Читать книгу With Love From Cape Town - Joss Wood - Страница 13

NIALL sat across the desk from Mr and Mrs Thomas trying, but not quite succeeding, to ignore the cameras. After studying the financial projections, he had been forced to agree with Lucinda. The clinic needed to attract extra funding. So he had agreed to the documentary, but it didn’t mean he had to like it. And to add to his discomfort, Real Life Productions had insisted that Niall, given his international reputation, be the one to appear on camera. Mark, the third doctor, and Elaine had made no secret of their relief that they wouldn’t have to.

‘You’re used to appearing in public,’ they had teased. ‘God knows, your picture has appeared in the press often enough recently.’

They were right, but only because the press wanted pictures of Dr Zondi and her husband, out together and still very much in love. The press hadn’t a clue, Niall thought bitterly, and it was just as well. The thought of having his personal life discussed in the papers made him squirm.

Robina had chosen an unobtrusive spot, just to the left of his patients. She was looking drawn, Niall thought with a stab of anxiety. Holding that baby had hurt—she had put her professional face back on, but the way she was nibbling her lip told him she was struggling to hold it together. Damn it! He should never have agreed to this project. Never mind about the finances of the unit, they would manage somehow—but would Robina? He didn’t care what she had said about being able to cope—she was more affected than she’d imagined she’d be. But the woman was stubborn. He knew that to his cost. He dragged his thoughts away from his wife, concentrating on the anxious man and woman in front of him.

Mrs Thomas, Eilidh, was 38, and her husband already had a child by a previous marriage. Either of these reasons on their own made them ineligible for NHS treatment.

‘We only met a year ago,’ Eilidh was saying with a fond look at her husband Jim. ‘I had more or less given up on meeting the man of my dreams. Then he walked into the room and, bam—just like that. We fell in love.’

Niall couldn’t stop himself from sliding another glance at his wife. He knew exactly what Eilidh was talking about.

But if the same thought occurred to Robina there was no sign of it. In the last few moments she seemed to have managed to get her emotions under control. Cool, calm Dr Zondi was back, and she was concentrating intently on what Eilidh was saying.

‘We started trying for a family…when was it, love?’ Eilidh turned to Jim for confirmation. ‘About six months ago. I know it isn’t long, but my GP thought that, given my age, we shouldn’t wait before we sought expert advice. So here we are.’

She’s anxious, Niall thought as Eilidh chewed on her thumbnail. But then again, almost everyone who ever sat in that chair was nervous. They came to him filled with their hopes and dreams, hoping that he’d be able to work some magic that would give them the child they so desperately longed for. And most of the time he did. But not always. However, he knew there was a good chance he could help the hopeful couple in front of him.

‘I have the results of your tests here,’ he said.

Eilidh gripped Jim’s hands and chewed more fiercely on the thumbnail of her free hand.

‘Bill’s sperm test is perfectly normal—that’s the good news. But the test we did for your ovarian reserve, Eilidh, shows that, as we’d expect from someone your age, your fertility is declining.’ Niall kept his voice matter-of-fact.

‘What does that mean?’ Eilidh asked. Her pale face lightened another shade.

‘It means that you are unlikely to conceive naturally, but are a good candidate for IVF,’ Niall explained.

Eilidh sank back in her chair and smiled with relief. ‘Thank God,’ she murmured. ‘I was terrified you were going to tell us it was hopeless. That getting pregnant was impossible for me.’

‘It doesn’t mean I can promise you a pregnancy,’ Niall continued. ‘Sometimes, no matter what we do, women still fail to conceive. And sometimes they conceive but are unable to carry the pregnancy to term. I don’t want to paint a negative picture, but you should be prepared.’

But Niall suspected even as he said the words that Eilidh and Jim weren’t really listening. Like so many couples, they couldn’t bring themselves to think about the possibility of failure. ‘That’s why,’ he added, ‘we suggest you make an appointment with our counsellor. You don’t have to see her but I would recommend it. She’s excellent and is there should you need to talk to someone neutral at any time through this process.’

Niall couldn’t prevent another glance at Robina. Sure enough, her eyes had widened in surprise. When they had first started experiencing problems in their marriage, she had suggested a counsellor. But he had refused. The thought of airing their dirty linen to a stranger was just too much. If she had truly loved him, they should have been able to sort things out themselves. Now he wondered if he should have agreed.

He took the couple through the process; how the clinic would take control of Eilidh’s cycle and give her drugs which she would need to inject every day for roughly ten days. In addition, Eilidh would have to come in for regular scans of her ovaries as well as blood tests.

He went on to describe the side effects of the drugs and didn’t mince his words when he explained the more unpleasant aspects of the treatment.

‘Are you sure you want to put yourself through this, love?’ Jim asked his wife. ‘I didn’t think it would be so…awful for you.’

Eilidh looked her husband straight in the eye. ‘What does it matter if we get a baby at the end? I’ll be all right. I can do anything as long as I have you!’

They smiled at each other and Niall felt a flash of envy. If only he and Robina could share their troubles in the same way.

‘Once your ovaries are producing enough follicles and are at the right stage,’ he continued, ‘we take you to Theatre and you’ll be given a sedative. We remove as many eggs as we can from your follicles and then we will use Jim’s sperm to fertilise them in the lab. At that point the fertilised eggs become embryos. Depending on how many fertilise, we will make a decision on when to put one, or two, back. Either day two, three or day five. Are you following me so far?’

Eilidh and Jim nodded mutely.

‘How do you decide whether to replace one or two embryos?’ Jim asked.

‘Essentially it’s up to you. The HFEA, the UK regulatory body for fertility clinics, recommends that only one embryo is replaced at a time. That’s because twin pregnancies carry a greater risk of complications. However, the chances are smaller of one embryo implanting successfully. We’ll go over it again when we get closer to that time but, as I said, the final decision will be yours.’

Jim and Eilidh nodded sombrely. ‘I think we’d like to know more before we decide how many embryos to have put back,’ Jim answered for them both.

‘Good decision. It’s a lot to absorb in one go,’ Niall said gently, ‘but you’ll be seeing one of our specialist nurses on a regular basis. They will be only too happy to answer any questions you may have as we go along, and they have stacks of literature that you can take away with you. Does that sound okay?’

‘Does it hurt—I mean the bit where you take the eggs?’ Eilidh asked.

‘It can be uncomfortable,’ Niall admitted. ‘That’s why we sedate you. But, I can promise you, you won’t remember a thing about it afterwards. You might be a little sore for a couple of hours, but we’ll give you something for the pain.’

He spent a few more minutes going over the same ground with the excited couple before he called in Mairi, who would be co-ordinating their treatment.

‘Mairi will answer any other questions you might have,’ Niall assured the couple, ‘but if you ever want to speak to me, you have my number.’

‘Thank you, Dr Ferguson.’ Eilidh was beaming and two bright spots of colour stained her cheeks. ‘I know there’s a chance treatment won’t work, but you have given us hope. That’s all we can ask for.’

When the couple had accompanied Mairi from the room, John made to follow, but Robina stopped him. ‘We’ll pick them up later through their treatment,’ she said, ‘but in the meantime, let’s give them some privacy.’

When John left the room in search of some coffee, Robina turned to Niall. ‘Thank you,’ she said quietly, ‘you kept everything very simple. I’m sure our viewers will appreciate that.’

Niall smiled wryly. ‘It’s the way I speak to all my patients,’ he said slowly. ‘My God, woman, don’t you know me at all?’

And there was the rub. She didn’t really know him or, for that matter, he her. Niall had always thought they would have the rest of their lives and had looked forward to years and years of learning about the complicated, complex woman who had agreed to become his wife. Instead, he thought bitterly, it had all started to go wrong almost as soon as they’d married. Truth was, things hadn’t being going well even before the miscarriage. He had been so busy at work, and Robina’s new career in the media had taken off like a bullet. At first he had shared her excitement about the job, even though it had meant postponing the honeymoon, which had somehow become permanently postponed.

He hadn’t realised how little he would see of her. How much her new job would take her away. Then when, to the delight of both of them, she had fallen pregnant, it had seemed that everything was going to work out fine. After the series finished she would take time off to prepare for their child. At last they could begin to be a family. But, boy, had he got that wrong! Whilst he’d assumed she’d spend less time at work, she had worked even harder, determined to establish her career before the baby arrived.

Two days before she had miscarried they had argued bitterly. Robina had returned home from London looking exhausted. She had barely managed to find the energy to eat and Niall was worried that she was losing weight.

‘You need to slow down, Robina. You can’t keep working at this pace.’ He tossed the words down like a gauntlet.

‘I will, soon. C’mon, Niall, you and I both know that pregnancy isn’t an illness. In Africa, women often keep working until days before the baby is born.’ She touched him gently on the cheek, but he grasped her hand and held it in his. He knew if he allowed her to touch him, he’d end up wanting to take her to bed. God knew, that was the one thing that was still okay, more than okay, between them.

‘You can’t keep burning the candles at both ends. You’re working on the show then on your book and they still want you to do public appearances. It’s too much.’

‘Are you trying to tell me you don’t think I should do the show?’ she retorted, a dangerous glint in her deep brown eyes.

‘Yes, that’s what I’m saying. It’s all too much. And what about after the baby is born? I thought we agreed you’d be staying at home to look after it and Ella.’

‘Did we?’ Her eyes deepened and her full, generous mouth tightened. ‘Is that why you married me, Niall? To provide a full-time mother for your child and any other children you might want? Because, and let me make this clear, I am not Mairead. I’m not the kind of woman to give up her career just to submit myself to my husband’s wishes.’

‘Leave Mairead out of this,’ he responded furiously.

‘But I can’t, can I? Not when she’s everywhere. I’m living in her house, married to her husband, looking after her child. How can I possibly leave her out of this?’ Suddenly a shadow crossed her eyes. ‘I know she was a wonderful woman. God knows, everyone tells me, and I can see it for myself.’

‘Don’t tell me you’re jealous of her. She’s dead, for God’s sake.’

‘I’m not jealous of her, Niall,’ Robina responded quietly, ‘I just can’t live up to her any longer. I will never be good at what she was. I can’t cook, I can’t sew, I’m not good at sports, all I am good at is my job. Please don’t take that away from me.’

But he refused to see what she was so desperately trying to tell him. That night they went to bed, but instead of reaching for each other, they lay stiffly side by side, neither prepared to give an inch. Two days later, she went into labour, losing their baby, a little boy, at 12 weeks. The memory of Robina’s face, tight with fear and pain, still tormented him. She had looked at him, needing him to do something, anything, to stop her losing the baby—but for the second time in his life, he had been powerless to help. The sadness in his wife’s eyes when she had known that there was nothing anyone could do had almost torn him apart. When he had tried to comfort her, she had turned away. Then, a few days later, she had been in ITU with an infection, fighting for her life, and he had been terrified he was about to lose her. Robina’s illness had brought back memories of Mairead and the gut-wrenching weeks and days leading up to his first wife’s death. He hadn’t been able to save Mairead and the thought he was going to lose Robina too had almost driven him mad with fear.

Not once had they spoken about their child or the fact that Robina was probably infertile. They had never shared their grief, or given or taken the slightest amount of comfort from one another, and one way or another their marriage had never recovered. When Robina had come home from hospital she had asked him to move into the spare room, saying that she wanted time and space on her own for a while. After a couple of weeks he had suggested he move back into their bed, but she had shaken her head and asked for more time. He didn’t ask her again and that was the way it had been ever since.

Niall dragged a hand through his hair. It was a mess. And for once in his life, he didn’t have a clue what to do.

Robina had been watching him in silence. He wondered what she was thinking.

‘Our baby would be due in a couple of weeks.’ Robina spoke softly, almost to herself. ‘Just about the anniversary of the day we met. Seeing baby Matthew just now…’ Her voice shook ‘…was so hard.’

The familiar mask he had become too used to seeing slipped for a moment. Right now she looked so vulnerable, so sad, so different from the public persona which was all he ever saw these days. For the first time in months he glimpsed the Robina he had met and fallen in love with. He wanted to gather her into his arms but he was afraid to break the spell. It was the first time she had mentioned the baby and Niall felt a surge of hope. Perhaps this documentary wasn’t such a bad thing after all. Not if it meant they would start talking. He sat in silence, waiting for her to continue, but just then there was a knock and Sally burst into the room.

‘Dr Ferguson, I need you to come and see one of our ladies. I think she might have OHSS.’

Niall was torn. He wanted to comfort his wife, seize the moment when she had opened up to him, but if Sally was right and the patient did have ovarian hyper stimulation syndrome, he needed to see her straight away. Although in the early stages the condition was fairly benign, it was still a potentially life-threatening illness.

Robina also jumped to her feet, the professional mask back on her face.

‘I think you should stay here,’ Niall said firmly. ‘I’ll let you know what’s happening as soon as I can.’

When Sally and Niall left the room, Robina slumped back down in her chair. Just for a moment there she had been ready to talk to Niall, and it looked as if he had been ready to listen. But the moment had passed, and Robina wondered whether she would find the strength to raise the subject again.

After a working lunch, where Robina and John had a look over the clips they had filmed, Robina went in search of Niall.

‘I have decided to admit our lady with the suspected OHSS,’ Niall told her.

‘Would you mind explaining the condition for our viewers?’ Robina asked. When Niall nodded, Robina signalled to John to start filming.

‘Infertility treatment, although fairly benign,’ Niall said thoughtfully, ‘is not without its risks. We do our best to minimise these, which is why we take blood and scan our patients every couple of days and readjust their treatment protocol as appropriate.’ Although his expression was serious, he looked calm and relaxed. This was his field and he knew it well. ‘Sometimes the hormones we prescribe over-stimulate the ovaries and it can lead to very real complications, which if not treated can lead to the kidneys failing, and even death. It is rare, but something we take very seriously. Thankfully, we have never had a full-blown case, but on average one woman dies every year in the UK from this condition.’

‘I wonder how many women know and understand the risk,’ Robina said quietly.

‘We do tell them—we make a point of it. If we didn’t we’d be negligent,’ Niall replied.

‘Does it ever put anyone off?’

Niall smiled wryly. ‘I think you know the answer to that. And anyway, as long as patients are monitored closely, as most are, the chance of it happening is greatly reduced.’

‘But you had a potential case today,’ Robina persisted. ‘So it does happen.’

Niall narrowed his eyes at her. ‘As I said, it is a risk and one that we manage. I admitted the patient who presented with symptoms of OHSS to the ward this morning, but more because she was anxious. I fully expect her to be discharged tomorrow.’

Robina opened her mouth to speak, but before she could say anything, Niall held up a hand.

‘Whatever anyone might think, we always have the health of the mother foremost in our minds. But any pregnancy, whether through IVF or through normal intercourse, carries a risk, however careful the expectant mother or however vigilant those looking after her are. We can’t always guarantee a positive outcome.’

This time he looked directly into her eyes and she knew that he meant his words for her. He lowered his voice. ‘No matter how much we wish we could.’ He leaned forward, his eyes locking with hers, and Robina caught her breath at the intensity in his eyes. For a few moments there was silence, then Niall stood.

‘I will be doing the Strains’ embryo transfer this afternoon,’ he said, changing the subject. ‘I understand they are one of the couples who wish to appear on your documentary.’

Hiding the fact that her emotions were all over the place, Robina rifled through her papers and found their name. In total ten couples had agreed to be part of her programme. Most of them already knew her work from television and were keen to do anything to help other couples. One or two of them had even read her Guide to Infertility, the book that had started her new career.

‘Trevor and Christine. They are a lovely couple, I interviewed them yesterday to get their back story. I understand this is their first attempt?’

‘Yes, and I’m optimistic. This time the problem, if you can call it that, lies with Christine’s partner. He has a very low sperm count, so we did a procedure called ICSI. It is where we searched for and selected motile—that is swimming—sperm from Trevor’s semen sample and injected one directly into each of the eggs we retrieved from Christine. She responded well to the drug protocol we prescribed for her, and we managed to remove a good number of eggs. And because we injected the sperm directly into the egg, we managed to fertilise several embryos. You can go into the lab some time if you like to see how it’s done. It involves a high level of expertise and a very steady hand—so no drinking for our embryologists the night before.’ He grinned. ‘Anyway, they’ll be here about three for the transfer of their embryo back into the uterus. But I want to make it clear that if they change their mind about you being there, you must respect that. Even if they have given permission before.’

‘Of course!’ Robina replied, stung. ‘Niall, you need to remember that I was a GP—I still am. I have taken the Hippocratic Oath to do no harm. And that means psychological as well as physical.’

‘I’m sorry.’ Niall looked contrite. ‘That was uncalled for. I know you could never be accused of being unprofessional. Forgive me?’ He smiled at her, and her heart flipped.

‘Anyway,’ Niall said, looking serious again, ‘please remember if you are planning to come into Theatre you can’t wear perfume or make-up. Not even deodorant. Is that clear? We don’t want to risk affecting the embryos in any way.’

‘Clear as crystal,’ Robina replied, before turning on her heel and going in search of her team.

Later, in Theatre, Robina watched from a safe distance while the staff prepared Christine for the transfer.

The clinic hadn’t stinted on equipment, Robina thought approvingly, taking in the latest high-tech anaesthetic monitor and ultrasound scanner. Niall, dressed as all the staff were, including Robina and John as well as Mr Strain, in blue scrubs, slowly and carefully replaced the embryo into Mrs Strain’s uterus. The procedure didn’t take long, but although Christine joked with Sally, there was an undercurrent of tension in the room. All anyone could do now was wait.

‘Patients tell us the next couple of weeks are the worst time of the whole process.’ Sally addressed Robina while looking at Mrs Strain. ‘Up until this point it’s all still possible. They see us regularly, but when they go away from here after the ET—the embryo transfer—there is nothing more they, or we, can do. Whether the embryo implants or not is in the lap of the gods. Patients tell us it’s the longest wait of their lives.’

Niall half smiled at Christine. ‘I wish we could make this part easier, but we can’t. If you do want to speak to us—if you have any worries at all—you get on the phone. Don’t worry that we’ll think your question is trivial, we’d rather you asked. Okay?’

Christine nodded.

‘We’ll let you rest for half an hour or so, then you’re free to go,’ Sally said. ‘We’ll see you when you come back for your urine test. In the meantime, we’ll all be thinking of you.’

Once again, Robina marvelled at the way that the staff genuinely seemed to care about every one of their patients. It was as if every pregnancy mattered personally to every member of staff. Niall had managed to gather the best possible team around him. No wonder he was so wrapped up in his work.

Later that evening, Robina was getting Ella ready for bed. Niall had telephoned to say he would be late as he had a paper to finish but he wanted to say goodnight to Ella. Robina couldn’t help a pang of disappointment. Despite everything that had happened, she still missed him when he wasn’t there and she had been looking forward to discussing the day’s events with him.

They had come close to talking back in the clinic. Maybe there was still a chance they could start talking again—maybe even find a way back to each other.

She handed the phone to Ella. ‘It’s Daddy, he wants to speak to you.’

Robina busied herself setting the table, smiling to herself as she caught Ella’s side of the conversation. ‘I love you too, Daddy, and I’m sending you a big kiss down the phone.’ She puckered her lips and blew down the mouthpiece. She giggled at something Niall said. ‘I got your kiss, Daddy, but what about one for Mummy? She needs one too. Hold on a minute, I’ll get her for you.’ Ella turned to Robina. ‘Here, Mummy, Daddy wants to send you a kiss goodnight.’

Robina stared at the receiver, horrified. What could she do? She couldn’t very well refuse—what would Ella think? With a thudding heart, she held the phone to her ear.

‘Well,’ Niall said dryly, ‘are you going to blow me a kiss?’

‘You first, darling,’ Robina replied, forcing her tone to remain light, painfully aware of Ella watching her with delight.

‘This is ridiculous,’ Niall replied, his voice echoing his embarrassment down the wire. ‘That daughter of mine is too smart for her own good. Okay—here goes.’ He made a smacking noise. ‘Now your turn—and remember you’ve got an audience.’

Robina couldn’t help smiling. Niall was right, it was ridiculous, but there was something bitter-sweet about it too. She pursed her lips, emphasising the required smacking sound, playing up to the watching Ella. ‘Mmmmmwhah!’

They both laughed and for the first time in months Robina felt her sadness ease.

When she put the phone down, Ella asked, ‘When will Daddy be home?’

‘After you’re asleep, darling,’ Robina answered. ‘But he’ll be here when you get up in the morning. We both will, so we can have breakfast together.’

‘Then after that can we go ice-skating? Please, Mummy. Sophie went with her mummy and daddy and they had so much fun.’

Robina kissed the top of her stepdaughter’s curly blonde head. She was so like her father it made her heart ache. But her blonde hair must have come from her mother. The sloe-eyed Mairead. Beautiful, maternal Mairead who had been everything she wasn’t.

‘Sure we can, as long as Daddy doesn’t have to work. I know tomorrow is Saturday, but sometimes his patients need him.’

‘I need him,’ Ella persisted. ‘He’s my daddy, not theirs.’

Robina hid a smile. ‘But he’s helping lots of people become mummies and daddies—you understand that, don’t you? People who without his help would never know how wonderful it is to have a lovely little girl like you.’

‘I s’pose,’ Ella said, settling herself in the crook of Robina’s arm. ‘But I need some time with my daddy. They can’t have him all the time. Just some of the time.’

Robina’s heart ached for the little girl. Although their work made enormous demands on both of them, they had to find time to spend with Ella. They had promised her and it was about time they made good on their word. Although Mrs Tobin was great and Ella loved her to bits, it wasn’t the same as having her parents around.

Robina made up her mind. The documentary would take three months, including the follow-up of patients in nine months’ time. The new season of her show wasn’t due to start for a couple of months. Her last book was selling well, and she had almost finished the proofs of her latest. She would put off starting a new one until after the summer. That way she’d have more time to spend with Ella. Robina sucked in her breath. She couldn’t blame Niall for everything that had gone wrong with their marriage. She had, as he had pointed out, been so immersed in her new career she hadn’t given her new marriage, or Niall, the time and attention it had needed. When things had started to go wrong, had she been too quick to lay the blame at Niall’s feet? One thing was for sure, she couldn’t keep going the way she was with a show and book tours and still have enough time for Ella, let alone her marriage. The more she thought about it, the more she wondered why she hadn’t seen it before.

‘Why don’t we ask Daddy whether we can do something next weekend? Just the three of us? We can do anything you like,’ she suggested to Ella.

‘Could we really?’ Ella said, looking up at her with achingly familiar blue eyes. ‘Daddy too?’

‘Yes, darling,’ Robina promised. ‘Daddy too.’

But Robina didn’t get the chance to discuss it with Niall that night. She waited up, reading a book on the sofa of her small sitting room. The room was still exactly the way Mairead had left it, all pale walls and deep rugs. Even the overfilled sofas were pale and there was a wood-burning stove for the cool evenings. The only item Robina had brought with her from her old life was an African stool. She stretched out a finger and felt the deep grooves of the intricate carving. Her father had given her the stool when she had graduated. It had belonged to his father, who had been a master wood cutter, and Robina cherished it. Every time she touched it, she thought of the village where her father had been raised in the old African traditions and could almost feel the heat of the sun and hear the undulating voices of the women as they called to each other. How she missed Africa and especially her mother and grandmother.

Sighing, she glanced around the room that had belonged to her predecessor. The walls were lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. It seemed that along with a similar taste in men, she and Mairead shared the same literary taste. All her favourites were on the bookshelf, from the classics to the contemporary romances she liked to read before bed. Unfortunately, reading them only made her acutely aware of the lack of romance in her own life.

Despite her best intentions, she was unable to stop herself falling asleep and woke to find Niall covering her gently with a blanket. Still half dreaming, she smiled up at him and went straight back to sleep but not before she thought she felt his fingertips like a caress against her skin.