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“Waiting outside.” I smiled, liking her more and more. Dylan was definitely in the worry-too-much category.

“Emily, you’re not pregnant as you said, but this little stick here tells me that you are not eating enough. Your body is breaking down muscle to keep going because there’s an absence of food. I realize that given what you’ve been through food is the last thing on your mind, but you’re about to start back at school and you really do need to fuel your brain.”

“Not you too,” I groaned.

“’Fraid so. It’s part of the job description. Do you mind if we talk to your uncle? What’s his name?”

“No, I don’t mind. Dylan Knightley.”

She pressed a small button on a gray metallic cube and spoke into a microphone. “Can you page Dr. Knightley to come to room 43?”

A moment later, there was a knock on the door and Dylan joined us, looking wary.

“Hi, Dr. Knightley. I’m Dr. Byrne.” She tried to conceal her surprise at something.

“Hello, Doctor.” Dylan shook her hand, regarding her with suspicion.

“I am concerned about Emily’s eating habits, or lack of them,” she said.

“Me too,” he answered gravely.

“Good. That’s all. I just wanted to make sure that you knew. She’s in ketosis and has amenorrhea.”

“I’m aware of the amenorrhea, and the ketosis doesn’t surprise me.” Dylan relaxed and he glanced at me, a See, you’re getting me into trouble! look on his face. “My niece is very stubborn.”

I flushed and looked at my fingers.

“Emily, would you come back and see me in a week? I should have the results of all your blood tests by then.”

I nodded, still embarrassed.

“So where do you work, Doctor?”

“London West A&E.”

“House officer or whatever they call it nowadays?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Well, it was lovely to meet you both.”

Dylan rose to leave. “You too, Dr. Byrne. Come on, Emily.”

We walked back to the house, basking in the midday sun. My feet were still sore, though I tried to hide this from Dylan.

“Will you eat now? You didn’t eat that muffin this morning, and you don’t want to upset the lovely Dr. Byrne surely?”

“She reminded me of my mother.”

Dylan turned to me and smiled. “Me too.”

When we got back to the house, a young blond woman in a gingham apron was in the hall, wrestling with the vacuum cleaner. She glanced up when we arrived. Her bright-blue eyes widened as we entered.

“Hi, Melina,” Dylan said.

“Hello, Doctor,” she muttered, flustered, and she scuttled off into the kitchen.

“I don’t think she’s ever been in the same room as me for more than five seconds,” Dylan muttered darkly. “That was the cleaner.”