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‘Ouch.’

  ‘Yup.’

  They reached the automatic doors, and John stepped in front of Charlene to clear a space in the crowd. One unfortunate jostle might be all it took to put her back in the hospital. He’d seen that sort of tragedy time and again. And it was so easy for a woman in Charlene’s position to lose her balance and fall.

  Once they’d found available chairs at a two-seater table, and Charlene had settled onto one of them, John breathed a sigh of relief. He had limitless awe for people like her. How did they do it? Go out and get on with their lives day in and day out? He wasn’t sure he would have the fortitude required if something like that had happened to him.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said, apropos of nothing.

  He dropped onto the seat opposite her. ‘What for?’

  She glanced at the crutches she’d rested against the table. ‘I can’t carry stuff.’ Charlene nodded toward the service counter. ‘I can give you money, and if you could order the drinks and bring them over?’

  ‘No. Don’t be daft.’

  She gave him a quizzical stare.

  ‘I’ll get the drinks. My treat.’

  ‘Oh. If you’re sure? I didn’t mean for—’

  John frowned. He didn’t remember her being this down on herself. What had happened over the last half a year to pull her so low? She had been a strong and determined patient back in the day, and willing to do anything to regain her mobility.

  Charlene misread his frown. ‘It doesn’t matter. I can get my own—’

  ‘No,’ he hurried to interject. ‘No, that’s okay. I’d love to buy you a coffee. What will you have?’

  Though she appeared uncertain, she nodded, and a brief smile flickered across her features. ‘Thanks. Do they do skinny lattes?’

  ‘Yes. Be right back.’

  The queue was long, and John glanced over to Charlene frequently, hoping to meet her gaze and fretting that he wouldn’t get served before his break had finished. Each time, though, he found her sitting with her head hung and staring at her lap. Not for the first time, he wondered what had upset her so much. Why had she sat in her car crying so hard? Evidently, she’d had a tough hospital visit.

  Ten long minutes later, he placed two steaming mugs on the table and dropped back onto his chair. He pushed the milky one over to Charlene. She wrapped her hands around it, seeking the comfort of its heat. ‘Thanks. I need this.’ After a sip, she noted, ‘You take yours black, I see.’

  ‘Yeah, hot and strong is my thing.’

  Instead of smiling with him, Charlene flinched and frowned and looked anywhere but at him. Now what had he said? With a shrug, he slurped at his hot coffee and tried to think of a conversation opener.

  ‘So, what brings you here today?’ Nice one, Jonny boy.

  ‘I saw one of the hip doctors.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Yeah. He wants me to have an injection, but it’s looking like surgery … full joint replacement.’

  ‘Ah, that means you’ll get to see more of me.’ John shut his mouth in a hurry. Had he really just said that? As if spending more time with a rehabilitation physio was at the top of her list right now. Oh, God, I’m such a moron sometimes.

  ‘Yeah, poor you.’ Despite her chuckle, he couldn’t be sure she’d meant it as a joke. But he couldn’t push her on it. If she were to be his patient again, he had to keep things professional—as much as he’d welcome a chance to get to know her on a personal level. Besides, she’d lost her husband roughly eighteen months ago, and he didn’t want to pressure her. She was probably a long way from wanting to go on a date. He glanced at her left hand. Yes, she still wore her wedding and engagement rings.

  Two things happened simultaneously—his beeper went off, and Charlene sneezed a dozen times in quick succession. Flustered, she riffled through her large handbag and retrieved a pack of tissues. From behind the tissue, she sniffled and said, ‘Sorry. Don’t know what’s gotten into me.’

  John checked his beeper. Non-urgent—his next patient had arrived early—but he would have to return to the physio department soon. They liked you to take advantage of early arrivals. John cursed under his breath.

  Charlene apologised again.

  ‘No, no. I just have to go back to work in a minute, is all. Are you all right?’

  She sneezed again. ‘Oh dear. It must be one of my allergies.’ She studied him. ‘You haven’t been around animals, have you?’

  ‘Ah, yeah. My dog. I have a golden Labrador. He’s ten.’ The visual memory of his much-loved pet brought a warm smile to his face.

  Across the table, Charlene grimaced. ‘That’ll be it, then. I’m allergic to dog hair. Cats too.’ She gave a small shrug.

  John wanted to stay and chat some more, but his beeper went off again. Damn thing. Reluctantly, he rose to his feet, gulped the last of his hot coffee, and took his leave, ‘Well, I’ll see you around, I guess. You take care.’

  Charlene nodded. ‘You too.’

  At the exit, John glanced back, intending to give her a parting wave, but she’d hung her head low again and didn’t see him. He wished he could go up to her and put his arms around her—give her the comfort she looked like she needed.

  Oh well, probably for the best, seeing as she was allergic to animals. John couldn’t imagine life without George, his pet Labrador. The pair had been inseparable for the last decade. And as far as companions went, the dog was great—he was well trained and never answered back or complained. He could sulk sometimes, but never for long. And the best thing was that, apart from nagging to get walked now and then, he didn’t try and tell John what to do.

  3

  Recuperation

  IN pain and exhausted, Charlene lay in the bed and listened listlessly to her sister’s banter. ‘Hey, they even named the hospital after me.’ Emily laughed.

  The hip surgery had gone well, and they’d kept Charlene in bed for the first night. This morning, the ward physiotherapist would come and help her get up. Usually, if you managed to get out of bed unaided on the second day, they would discharge you home to recover. But due to her prosthetic limb and the need to bend all the way forward to take it off, Dr Bloodletter had made the decision to keep her in for the duration.

  Charlene had nobody at home to help her, and she couldn’t afford to hire in private help for six weeks. Emily could pop in now and then, but it wasn’t enough. And she had her new job now … the one she’d taken from Charlene. Anyway, the world of news and anchoring was well behind her now. She’d finished with all that.

  From the corner of her eye, she noticed John Andrews come onto the ward, and her cheeks immediately flamed crimson. His good-god good-looks overwhelmed her and ignited feelings she’d rather not have, not with her husband dead because of her.

  Her sister noticed. Of course she did. Emily raised her eyebrows and waggled them at Charlene. ‘So, who’s the hottie, then?’ She winked at her sister. ‘Ooh, I remember him. He’s the physio that worked with you back along.’

  Charlene rolled her eyes. ‘I’m his patient,’ she hissed from the side of her mouth.

  Emily giggled. ‘I’ll bet he knows how to make a woman feel all better.’

  Despite herself, Charlene laughed and slapped her sister’s wrist. ‘Shut up.’

  John walked down the ward, studying his clipboard with intent. Emily grew nervous when he neared her bed. She would be his first patient of the morning. So far, he hadn’t looked at them. Then he did. His mouth fell open. God, but she must look a mess. Then he recovered himself and extended a hand to Emily, who took it and shook it.

  ‘Hi, I’m John Andrews, Charlene’s physio.’

  Huh, talk about ignoring her. And what had that look been on his face? She wanted to slide beneath the covers and hide until he’d gone away again.

  Her sister giggled. ‘Isn’t Charlie the lucky one?’

  Charlene blurted out, ‘I don’t know about that.’

  The three of them froze. Then John cleared his throat and smiled at her
. It appeared forced. ‘Right then, Miss Matthers, let’s get you mobile shall we?’ He glanced around.

  Emily dove down and retrieved the prosthetic limb from the side of the bed.

  John took it from her. ‘Great, thanks.’

  Flustered and hating the fact that they would both get to see her shuffling around in her flimsy hospital gown, Charlene tried to sit up. With a warning cry, John put a hand to her shoulder to stop her. ‘Not yet. Not like that. Here, let me show you.’ He proceeded to demonstrate the moves she had to make to avoid bending too far forward on the hip replacement. In her fluster, she’d completely forgotten. Now she felt more embarrassed than ever.

  ‘That’s it. Well done.’ John knelt and positioned her false leg beneath the end of her residual limb. She slipped into it, and the ratchet locked the pin in place. John stood ready with her crutches and offered them to her. Gingerly, she leant her weight on them. It felt strange putting most of her weight on her false leg. Until today, that was the side she’d favoured. Now, though, until her new hip bedded in well enough, her bad side would have to take the brunt. She was in for weeks of fun, here.

  ‘Right,’ John said. ‘Let’s see you take a step. Just the one. And start with your left leg.’ He watched her lurch forward. ‘That’s it. Now bring your other leg forward. … Great. You’re doing well. How’s it feel?’

  Mortifying, she wanted to say. ‘Yeah, okay. The pain’s better already.’

  John nodded. ‘That’s often the way with hip replacements. Even right after surgery, they hurt less than the original damaged joint.’

  He seemed to be talking to Emily more than to Charlene. His eyes kept straying to her pretty sister. Evidently, he found her sibling attractive. Before the accident, he would have had a hard time choosing between the two. Fed up but determined not to mess this up, Charlene kept her head down and took another step, and another, until she stood with both feet together.

  John said, ‘Okay, then. That’s enough for now. You’ve done well. I want you to turn around carefully. Use your feet. You mustn’t twist at the hips, okay?’

  Charlene did as instructed. At her backside, her gown flapped and gaped. Humiliated, she tried to step too quickly so that he couldn’t see her bare arse, and she stumbled. John leapt forward and caught her in his arms. She couldn’t bear to look at him while he helped her back to the bed.

  The physio got her settled back in and eased her out of her prosthetic, which he handed back to Emily. He, too, seemed flustered. Evidently, he’d seen a lot more than he’d wanted to. Charlene almost felt sorry for the man. Almost. Oh well, they only had to put up with one another for another few weeks.

  If she didn’t feel so attracted to him—and so guilty for feeling that way—this whole thing wouldn’t seem like such an ordeal. But she did like him. And she couldn’t do anything about it. The fact that he could never be romantically interested in someone like her helped to assuage her guilt. She couldn’t beat herself up for something that was only ever going to happen inside her head. Time and again, Emily had tried to get her to sign up to online dating sites, but Charlene just didn’t feel ready yet. And, being like this, who would want her, anyway?

  John moved to the foot of her hospital bed and smiled. ‘I’ll come back later, and we’ll see if you can manage that with a nurse. You’ll have to walk them through how to put on your prosthetic and how to find the button that releases the lock.’

  ‘Okay. Thank you.’ Charlene felt too ashamed of herself to offer anything more than that. She hadn’t even managed to turn around and walk back to the bed without messing it up. He must think she was utterly useless.

  ‘Right. See you in a bit.’ The physio walked away.

  Both women watched him go.

  Then Emily glanced at her sister and giggled again. The high-pitched noise grated on Charlene’s nerves.

  ‘So, what’s up with you guys?’

  Charlene frowned. ‘Nothing.’

  Emily nudged her. ‘Nothing that’s any of my business, you mean?’

  ‘Leave it, please.’

  At last, Emily noticed that Charlene wasn’t in a playful mood. ‘Sorry. Here, I got you something.’ She rummaged in her bag and produced a small paper packet.

  Intrigued, Charlene took it. Inside, she found a pretty black scrunchie. Confused, she glanced back at Emily. ‘You gave me the wrong bag.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You’re the one who wears these things these days.’

  Emily shook her head. ‘No, that’s for you. I always loved the way you used to wear your hair.’

  Tears sprang to Charlene’s eyes, and she blinked them back behind enemy lines, not yet ready for a full frontal assault. She smiled sadly and held the offending article out toward her sister. ‘I’m not ready yet.’

  Emily grew cross. ‘You say that every single time. You won’t date. You won’t wear your hair back. You won’t dress nicely, even though you’ve lost all that extra weight.’ Then she changed tactics and played on emotional blackmail, ‘Please, take it. For me. Even if it just sits in your drawer for now.’

  Charlene relented. Her little sister always did have the knack of getting around her defences. ‘Okay.’ She settled the packet and scrunchie on top of the bedside cupboard.

  Just then, a nurse came up. It was one of the older ones, Nurse Jackie. ‘Hey, Charlene. I’ve brought your pain meds’—she handed the plastic pill tub to her—‘and I’m supposed to go through the leg thing with you.’

  Charlene nodded and then copied the moves that John had shown her. The nurse started off by putting the false leg the wrong way around. In the end, even patient Emily got annoyed and took it from her.

  ‘Like this,’ she said, irritably.

  Charlene slipped into the limb and locked it in place. Then she eased back onto the mattress, careful not to bend at the waist. This was so awkward. The nurse failed completely to locate the button that lay just beneath the silicone covering. Again, Emily came to the rescue and released Charlene from her prosthetic.

  Jackie looked apologetic but not unduly troubled. ‘We’ll get there in a minute, I’m sure.’

  Charlene couldn’t feel so certain. What would have happened if Emily hadn’t been sitting there? Surely she wasn’t the first amputee to need a hip replacement? But then she thought about it and realised that, in all probability, and this being such a small hospital, the nurses most likely hadn’t come across this scenario before. And the old leg would have made things easier because it didn’t have a silicone cover, so the lock-release button was obvious. Still, with the silicone that looked so skin-like, people stared less at her. And she’d even gotten brave enough to wear a skirt the other day, instead of sticking with her leggings.

  Emily made a wise-crack about the physio, ‘We’ll have to put the hunk back on the case.’

  Nurse Jackie snorted a laugh. ‘John Andrews, you mean?’

  Emily nodded and grinned. ‘Is he single, then?’

  Jackie glanced around to check for eavesdroppers. Charlene wondered what the woman was about to divulge that might get her in trouble. ‘We think he must be gay. He never goes out on dates. And, believe me, all of us single ones have asked. I’ve never heard him talk about a partner either, despite his gorgeous good looks. He only mentions some damn dog.’ She shrugged. ‘He must be gay, don’t you reckon?’

  Charlene’s secret hopes dropped into her gut. Oh well, she hadn’t stood a chance anyway. No wonder he couldn’t get away from her fast enough the last time she’d seen him. The more she’d thought about that encounter in the cafe, and the awful way he’d seen her sobbing her eyes out in the car, she came to believe that the beeper thing had just been a handy excuse to cut their meeting short. He’d felt sorry for her and then regretted his impulsive decision to take her for a coffee. And then, this morning, he couldn’t have looked more horrified when he saw her in this bed. And there she’d begun to think that her scar didn’t look so bad anymore.

  4
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  The Name Game

  JOHN arrived on the ward and read the list of patients he had for the morning. None of the names seemed familiar. Still studying the sheet of information, he made his way to bed one. At its foot, he glanced up. In the bed lay Mrs Dickens, and a heavily-made up brunette sat in the chair next to the bed. The pair looked alike enough to be sisters.

  Surprised, John checked his list again. Nope, bed one definitely read Miss C Matthers. Then the light of understanding dawned … she’d reverted to her maiden name. Miss C Matthers was Mrs Dickens.

  The shock of seeing Charlene brought him to a standstill, and he gaped. Then he recovered himself and held out a hand to the brunette, who took it and shook it. ‘Hi, I’m John Andrews, Charlene’s physio.’

  The brunette smiled, and a mischievous glint entered her eyes. Then she giggled. ‘Isn’t Charlie the lucky one?’

  John flinched inwardly. Giggly women had always annoyed him. He did like the nickname she’d given he sister, though, and would have to file that away for later use.

  Then Charlene said, ‘I don’t know about that.’

  Hell, that was uncalled for. He wasn’t that bad, was he? Suddenly, he wished fervently that he’d been allocated the male side of the orthopaedic ward to work on. Well, here he was, and he had a job to do. He cleared his throat. ‘Right then, Miss Matthers, let’s get you mobile shall we?’

  Upset at her cruelty, John went through the motions with his patient and then got away from there as soon as he could. At least the nurses could handle most of her mobility from here on in.

  Things didn’t work out that way, though. Before he could escape the ward and go for his lunch, he had to walk past bed one. Charlene called to him, ‘John? Do you have a minute, please?’

  Reluctant, he pasted on a smile and walked over to her. At least the sister was nowhere in sight. She was a handful, that one. ‘What can I do for you?’ His question had come out more coldly-professional than he’d intended. God, but he wanted to call her Charlie so badly, but he’d only heard Emily address her like that.