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under control as I felt the tender lumps on a rib. There were small crackling noises in her chest. I examined her everywhere. By the time I saw bruises high on her inner thighs, wings of worry were beating in my head.
    I typed a script for antibiotics as her mother pulled her clothes back on over her head. If I mentioned the lice as well, she might never come back.
    â€œThis should help her chest; she needs a spoonful three times a day. I’ll need to check her again, so could you bring her back in two days?”
    She nodded, staring at the script in her hand, and turned to go, pulling Jade after her quickly.
    I went to see Lynn, our practice nurse. She was in her room, humming quietly as she refilled her tray with bottles and syringes. When I told her about Jade, her brown eyes narrowed in concern.
    â€œJade’s never been brought in for immunizations. She saw the substitute nurse last summer, bad fall, grazes to her arms.” Her neat hands flew over the keyboard. “The father was here a few weeks ago as well, stitches in his hand. Off his head with alcohol that afternoon.” She glanced at me with a worried frown. “I had the feeling he would lash out at any moment.”
    I had encountered drunken men with open head wounds on Saturday nights in the emergency room while training. I remembered the obscene threats, the wildly aimed punches while I sewed skin edges together with trembling fingers.
    So Jade’s father was that kind of man.
    â€œWhat do you make of the mother, then, Lynn?”
    â€œDon’t really know.” Lynn leaned toward the screen. “Doesn’t come in for her smears. It’s on here that she saw Frank for depression last year and was prescribed citalopram, but she didn’t come back for follow-­up.”
    As she spoke, the pieces of the jigsaw began to slot together neatly.
    â€œThanks, Lynn. Any chance that you could, say, contact the mother about the immunizations . . . ?”
    â€œAnd use it as a chance to go visit? ’Course I will.”
    I phoned the social worker, left a message. Tracking down the school nurse took longer. It wasn’t the day for her drop-­in clinic, but the school gave me her work cell number. She picked up on the second try.
    â€œJade Price? Yeah, I know Jade. Quiet little thing. Not a happy child.”
    â€œWhy’s that?”
    â€œShe gets left out. The other kids treat her like a leper.”
    The raspy voice wanted to gossip. I kept it brief.
    â€œDoes she get into fights? Her mother said—­”
    â€œLike I said, the kids don’t go near her, too quiet. The nits don’t help. Her dad fetches her from school sometimes, drunk as a lord, full of temper.”
    Another piece of the jigsaw clicked into place. The community pediatrician was out; I’d try later. As the senior partner, Frank would need to be told, but it would have to wait until tomorrow now, as I was running late. The patients would be waiting with pursed lips, checking their watches. The beating wings of worry had gone, leaving a feather edge of panic. When my cell phone vibrated in my pocket, I picked it out and gave it a fleeting glance. Ed. I’d have to remind the children not to phone me here; there was never time to talk to them. I called the next patient in.
    Nigel Mancey pushed his insurer’s medical report across the desk at me. “They’re on about how I’ve got blood pressure.” He grinned.
    As I wrapped the cuff around his curdy white upper arm, his thick fingers tapped the table; they looked like shiny pink sausages, the cheap kind with thin skins that split open with one touch of the knife. His blood pressure was high but not dangerously so. He took the lifestyle booklet and blood test forms, then left to make a follow-­up appointment, muttering to himself.
    The air in my little room seemed used up. I was grateful when Jo, our receptionist, brought me a cup of tea between