled back into the leather-backed chair and watched Logan’s interactions with the little boy.

Logan was firm, without being intimidating. He knelt down on the floor, trying to talk to Rudy at his own level. His six-foot-plus frame must seem scary to a child, but he was trying his best to coax Rudy out of his shoe and sock. In the meantime, Rudy was leading them all in a merry dance. And it was more than obvious he only danced to his own tune.

Gemma watched quietly. Mrs Sinclair had dark circles around her eyes. She looked tired. She looked frazzled. But it was more than that.

She didn’t seem to have any energy, or any real concern about her son. She was simply there because Rudy had told her he needed to see the doctor. Could she be depressed?

After another unsuccessful five minutes, taking them well over their consultation time and with no appearance of the injured foot, Logan gave her a look. ‘Dr Halliday, do you have any suggestions?’

She looked over at Rudy again. Once more he was ignoring his mother’s instructions and his hand was holding a pen, poised to write on the wooden desk. Gemma reached over and took the pen firmly from his grasp. She smiled sweetly. ‘I don’t think so. Rudy seems to be weight bearing on his ankle without any problems, and he doesn’t appear to be limping.’ She looked over at Mrs Sinclair. ‘I’d just suggest you come back if you have any concerns.’

Mrs Sinclair nodded and stood up, gathering her numerous bags, and made her way to the door. It took her a few moments to realise Rudy wasn’t following her, and another five minutes to coax him from the room. By the time he left he was bartering with her. ‘I’m only coming if you buy me a chocolate crispie from the bakers.’

Logan shut the door firmly behind them, sagging back into his chair and heaving a sigh of relief.

He was a good GP. Even though there hadn’t been anything obviously wrong with the little boy he’d tried to engage him and talk to him at his level. He’d asked all the right questions of both the mum and the boy and taken his time. He hadn’t been glancing at the clock, anxious to move on to the next patient.

She could sense his frustration. But it hadn’t been obvious to either Rudy or his mother, and that’s what was important.

He ran his fingers through his hair, instantly upsetting the styled look and making it more windswept and tousled. She liked it better that way.

‘So, what do you think?’ He spun around in his chair until he faced her, leaning forward, his elbows on his knees, giving her a slightest glimpse of his dark curled hair at the base of his throat.

This was it. This was where she had her reputation decided. Was the isle of Arran ready for her expertise? How would they take to an outsider commenting on families who might have lived here for years? How would Logan take to her commenting on families he might have grown up around?

Time to take a deep breath and hope she wasn’t digging her own grave.

‘In all honesty? I think he’s a brat.’

Logan’s eyes widened and he sat back in his chair. She braced herself for his onslaught. For the how dare shes? and what does she knows?

But they didn’t come. Instead, he seemed to settle himself a little more in the chair, his head tilted a little to the side—as if he were prepared to listen. ‘Go on.’

She moved forward a little. ‘How well do you know Mrs Sinclair?’

He lifted his hand. ‘We’ll discuss that in a minute. Tell me first what you think about Rudy.’

Was this a test? Was he going to let her rattle on and then shoot everything she’d just said down in flames? She took a deep, steadying breath. This was her area of expertise. This was her professional opinion. This wasn’t personal.

‘I think Rudy is a little boy with no boundaries. I think Rudy rules the roost. Apart from the usual childhood ailments, there’s nothing in Rudy’s history that would give me real cause for concern. I don’t think there’s any sign of abuse. I don’t think there’s any sign of neglect. But I also don’t think there’s any apparent parenting going on in that house. She says the words. But she doesn’t mean them. I think Rudy does whatever he wants and he doesn’t take kindly to being told no.’ She paused and leaned forward a little. ‘Has he started school yet? Because I predict the schoolteacher will find him a nightmare.’

Logan nodded slowly. ‘A few of the other partners have raised issues about the amount of visits. But there’s never anything to really worry about. I gather the school has raised behaviour issues with Mrs Sinclair. And there was some mention about testing and ADHD.’

Gemma shook her head firmly and leaned forward. ‘Rudy doesn’t have any of the classic signs. If I thought for a minute there was a professional diagnosis to be made I’d refer him for all the tests myself. No. This is a parenting issue.’ She raised her eyebrows at him. ‘Are we allowed to talk about Mrs Sinclair yet?’

He paused for a second. And it took a few moments to realise that she’d put herself in a similar position to that he’d been in earlier. One where he could see right down past the open button of her shirt. She sat up abruptly and pulled her shirt down, her cheeks naturally flushing.

A smile crossed his face, but he didn’t meet her eyes. It was almost as if he wasn’t acknowledging that fact he’d just been caught staring.

He turned to the computer and pulled up the next file. ‘Natalie Sinclair is thirty-five. Rudy is her only child. She’s married, no immediate health problems.’

‘How well does the health visitor know her?’

His brow furrowed. ‘Mags? I’m not sure.’

Gemma chose her words carefully. ‘Do you think there’s any chance that she’s depressed?’

He spun his chair around again. ‘To be honest? I’m not sure. She looked tired today, and a little disengaged. But is it depression? Or just the fact she can’t deal with her son?’ He gave a little sigh and leaned back again. ‘Give me a straightforward appendicitis any day.’

She touched his shoulder. The heat of his body was evident through his cotton shirt. ‘I haven’t met Mags yet. Do you think you could arrange for me to speak to her?’

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; ‘What do you want to do?’ He wheeled his chair back from the screen, making room for her to pull hers up.

‘I want to get a better picture about Mrs Sinclair and how things are at home.’ She gave a nervous laugh. ‘Telling a parent they’re not making a great job of parenting their child and setting boundaries never goes well—believe me. I’d prefer a straightforward appendicitis too.’

Their eyes met. And for her it was instant relief.

He hadn’t jumped down her throat and tried to defend the mother. It was the professional acknowledgement that she needed. It felt good.

For the first time in a long time she didn’t catch a man’s eye and immediately want to look away. Logan’s eyes were a nice shade of blue. Much brighter than the dark sea that surrounded the island.

He was looking at her with interest and, if she wasn’t wrong, with more than a little appreciation.

Would that change when he found out her own personal history? Would he start to make judgements about her, and her situation, then?

Her heart sank a little. Back to square one. That’s where she’d be then, with all her new colleagues discussing her personal business. Just exactly what she didn’t want.