Free Mother Knows Best (Novella): A Psychological Thriller Novella by Netta Newbound

my knees, and hugged my legs. Daffodils filled the two garden squares on either side of the steps.
    I sighed as the familiar hollow ache resurfaced between my ribs. Memories of my mother’s daffodil-laden casket brought tears to my eyes. I missed her so much. My fingers closed around her gold locket that I wore on a chain around my neck.
    My legs began to bounce with irritation; the long wait had my nerves at screaming point. One of the problems with living in the country was the slow pace of village life. We'd been here almost six years, and I was still trying to acclimatise.
    I was used to large surgeries with umpteen doctors to choose from. Here you got who were given, like it or lump it.
    We’d sold our veterinary clinic in Manchester after Frank, Jon’s father, had suffered a stroke. Jon was an only child, and the responsibilities of the farm fell solely at his size nines.
    Jonathan had been born on the farm, and Doctor Taylor, our family doctor, had even delivered him—as he had most of the children in the area. But Doctor Taylor had gone to New Zealand for a year, leaving a locum in his place.
    A hammering on the window behind me jolted me from my daydream. Jonathan was standing behind the glass, waving at me to hurry.
    Doctor Davies seemed too young to be fully qualified. He had a large moon-shaped face with a helmet of floppy, fine blond hair atop a head that looked too big for his weedy body. 
    "Hello—this must be Emily," the doctor said with an overused, insincere smile.
    "Hello," Emily whispered.
    "Are you feeling poorly, sweetheart?"
    I inhaled noisily and raised my eyes to the wooden panelled ceiling before refocusing on Jon.
    Jonathan’s eyes flashed at me as he gave his head a tight shake.
    I shrugged and turned away, fiddling with the locket at my throat.
    Emily nodded and closed her eyes, leaning against Jon's shoulder again.
    "She's not been right for a while, doctor. She’s lethargic and clumsy. I don’t know—just off, somehow," Jonathan said.
    The doctor nodded, raised his eyebrows and began typing on a keyboard in front of him.
    "I’ve been doing some research and I’m positive she has some kind of neurological disorder," I said.
    Doctor Davies stopped typing and took off his frameless glasses. His beady brown eyes locked on mine. "Are you a doctor, Mrs—," he glanced at the computer screen, "—Lyons?"
    "A vet. I'm a vet—we're vets,” I wiggled a finger between Jon and myself. “And although I'm not a doctor—doctor, I know my stuff, and I know my daughter."
    The doctor cleared his throat and sighed. His hands were in a praying position in front of his face, the index fingers touching the tip of his nose, contemplating me.
    "I'm sure you do, Mrs Lyons, but let's go through this from the beginning for my benefit, shall we? Then I will try to make my own diagnosis, and we can compare notes later. Is that okay with you?" he said.
    His patronizing attitude was starting to get my back up. I bit my lip and stifled a sigh, trying to eyeball Jonathan, who did his best to avoid my stare. Of course the doctor needed to make his own diagnosis, but I didn’t want him poo-pooing Em’s symptoms and just throwing a course of antibiotics at her.
    “It started a few months ago,” I said.
    “Months?” the doctor’s eyebrows furrowed.
    “Yeah, but nothing bad. Just subtle changes at first. Jonathan blamed the clumsiness on her age.”
    “Typical five-year-old, doc,” Jon said. “Too impatient to get where she wants to go. She climbs over anything in her path. I thought her falls were nothing more than that.”
    The doctor nodded. “So what changed?”
    “This weekend, her coordination deteriorated. She struggled to feed herself and she was so clumsy she could fall over her own feet from standing still.” I bent forward and stroked Emily’s face.
    “That’s why we made an appointment first thing this morning.” Jon said.
    I nodded. “She slept most of the day, but by this afternoon,