Golden Luckenbooth

Sixty-Seven

A peculiar tranquillity envelopes the clinic this weekend. The usual bustling crowd of fans, who normally swarm the entrance like eager puppies, is noticeably absent. It's an oddity, a stark departure from the vibrant energy that typically characterises weekdays. Are they all off pursuing mundane jobs, university degrees, or some other form of education? It's a perplexing sight, a far cry from the days when I would greet them with a cheerful wave from the clinic's doorstep.

Now, I'm confined to the interior, a prisoner of my own success, guarded by a stoic bodyguard. This is the life of a celebrity, a far cry from the simple existence I once knew. To add insult to injury, this weekend, the security crew is tearing apart my home and clinic, rewiring everything in preparation for the upcoming camera installation. The noise is deafening, and the dust is everywhere.

As I survey the immaculate clinic, a wave of nostalgia washes over me. I can't help but miss the days when I would see patients alone on Saturdays, struggling to build my business from the ground up. I know that once the baby arrives, I will cherish these moments of quiet solitude, especially as Arran takes on the weekend emergencies.

I'm still so unsure as to how I'll manage to care for her and work, but I'm sure things will work themselves out. Right?

Looking around the back room, I think about renovations to the clinic once Harry and I move into our new home, trying to stay out of the way of the workers who are in the front of the clinic. The sounds of a ruckus in my kitchen reach me, and I rush out of the clinic and into the house to find Conor pinning Blair to the wall with one hand as he searches his pockets for something.

"I'm sorry, Dr. Anna. It's another one. Just brazenly walked in as if she owns the place."

My laughter is rich, bursting out of my mouth like a champagne cork as I listen to Blair sputter as her rage emerges.

"That's my best friend and GP, Conor. She's no danger to me."

Abruptly, he steps away from her, and she swirls to face him. There's a moment where I'm confident she's going to yell at him, but then she glances at me and her face softens.

"I'm Dr. Blair Gilmore." She presents her hand for him to shake. "Thank you for keeping my friend safe."

He blushes, and I've no idea if that's because he'd misstaken Blair for a crazed fan or because he's embarrassed at her gratitude. Either way, it's pure enjoyment for me. I love seeing both of them thrown from their usual demeanours.

She moves to me, engaging in a broad, tight hug. "Hi. I came to check on you. Seems you've got a bulldog."

Smiling, I nod at her. "That he is, and I'm grateful. Come on upstairs to the nursery so we can catch up." Grabbing her hand, I pull her behind me, Shortbread following slowly, her head swivelling to Conor as she tries to decide between the excitement downstairs and her owner upstairs. It's a strange feeling of relief in my body when she chooses to accompany us. So many strangers in her life, all offering her treats and chances to go running. I would be sad if she no longer wanted to spend time with me.

Settling in the rocking chair, I allow Blair to fold herself onto the floor. She's more flexible than I am right now anyway.

"How are you feeling?"

"Pretty good, I suppose. My gums have been bleeding. I've read that's normal."

"Yeah. Your hormones are causing them to swell. Make sure you brush your tongue at night as well to cut down on the bacteria in your mouth. That will help prevent issues with your teeth later. What else?"

"Nothing. Honestly. I'm feeling great physically."

"Awesome. I want you to start doing kick counts. In fact, we can do them while I'm here today."