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‘Do you think Liv will be back soon?’

‘I don’t know.’ He ground out the words, not wanting to tell Sarah the truth just yet.

‘I want to get my face painted like a princess. Or a butterfly. Or a princess butterfly. Do you think Liv will get hers painted too?’

‘No. I don’t think she will.’

‘When she’s back, I’m going to ask her.’

‘Sarah, she won’t do it.’

‘I think she will for me.’

Callum sighed, feeing his temper fray. He could have cried with relief when a familiar face sauntered past the open tent door. ‘Mrs Turner!’ He waved as she turned.

‘Hi, Dr Mac. Hi, Sarah. Are you enjoying the fair?’

‘Not as much as we’d hoped. Listen, I know it’s a huge imposition, but Dr Emery has been called away.’ He winced inwardly at the lie. ‘And I’m stuck here. Do you think you might be able to take Sarah for a couple of hours? Or perhaps find her uncle and Evelyn? I tried calling them both, but it’s going through to voicemail.’

‘Probably can’t hear their phones with all the fun and noise going on.’

‘Maybe,’ Callum agreed.

‘Tell you what, why don’t we go for a quick walk around the fair, and see if we can’t find your uncle? I was planning to get something for lunch.’ She knelt down to Sarah’s level. ‘Have you eaten anything other than ice cream today?’

‘Sweets.’ Sarah grinned, and Callum felt like the worst father and doctor in the county.

‘Well . . .’ She grinned. ‘If we don’t find Jake or Evelyn, we’ll have some lunch together. All right?’

‘You’re sure you don’t mind?’

‘Not at all.’ She held out a hand. ‘Come on, Sarah. Let’s go find something more fun to do than sitting in a tent.’

‘OK. Can we maybe get some face painting on the way?’

‘Maybe.’ Mrs Turner laughed.

‘Thank you,’ Callum told her earnestly. ‘I owe you.’

‘Yup, but I’m sure you’ll pay me back sooner or later.’

Chapter Thirteen

Liv had thrown open the window at the surgery in her office — her soon-to-be former office — almost as soon as she’d gotten there. Her head ached fiercely from crying so much, and though she was tempted to bury herself under a duvet, she knew it wouldn’t help. She also knew she couldn’t bear to see Callum again, to watch him avoid meeting her eyes while acting like she and everything they’d shared meant nothing.

So, rather than leave it until next week, when he was bound to be in, she’d decided to pack up her meagre belongings immediately and get out sooner rather than later. After all, he’d been the one to end her contract so abruptly. She’d just stick the surgery key through his letter box or something, and she wouldn’t have to see him.

And that was fine by her. If he really thought so little of her, and that she would be capable of such unkindness, he didn’t deserve her. She just wished he’d given her a chance to explain. But she’d tried, and he’d made it clear he wasn’t interested in listening. Which meant she had been wrong about him, and he wasn’t really who she thought: someone she could trust, who cared for her. Someone she could maybe even love. Far better to learn that now, rather than wait until she was so deeply committed that it would be agony to leave.

Her hand hovered over a picture Sarah had drawn for her, and she knew she was kidding herself. It was already agony. She wondered what Callum would tell Sarah, and whether the sweet little fairy would hate her. She hated to think of her crying, and knowing that, at least indirectly, she would be the reason for Sarah’s tears.

Her resolve crumbled and hot tears scorched a pathway down her cheeks as her sobs mingled with the Christmas cheer filling the village and floating in the window. She’d been hurt before; what Mike had done had been so much worse — on paper at least. But Callum’s lack of trust in her, his belief that she could be so unkind, cut her far more deeply than anything she’d experienced before.

Suddenly, she couldn’t catch her breath between the sobs, and the stream of tears turned into a blinding flood, so she gave in and put her head down on the desk and cried out all the hurt and anger that was trying to suffocate her.

* * *

When she finally stopped crying, it was much later, and the sun was low and streaming through the surgery windows to paint the room with golden light that did nothing to improve her mood. She had just leaned over the sink to try and wash the burning sandy feeling from her eyes when she heard the screech of tyres followed by a muffled crunch and the electronic scream of a car horn.