Читать книгу Midwives On-Call - Алисон Робертс - Страница 34

EM HARDLY SAW Oliver the next day. The maternity ward was busy, and when she wasn’t wanted in the birthing suites, she mostly stayed with Ruby.

The kid was so alone. Today was full of fill-in-the-blanks medical forms and last-minute checks, ready for surgery the next day. The ultrasounds, the visit and check by the anaesthetist, the constant checking and rechecking that the baby hadn’t moved, that the scans that had shown the problem a week ago were correct, that they had little choice but to operate … Everything was necessary but by the end of the day Ruby was ready to get up and run.

She needed her mum, a sister, a mate, anyone, Em thought. That she was so alone was frightening. Isla dropped in for a while. Ruby was part of Isla’s teen mums programme and Ruby relaxed with her, but she was Ruby’s only visitor.

‘Isn’t there anyone I can call?’ Em asked as the day wore on and Ruby grew more and more tense.

‘No one’ll come near me,’ Ruby said tersely. ‘Mum said if I didn’t have an abortion she’d wash her hands of me. She said if I stayed near her I’d expect her to keep the kid and she wasn’t having a thing to do with it. And she told my sisters they could stay away, too.’

‘And your baby’s father?’

‘I told you before, the minute I told him about it, he was off. Couldn’t see him for dust.’

‘Oh, Ruby, there must be someone.’

‘I’ll be okay,’ Ruby said with bravado that was patently false. ‘I’ll get this kid adopted and then I’ll get a job in a shop or something. I just wish it was over now.’

‘We all wish that.’

And it was Oliver again. He moved around the wards like a great prowling cat, Em thought crossly. He should wear a bell.

‘What?’ he demanded, as she turned towards him, and she thought she really had to learn to stop showing her feelings on her face.

‘Knock!’

‘Sorry. If I’m intruding I’ll go away.’

‘You might as well come in and poke me, too,’ Ruby sighed. ‘Everyone else has. I’m still here. Bub’s still here. Why is everyone acting like we’re about to go up in smoke before tomorrow? Why do I need to stay in bed?’

‘Because we need your baby to stay exactly where she is,’ Oliver told her, coming further into the room. He had a bag under his arm and Ruby eyed it with suspicion. ‘Right now she’s in the perfect position to operate on her spine, and, no, Ruby, there’s not a single thing in this bag that will prod, poke or pry. But I would like to feel your baby for myself.’

Ruby sighed with a theatrical flourish and tugged up her nightie.

‘Go ahead. Half the world already has.’

‘Has she moved?’

‘Nah.’ She gave a sheepish grin. ‘I feel her myself. I’m not stupid, you know.’ And she popped her hand on her tummy and cradled it.

There was that gesture again. Protective. ‘Mine.’

Oliver sat down on the bed and felt the rounded bump himself, and Em looked at the way he was examining the baby and thought this was a skill. Ruby had been poked and prodded until she was tired of it. Oliver was doing the same thing but very gently, as if he was cradling Ruby’s unborn child.

‘She’s perfect,’ he said at last, tugging Ruby’s nightie back down. ‘Like her mother.’

‘She’s not perfect. That’s why I’m here.’

‘She’s pretty much perfect. Would you like to see a slide show of what we’re about to do?’ He grinned at Ruby’s scared expression. ‘There’s not many gory bits and I can fast-forward through them.’

‘I’ll shut my eyes,’ Ruby said, but he’d caught her, Em thought. She wasn’t dissociated from this baby. Once again she saw Ruby’s hand move surreptitiously to her tummy.

He flicked open his laptop. Fascinated, Em perched on the far side of the bed and watched, too.

‘This is one we prepared earlier,’ Oliver said, in the tone TV cooks used as they pulled a perfect bake from the oven. ‘This is Rufus. He’s six months old now, a lovely, healthy baby, but at the start of this he was still inside his mum, a twenty-two-weeker. This is the procedure your little one will have.’

The screen opened to an operating theatre, the patient’s face hidden, the film obviously taken for teaching purposes as identities weren’t shown. But the sound was on, and Em could hear Oliver’s voice, calmly directive, and she knew that it was Oliver who was in charge.

She was fascinated—and so was Ruby. Squeamishness was forgotten. They watched in awe as the scalpel carefully, carefully negotiated the layers between the outside world and the baby within. It would be an intricate balance, Em knew, trying to give the baby minimal exposure to the outside world, keeping infection out, disturbing the baby as little as possible yet giving the surgeons space to work.

There were many doctors present—she could hear their voices. This was cutting-edge surgery.

‘I can see its back,’ Ruby breathed. ‘Oh … is that the same as my baby?’

‘They’re all different,’ Oliver said. ‘Your daughter is tilted at a better angle.’

‘Oh …’ Ruby’s eyes weren’t leaving the screen.

They could definitely see the baby now, and they could see how the baby was slightly tilted to the side. Carefully, carefully Oliver manoeuvred him within the uterus, making no sudden movements, making sure the move was no more dramatic than if the baby himself had wriggled.

And now they could see the spine exposed. The telltale bulge …

‘Is that the problem? The same as mine?’ Ruby whispered, and Oliver nodded.

‘Rufus’s problem was slightly lower, but it’s very similar.’

Silence again. They were totally focused, all of them. Oliver must have seen this many times before, Em thought—and he’d been there in person—but he was still watching it as if it was a miracle.

It was a miracle.

‘This is where I step back and let the neurosurgeon take over,’ Oliver said. ‘My job is to take care of the whole package, you and your baby, but Dr Zigler will be doing this bit. He’s the best, Ruby. You’re in the best of hands.’

They watched on. The surgery was painstaking. It was like microsurgery, Em thought, where fingers were reattached, where surgeons fought hard to save nerves. And in a way it was. They were carefully working around and then through the bulge. There’d be so many things to work around. The spinal cord was so fragile, so tiny. The task was to repair the damage already done, as far as possible, and then close, protecting the cord and peripheral nerves from the amniotic fluid until the baby was born.

‘Is … is it hurting?’ Ruby breathed, as the first incision was made into the tiny back.

‘Is he hurting? No. Rufus is anaesthetised, as well as his mum. Did you see the anaesthetist working as soon as we had exposure? The jury’s out on whether unborn babies can feel pain. There are those who say they’re in a state similar to an induced coma, but they certainly react to a painful touch. It makes the procedure a little more risky—balancing anaesthetic with what he’s receiving via his mum’s blood supply—but the last thing we want is to stress him. Luckily the Victoria has some of the best anaesthetists in the world. Vera Harty will be doing your anaesthetic and your daughter’s. I’d trust her with a baby of my own.’

Ruby was satisfied. She went back to watching the screen.

Em watched, too, but Oliver’s last statement kept reverberating.

I’d trust her with a baby of my own.

The sadness was flooding back. Oliver had been unable to have a baby of his own—because of her. She had fertility problems, not Oliver.

He’d left her years ago. He could have found someone by now.

Maybe he had. Maybe he just wasn’t saying.

But he hadn’t. She knew him well, this man.

There’d been an undercurrent of longing in the statement.

They’d both wanted children. She’d released him so he could have them. Why hadn’t he moved on?

Watch the screen, she told herself. Some things were none of her business. Oliver was none of her business—except he was the obstetrician treating her patient.

She went back to being professional—sort of. She went back to watching Rufus, as Oliver and Ruby were doing.

The procedure was delicate and it took time but it seemed Oliver was in no hurry to finish watching, and neither was Ruby. Em couldn’t be, either. Her job was to keep Ruby calm for tomorrow’s operation, and that’s what was happening now. The more familiar the girl was about what lay ahead, the more relaxed she’d be.

And not for the first time, Em blessed this place, this job. The Victoria considered its midwives some of the most important members of its staff. The mothers’ needs came first and if a mum needed her midwife then Isla would somehow juggle the rest of her staff to cover.

Unless there was major drama Em wouldn’t be interrupted now, she thought, and she wasn’t. They made an intimate trio, midwife and doctor, with Ruby sandwiched between. Protected? That’s what it felt like to Em, and she suspected that’s how Ruby felt. Had Oliver set this up with just this goal? She glanced at him and knew her suspicion was right.

The first time she’d met him she’d been awed by his medical skills. Right now, watching him operate on screen, feeling Ruby’s trust growing by the second, that awe was escalating into the stratosphere.

He might not make it as a husband, but he surely made it as a surgeon.

Back on screen, the neurosurgeon was suturing, using careful, painstakingly applied, tiny stitches, while Oliver was carefully monitoring the levels of amniotic fluid. This baby would be born already scarred, Em thought. He’d have a scar running down his lower back—but with luck that was all he’d have. Please …

‘It worked a treat,’ Oliver said, sounding as pleased as if the operation had happened yesterday, and on screen the neurosurgeon stood back and Oliver took over. The final stitches went in, closing the mum’s uterus, making the incision across the mum’s tummy as neat as the baby’s. ‘Rufus was born by Caesarean section at thirty-three weeks,’ Oliver told them. ‘He spent four weeks in hospital as a prem baby but would you like to see him now?’

‘I … Yes.’ Ruby sounded as if she could scarcely breathe.

‘We have his parents’ permission to show him to other parents facing the same procedure,’ Oliver told her. ‘Here goes.’

He fiddled with the computer and suddenly they were transported to a suburban backyard, to a rug thrown on a lawn, to a baby, about six months old, lying on his back in the sun, kicking his legs, admiring his toes.

There was a dog at the edge of the frame, a dopey-looking cocker spaniel. As they watched, the dog edged forward and licked the baby’s toes. Rufus crowed with laughter and his toes went wild.

‘He doesn’t … he doesn’t look like there’s anything wrong with him,’ Ruby breathed.

‘He still has some issues he needs help with.’ Oliver was matter-of-fact now, surgeon telling it like it was. ‘He’ll need physiotherapy to help him walk, and he might need professional help to learn how to control his bladder and bowels, but the early signs are that he’ll be able to lead a perfectly normal life.’

‘He looks … perfect already.’ Ruby was riveted and so was Em. She was watching Ruby’s face. She was watching Ruby’s hand, cradling her bump. ‘My little one … my little girl … she could be perfect, too?’

‘I think she already is.’ Oliver was smiling down at her. ‘She has a great mum who’s taking the best care of her. And you have the best midwife …’

Em flashed him a look of surprise. There was no need to make this personal.

But for Ruby, this was nothing but personal. ‘Em says she’ll stay with me,’ Ruby told him. ‘At the operation and again when my baby’s born. There’s a chance that she can’t—she says no one’s ever totally sure because babies are unpredictable—but she’s promised to try. I hope she can, but if she’s not then she’s introduced me to Sophia, or Isla will take over. But you’ll look after …’ Her hand cradled the bump again as she looked anxiously at Oliver. ‘You’ll look after us both?’

‘I will.’ And it was a vow.

‘Tell me again why I need a Caesarean later—when my baby’s born properly?’

He nodded, closed his laptop and sat back in a visitor’s chair, to all appearances prepared to chat for as long as Ruby wanted. He was busy, Em knew. As well as the promises he’d made her to childmind on Saturday, she knew he already had a full caseload of patients. But right now Ruby was being given the impression that he had all the time in the world, and that time was Ruby’s.

He was … gorgeous. She knew it, she’d always known it, but suddenly the thought almost blindsided her.

And it was more than him being gorgeous, she thought, feeling dazed. She was remembering why she’d loved this man.

And she was thinking—idiotically—that she loved him still.

Concentrate on medicine, on your patient, on anything other than Oliver, she told herself fiercely. Concentrating on Oliver was just too scary.

What had Ruby asked? Why she needed a Caesarean?

‘You see the incision we just cut in Rufus’s mum’s uterus?’ Oliver was saying, flicking back to the screen, where they could see the now closed incision in the abdomen. ‘I’ve stitched it with care, as I’ll stitch you with care, but when your bub comes out, she’ll push. You have no idea how hard a baby can push. She wants to get out to meet you, and nothing’s going to stop her. So maybe she’ll push against that scar, and if she pushes hard enough on very new scar tissue she might cause you to bleed. I have two people I care about, Ruby. I care about your daughter but my absolute priority is to keep you safe. That means a Caesarean birth, because, much as I want to meet your baby, we’ll need to deliver her before she even thinks about pushing.’

‘But if you wanted to keep me really safe you wouldn’t operate in the first place,’ Ruby muttered, a trace of the old resentment resurfacing. But it didn’t mess with Oliver’s composure.

‘That’s right,’ he agreed, his tone not changing. ‘I believe we will keep you safe but there are risks. They’re minor but they’re real. That’s why it’s your choice. You can still pull out. Right up to the time we give you the anaesthetic, you can pull out, and no one will think the worse of you. That’s your right.’

The room fell silent. It was such a hard decision to make, Em thought, and once again she thought, Where was this kid’s mum?

But, surprisingly, when Ruby spoke again it seemed that worry about the operation was being supplanted by something deeper.

‘If I had her …’ Ruby said, and then amended her statement. ‘When I have her … after she’s born, she’ll have a scar, too.’

‘She will,’ Oliver told her, as watchful as Em, waiting to know where Ruby was going with this.

‘And she’ll have it for ever?

‘Yes.’

‘She might hate it—as a teenager,’ Ruby whispered. ‘I know I would.’

‘I’ll do my best to make it as inconspicuous as possible—and cosmetic touch-ups when she’s older might help even more. It shouldn’t be obvious.’

‘But teenagers freak out about stuff like that. I know I would,’ Ruby whispered. ‘And she won’t have a mum to tell her it’s okay.’

‘If she’s adopted, she’ll have a mum,’ Em ventured. ‘Ruby, we’ve gone through what happens. Adoption is your choice all the way. You’ll get to meet the adoptive parents. You’ll know she goes to parents who’ll love her.’

‘But … Fil love her more. She’s my baby.’

And suddenly Ruby was crying, great fat tears slipping down her face, and Em shifted so she could take her into her arms. And as she did so, Oliver’s laptop slid off the bed and landed with a crash on the floor.

Uh-oh. But Em didn’t move. For now she couldn’t afford to think of computers. For now holding this girl was the most important thing in the world.

But still … A car and then a laptop …

She was starting to be an expensive ex-wife, she thought ruefully, and she almost smiled—but, of course, she didn’t. She simply held Ruby until the sobs receded, until Ruby tugged away and grabbed a handful of tissues. That was a bit late. Em’s shoulder was soaked, but who cared? How many times had Em ever finished a shift clean? She could count them on one hand. She always got her hands dirty, one way or another.

And it seemed, so did Oliver, for he was still there. Most consultants would have fled at the first sign of tears, Em thought. As a breed, surgeons weren’t known for their empathy.

He’d risen, but he was standing by the door, watching, and there was definitely sympathy. Definitely caring.

He was holding the two halves of his laptop. The screen had completely split from the keyboard. And the screen itself … smashed.

‘Whoops,’ she said, as Ruby blew her nose.

He glanced down at the ruined machine. ‘As you say, whoops.’

And as Ruby realised what he was holding, the teenager choked on something that was almost a laugh. ‘Em’s smashed your computer,’ she said, awed. ‘Do you mind?’

‘I can’t afford to mind.’

‘Why not?’ She was caught, pulled out of her misery by a smashed computer.

‘Priorities,’ he said. ‘You. Baby. Computer. In that order.’

‘What about Em?’ she asked, a touch of cheekiness emerging. ‘Is she a priority?’

‘Don’t you dare answer,’ Em told him. ‘Not until you’ve checked that your computer is covered by insurance. Ruby, if you’re rethinking your plans to adopt …’

‘I think … I might be.’

‘Then let’s not make any decisions yet,’ she said, hurriedly. Surely now wasn’t the time to make such an emotional decision? ‘Let’s get this operation over with first.’

Ruby took a deep breath and looked from Oliver to Emily and back again. ‘Maybe I do need a bit of time,’ she conceded. ‘Maybe a sleep … time to think.’

‘Of course you do.’ She pulled up her covers and tucked her in. ‘Ruby, nothing’s urgent. No decisions need to be made now. Just sleep.’

‘Thank you. And, Dr Evans …’

‘Mmm?’ Oliver was about to leave but turned back.

‘I hope your computer’s all right.’

‘It will be,’ he said. But it wouldn’t. Em could see the smashed screen from where she stood. ‘But even if it’s not, it’s not your problem,’ he said, gently now, almost as a blessing. ‘From here on, Ruby, we don’t want you to worry about a thing. You’ve put yourself in our hands and we’ll keep you safe. Em and I are a great team. You and your baby are safe with us.’

His lovely, gentle bedside manner lasted until they were ten feet from Ruby’s door. Em closed the door behind her, looked ahead—and Oliver was staring straight at her. Vibrating with anger.

‘You’re planning on talking her out of keeping her baby?’

The turnabout from empathy to anger was shocking. The gentleness had completely gone from his voice. What she saw now was fury.

She faced him directly, puzzled. ‘What are you saying? I didn’t. I’m not.’

‘You are. She’d decided on adoption but now she’s changing her mind. But you stopped her.’

‘I didn’t stop her. I’d never do that.’ She thought back to the scene she’d just left, trying to replay her words. ‘I just said she had time …’

‘You told her not to make a decision now. Why not? Right now she’s thinking of keeping her baby. You don’t think it’s important to encourage her?’

‘I don’t think it’s my right to direct her one way or another.’ She felt herself getting angry in response. ‘All I saw in there was a frightened, tired kid who’s facing major surgery tomorrow. Who needs to stay calm and focused. Who doesn’t need to be making life-changing decisions right now. She’s already decided enough.’

‘But maybe when you’re emotional, that’s the time to make the decision. When she knows she loves her baby.’

‘She’ll always love her baby.’ Em was struggling to stay calm in the face of his anger—in the face of his accusation? ‘Ruby is a seventeen-year-old, terrified kid with no family support at all. If she decides to keep this baby, it’ll change her life for ever. As it will if she gives it up for adoption. What I did in there—and, yes, I interceded—was give her space. If she wants to keep her baby, she’ll need every ounce of strength and then some.’

‘She’ll get support.’

‘And she can never be a kid again. But, then, after this, maybe being a kid is no longer an option. But I agree, that’s none of my business. Oliver, is this discussion going anywhere? I’ve been away from the birthing suites for over an hour and I don’t know what’s going on. I may well be needed.’

‘You won’t influence her?’

‘Why would I influence her?’

‘Because you believe in adoption.’

‘And you don’t? Because of what happened to you when you were a kid?’ Anger was washing over her now. Yes, she should get back to the birthing suites but what was it he was accusing her of? ‘Get over it, Oliver. Move on. Not every adoptive mother is like yours, and not every birth mother is capable of loving. There’s a whole lot of grey in between the black and white, and it’s about time you saw it.’

‘So you won’t encourage her to adopt?’

‘What are you expecting me to do?’ She was confused now, as well as angry. She put her hands on her hips and glared. ‘Are you thinking I might pop in there, offer to adopt it myself and get myself another baby? Is that what you’re thinking?’

‘I would never—’

‘You’d better not. A midwife influencing a mother’s decision is totally unethical. How much more so is a midwife offering to adopt? I’ll do neither. I have my kids, Oliver, and I love them to bits. I have no wish for more.’

‘But Gretta’s going to die.’

Why had he said it? It had just come out, and he could have bitten his tongue from his head. Em’s face bleached white and she leaned back against the wall for support.

Dear heaven … What sort of emotional drop kick was he? Suggesting one kid was going to die so she was lining up for another? Where had the thought come from?

It was confusion, he thought. Maybe it was even anger that she’d got on with her life without him.

Or maybe it was sheer power of testosterone washing through him—because the woman who should be his wife was looking at him as if he was a piece of dirt.

Where to start with apologies? He’d better haul himself back under control, and fast. ‘Hell, Em, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that the way it came out, truly.’ He reached out and touched her stricken face, and the way he felt … sick didn’t begin to describe it. ‘Can you forget I said it? Of all the insensitive oafs … I know Gretta’s health has nothing to do with … anything. I’m so sorry. Can you wipe it? I know you love Gretta …’

‘Are you talking about Emily’s little girl?’

They both turned to face the newcomer, and it was a relief to turn away from each other. The tension between them was so tight it was threatening to break, to fly back and hit both of them.

Oliver recognised the young man heading towards them. Oliver had been introduced to Noah Jackson earlier in the week. He was a surgical registrar, almost at the end of his training. ‘Technically brilliant,’ Tristan, the paediatric cardiologist, had told him. ‘But his people skills leave a whole lot to be desired.’

And now he proceeded to display just that.

‘Hi, Em,’ he called, walking up to them with breezy insouciance. ‘Are you discussing Gretta’s progress? How’s she going?’

‘She’s … okay,’ Em said, and by the way she said it Oliver knew there was baggage behind the question.

‘You ought to meet Gretta,’ Noah told Oliver, seemingly oblivious to the way Em’s face had shuttered. ‘She’s worth a look. She has Down’s, with atrioventricular septal defects, massive heart problems, so much deformity that even Tristan felt he couldn’t treat her. Yet she’s survived. I’ve collated her case notes from birth as part of my final-year research work. I’d love to write her up for the med journals. It’d give me a great publication. Em’s care has been nothing short of heroic.’

‘I’ve met her,’ Oliver said shortly, glancing again at Em. Gretta—a research project? He could see Em’s distress. ‘Now’s not …’ he started.

But the young almost-surgeon wouldn’t be stopped. ‘Gretta wasn’t expected to live for more than a year,’ he said, with enthusiasm that wouldn’t be interrupted. ‘It’ll make a brilliant article—the extent of the damage, the moral dilemma facing her birth mother, her decision to walk away—Em’s decision to intervene and now the medical resources and the effort to keep her alive this far. Em, please agree to publication. You still haven’t signed. But Tristan says she’s pretty close to the end. If I could examine her one last time …’

And Oliver saw the wash of anger and revulsion on Em’s face—and finally he moved.

He put his body between the registrar and Em. Noah was tall but right now Oliver felt a good foot taller. Anger did that. Of all the insensitive …

‘You come near Em again with your requests for information about her daughter—her daughter, Noah, not her patient—and I’ll ram every page of your case notes down your throat. Don’t you realise that Em loves Gretta? Don’t you realize she’s breaking in two, and you’re treating her daughter like a bug under a microscope?’

‘Hey, Em’s a medical colleague,’ Noah said, still not getting it. ‘She knows the score—she knew it when she took Gretta home. She can be professional.’

‘Is that what you’re being—professional?’

‘If we can learn anything from this, then, yes …’

Enough. Em looked close to fainting.

The lift was open behind them. Oliver grabbed Noah by the collar of his white jacket, twisted him round and practically kicked him into the lift.

‘What …?’ Noah seemed speechless. ‘What did I say?’

‘You might be nearing the end of your surgical training,’ Oliver snapped. ‘But you sure aren’t at the end of your training to be a decent doctor. You need to learn some people skills, fast. I assume you did a term in family medicine during your general training, but whether you did or not, you’re about to do another. And another after that if you still don’t get it. I want you hands-on, treating people at the coal face, before you’re ever in charge of patients in a surgical setting.’

‘You don’t have that authority.’ The young doctor even had the temerity to sound smug.

‘You can believe that,’ Oliver growled. ‘You’re welcome—for all the good it’ll do you. Now get out of here while I see if I can fix the mess you’ve made.’

‘I haven’t made a mess.’

‘Oh, yes, you have,’ Oliver snapped, hitting the ‘Close’ button on the lift with as much force as he’d like to use on Noah. ‘And you’ve messed with someone who spends her life trying to fix messes. Get out of my sight.’

The lift closed. Oliver turned back to Em. She hadn’t moved. She was still slumped on the wall, her face devoid of colour. A couple of tears were tracking down her face.

‘It’s okay,’ she managed. ‘Oliver, it’s okay. He’s just saying it like it is.’

‘He has no right to say anything at all,’ Oliver snapped, and he couldn’t help himself. She was so bereft. She was so gutted.

She was … his wife?

She wasn’t. Their long separation to all intents and purposes constituted a divorce, but right now that was irrelevant.

His Em was in trouble. His Em.

He walked forward and took her into his arms.

She shouldn’t let him hold her. She had no right to be in his arms.

She had no right to want to be in his arms.

Besides, his words had upset her as much as Noah’s had. His implication that she could replace Gretta …

But she knew this man. She’d figured it out—the hurt he’d gone through as a kid, the rejection, the knowledge that he’d been replaced by his adoptive parents’ ‘real’ son.

Noah was just plain insensitive. He was arrogant and intelligent but he was lacking emotional depth. Oliver’s comments came from a deep, long-ago hurt that had never been resolved.

And even if it hadn’t, she thought helplessly, even if he was as insensitive as Noah, even if she shouldn’t have anything to do with him, for now she wanted to be here.

To be held. By her husband.

For he still felt like her husband. They’d been married for five years. They’d lain in each other’s arms for five years.

For five years she’d thought she had the perfect marriage.

But she hadn’t. Of course she hadn’t. There had been ghosts she’d been unable to expunge, and those ghosts were with him still. He couldn’t see …

Stop thinking, she told herself fiercely, almost desperately. Stop thinking and just be. Just let his arms hold me. Just feel his heart beat against mine. Just pretend …

‘Em, I’m sorry,’ he whispered into her hair.

‘For?’

‘For what I said. Even before Noah, you were hurt. I can’t begin to think how I could have said such a thing.’

‘It doesn’t matter.’ But it did. It was the crux of what had driven them apart. For Oliver, adoption was simply a transaction. Hearts couldn’t be held …

As theirs hadn’t. Their marriage was over.

But still she held. Still she took comfort, where she had no right to take comfort. They’d been separated for five years!

So why did he still feel like … home? Why did everything about him feel as if here was her place in the world?

‘Hey!’ A hospital corridor was hardly the place to hold one’s ex-husband—to hold anyone. It was busy and bustling and their sliver of intimacy couldn’t last.

It was Isla, hurrying along the corridor, smiling—as Isla mostly smiled right now. The sapphire on her finger seemed to have changed Em’s boss’s personality. ‘You know I’m all for romance,’ she said as she approached. ‘But the corridor’s not the place.’ She glanced down at the sapphire on her finger and her smile widened. ‘Alessi and I find the tea room’s useful. No one’s in there right now …’

‘Oh, Isla …’ Em broke away, flushing. ‘Sorry. It’s not … Dr Evans was just … just …’

But Isla had reached them now and was seeing Em’s distress for herself. ‘Nothing’s wrong with Ruby, is there?’ she asked sharply.

‘No.’ Oliver didn’t break his composure. ‘But you have a problem with Dr Noah Jackson. He seems to think Em’s Gretta is a research experiment.’

‘Noah’s been upsetting my midwife?’ Isla’s concern switched to anger, just like that. ‘Let me at him.’

‘I don’t think there’s any need,’ Em managed. ‘Oliver practically threw him into the lift.’

‘Well, good for you,’ Isla said, smiling again. ‘I do like an obstetrician who knows when to act, and one who knows the value of a good cuddle is worth his weight in gold.’ She glanced again at her ring. ‘I should know. But, Em, love, if you’ve finished being cuddled, I would like you back in the birthing suite.’

‘Of course,’ Em said, and fled.

There was a moment’s silence. Then …

‘Don’t you mess with my midwives,’ Isla said, and Oliver looked at her and thought she saw a whole lot more than she let on.

‘I won’t.’

She eyed him some more. ‘You two have baggage? Your name’s the same.’

‘We don’t have … baggage.’

‘I don’t believe it.’ She was still thoughtful. ‘But I’ll let it lie. All I’ll say is to repeat—don’t mess with my midwives.’

Thursday night was blessedly uneventful. Gretta seemed to have settled. Em should have had a good night’s sleep.

She didn’t but the fact that she stared into the dark and thought of Oliver was no fault of … anyone.

Oliver was no business of hers.

But he’d held her and he felt all her business.

Oliver …

Why had he come here to work? Of all the unlucky coincidences …

But it wasn’t a simple coincidence, she conceded. The Victoria had one of Australia’s busiest birthing units. It was also right near her mother’s home so it had made sense that she get a job here after the loss of Josh.

And after the loss of Oliver.

Don’t go there, she told herself. Think of practicalities.

It made sense that Oliver was back here, she told herself. Charles Delamere head-hunted the best, and he’d have known Oliver had links to Melbourne.

So she should leave?

Leave the Victoria? Because Oliver had … cuddled her?

It’s not going to happen again, she told herself fiercely. And I won’t leave because of him. There’s no need to leave.

He could be a friend. Like Isla. Like Sophia.

Yeah, right, she told herself, punching her pillow in frustration. Oliver Evans, just a friend?

Not in a million years.

But she had no choice. She could do this. Bring on tomorrow, she told herself.

Bring on a way she could treat Oliver as a medical colleague and nothing else.