Page 52 of Summer Escapes on the Scottish Isle

She laughed. ‘He reminds me of my wee dog when I take him to see the vet. He can’t wait to leave and pulls on the lead like billy-o until we’re outside.’

Vinnie gave her a baleful stare.

‘I know, I know,’ the nurse said. ‘You want to go. Let me call a porter.’

‘I don’t need a porter.’

The nurse said firmly, ‘Yes, you do. He can wheel you out while your daughter brings the car round.’

‘It makes sense, Dad,’ Freya argued.

He sighed, then nodded.

She followed the nurse into the corridor. ‘Is there anything in particular I should make sure he does, or doesn’t, do? The internet has given me a wealth of info on broken hips, but…’

‘There’s a fact sheet in his bag, along with his tablets, and he’s got his first outpatient appointment with the physio booked.’ The nurse hesitated, then said, ‘He’s had a major operation and the road to recovery will be long, especially with—’

‘Nurse?Nurse!We need a bedpan over here!’ a woman yelled, and the nurse glanced down the corridor. ‘It’s urgent! Hurry.’

‘I’m being summoned. Have a safe journey.’ And with that, she was gone, leaving Freya wondering what she’d been about to say.

Assuming it couldn’t have been important, she returned to the ward to wait for the porter. In no time at all her dad would be home, and Freya could get on with the job of nursing him back to health.

‘Dad, go sit down, I don’t need any help.’ Freya was preparing lunch.It was only soup and a crusty roll, but her father appeared to think sheneeded supervising. ‘It’s minestrone,’ she said. ‘Your favourite.’

‘I like Heinz. That doesn’t look like Heinz.’ He shuffled closer to the stove and peered suspiciously at the pan.

‘I made it myself,’ she told him.

‘Is that what you were doing? I wondered what the noise was.’

‘I was chopping vegetables.’ She dipped a clean spoon into the soup. ‘Here, have a taste. It’s rather yummy.’

Vinnie sipped at it cautiously. ‘It isn’t Heinz,’ he repeated, and her heart sank.

‘Shall I nip out and get you a tin?’ If it made him happy, she’d fetch him one from the corner shop. She’d eat a bowl of the home-made one herself, and freeze the rest so it wouldn’t go to waste.

‘You’ve made this now.’

‘It’s no bother. If you don’t like it, I can—’

‘I didn’t say I didn’t like it. All I said was that it’s not Heinz.’

He hadn’t had to say it; the implication had been enough.

‘Where’s your walker?’ she asked, realising he didn’t have it with him.

‘I don’t need it.’

‘Youdo,’ she insisted. ‘You can’t rush these things, Dad. It’ll take time to get back on your feet.’

‘I’m on my feet now,’ he pointed out. He was, but precariously. He was holding on to the worktop for dear life.

‘I’ll get it,’ Freya said, and went into the sitting room. When she returned to the kitchen, she found him by the little table, trying to pull out a chair.

‘Let me.’

‘I can do it!’ he shot back crossly.

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