Читать книгу: «The Baby Bonding»

CHAPTER ONE

IT COULDN’T be him.

Not now, surely, when she’d got over him at last, stopped thinking about him every minute of the day, finally stopped caring if he was alive or dead.

No. She hadn’t stopped caring. She’d never stop caring about that, but she’d stopped obsessing about it.

More or less.

And now here he was in front of her, as large as life and handsome as the devil, his face creased with laughter as always, and the sound of his deep chuckle sent shivers running through her. His long, rangy body was propped up against a pillar by the desk, and his pale blue theatre scrubs hung on his frame.

He’d lost weight, she thought with shock. He’d never been heavy, but now he was lean, and amongst the laughter lines there were others that hadn’t been there before. Deeper ones that owed nothing to humour.

He’s older, she reminded herself—three years. He must be nearly thirty-five. He was a little less than two years older than her, and she’d be thirty-three soon. How time passed. Gracious, she’d only been twenty-eight when they’d met, thirty the year Jack had been born.

Jack.

She swallowed the lump. Some things you never got over.

He shrugged away from the pillar and turned towards her, and for a moment he froze.

Then an incredulous smile split his face and he strode down the ward towards her, arms outstretched, and she found herself wrapped hard against the solid warmth of his chest.

‘Molly!’

The word was muffled in her hair, but after a second he released her, grasping her shoulders in his big, strong hands and holding her at arm’s length, studying her with those amazing blue eyes.

‘My God, it really is you!’ he exclaimed, and hugged her again, then stood back once more as if he couldn’t quite believe his eyes.

Her defences trashed by the spontaneous warmth of his welcome, she smiled up at him. ‘Hello, Sam,’ she said softly. She could hardly hear her voice over the pounding of her heart, and she felt her smile falter with the strength of her tumbling emotions. She pulled herself together with an effort. ‘How are you?’

So polite, so formal, but then they always had been, really. It had been that sort of relationship, of necessity.

His mouth kicked up in a crooked grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes, and her heart stuttered for a second. Was something wrong? Something with Jack?

‘OK, I suppose,’ he said lightly. Too lightly. Something was wrong. ‘Busy,’ he added, ‘but, then, I’m always busy. Goes with the territory.’

‘And—Jack?’ she asked, hardly daring to say the words.

The grin softened, his eyes mellowing, and she felt the tension ease.

‘Jack’s great,’ he said. ‘He’s at school now. Well, nursery, really. He’s not old enough for school yet. And you? How are you? And why are you here?’

She smiled a little unsteadily, the relief making her light-headed. ‘I work here—I’m a midwife, remember?’

He looked at her then, registering her uniform as if for the first time, and a puzzled frown pleated his brow. ‘I thought you worked as a community midwife?’

‘I did, but not now. I only ever wanted to work part time, and it’s easier to do that in a hospital, so when this job came up, I applied for it. But what about you? I didn’t know you worked here—how did you keep that a secret?’

He laughed, his eyes crinkling again. ‘No secret. I wasn’t here until a few days ago, and I had no idea you were here, either. You used to live the other side of Ipswich, so you must have moved, too, unless you’re commuting.’

‘No, I’m not commuting, we’ve moved. We live in Audley now—near Mick’s parents, so they can see Libby. I’ve been working here for six months.’

He shook his head, his eyes bemused. ‘Amazing—but I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. There aren’t that many hospitals, and it’s not the first time I’ve run into someone I know.’ He glanced up and checked the clock on the wall. ‘Look—are you busy now?’

She gave a tired laugh. ‘I’m always busy—it goes with the territory,’ she said, quoting his words back at him. ‘What did you have in mind?’

‘Coffee? Lunch? I don’t know—just a chance to catch up.’

Her heart hitched against her ribs. She wasn’t sure she wanted to catch up. She’d worked so hard to put Sam and Crystal behind her, and she’d battened down her heart around her memories of Jack. ‘Catching up’ sounded like the perfect way of ripping it all open again, exposing the wound and prodding it just for the hell of it.

‘I don’t know,’ she said honestly, not wanting to hurt him, but not willing to hurt herself again, either. ‘I’m not sure I want to, Sam. It was a long time ago—a lot of water under the bridge.’

His face became shuttered, and she could feel him withdrawing, all that glorious warmth pulling away from her and leaving her cold and lonely and aching.

‘Of course. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be so thoughtless. Well, it’s lovely to see you looking so well. No doubt I’ll see you again.’

And turning on his heel, he strode away, leaving her standing there in a daze.

Idiot, she chastised herself. You fool! You should have talked to him. You’re going to have to work together, how can it help you to have this cold and awkward distance between you? And there’s Jack…

Jack’s not your son, she told herself. Let it go.

She dragged in a deep breath and stared blindly out of the window. Count to ten, she told herself. Or twenty.

Or ten zillion.

Or you could just go after him.

She went, freeing her feet from the floor with a superhuman effort and then, once she’d started to move, almost running after him down the corridor.

She reached the lobby just as the lift doors were sliding shut, and called his name.

A hand came out, blocking the doors, and they hissed open and he stepped out, his expression still guarded.

He didn’t say anything, just stood there waiting, watching her. The lift doors slid shut again behind him, but still he stood there. Oh, lord. She looked down, unsure what to say, then abandoned subterfuge and pretence. She’d never been any good at it, anyway. She let her breath go on a little whoosh.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said softly. ‘I didn’t mean to sound so cold. I’d love to have coffee with you.’

He was silent for a second, then nodded slowly. ‘Now? Or later?’

She shrugged. ‘Now would be fine for me. I was going to take a break now anyway, and nobody’s doing anything exciting at the moment. If things change they’ll page me. How about you?’

‘I’m fine. I’ve finished in Theatre. I only had a short list this morning, and we’re all done. I was just going to change and do a bit of admin. You’ll be doing me a huge favour if you take me away from it.’

She laughed, as she was meant to, and, instead of calling the lift again, he ushered her towards the stairs. They went down to the little coffee-shop at the back of the hospital, the one, she told him, that members of the public hadn’t really discovered, and he bought them coffee and sticky gingerbread slices and carried them over to a sofa. It was by the window, tucked in a corner overlooking a courtyard, and it was the closest thing they’d get to privacy.

For a moment neither of them said anything, and Molly wondered what on earth she was doing here with him. She must be mad.

He’d leant forward, his elbows on his knees, his fingers interlinked and apparently requiring his full attention, and she wondered what he was thinking. Then he looked across at her, catching her with her guard down, and his eyes seemed to spear right through to her soul.

‘So—how are you?’ he said, his voice low. ‘Honestly?’

She shrugged, suddenly swallowing tears. ‘I’m all right. Still the merry widow.’ Her laugh was hollow and humourless, and he searched her face with those piercing blue eyes that missed nothing.

‘Ah, Molly,’ he said gruffly, and, reaching out, he gave her fingers a quick squeeze. ‘I had hoped you’d be married again by now, settled down with someone worthy of your love.’

‘I am with someone. I’ve got Libby.’

‘A man, I meant.’

‘We don’t all need to be in a relationship, Sam,’ she pointed out softly. ‘Sometimes it’s better not to be.’

She looked away, not wanting him to read her eyes, but he was looking down at his hands again anyway, staring fixedly at his fingers as they threaded and unthreaded through each other. When he spoke, his voice was gruff.

‘I’m sorry I reacted like that—assuming you’d be as pleased to see me as I am to see you. It was crass of me. I apologise. I should have realised you’d moved on.’

‘I am pleased to see you,’ she told him, unable to lie, unable to let him believe anything less than the truth. ‘It’s just—I found it so hard, three years ago. I didn’t think I would, but it’s been really difficult, and I didn’t want to stir it all up, but now it is, anyway, and—well, I’ve longed to know how he is.’

He looked up and she met his eyes, and she saw sorrow and compassion in them, and an amazing tenderness. ‘He’s wonderful, Molly. Beautiful. Jack’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. He’s brought me more joy than I could ever have imagined—and I owe it all to you.’

She swallowed again, shocked at how readily the tears seemed to form. She was always so grounded, so sensible, so dispassionate.

But not about Jack.

‘I’d love to see a photo,’ she said, wondering if she was just opening herself up to heartache but unable to deny herself this one small thing.

‘A photo?’ He laughed softly. ‘I’ve got hundreds—and videos going back to his birth. You’re welcome to them. Why don’t you come round? Then you can meet him, too.’

An ache so large it threatened to destroy her built in her chest. ‘But Crystal didn’t want us to stay in contact.’

‘And I never did agree with her. Besides, it’s irrelevant,’ he added, his voice curiously flat. ‘Crystal’s dead, Molly. She died two years ago.’

Molly felt shock drain the blood from her face. ‘Dead?’ she echoed silently. ‘Oh, dear God, Sam, I’m so sorry.’

His face tightened. ‘It was a long time ago,’ he said, but she could feel his pain, could remember her own when Mick had died, and she ached for him.

She reached out, her hand covering those interlinked fingers, and he turned his hands and caught hers between them, renewing the bond that had been forged three years ago in blood and sweat and tears.

‘So—how do you manage?’ she asked, her voice surprisingly steady. ‘About Jack, I mean? Who looks after him?’ Oh, lord, she thought, tell me you’re not married again. Tell me someone else isn’t bringing him up.

‘I have a couple who live in the house—Mark’s disabled after an accident and can only do very light work, and Debbie needs to be around to look after him, but between them they look after the house and the garden and take Jack to and from nursery. They do it in return for their accommodation and a small salary, and because they live on the premises it gives me cover when I’m on call for the night or the weekend or whatever, and it’s much better than having an au pair. Been there, done that, and this is streets better.’

‘Gosh. You were lucky to find them. Do you think they’ll be all right? Does Jack like them, or is it too soon to tell?’

He smiled. ‘Jack loves them and, yes, I was lucky, but it’s not a new arrangement. They’ve been with me for a year now, and so far it’s been brilliant. Mark’s a tapestry designer—he’s a great big guy, an ex-biker with multiple piercings and the most unlikely looking person with a needle and thread, but he’s amazingly gifted, really successful, and Debbie’s just a miniature powerhouse. She makes me tired just watching her.’

‘Didn’t they mind moving up from London?’

‘Didn’t seem to, but it’s early days. We only moved three weeks ago, and I’ve only been in this job three days.’

While she’d been on her days off, of course, which was why she hadn’t known he was here.

A pity. It might have given her a chance to prepare.

Or run.

His bleeper summoned him and, standing up, he drained his coffee and shot her an apologetic smile.

‘Later—we’ll talk some more. Perhaps over dinner.’

She smiled and gave a noncommittal nod. ‘Perhaps,’ she said silently to his retreating back, and wondered what hand fate, with her twisted sense of humour, would deal them this time.

It wasn’t too late to run…

So many memories.

Crystal, determined and focused, her gimlet mind fastened on this one idea to the exclusion of all others, one last attempt to rescue the tatters of their marriage.

‘I want a child,’ she’d said. ‘What about a surrogate mother? You’re in the business—can’t you find one?’

And then he had, by a miracle, by sheer coincidence, because a patient of his had had a baby for someone else, and he’d talked to her, told her about Crystal’s idea.

‘You need to talk to my friend Molly,’ she’d said, and then Molly had been there, coming through the door behind him, warm and generous and full of life and laughter, filling the room with sunshine and making him glad to be alive. His first impression of her had been that he’d could trust her with his life and with that of his child, and nothing she’d ever done had taken that away.

They’d become friends over the next few weeks and months, and she’d been a rock during the endless procedures, the meetings, the conversations, the dealings with the solicitors. He remembered how calm she’d been, how in control, how understanding and gentle with Crystal.

The pregnancy had seemed to last for ever, such a long wait until the phone call came to say she was in labour, and he could remember every moment of the drive to the hospital, the waiting again, and then being there, holding Molly, supporting her while she’d given birth to Jack—the son he and Crystal had thought they’d never have.

Their son, carried for them by Molly, who’d generously agreed to act as a host mother to their embryo. A tummy mummy, she’d called herself, and their son had been loved and nurtured and protected by her body until the time had been right to hand him over to them.

And then Jack—tiny, screaming, enraged by the insult of birth, only calming when the midwife had taken him from the panic-striken Crystal and given him to Sam.

Then Molly had let out a long, ragged breath and smiled tearfully at him and nodded, and it had been all right.

Or so he’d thought, for the last three years.

And now he’d seen her again, and she’d admitted she’d had problems, and the doubts had come back to plague him. Had it been the right thing to do, to ask another woman to make such stupendous sacrifices for them, so Crystal could have what she wanted?

He nearly laughed out loud. What she’d thought she wanted, anyway. What was that saying? Be careful what you wish for, you might get it?

‘So—is it possible?’

Matt Jordan, the A and E consultant, stood beside Sam with his hands thrust into the pockets of his white coat, watching as he examined their patient. It was the first time he’d met the big Canadian, and he liked him instinctively—not least for calling him so quickly on this somewhat puzzling case.

‘She could be pregnant, yes. Certainly looks possible.’ Sam gently palpated the distended abdomen of the unconscious woman in Resus and shook his head thoughtfully. ‘I think you’re right, I think she is pregnant, but I can’t be sure without a scan or a pregnancy test. It could be all sorts of things—a tumour, an ovarian cyst, fibroids—without a heartbeat it’s anybody’s guess, and I can’t pick one up on the foetal stethoscope. It could just be fluid, but it doesn’t really feel right for that. What do you know about her?’ he asked Matt.

‘Very little,’ he was told. ‘She was brought in a few minutes ago after collapsing at the wheel of her car. The police are working on it, but it doesn’t seem to be registered to a woman, so they don’t know who she is. They’re checking with the car’s owner.’

He nodded.

‘Well, the first thing we need is an ultrasound to check if there’s a live baby, and we’ll go from there. In the meantime do nothing that would compromise the baby if you can avoid it. Once we know if she’s carrying a live foetus, we can get a proper scan to work out its gestational age and decide if it’s viable if we need to do an emergency section for any reason. I don’t suppose you can hazard a guess as to what’s wrong with her?’

‘No. Not diabetes, we’ve checked that, and her heart seems fine. Pupils are a bit iffy, so it could be drugs or a bang on the head. Could it be anything obstetric?’

Sam frowned and shook his head. ‘Don’t think so. It’s hard to tell without more information. I want that scan, fast. If she’s twenty-eight weeks or more and remains stable and unconscious, we can remove the baby to give her more chance, if necessary, but the baby’s chances will decrease with every week less than that. And, of course, there are other complications. She’s a smoker, for a start, so it might be small for dates, and starting from a disadvantage. Still, there’s no point in speculating till we get the scan and know if she is pregnant and the baby’s still alive. If she is pregnant, we’ll take her down to the big scanner and have a better look if you think she’s stable enough.’

The young nurse beside him frowned in puzzlement. ‘How do you know she’s a smoker?’

He shrugged. ‘She smells of smoke—and her teeth are stained.’

His eyes met Matt’s. ‘She’s a heavy smoker, I’d say, so watch her lungs, too, with the added stress of pregnancy. She might have breathing difficulties—and if she shows signs of respiratory distress or hypovolaemia, call me. She might get an amniotic fluid embolus or an antepartum haemorrhage as a result of the impact.’

‘We’ll watch for that. She’s got a wedge under her left hip to take the pressure off her aorta and vena cava. Anything else specific we should be doing?’

He shook his head. ‘Not really. Some answers would be good. Bleep me again if you need me, and when you get the results of the ultrasound. I’ll be in my office.’

Sam walked back up there, unable to do any more without further information, and at the moment at least she seemed stable. He’d worry about her once he knew a little more but, in the meantime, other thoughts were clamouring for his attention.

With each step, the young woman faded further from his mind, crowded out by an image of Molly that blanked his thoughts to anything else.

She hadn’t changed at all—well, not enough to notice. She’d got her pre-pregnancy figure back, of course, but apart from that she seemed no different. Her eyes were still that same warm, gentle shade of brown, her hair a few tones darker and shot through with gold, and her smile…

He felt choked, just thinking about her smile. She smiled with her whole face, not just that gorgeous, mobile mouth that was so amazingly expressive.

He growled under his breath. So she was an attractive woman. So what? So were lots of women. Hell, he worked with young, attractive women all day, both staff and patients, and he managed to cope. So why had he picked on Molly, of all people, to be so acutely aware of? She was the last woman in the world he could entertain those sorts of thoughts about.

His relationship with her was hugely complex because of Jack, and absolutely the last thing it needed was any further layers added to it!

‘Keep breathing, nice light breaths—that’s it, that’s lovely. You’re doing really well.’

Liz, her young patient, sobbed and shook her head. ‘I can’t do this…’

‘Yes, you can,’ Molly told her calmly, recognising her panic for what it was, a sign that she was moving into the transitional phase between the first and second stages of labour. ‘You’ll be fine.’

‘I bet you’ve never had any babies, midwives never have,’ she said with no real venom.

Molly gave a soft laugh. ‘Sorry—I’ve had three.’

‘You’re mad. I’m never having another,’ the girl moaned, leaning against her partner and biting her lip. ‘God, I hate you! How could you do this to me, you bastard? I never want to speak to you again.’

He met Molly’s eyes over her shoulder, panic flaring in them, and she squeezed his hand as it lay on the girl’s shoulder and smiled reassuringly at him.

‘She’s getting closer. Tempers often fray and it’s usually the father who gets it. She’ll be fine.’

‘Going to be sick,’ Liz said, and promptly was, all down his front.

To his credit he didn’t even wince, just led her back to the bed and wiped her mouth, then looked at Molly. ‘I could do with cleaning up,’ he said softly, and she nodded.

‘We’ll get you some theatre pyjamas to wear. Just sit with her for a second.’

She slipped out, grabbed the scrubs from the linen store and was about to mop up when Liz’s waters broke.

‘OK, let’s get you back on the bed and check you. I reckon it’ll soon be over now,’ she said encouragingly. When she examined her patient, though, she found that the cord had prolapsed down beside the baby’s head, and when she checked the foetal heart rate, it was dipping alarmingly.

It would be over soon, but not for the reason she’d thought!

‘Liz, I want you to turn on your side for me,’ she said, pressing the crash button by the head of the bed and dropping the backrest simultaneously. ‘We’ve got a bit of a problem with the baby’s cord, and I want to get your head down and hips up a bit, to take the pressure off. It’s nothing to worry about, but we need to move fast, and I’m going to get some help.’

‘Need a hand here?’

Sam’s deep, reassuring voice was the most wonderful sound in Molly’s world at that moment.

‘Prolapsed cord,’ she said quietly. ‘Her waters went a moment ago, and she had quite a lot of fluid. Watch where you walk, by the way. Liz, this is Mr Gregory.’

‘Hello, Liz,’ he said, moving in beside her and throwing her a quick, reassuring smile before he lifted her hips effortlessly and slid a pillow under them. He met Molly’s eyes. ‘What’s the previous history?’

She shook her head. ‘None. First baby, full term—’

‘And the last,’ Liz groaned. ‘What’s happening?’

‘The cord’s got squashed between your cervix and the baby’s head,’ Sam told her calmly. ‘We’ve got a choice under these conditions. We can deliver the baby as quickly as possible the normal way, with the help of forceps, or give you a Caesarian section. I just need to take a quick look at you to help me decide which is the best option, OK? Gloves, Molly.’

She handed him the box, and he snapped them on and quickly checked the baby’s presentation and the extent of the prolapse of the cord. As he straightened, he met Molly’s eyes again, his own unreadable. ‘What do you think?’ he asked. ‘Want to try?’

She shrugged, not wanting to argue with him on their first shared case, but deeply concerned because it was a first baby and it was still a little high for comfort. If she had problems…

‘We can try, I suppose, if you want to—but we haven’t got long.’

He nodded agreement, and approval flickered in his eyes. ‘I know. Let’s go for a section. Push that head back, Molly, until the cord’s pulsating again, and hold it there until she’s in Theatre. I don’t think we can get the cord back up, there’s too big a loop, so we just have to keep the pressure off. I’m going to scrub.’

The room had been filling up while they talked, people responding to the crash call, and he turned to his SHO. ‘Get a line in, please, and give her oxygen, and terbutaline to slow the contractions if we can. Cross-match for two units as well, please. I’ll see you in Theatre, Liz. Don’t worry, we’ll soon have your baby out.’

He squeezed her partner’s shoulder on the way out, and Molly thought how like him that was, sparing a thought for the shocked young man standing paralysed on the sidelines, even in such a chaotic moment. He’d always seemed to have time for things others often overlooked.

Within a very few minutes Liz was on her way to Theatre, Molly’s gloved hand firmly pushing the baby’s head back away from her cervix, keeping the pressure off the cord to prevent the baby dying from lack of oxygen.

They didn’t have much time, but as long as she could keep that cord pulsating, the baby stood a good chance of coming through this unharmed.

Sam was waiting, and he wasted no time in opening Liz up once she was under the anaesthetic. Her partner, David, was hovering outside Theatre and had looked scared to death, but Molly didn’t really have time to worry about him.

All her attention was on holding that baby’s head back, during the shift across to the operating table, positioning Liz ready for surgery with the head of the table tilted downwards, and trying desperately to ignore the cramp in her arm and back from the awkward position she was in.

Finally she felt the pressure ease, and looked up to meet Sam’s eyes as he lifted the baby clear and handed it to the waiting nurse.

‘It’s a boy,’ he told Molly, throwing a quick smile in her direction before returning his attention to Liz. ‘Time of birth fifteen twenty-seven. He’s all yours, Molly.’

She straightened and flexed her shoulders, then, after clamping and cutting the cord, she took the baby immediately over to the waiting crib and sucked out his airways. His cry, weak and intermittent until that point, changed pitch with indignation and turned into a full-blown bellow, and she felt the tension in the room ease.

‘Apgar score nine at one minute,’ she said, and glanced up at the clock on the wall. She’d check again at fifteen thirty-two, by which time she was sure the slight blueness of his skin would have gone and he would score a perfect ten.

Relief made her almost light-headed, and she smiled down at the screaming baby, his colour improving and turning pink as she watched. His heartbeat was strong, his cry once he’d got going was good and loud, and his muscle tone and response to suction had been excellent.

It was a pity things had gone wrong so Liz had missed his birth, she thought, wrapping him up in heated towels and taking him out of the Theatre to David, but trying for a normal delivery would have been too risky. She’d known doctors who would have taken the risk, others who would have gone for the section without a second thought regardless of the circumstances.

Sam, thank God, didn’t seem to fall into either of those categories. He’d rapidly weighed up both options in the light of his examination, and had made what she felt had been the right decision. She felt able to trust his judgement—and that was a relief, as she was going to have to work with him.

She pictured his eyes again over the mask when he’d smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. She’d always loved that about him, the way he smiled with his eyes…

‘Is everything all right?’ David asked, and she nodded, putting the baby in his slightly tense arms.