Читать книгу Midwives On-Call - Алисон Робертс - Страница 36

SATURDAY.

Oliver did a morning ward round, walked into Ruby’s room—and found Em there.

According to his calculations—and he’d made a few—Em should be off duty. Why was she sitting by Ruby’s bedside?

She was darning … a sock?

Both women looked up as he walked in and both women smiled.

‘Hey,’ Ruby said. ‘Is it true? Were you two married?’

‘How …?’ Em gasped.

‘I just heard,’ Ruby said blithely. ‘It’s true, isn’t it?’

Em bundled up her needlework and rose—fast. ‘Yes,’ she managed. ‘But it was a long time ago. Sorry, Oliver, I’ll be out of your way.’

‘Why are you here?’ Damn, that had sounded accusatory and he hadn’t meant to be.

‘I’m off duty but Ruby’s teaching me how to darn.’

‘That’s … important?’

‘It is, as a matter of fact,’ she said, tossing him a look that might well be described as a glower. And also a warning to keep things light. ‘The whole world seems to toss socks away as soon as they get holes. Ruby and I are doing our bit to prevent landfill.’

‘Good for you.’ He still sounded stiff but he couldn’t help it. ‘Are you going home now?’

‘Yes.’

‘So why did you two split?’ Ruby was under orders for complete bed rest but she was recovering fast, the bed rest was more for her baby’s sake than for hers, and she was obviously aching for diversion.

‘Incompatibility,’ Em said, trying for lightness, stooping to give Ruby a swift kiss. ‘He used to pinch all the bedcovers. He’s a huncher—you know the type? He hunches all the covers round him and then rolls in his sleep. I even tried pinning the covers to my side of the bed but I was left with ripped covers and a doomed marriage. I’ll pop in tomorrow, Ruby, but meanwhile is there anything you need?’

‘More socks?’ Ruby said shyly, and Em grinned.

‘Ask Dr Evans. I’ll bet he has a drawer full. I need to go, Ruby, love. Byee.’

And she was gone.

It had been an informal visit. She’d been wearing jeans and a colourful shirt and her hair was down. She had so much to do at home—he knew she did.

Why was she here on a day off?

Because she cared?

She couldn’t stop caring. That had been one of the things he’d loved about her.

He still loved?

‘You’re still dotty about her,’ Ruby said, and he realised he’d been staring at the corridor where she’d disappeared.

‘Um … no. Just thinking I’ve never walked in on a darning lesson before. How’s bub?’

‘Still kicking.’

‘Not too hard?’

‘N-no.’ And once again he copped that zing of fear.

This was why Em had ‘popped in’, he thought. This kid was far too alone.

That was Em. She carried her heart on her sleeve.

If it was up to Em they would have adopted, he thought, and, despite the things he’d said to her after Josh had died, he was beginning to accept she was capable of it. It? Of loving a child who wasn’t her own. The way she’d held Gretta … The way she’d laughed at Toby … Okay, Em was as different from his adoptive mother as it was possible to be, and it had been cruel of him to suggest otherwise.

It had taken him a huge leap of faith to accept that he’d loved Em. Even though he’d supported her through IVF, even though he’d been overjoyed when she’d finally conceived, when Josh had died …

Had a small part of him been relieved? Had a part of him thought he could never extend his heart to all comers?

He would have loved Josh. He did. The morning when they’d sat looking down at the promise that had been their little son had been one of the worst of his life. But the pain that had gone with it … the pain of watching Em’s face …

And then for Em to say let’s adopt, let’s put ourselves up for this kind of pain again for a child he didn’t know …

‘Let’s check your tummy,’ he told Ruby, but she was still watching him.

‘You are still sweet on her.’

‘She’s an amazing woman. But as she said, I’m a huncher.’

‘Is it because you couldn’t have children?’

How …? ‘No!’

‘It’s just, one of the nurses told me Em’s got two foster-kids she looks after with her mum. If you and she were married, why didn’t you have your own?’

‘Ruby, I think you have quite enough to think about with your own baby, without worrying about other people’s,’ he said, mock sternly.

‘You’re saying butt out?’

‘And let me examine you. Yes.’

‘Yes, Doctor,’ she said, mock meekly, but she managed the beginnings of a cheeky grin. ‘But you can’t tell me to butt out completely. It seemed no one in this hospital knew you guys have been married. So now everyone in this hospital is really, really interested. Me, too.’

After that he was really ambivalent about the babysitting he’d promised. Actually, he’d been pretty ambivalent in the first place. Work was zooming to speed with an intensity that was staggering. He could easily ring and say he was needed at the hospital and it wouldn’t have been a lie.

But he’d promised, so he put his head down and worked and by a quarter to one he was pulling up outside the place Em called home.

Em was in the front yard, holding Toby on a push-along tricycle. When she saw him she swung Toby up into her arms and waved.

Toby hesitated a moment—and then waved, too.

The sight took him aback. He paused before getting out of the car. He knew Em was waiting for him, but he needed a pause to catch his breath.

This was the dream. They’d gone into their marriage expecting this—love, togetherness, family.

He’d walked away so that Em could still have it. The fact that she’d chosen to do it alone …

But she wasn’t alone. She had her mum. She had Mike next door and his brood. She had great friends at the hospital.

The only one missing from the picture was him, and the decision to walk away had been his.

If he’d stayed, though, they wouldn’t have had any of this. They’d be a professional couple, absorbed in their work and their social life.

How selfish was that? The certainties of five years ago were starting to seem just a little bit wobbly.

‘Hey, are you stuck to the seat?’ Em was carrying Toby towards him, laughing at him. She looked younger today, he thought. Maybe it was the idea that she was about to have some free time. An afternoon with her mum.

She was about to have some time off from kids who weren’t her own.

But they were her own. Toby had his arms wrapped around her, snuggling into her shoulder.

He had bare feet. Em was tickling his toes as she walked, making him giggle.

She loved these kids.

He’d thought … Okay, he’d thought he was being selfless, walking away five years ago. He’d been giving up his marriage so Em could have what she wanted. Now … Why was he now feeling the opposite? Completely, utterly selfish?

Get a grip, he told himself. He was here to work.

‘Your babysitter’s here, ma’am,’ he said, finally climbing from the car. ‘All present and correct.’

She was looking ruefully at the car. ‘Still the hire car? Can’t you get parts?’

‘They’re hard to come by.’ He’d spent hours on the internet tracking down the parts he needed.

‘Oh, Ollie …’

No one called him Ollie.

Em did.

She put her hand on his arm and he thought, She’s comforting me because of a wrecked car. And she’s coping with kids with wrecked lives …

How to make a rat feel an even bigger rat.

But her sympathy was real. Everything about her was real, he thought. Em … He’d loved this woman.

He loved this woman?

‘Hey, will you go with Uncle Ollie?’ Em was saying, moving on, prising Toby away from his neck-hugging. ‘I bet he knows how to tickle toes, too.’

‘I can tickle toes.’ He was a paediatric surgeon. He could keep a kid entertained.

But Toby caught him unawares. He twisted in Em’s arms and launched himself across, so fast Oliver almost didn’t catch him. Em grabbed, Oliver grabbed and suddenly they were in a sandwich hug, with Toby sandwiched in the middle.

Toby gave a muffled chortle, like things had gone exactly to plan. Which, maybe in Toby’s world, they had.

But he had so much wrong with him. His tiny spine was bent; he’d have operation after operation in front of him, years in a brace …

He’d have Em.

He should pull away, but Em wasn’t pulling away. For this moment she was holding, hugging, as if she needed it. As if his hug was giving her something …

Something that, as his wife, had once been her right?

‘Em …’

But the sound of his voice broke the moment. She tugged away, flipped an errant curl behind her ear, tried to smile.

‘Sorry. I should expect him to do that—he does it all the time with Mike. He has an absolute conviction that the grown-ups in his life are to be trusted never, ever to drop him, and so far it’s paid off. One day, though, Toby, lad, you’ll find out what the real world’s like.’

‘But you’ll shield him as long as you can.’

‘With every ounce of power I possess,’ she said simply. ‘But, meanwhile, Mum’s ready to go. She’s so excited she didn’t sleep last night. Gretta’s fed. Everything’s ready, all I need to do is put on clean jeans and comb my hair.’

‘Why don’t you put on a dress?’ he asked, feeling … weird. Out of kilter. This was none of his business, but he was starting to realise just how important this afternoon was to Em and her mum. And how rare. ‘Make it a special occasion.’

‘Goodness, Oliver, I don’t think I’ve worn a dress for five years,’ she flung at him over her shoulder as she headed into the house. ‘Why would the likes of me need a dress?’

And he thought of the social life they’d once had. Did she miss it? he wondered, but he tickled Toby’s toes, the little boy giggled and he knew that she didn’t.

They left fifteen minutes later, like a pair of jail escapees, except that they were escapees making sure all home bases were covered. Their ‘jail’ was precious.

‘Mike might come over later to collect Toby,’ Em told him. ‘Toby loves Mike, so if he does that’s fine by us. That’ll mean you only have Gretta so you should cope easily. You have both our cellphone numbers? You know where everything is? And Gretta needs Kanga … if she gets upset, Kanga can fix her. But don’t let her get tired. If she has trouble breathing you can raise her oxygen …’

‘Em, trust me, I’m a doctor,’ he said, almost pushing them out the door.

‘And you have how much experience with kids?’

‘I’m an obstetrician and a surgeon.’

‘My point exactly. Here they’re outside their mum, not inside, and you don’t have an anaesthetist to put them to sleep. There’s a stack of movies ready to play. You can use the sandpit, too. Gretta loves it, but you need to keep her equipment sand-free …’

‘Em, go,’ he said, exasperated. ‘Adrianna, take Em’s arm and pull. Em, trust me. You can, you know.’

‘I do know that,’ Em told him, and suddenly she darted back across the kitchen and gave him a swift kiss on the cheek. It was a thank-you kiss, a perfunctory kiss, and why it had the power to burn … ‘I always have,’ she said simply. ‘You’re a very nice man, Oliver Evans. I would have trusted you to be a great dad, even if you couldn’t trust yourself. That’s water under the bridge now, but I still trust you, even if it’s only for an afternoon.’

And she blinked a couple of times—surely they weren’t tears?—then ducked back and kissed Gretta once again—and she was gone.

And Oliver was left with two kids.

And silence.

The kids were watching him. Toby was in his arms, leaning back to gaze into his eyes. Cautiously assessing? Gretta was sitting in an oversized pushchair, surrounded by cushions.

To trust or not to trust?

Toby’s eyes were suddenly tear-filled. A couple of fat tears tracked down his face.

Gretta just stared at him, her face expressionless. Waiting to see what happened next?

Both were silent.

These were damaged kids, he thought. Rejects. They’d be used to a life where they were left. They’d come from parents who couldn’t or wouldn’t care for them and they had significant medical problems. They’d be used to a life where hospital stays were the norm. They weren’t kids who opened their mouths and screamed whenever they were left.

Could you be stoic at two and at four? That’s how they seemed. Stoic.

It was a bit … gut-wrenching.

Kanga—it must be Kanga: a chewed, bedraggled, once blue stuffed thing with long back paws and a huge tail—was lying on the table. He picked it—him?—up and handed him to Toby. Gretta watched with huge eyes. This wasn’t what was supposed to happen, her eyes said. This was her Kanga.

He lifted Gretta out of her chair with his spare arm and carried both kids out into the yard, under the spreading oak at the bottom of the garden where the lawn was a bit too long, lushly green.

He set both kids down on the grass. Fuzzy the dog flopped down beside them. He, too, seemed wary.

Toby was still holding Kanga. Warily.

He tugged Gretta’s shoes off so both kids had bare feet. Em had made the tickling thing work. Maybe it’d work for him.

He took Kanga from Toby, wriggled him slowly towards Gretta’s toes—and ticked Gretta’s toes with Kanga’s tail.

Then, as both kids looked astonished, he bounced Kanga across to Toby and tickled his.

Toby looked more astonished. He reached out to grab Kanga, but Oliver was too fast. The tickling tail went back to Gretta’s toes—and then, as Toby reached further, Kanga bounced sideways and tickled Fuzzy on the nose.

Fuzzy opened his mouth to grab but Kanga boinged back to Gretta, this time going from one foot to the other.

And then, as Gretta finally reacted, Kanga boinged up and touched her nose—and then bounced back to Toby.

Toby stared down in amazement at his toes being tickled and his eyes creased, the corners of his mouth twitched—and he chuckled.

It was a lovely sound but it wasn’t enough. Kanga bounced back to Gretta, kissed her nose again, then bounced right on top of Fuzzy’s head.

Fuzzy leaped to his feet and barked.

Kanga went back to Toby’s toes.

And finally, finally, and it was like a minor miracle all by itself, Gretta’s serious little face relaxed. She smiled and reached out her hand.

‘Kanga,’ she said, and Kanga flew to her hand. She grabbed him and held, gazing dotingly at her beloved blue thing.

‘Kanga,’ she said again, and she opened her fingers—and held Kanga back out to Oliver.

Her meaning was clear. He’s mine but it’s okay to play. In fact, she wanted to play.

But that one word had left her breathless. What the …? He’d seen the levels of oxygen she was receiving and she was still breathless? But she was still game.

She was trusting.

He wanted to hug her.

She was four years old. He’d met her twice. He was feeling … feeling …

‘Hey!’ It was Mike, and thank heaven for Mike. He was getting emotional and how was a man to keep tickling when he was thinking of what was in store for this little girl? He looked across at the gate and smiled at Mike with gratitude.

‘Hey, yourself.’

‘We’re going to the beach,’ Mike called. ‘You want to come?’

‘I’m sitting the kids,’ he said, and Mike looked at him like he was a moron.

‘Yeah. Kid-sitting. Beach. It’s possible to combine them—and your two love the beach. Katy and Drew are staying home—Katy’s still under the weather but her mum’s here and Drew has a mate over. But we have four kid seats in the wagon—we always seem to have a spare kid—and why not?’

Why not? Because he’d like to stay lying under the tree, tickling toes?

It wouldn’t last. His child entertainment range was limited, to say the least, and both kids were looking eager.

But, Gretta … Sand … Maybe he could sort it.

‘What if we put one of the car seats into your car,’ Mike said, eyeing the rental car parked at the kerb. ‘Rental cars always have bolts to hold ‘em. That way you can follow me and if Gretta gets tired you can bring her straight home. And we have beach shelters for shade. We have so much beach gear I feel like a pack mule going up and down the access track. Katy’s mum’s packed afternoon tea. Coming?’

‘Yeah,’ he said, because there was nothing else he could say. But there was part of him that was thinking as he packed up and prepared to take his charges beach-wards, I wouldn’t have minded caring for them myself. I wouldn’t have minded proving that I could be a …

A father? By minding them for a couple of hours? Would that make him a hero? Could it even disprove what he’d always felt—that you couldn’t love a kid who wasn’t your own? Of course it couldn’t.

It was just that, as the kids had chuckled, he’d felt, for one sliver of a crazy moment, that he could have been completely wrong. That maybe his judgement five years ago had been clouded, distorted by his own miserable childhood.

And an afternoon alone with these kids would prove what? Nothing. He’d made a choice five years ago. It had been the only honest option, and nothing had changed.

Except the way Gretta was smiling at the thought of the beach seemed to be changing things, like it or not. And the knowledge that Em would think giving Gretta an afternoon at the beach was great.

Would it make Em smile?

‘You coming, mate, or are you planning on writing a thesis on the pros and cons?’ Mike demanded, and he caught himself and took Kanga from Toby and handed him to Gretta.

‘We’re coming,’ he told him. He looked at the muscled hulk of a tattooed biker standing at the gate and Oliver Evans, specialist obstetric surgeon, admitted his failings. ‘But you might need to help me plan what to take. I’m a great obstetrician but as a father I’m the pits.’

‘You reckon he’ll be okay? You reckon he’ll manage?’

‘If you’re worried, ring Mike.’

Em and her mum were lying on adjoining massage tables. They had five minutes’ ‘down’ time before the massage was to begin. The soft, cushioned tables were gently warmed, the lights were dim, the sound of the sea washed through the high windows and a faint but lovely perfume was floating from the candles in the high-set sconces.

They should almost be asleep already but Em couldn’t stop fretting.

‘Ring Mike and ask him to check,’ Adrianna said again. ‘We all want you to enjoy this. I want to enjoy this. Check.’

So she rang. She lay on her gorgeous table and listened to Mike’s growl.

‘You’re not supposed to be worrying. Get back to doing nothing.’

‘You’ve got Toby?’

‘Me and Oliver—that’s one hell of a name, isn’t it?—we’re gunna have to think of something shorter—have Toby—and my kids and Gretta. We’re at the beach. Want to see? I’m sending a video. Watch it and then shut up, Em. Quit it with your worrying. Me and your Ollie have things in hand.’

He disconnected. She stared at the phone, feeling disconcerted. Strange. That her kids were somewhere else without her … With Oliver. Ollie …

No one called him Ollie except her, but now Mike was doing the same. It was like two parts of her life were merging.

The old and the new?

It was her imagination. Oliver … Ollie? … would do this afternoon of childminding and move on.

A ping announced the arrival of a message. She clicked and sure enough there was a video, filmed on Mike’s phone and sent straight through.

There was Toby with Mike’s two littlies. They were building a sandcastle—sort of. It was a huge mound of sand, covered with seaweed and shells. Fuzzy was digging a hole on the far side and Mike’s bitser dog was barking in excitement.

As Em watched, Toby picked up a bucket of water and spilt it over the castle—and chuckled. Mike laughed off camera.

‘If you think I don’t have anything better to do than fill buckets for you, young Toby—you’re right …’

And then the camera panned away, down to the shoreline—and Em drew in her breath.

For there was Oliver—and Gretta.

They were sitting on the wet sand, where the low, gentle waves were washing in, washing out.

Oliver had rigged a beach chair beside them, wedging it secure with something that looked like sandbags. Wet towels filled with sand?

Gretta’s oxygen cylinder was high on the seat, safe from the shallow inrushes of water, but Ollie and Gretta were sitting on the wet sand.

He had Gretta on his knee. They were facing the incoming waves, waiting for one to reach them.

‘Here it comes,’ Oliver called, watching as a wave broke far out. ‘Here it comes, Gretta, ready or not. One, two, three …’

And he swung Gretta back against his chest, hugging her as the water surrounded them, washing Gretta’s legs, swishing around his body.

He was wearing board shorts. He was naked from the waist up.

She’d forgotten his body …

No, she hadn’t. Her heart couldn’t clench like this if she’d forgotten.

‘More,’ Gretta whispered, wriggling her toes in the water, twisting so she could see the wave recede. Her eyes were sparkling with delight. She was so close to the other side, this little one, and yet for now she was just a kid having fun.

A kid secure with her … Her what?

Her friend. With Oliver, who couldn’t give his heart.

Silently Em handed her phone to her mum and waited until Adrianna had seen the video.

Adrianna sniffed. ‘Oh, Em …’

‘Yeah.’

‘Do you think …?’

‘No.’

‘It’s such a shame.’

‘It’s the way it is,’ Em said bleakly. ‘But … but for now, he’s making Gretta happy.’

‘He’s lovely,’ Adrianna said stoutly.

‘Don’t I know it?’ Em whispered. ‘Don’t I wish I didn’t?’

‘Em …’

The door opened. Their massage ladies entered, silently, expecting their clients to be well on the way on their journey to complete indulgence.

‘Are you ready?’ the woman due to massage Em asked. ‘Can you clear your mind of everything past, of everything future and just let yourself be. For now there should be nothing outside this room.’

But there was, Em thought as skilful hands started their skin-tingling work. There was a vision of her ex-husband holding her little girl. Making Gretta happy.

Massages were wonderful, she decided as her body responded to the skill of the woman working on her.

They might be wonderful but thinking about Oliver was … better?

He sat in the waves and watched—and felt—Gretta enjoy herself. She was a wraith of a child, a fragile imp, dependent on the oxygen that sustained her, totally dependent on the adults who cared for her.

She trusted him. She faced the incoming waves with joy because she was absolutely sure Oliver would lift her just in time, protect the breathing tube, hug her against his body, protect her from all harm.

But harm was coming to this little one, and there was nothing anyone could do about it. He’d mentioned Gretta to Tristan and Tristan had spelt out the prognosis. With so much deformity of the heart, it was a matter of time …

Not very much time.

That he had this time with her today was precious. He didn’t know her, she wasn’t his kid, but, regardless, it was gold.

If he could somehow take the pain away …

He couldn’t. He couldn’t protect Gretta.

He couldn’t protect Em.

Hell, but he wanted to. And not just for Em, he conceded. For this little one. This little girl who laughed and twisted and buried her face in his shoulder and then turned to face the world again.

Em loved her. Loved her.

An adopted child.

He’d thought … Yeah, okay, he knew. If Em was able to have her own child it’d all change. Gretta would take second place.

But did he know? Five years ago he’d been sure. He’d been totally judgmental and his marriage was over because of it.

Now the sands were shifting. He was shifting.

‘More,’ Gretta ordered, and he realised two small waves had washed over her feet and he hadn’t done the lift and squeal routine. Bad.

‘Em wouldn’t forget,’ he told Gretta as he lifted and she squealed. ‘Em loves you.’

But Gretta’s face was buried in his shoulder, and that question was surfacing—again. Over and over.

Had he made the mistake of his life?

Could he …?

Focus on Gretta, he told himself. Anything else was far too hard.

Anything else was far too soon.

Or five years too late?