© 1994

‘NIKKI RUSSELL, you’re killing yourself!’

Nikki looked up from her books. The causes of renal failure were swimming around her tired mind, and it took a moment before she could focus on her elderly housekeeper. Beattie Gilchrist stalked forward and planted a mug of hot chocolate on top of Nikki’s open text. ‘I know you asked for coffee,’ she said darkly, ‘but I’ve no intention of helping you stay awake. It’s bed you need, Dr Russell, and that’s a fact.’

Nikki smiled wearily and pushed her heavy glasses from her nose. ‘Thanks, Beattie. I’m coming to bed in a moment.’

‘I know. I know.’ Mrs Gilchrist folded her arms and glared at her employer. ‘In a few hours more like. You delivered the Raymond baby last night, you were up at six to Amy, you had a full day at the surgery today and it’s near to midnight now. Odds are you’ll be called out again tonight and then where will you be?’

‘Exhausted,’ Nikki admitted. ‘But the exam’s only three weeks away, Beattie.’

‘And old Doc Maybury told me there’s not the least need for you to be sitting the exam yet. He said most doctors wait five years from graduation before even thinking about it, and you’ve been practising less than that. You’ll drive yourself to an early grave, Nikki Russell, you mark my words!’

‘Beattie, I’m only twenty-seven.’ Nikki smiled placatingly at her housekeeper and pushed stray curls of flaming hair back from her face. ‘I’m young and fit. Hard work’s not going to kill me.’

‘It will if it’s all you do.’ Beattie sniffed. ‘It’s no life for a girl, buried here as Eurong’s solo GP. You should be out having fun while you’re still young. You’ve a little girl who’s growing up without knowing her mother can be fun and happy.’ She hesitated. ‘Honestly, Nikki, dear, it’s been five years since Scott…’