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‘Yes. But they’re at least half-hour away. Maybe longer at this time of day.’

Liv looked up at the terrified woman. ‘Has this ever happened before?’

‘No. Never. Is he choking?’

‘I don’t think so.’ Liv pulled the boy’s T-shirt up to reveal the tell-tale hives that stood out bright red against his pale skin. ‘It looks like an allergic reaction.’

‘It can’t be. He doesn’t have any allergies. We eat here every weekend. He even orders the same thing. Please help him.’ The woman dissolved into hysterical tears.

‘I will, I promise. Could something have bitten or stung him?’

‘I don’t think so.’

Liv looked around for the woman who had taken her tea order as she rummaged through her bag. ‘Is there any chance you’ve changed your recipes? Maybe a nut product?’

‘No.’ The woman was affronted. ‘We’re really careful here. All our products are . . .’ She trailed off, turning pale. ‘We’ve changed suppliers recently. They’re supposed to be nut free but . . .’

Liv shook her head as her fingers closed around the tube she needed. ‘I’m going to administer epinephrine to decrease the swelling, and help his heart and lungs work better.’ She shoved the leg of the boy’s shorts up to reveal his thigh, jammed the auto-injector against his leg, and clicked the top before rubbing the injection site briskly.

‘Coats, jumpers or blankets please?’ She didn’t take her eyes off her patient as she rolled him into the recovery position and held the head of her stethoscope against his ribs.

After a few seconds she sighed in relief. ‘His heartbeat is already returning to normal. He’s going to be all right.’ She patted the hand of the still-crying woman.

‘Oh my God. Thank you so much.’ The woman sobbed gratefully. ‘He’s my grandson. He’s staying with me while his parents are at work. If anything ever happened to him . . .’

‘He’s going to be fine,’ Liv reassured her again as she tucked coats and jumpers around the boy. ‘If anything, this could be a good thing, because now we know about his allergy and can take steps to protect him from harm. What’s his name?’

‘Timothy Weston.’

‘Timothy?’ Liv leaned closer to her patient. ‘Timothy, can you hear me?’ She smiled in relief as he whimpered and started to stir. ‘Timothy, my name’s Dr Emery. You’ve eaten something that wasn’t too good for you, but you’re going to be fine. Can you open your eyes for me, sweetie?’

‘What happens now?’ Timothy’s gran asked.

‘Well, Timothy’s coming around nicely, but he might be a little confused and scared. Just keep talking to him. He really should go to hospital still. It looks like he’s over the worst, but there is a really small chance of what we call a biphasic reaction, or reoccurrence. When the initial reaction has been so severe, it’s always better to be safe than sorry.’

‘Of course.’ Timothy’s gran nodded worriedly.

‘It really is a very, very small chance,’ Liv reassured her. ‘But also the hospital can arrange for tests to identify the exact irritant, and any other trigger-risk substances. I’ll stay here with you both and hand over to the paramedics when they arrive.’

‘What can I do?’ the café owner wanted to know.

Liv glanced around the worried faces peering down at her. ‘If you don’t mind, I think a round of hot, sweet tea for everyone wouldn’t go amiss.’

As spoons and china rattled together, Liv heard the distant church bells ring out, telling her she was now officially late for her meeting with the practice manager who’d be her boss for the coming months. Hoping he wouldn’t hold it against her too much, she looked down at Timothy and smiled, grateful for being in the right place, at the right time, to help him.

And if her new boss had an issue with that, he’d just have to deal with it.

* * *

Callum Macpearson was not in the right frame of mind to deal with much of anything. Sarah had clung to his leg, begging him not to leave when he’d dropped her off at the sitter’s, he was drowning in a pile of paperwork from the local clinical commissioning group, and he was stuck at work on a sunny Saturday morning waiting to meet with a locum who he had no choice in hiring, and who wasn’t even polite enough to show up on time. And to make things worse, his thoughts kept wandering back to the image of a petite blonde with a bouncy ponytail.

He reached for another file and cursed as he slammed his knee into the open desk drawer. He was fed up and irritated with the whole world. With the commissioning group who were trying to cut the surgery’s funding again, with his father for hiring a locum who, at best was rude and unprofessionally late, and with obnoxious, pain-in-the-arse women who couldn’t be trusted to keep their promises.

He dragged his hands through his hair and stared at Sarah’s picture on his desk wondering, for the millionth time, how anyone could ever leave such a sweet, beautiful little girl.

The buzzer sounded, letting him know that the late locum had finally deigned to grace him with her presence. He stalked into the reception, slammed his hand against the door release button and stomped back up the corridor without looking at the door.

‘You’re late.’ He thrust open the door to the practice manager’s office, waiting for her to follow, already irritated. Riffling through the paperwork on the desk that was so much better organised when his mother was in charge, he eventually found the file he was looking for.