was good. Interesting. There’s a real community feel to a small village practice that you just don’t get in a large city.’
‘That’s the truth. You can build relationships with people here that go on for years. Not that you can’t do that in the city or in towns, but when you live amongst the people you treat, shop in their store, post your mail in their post office, you develop friendships, too.’
‘Don’t you find it sometimes restricts the amount of privacy you have?’ Lula asked.
‘Not at all. I don’t mind that everyone knows I’m a doctor, and that my father was before me, and that I got the big scar on my leg from falling out of a tree in Mrs Macabee’s orchard.’
‘Ooh, let’s see!’
Lula was always fascinated to see scars and hear the story behind them. She guessed it was part of being a doctor. She had a thing about noticing people’s veins, too. Whether or not they had good juicy veins, ripe for a blood test. You developed an odd sense of humour, being a medical professional.
Olly put his tea down and rolled up his right trouser leg to reveal a slightly jagged scar running down the front of his shin. ‘Broke my tib and fib. Open fracture.’
‘Nasty.’ She could imagine the bones sticking out through the skin. The pain, the blood. The panic. She ignored the fact that he had a beautifully muscular leg, covered in fine dark hair.
‘Mrs Macabee got my dad and they took me to the A&E over at Petersfield. We were treated by people who were very kind and friendly, but I was just another casualty to come through the door. Here in Atlee Wold we really care about one another.’
‘All doctors care about their patients, Olly.’
‘I know, but you know what I’m trying to say. Don’t you?’
She nodded. She did know. She was just playing devil’s advocate.
‘You say you know a lot about people here in Atlee Wold? Their histories? Does that include everybody in the village? Do you know absolutely everyone?’
‘Pretty much. Why?’
‘Eleanor Lomax. The lady who had breast cancer. What can you tell me about her past?’
‘Eleanor? She’s a lovely lady. Always lived on her own. Keeps herself to herself. Retired now, but she used to run a boutique, I think. Why?’
Lula shrugged. ‘She just caught my attention. Mainly because … Well, to be perfectly honest with you, Olly, I’m not just here to work.’ She bit her lip and looked at him to gauge his reaction.
‘Or to belly dance?’
She smiled. ‘Or to belly dance. I’m here to find someone. Someone whose initials are EL.’
‘EL … like your mother? You think Eleanor Lomax might be your mother?’ He looked incredulous.
‘Maybe. I don’t know.’
‘What makes you think your mother is in Atlee Wold? There must be hundreds, if not thousands of women in the UK with the initials EL.’
‘Well, it’s complicated …’
‘When isn’t it?’
‘When I was abandoned there was obviously some press coverage.’
‘Right.’ He was listening intently, his brow furrowed.
‘The papers asked for my mother to come forward, to let them know she was all right, to see if they could reunite us—that sort of thing. Well, the paper in Portsmouth—the Portsmouth News—was sent a letter by someone signing it “EL”. The letter explained that she couldn’t come forward. That her parents had made her give up the baby, there was no chance of us being together, and that she hoped they would leave her alone.’
‘She sounded desperate?’
Lula nodded. ‘There was a postmark from the Petersfield sorting office, and the handwriting was very distinctive. A journalist took it around the local post offices, to see if any of the staff could remember franking it, and one did. He also remembered the woman who’d posted it, because she’d been upset and had had red eyes from crying.’
‘I can see why he’d remember a crying customer.’
‘Anyway, they questioned this man and he said he’d seen her before. Getting off the bus from Atlee Wold.’
‘That’s what you’re going on?’ he asked incredulously. ‘It’s tenuous, at best.’
‘It’s all I have.’
‘Did the journalist come here? Try and track her down?’
‘He said there were a number of women with the initials EL in Atlee Wold and that none of them would talk to him.’
Olly looked at her. ‘Oh, Lula … I wish I had something more constructive to say, but I think you’re taking a long shot. It’s all hearsay and secondhand, and relying on the memory of a guy who thinks he saw a woman get off a bus once. And EL—whoever she is—could have got off the bus from Atlee Wold to throw people off track.’
‘It’s better than having nothing at all, Olly. Imagine having that. No idea at all. You’re close to your father. You know your family history. You have roots. Just think for a moment how you’d feel if you had none of that. Wouldn’t you feel … adrift? A bit lost? Wouldn’t a part of you want to know?’
He thought about it for a moment and then nodded. ‘I guess so. My mother died when I was very young, so I don’t remember her. I’ve always felt something’s been missing.’
‘So you understand that I have to try? Because if I didn’t then I’d never forgive myself if it turned out my actual birth mother was living within a few miles of me and I never looked for her.’
‘And if she is here? If you do find her?’
Lula smiled. ‘Then I’ll know where she is. And that will be enough. I’m not silly enough to expect that we’ll suddenly fall into each other’s arms and have a mother-daughter relationship.’
‘And if she rejects you?’
‘Then I can’t hurt any more then I already do. She already did that once. Remember?’
Olly didn’t often find himself not knowing what to say. He was usually the person people went to with their problems and he always had some sort of advice to give. But this … this was different. ‘I think, Dr Lula Chance, that you are a very brave lady indeed.’
She looked up at him through her purple fringe and her eyes twinkled with appreciation. ‘Thanks, Olly. I appreciate your help.’
‘My pleasure. Not that I actually helped much.’
‘You listened. And sometimes that’s all someone needs.’
‘For you, Lula, my ears are always open.’
He
