Читать книгу The Night Before Christmas - Алисон Робертс - Страница 8

THERE was no real reason for Jack to go and visit Lizzie the next afternoon.

Her surgery had been completed this morning and he had been nothing more than an observer. Dave Kingsley’s work on both Lizzie and Misty had been of excellent quality and had needed no intervention of any kind on his part.

The filming had gone without hitch for both surgeries as well and now all Jack needed to do was edit the footage and write up the notes he would need to accompany the lectures due to start next week. He needed follow-up details for how the patients progressed after surgery, of course, but he could easily get that from talking to Dave. Or reviewing the medical notes.

He wanted to thank Lizzie again for giving her permission to film but it was hardly appropriate to do it when she was in her immediate post-surgical recuperation. He should wait until a later date. In a few days, perhaps, when she would be on the point of being discharged. Or even later, when he would probably find her visiting Misty and helping to care for the small girl until she, too, was well enough to go home.

So why had he abandoned the video equipment and half-written notes in the temporary office he’d been assigned in Dave Kingsley’s department? Why hadn’t he paged Kingsley and asked how his patients were doing or made arrangements to accompany the other surgeon when he did his evening rounds?

He told himself he didn’t want to interrupt anything important. That he might well come across Dave or one of his registrars if he wandered in the direction of the ward. He even convinced himself that, seeing as he was in the vicinity, he might as well pop his head around the door and say hello to Lizzie.

She was in a small, private room near the nurses’ station. And she was awake. She saw him the moment he came into view and the look on her face suggested that seeing a surgeon associated with Misty’s case might be due to bad news arriving. It had been several hours since her surgery but not so long since Misty had been taken to Recovery and then the paediatric intensive care unit. Had Lizzie been awake long enough to be told the good news? Or, if she had, had her head been clear enough to remember the details?

He couldn’t very well just stand in the doorway. He had to move closer and find something to say that would take away the flash of fear darkening her eyes and making her lips tremble.

Jack tried to smile but, weirdly, his lips refused to cooperate. ‘Mission accomplished,’ he said quietly.

Lizzie burst into tears.

Oh … God. What was he supposed to do now?

He didn’t do tears. He could understand them, of course, and even sympathise with the grief or sadness they represented. Unthinkable to indulge in such an outward sign of weakness himself, however, and if he was honest, it was probably the key thing that put him off babies and children so resoundingly. Crying was such a messy process. And noisy. And … and … needy. And crying women always wanted something from him that he couldn’t give them.

Jack looked hopefully over his shoulder but no nurse materialised to help him out. Where was Lizzie’s mother? Stepping closer to reach for the call bell, he spotted the box of tissues on the bedside cabinet. OK, maybe he couldn’t give Lizzie what she might need emotionally but there was no excuse not to do something practical that might help. He snatched a couple from the box and pressed them into Lizzie’s closest hand. Carefully, because she still had an IV port taped to the back of it.

‘It’s good news,’ he reassured her. ‘Couldn’t be better.’

Lizzie nodded. And sobbed as though her heart was breaking. She blew her nose on the tissues but the tears continued to flow.

Jack pulled out more tissues. A huge handful. Lizzie pressed them to her face and made some hiccupping sounds. A muffled word emerged between the hiccups.

‘S-s-sorry.’

‘Don’t be daft.’ Shifting from one foot to the other, Jack was feeling increasingly uncomfortable. Needing to move but knowing he couldn’t possibly leave her alone like this, he perched himself on one hip on the edge of her bed. He would wait it out.

Lizzie’s leg was under the covers, a solid bar that would be pressed against his hip if he leaned back even slightly. The almost contact seemed to flick a switch inside him and suddenly it was easy to know what to do. He reached over her legs for the hand that wasn’t clutching tissues. Small, delicate fingers curled around his and held on, warm and strong.

Any moment now Lizzie’s mother would probably come in. Maybe Dave would arrive to check on his patient. Or a nurse would bustle in to check on her patient’s vital signs and he’d be able to hand over this somewhat unorthodox semi-professional interaction.

Until then, however, he might as well give it his best shot. Without thinking, he stroked the back of Lizzie’s hand with his thumb to get her attention.

‘Misty came through like a little trouper,’ he told her. ‘She’s in the paediatric intensive care unit now and still asleep but she’s looking comfortable. And everything’s looking just as I would hope. Dave did a brilliant job. Textbook stuff, perfect for filming and, believe me, I had a lot of boxes that needed ticking.’

There was a new sound from Lizzie. Still distinctly damp but definitely happier. A kind of gurgle that sounded like laughter. Her face appeared from behind the tissues, sporting a wobbly smile.

‘I’m so happy,’ she informed Jack.

His own smile came back from wherever he’d lost it. ‘I can tell.’

He might be making light of her reaction but there was no doubting the very real joy in that smile. It lit up her face. No, actually, it lit up the entire room and the joy was astonishingly contagious. Jack couldn’t remember when he’d last felt this happy himself. It was far more than the satisfaction of a job well done. This went deeper, tapping into long-lost memories or something.

You’d never get sick of seeing a smile like that, he thought. You’d be stupid not to do everything in your power to make sure you saw it as often as possible.