‘No.’ Conner straightened. ‘You can sit up now, Fraser. I’m done. As Nurse Harris correctly assessed, you have something called Osgood-Schlatter disease. It’s a condition that sometimes affects athletic teenagers, particularly boys. There’s inflammation and swelling at the top end of the tibia—here.’ He took Fraser’s hand and placed it on his leg. ‘Can you feel it?’

‘Yes.’ Fraser winced. ‘So will it go away?’

‘Eventually. But you’re going to need to play a bit less football.’

‘How much less?’

‘You need to cut down on your physical activity, because that will only make things worse.’

‘All of it? Everything I do?’ Fraser sounded appalled and Conner put a hand on his shoulder.

‘It’s tough, I know. But basically you need to stop doing anything that aggravates your condition. Ideally you should avoid sport altogether until your bones have fully matured, but I appreciate that’s asking a bit much. A compromise would be to stop if you feel that whatever you’re doing is making it worse.’ He glanced at Aisla. ‘He can take anti-inflammatories for the pain. If it doesn’t improve, we can immobilise it for a short time and see if that helps. Failing that, we can refer him to an orthopaedic consultant for an assessment.’

Fraser slumped. ‘No football?’

‘Try cutting back. That will allow the pain and swelling to resolve. Anything that makes it worse, stop doing it.’

‘Will it go?’

‘Once your bones have fully matured. Unfortunately, the more active you are, the worse the symptoms are likely to be.’

Fraser looked grumpy. ‘I’ll have to spend the summer playing on game machines.’

‘I don’t think so,’ his mother said dryly. ‘You can read a few books.’

‘Books!’ Fraser’s face went from grumpy to mournful. ‘It’s my holiday! Why would I want to spend it staring at a book?’

Aisla walked towards the door. ‘Thanks, Dr MacNeil. Flora. We’re grateful.’

Conner waited for the door to close behind him. ‘I don’t know which upset him more—the prospect of cutting back on football or the thought of reading books.’

‘It was a close-run thing.’ Careful not to look at him, Flora changed the paper on the couch. ‘Thank you for seeing him.’

‘Your diagnosis was correct. Well done. That was very impressive.’

‘Thank you. I’m pleased all that studying paid off.’ Although she didn’t look at him, she knew he was watching her. She could feel him watching her.

‘Flora…’ His voice was husky. ‘I know you’re hurt and I’m sorry.’

‘I thought you never apologised.’

‘Well I’m apologising now,’ he said testily, and she shrugged.

‘You don’t have to apologise for not finding me attractive,’ Flora said stiffly, and heard him inhale sharply.

‘I know you won’t believe me, but I was doing you a favour.’