“Confused. I mean, look at this place – it’s gorgeous. And they do need a doctor. But…well, I haven’t worked in the same place for ages now, and it makes me feel nervous. I’m worried about getting too involved, staying too long…”
“Caring too much?” he suggests, raising one eyebrow at me. Damn him, I think, he’s right.
“Yeah. But now I say it out loud, that sounds awful doesn’t it? I mean, I’m a doctor. It’s part of my job description to care.”
He puts down his coffee, and runs his hands through his hair, and looks at me seriously.
“Ella, you’re a human being as well as a doctor. And what you went through…the way it was with work, with the baby, with us… I think you can forgive yourself for switching off, you know? But for what it’s worth, I think you should give it a shot.”
“You do?” I say, frowning. “Why?”
“Because you’re happy. Because you’re enjoying your life. Because something seems to have switched back on inside you. Because you deserve it.”
I stare at the table, and feel a rush of emotion I have nowhere to put. I sip my coffee, and bite my lip, and force myself to meet his eyes.
“Maybe you’re right,” I say. “And thank you. But I’m still keeping the car, you know that, right?”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way. Now, come on and wave me off – I think I’ll skip the food. All this fresh air and wholesome honesty is making me feel a bit sick. I need to get myself to the land of smog and shallow relationships.”
ChapterTwenty
I am standing at the bottom of a very steep, very pretty cobbled street. The incline feels almost vertical, and is lined on one side with old houses and cottages that seem to tumble in a ramshackle rush towards us. I find myself wondering if the homes inside all have sloping floors, as it seems impossible to imagine them any other way. The other side is bordered by ancient-looking walls, which George has told me surround an abbey built by Alfred the Great. I don’t know much about history, but I’m guessing that was a long time ago.
“Recognise it yet?” says George, gesturing upwards. “From that Hovis bread advert in the 70s?”
“I was born in 1984,” I reply, much to his disgust.
“Bah,” he replies eloquently, “you’re practically a baby! Anyway, this is Gold Hill, and it was very famous back in the day. Been in all kinds of TV shows and films. On calendars, and chocolate boxes, all that good stuff.”
I glance around at the picturesque location, a place that feels like it could have been transported from a different era, and I can see why. If cobbles could talk, these would have a few tales to tell. It looks as though it’s barely changed in centuries.
“It’s beautiful,” I say, looking on as an especially brave child comes running down it at full pelt, arms windmilling, screaming in delight as his mum yells at him to slow down. “Are we…you know, going to climb it?”
“That’s the plan. I come here two or three times a year to do exactly that, Ella – it’s my version of an MOT. I used to run up and down it as a lad, and I can’t say I’m capable of that any more – but as long as I can still get to the top of this hill, I reckon there’s life in the old dog yet.”
“Well,” I say, as we start the long trek up, “I’m not sure it’d work as an NHS test, they tend to involve these new-fangled concepts like blood pressure and cholesterol levels, but I see where you’re coming from. What’s at the top?”
As I ask, I’m already feeling the burn in my calves, and am hoping that the answer might be an oxygen mask and a saline drip. I am a relatively fit person, but the sharpness of the slope is something my legs are not accustomed to. I have Larry on his lead, pulling slightly ahead of me, but he’s not exactly a sleigh dog and doesn’t help much.
George tells me that once we’re at the peak, we will be rewarded with the best view in the entire world, and also cake. Could be worse, I suppose. We make occasional small talk as we climb, but mainly we are quiet, concentrating on achieving the summit. By the time we do, I feel like we should be able to plant a flag and claim it in our name.
He pauses at the top, and takes a few moments to recover, his thick white hair damp with sweat, his blue eyes sparkling with pleasure.
“Looks like I’ll live to see another day,” he announces, then gestures at the view. I turn around, and discover that he really wasn’t kidding.
The panorama stretches out for miles below us: a glorious patchwork of green fields and rolling hills and woods and hedgerows as far as the eye can see. The sun is painting the landscape a vibrant shade of gold, and it is hard to imagine a more beautiful place to pause and catch your breath.
“I never intended to come here, you know,” I say as we gaze at the vista laid out before us, “to Dorset. Thought I was just going to drive on through. I had no idea that it was so beautiful; to be honest I didn’t even really know where it was.”
He nods, and tells me I’m not the only one, and leads me towards a bustling town square. We find a cosy corner table in a tea room, and George orders us a full cream tea for two. I am about to object and say I only want coffee until I see another table getting theirs delivered, and decide I’ll force myself. Freshly baked scones, jam, cream, tiny little sandwiches and miniature slices of Victoria sponge…who am I to argue with such splendour?
I get out my phone, and together George and I fill in an e-consult form on his surgery’s website. It takes a little while, and I make sure George is telling me as much as he can, and we upload some pictures I took earlier. Much as this stuff has made life easier for a lot of people, I can totally see why someone of George’s age – often exactly the demographic who most needs to use the health service – might find it confusing.
By the time we finish, our little stand of delights has arrived, along with a pot of old-fashioned loose-leaf tea and delicate china cups decorated with roses. They look so dainty I’m scared I might break them.
“So,” George says, nodding at my phone, “what happens next? When do the little men inside that device tell me what’s going on?”
“They should get back to you within 48 hours,” I explain, “and although I can’t say for sure, I’d guess they’ll refer you for some tests.”
