Chapter seven
“Oliver! Over here!”
Oliver returned Micah’s wave and walked across The Thatcher’s Arms’ public bar to the table he occupied with Harry and Tom. “Hey.” He greeted them with a grin and flopped into the chair Tom held out for him. “Jason working?” he asked Tom.
“Yeah,” Tom grumbled. “He was supposed to be off today, but he’s had to come in because Colin’s feeling under the weather again.” He took a crisp out of the bag in front of him and crunched on it before continuing. “But he’s promised to join us. As will you.” Oliver had been in Little Mowbury for almost three weeks and the first thing he’d learned was to do as he was told.
“What’s wrong with Colin?” Oliver asked, gratefully accepting the pint of coke Harry had got him from the bar. “God, thank you, Harry. My daily coffee intake is being kept an eye on by the ever diligent Hilary. Apparently it’s not good for me.” He air-quoted the latter half of the sentence then took several big gulps of coke. The magical liquid lit up his taste buds, fizzed its way down his gullet and hit his stomach with a satisfying slosh. He sighed contentedly. “I needed that.”
“You’re welcome,” Harry replied. “You’re looking a little frazzled. Busy morning?”
Oliver nodded. “This stomach virus is knocking people down like pins in a bowling alley. Surgery the last few days has been manic. I’ve seen half the village.” He turned his attention back to Tom. “Has Colin got it, too?”
Tom frowned. “No, it’s the same thing he saw Dr. M for the week before you arrived.” Oliver raised his eyebrows and shook his head. “You know, the fatigue, the dizzy spells…”
It was Oliver’s turn to shake his head. Since he’d arrived, he’d made it his business to go through every patients file. He knew Colin had a stroke a while ago, but apart from repeat prescriptions, Colin hadn’t made any appointments at the surgery.
“Colin hasn’t been to the surgery for months.”
“What’re you talking about?” Jason said as he slid into the empty seat beside Tom. “Maggie made him an appointment weeks ago.”
“Colin’s was one of the files I read through a couple of days ago.” Oliver shrugged. “I don’t know what to tell you. If he had an appointment, he didn’t keep it. How long has this been going on?”
“Too long,” Jason growled. “Maggie is going to kill him. He told us Malcolm did some blood work and it all came back fine. Sod Maggie, I’m gonna kill him myself. I know he’s scared, but the silly old fool is being unreasonable. He thinks if he buries his head in the sand it’ll just go away.”
“Well, if the mountain won’t come to Mohamed and all that,” Oliver said, downing the rest of his drink. “I’ll pay Mr. Mason a little house visit after the end of surgery today. Might be an idea to distract Maggie. No sense in her worrying until we find out whether there’s anything to worry about.”
“You’re a good bloke, Oliver Bradford,” Jason said, nudging him with his shoulder. “I’ll make sure Maggie is out of the way.”
“Speaking of good blokes,” Micah drawled. “Would you like to share with the class why Deano Wells keeps checking you out? You know, when you’re not checking him out.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Oliver mumbled.
“Please,” Micah scoffed. “You two have been ping-ponging furtive glances ever since you walked through the door. I’m surprised your eyeballs haven’t got whiplash.”
“Rubbish.”
“Sorry, Ollie,” Harry interjected with a grin. “I’m with Micah on this one. You’ve been eye-fucking each other since you sat down.”
“Harry!” Oliver exclaimed, his cheeks flushing with heat.
Even as he protested, Oliver’s gaze flitted over Micah’s shoulder to where Deano sat at a table by himself in the corner. He hadn’t seen Deano since he’d sutured his arm, although he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t spent some sleepless nights reliving the warmth of Deano’s lips on his. When Deano visited the surgery to have the stitches removed he’d been on a house call pulling four raisins out of four-year-old Emily Botham’s nose—who had, of course, insisted she had no idea how they got there.
“Deano likes to play his cards close to his chest,” Micah said as he leaned in and lowered his voice. “But I’ve never seen him drool over anyone the way he’s drooling over you.”
“Really?” Shit, he hadn’t meant to let that slip out.
Oliver had to admit he considered the four men studying him with great interest his friends. He’d clicked with them from that first night in Little Mowbury, but did he feel comfortable with them to spill his guts quite yet? He wasn’t sure. In fact he’d been so completely thrown out of whack by the kiss and his instant attraction to Deano, he hadn’t even discussed it with Becky. Although her texts were becoming more and more frustrated because she had her twin-dar firmly switched on and knew he was keeping something from her. But that was the thing. How could he tell anyone else what was going on when he had no idea himself?
So go talk to him and find out, stupid. Where’re your bollocks? You’re not fourteen for God’s sake.
“Are you going to?” Micah asked, raising a single eyebrow at him.
“Am I going to what?” Oliver stared at him, confused.
“Talk to him?”
“I don’t know,” Oliver huffed. “And get out of my head.”
“Nope.” Micah grinned. “You could do a lot worse than Deano Wells, but tread carefully. He’s not as tough as he looks.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means what it means,” Micah said cryptically, then changed the subject.
Oliver didn’t have time to ponder on it because Toni, one of the waitresses, came over to scribble their order on her pad, and Jason tore off the piece of paper and took it back to the kitchen to fill it. By the time the food arrived and Jason rejoined them, Oliver basically had to eat and run. He was firmly seated on Hilary’s good side and intended staying there. He picked up the menu and scanned it before putting enough money to cover his share of the bill in the centre of the table. After promising to catch up with them later, Oliver bade them goodbye, turned on his heel to leave and walked straight into the broad chest of Deano Wells.
His skin prickled at the warmth of Deano’s fingers on his skin where he’d grabbed Oliver’s forearm to steady him, and he could have sworn his heart skipped a beat as he looked up into Deano’s eyes. Whatever the hell this was, he knew he wasn’t the only one who felt it. He could see it in Deano’s darkening gaze, then it was gone. Deano didn’t say a word, merely nodded and walked on out of the pub.
“Nope, nothing going on there at all.”
Oliver ignored Micah and the snickers of the others as he lifted his chin and strode from the pub—in the opposite direction to Deano.
Surgery finished a little earlier that evening so Oliver took the opportunity to text Jason and let him know he would be heading over to the pub in about ten minutes. Jason replied that Tom was going to keep Maggie down in the bar so Jason could take Oliver upstairs to see Colin. Oliver arranged to meet Jason by the back door of the pub and began to make sure he had everything he might need in his briefcase. He also popped in some vials and a syringe to take some blood so he could give Colin a complete blood work up. Given Colin’s medical history, he wanted to know exactly what was going on.
Oliver left Hilary to close up and attempted to discreetly make his way around the back of the pub. Unfortunately, something big, brown and hairy hit him in the back of the legs and nearly sent him sprawling face down onto the pavement. He managed to steady himself as Hugo jumped up to put his huge paws on Oliver’s chest and give him a good going over with his wet tongue.
“Dude,” Oliver spluttered, unsuccessfully trying to fend Hugo off. “We’ve talked about the slobbering thing. I thought we agreed you’d keep your tongue to yourself?”
“He probably had his paws crossed.”
Oliver smiled at the sound of Doris’ voice from behind him and he looked over his shoulder at her. She looked rosy cheeked and slightly breeze blown. “Hugo took you for a walk again I see.”
“Cheeky bugger,” Doris replied, mock-offended as she pushed Hugo down and admonished him. “Put your tongue away, you great trollop. You’re embarrassing me and yourself.”
Oliver chuckled at the way Hugo sat and stared up at his mistress with soulful brown eyes, suitably chastised. The dog was definitely none the worse for wear after his and Oliver’s rather traumatic meeting, and they’d become firm friends. Oddly enough, so had he and Doris. She was a lot like his aunt Matilda. Brusque and somewhat stony faced on the outside, but with a soft and gooey centre. He had kept true to his word and settled all of Hugo’s vet bills, even helping out with the exercises the vet had given Doris to build Hugo’s muscle strength back up. During those evenings he’d got to know a side of Doris few people saw and if he said he wasn’t a bit in love with the old bat, he’d be lying.
“So,” Doris said, now Hugo had been corralled. “Why are you trying to sneak into the pub the back way?”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, Mrs Abernathy,” Oliver said nonchalantly as he bent to ruffle Hugo’s floppy ears.
“Pfft, do I look like I was born yesterday?” she scoffed, narrowing her gaze as she glared up at him. “Now, either you’re trying to convert Rich, or you’re going to sort out Maggie’s pigheaded husband.”
“Do you have a crystal ball or something? Or are you part bloodhound?” he asked, in awe of her as always. “Ooh, I know, you sacrifice a small goat under the light of the full moon, don’t you?”
“As if I’d tell my secrets to the likes of you,” she replied, not letting him distract her. “I’m glad you’re here, boy. That stupid old fool needs sorting out. He might be a pain in the arse, but we’re not ready to be without him yet.” Her tone may have been sharp and brisk, but he knew she meant every word.
“You’re a soft old bird, Doris Abernathy.” He leaned in and dropped a kiss on the top of her carefully coiffed silver hair.
“Ssh, keep that kind of fool thinkin’ to yourself,” Doris said haughtily, her cheeks flushing. “That’s how rumours start.”
“I know; you have a reputation to protect.” Oliver smiled as he watched her walk away, Hugo trotting obediently beside her. He picked up his briefcase and slipped through the side gate to the back of the pub where a flustered looking Jason waited for him with the back door open.
“I thought you said ten minutes?”
“Sorry, got waylaid by Hugo,” Oliver apologised swiftly and followed Jason inside.
“Considering you nearly sent him to doggie heaven, that stupid mutt seems to have taken a bit of a liking to you,” Jason said as he indicated to Oliver to follow him up the stairs to the pub’s living quarters.
“What can I say?” Oliver said with a grin. “I’m adorable.”
“And so modest, too.”
“Part of my charm, love, part of my charm.”
“Control yourself, Dr Zhivago,” Jason drawled and stopped outside a white wooden door at the end of the hallway that ran the length of the entire pub. “Colin’s in here. I haven’t told him you’re coming, so don’t expect him to be pleased to see you.”
Oliver squared his shoulders as Jason knocked on the door and a gruff voice told them to come in. When he walked into the room behind Jason, the man in the bed stared at him, open-mouthed—and Oliver stared back in exactly the same fashion. He’d met Colin a few times over the last three weeks, but the frail, tired-looking man lying pale and drawn against the pillows was a shadow of the man he’d seen laughing and joking behind the bar.
“What’s going on?” Colin grumbled, his gaze flitting between them.
“I believe it’s called an intervention,” Oliver said brightly. “At least I think that’s what it’s called, it’s my first.”
“Jason?” Colin’s grumble was now a growl.
To give him his due, Jason stood his ground. “I know you didn’t keep that appointment with Malcolm, and I know you lied about the fake results for the blood tests you didn’t have, so don’t you dare bloody growl at me. Oliver is going to check you out and you’re going to let him, do you understand?” Colin sank back against the pillows, looking sheepish. “Or do I have to call Maggie?”
“Don’t treat me like a child,” Colin replied and crossed his arms, a petulant look on his face, but Oliver saw the flash of fear in his eyes before Colin brought the shutters down.
“Then stop behaving like one!” Jason ground out through gritted teeth. “We love you, you bloody idiot. Now let Ollie do his job.”
Colin glared at Jason for a few moments then shifted his gaze to Oliver. “Well, go on then, what’re you waiting for?”
“Since you asked so nicely,” Oliver said and took out his notepad and pen. “Right, we’ve got a specific time window here, Colin, so answer the questions truthfully and keep to the point, okay?” Oliver didn’t want to give him a chance to brush off any of his symptoms, so wanted that clear from the start. Colin mumbled something under his breath about people sticking their nose in where it’s not wanted, but nodded. “What’s been going on?”
Colin sighed heavily. “I’m tired, like all the time. Even if I’ve had a good night’s sleep, I’m still bloody tired.”
“Dizziness, nausea?” Oliver asked, writing Colin’s answers down as he nodded to both. “What about headaches?”
“Yeah.”
“And how long has this been going on?”
“A couple of months…” Colin shot Jason a look and sighed again. “Maybe closer to six.”
“Six months?” Oliver shook his head. “Are you nuts?”
“Excuse me?”
“Well I know the stroke didn’t affect your faculties, so I can only assume you’ve lost your mind!” Oliver was furious. “Burying your head in the sand doesn’t make things magically disappear, Colin, they make them worse. Six months. I ought to call Maggie up here right now.”
“No, don’t, please don’t,” Colin pleaded. “She already worries too much. Please.”
“Calm down, I’m not going to tell her.” Oliver ran a hand through his hair. “Give me your arm so I can take your blood pressure.” Colin did as he was bid and Oliver removed the blood pressure cuff and portable reader from the briefcase, along with his stethoscope. He wrapped the cuff around Colin’s thin upper arm and secured it, then clipped the reader to the cuff. Once the stethoscope was firmly beneath the cuff, he began to pump it up. The reading he got was not one he would have hoped for, so he did it again to make sure. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Colin and Jason looking anxiously at each other.
“Is it too high?” Jason asked when Oliver took the stethoscope out of his ears and removed the cuff from Colin’s arm.
“No it’s bloody not,” Oliver replied caustically. “It’s practically on the floor. No wonder you’ve been feeling like shit. Usually low blood pressure doesn’t cause as many problems as high does. But because of the symptoms you’re experiencing, even when standing, I’m going to write you a prescription for some fludrocortisone, which I’m sure Jason will fill for you.” He put all his paraphernalia back into his briefcase and took out the syringe tray and the blood vials. “I’m going to take some blood and have a full work up done in case there’s anything else going on, but I want you to start taking the tablets immediately.” He deftly secured a tourniquet around Colin’s arm and took four vials of blood before pressing some gauze to the test site. “Here, put some pressure on this.”
After he’d written on the vials and put them in the plastic lab bag, then packed everything else away, Oliver addressed Colin gently, but firmly. “Colin, this could have all been solved months ago with a visit to Malcolm. At that point you probably wouldn’t have even needed medication, just an alteration to your diet and some supplements. But because you tried to ignore it, you’ve been feeling like crap and it’s got worse. Please listen to your family.” He glanced at Jason to make his point. “You had a stroke for God’s sake, so you need to be extra diligent when you’re feeling unwell. You can’t afford to bury your head in the sand. I want to see you for a blood pressure check in a few days, so on Monday, ring the surgery in the morning and make the appointment—or I’ll set Hilary on you.”
“I will, Doc, I will.” Colin reassured him, his relief palpable.
“Make sure he does,” Oliver said to Jason.
“Oh he’ll make it, don’t you worry.” Jason gave Oliver a hug. “Thank you.”
“Yeah, thanks, Doc,” Colin echoed the sentiment.
“It’s Jason you should be thanking, not me,” Oliver replied, patting Colin on the shoulder. “I’ll see you at the surgery in a couple of days. But if you’re not feeling any better, Jason can text me and I’ll come here. Deal?”
“Deal.” Colin smiled up at him. “Thanks again.”
“No problem.” Oliver picked up his briefcase and grinned widely. “Now let’s sneak me out again before Maggie spots me. I’m quite enjoying all this cloak and dagger stuff. My name is Bradford, Oliver Bradford, Double ‘o’ Doctor.”
“That is the worst Sean Connery impression I’ve ever heard.” Jason stared at him, slowly shaking his head in disbelief.
“What’re you talking about?” Oliver replied. “It was Daniel Craig.”
“Get out.” Jason pointed at the door and Oliver tipped Colin a wink before he headed out of the room. Downstairs at the back door, Jason hugged Oliver again. “I’ll send Tom to get his prescription. Do you think that’s all it is? Low blood pressure?”
“I won’t know for sure until I get the blood work back next week,” Oliver replied. “But I’ve a hunch if his blood pressure is that low, his electrolytes are out as well. It’s all relatively easy to treat, but I just want to check everything to make sure. He’s lucky to have you all looking out for him.”
“Yeah,” Jason said dryly. “It’s just a shame the old git doesn’t listen to us more often.”
“Hopefully we can get him on the mend now.” Oliver yawned. “Ooh, sorry. Long day, I need my bed.”
“Is Deano Wells in it?” Jason teased.
“Oh God, not you as well,” Oliver groaned.
“I’m kidding, I’m kidding.” Jason held up his hands in surrender. “Make sure you eat before you sleep.”
“Yes, Mum,” Oliver said solemnly then legged it before the kick Jason aimed at his arse could connect.