Читать книгу The Pregnant Registrar - Carol Marinelli - Страница 8

LYDIA hated shopping.

Correction. Lydia loved shopping, adored trying on clothes, slipping her feet into strappy little sandals and pondering her purchase over a well-earned caffe latte.

She merely hated food shopping.

Still, it beat walking into an empty house…Leaning on a trolley that had a mind of its own, Lydia wandered aimlessly along the aisles, staring in utter bemusement at the rows upon rows of nappies and trying to fathom why it had to be so dammed complicated. Some were in kilos, some were in age, some spoke about softer outer, and stay-dry inners with tiny little teddies that faded when the nappy needed changing. Not for the first time, Lydia felt a surge of panic well inside her.

What on earth was she doing?

How on earth was she supposed to cope with a living, breathing, crying, demanding baby of her very own when she couldn’t even decide what type of nappies to purchase? Sure, she dealt with babies every day, handled the most fragile infant with skill and confidence, made life-and-death decisions in the blink of an eye, but, and here was the big one…

At the end of the day she went home!

Picking up speed, she drifted out of the baby aisle, pushing aside her intention to make one purchase a week for the baby. Why change the habits of a lifetime? She always did her Christmas shopping at the last minute and undoubtedly the baby gear would be dealt with in the same vein.

It would all get done in the end.

Humming abstractedly to the piped music, Lydia filled her trolley with a stash of meals for one, before turning into the soft-drink aisle, her lethargic spirits lifting as with a jolt she saw Corey Hughes—or at the least the back of him.

It was becoming a rather familiar response these days. They’d been working alongside each other for a week now and even though the atmosphere between them was still strained, to say the least, even though Lydia thought him a rather arrogant know-all, her body simply refused to listen, insisting upon darkening her face with a blush and sending her heart rate into overdrive every time she glimpsed him!

Disappointingly, though, one arm was rather protectively around an incredibly tiny, incredibly pretty woman, while with the other he struggled to contain the most appallingly behaved child in the history of the world.

For a second Lydia considered making a hasty U-turn, darting back to the relative safety of the nappy section, but the thought of Corey catching her making a rapid retreat, of seeing the effect he was having on her, was enough incentive to beat back her blush. She sauntered in what she hoped was a casual way along the aisle, pretending to concentrate on the soft drinks, practising a casual hello and smile in her head as she worked her way nearer, then realising as she edged closer that she needn’t have bothered.

Corey was so engrossed in cartons of orange juice that, had she stripped off and congad naked behind her shopping trolley, she doubted he’d have even looked up. Instead of disciplining his appalling child, instead of forcing the squealing, tantrum-throwing toddler back into its stroller, his deep loud voice droned on and on about the merits of home brands as opposed to named ones, to check for any special offers and, of course, to always look at the contents. It might look like a bargain but if there were only four hundred mls in the container…

It was at that point that Lydia questioned the merits of first impressions.

That sexy, rugged, good-looking guy evaporated there and then. To see him at his domestic worst truly pulled the wool from Lydia’s eyes and she was eternally grateful for it.

She hated meanness in men, hated it more than anything in the world, well, except for adultery, but that wasn’t the issue here. She could just imagine him in the loo-roll section—he’d probably whip out a calculator and work out the sheets per roll and the benefits of two- as opposed to four-ply.

‘Lydia!’

Truly caught, she had no choice but to smile, but due to her sudden insight there was no trace of awkwardness. ‘So you’re a late-night shopping addict, too.’

‘Absolutely.’ Corey smiled warmly. ‘Fewer people…’

‘More chance of spotting a bargain.’ Lydia muttered. Glancing down at her own trolley, she realised how empty her statement sounded. For all her determination, for all her self-conditioning and occasional attempts, somehow cooking chicken massala from scratch seemed so dammed complicated and, perhaps more to the point, when flour and coconut milk weren’t staples of your larder, so damned expensive.

She was saving money really!

Still for tight gits like Corey, her trolley probably did look rather extravagant!

‘This is Adele.’ Corey gave a wide smile as Lydia nodded politely. ‘And this is Bailey.’

Bailey didn’t look up. He was too busy pulling orange juice off the shelves and creating chaos to care about introductions as Adele stood silently, her pretty face almost surly as she eyed Lydia, clearly uncomfortable at the intrusion.

‘Best get on.’ Lydia smiled, moving gratefully into aisle four and immersing herself in two-minute noodles.

They met again at the checkout, Lydia blushing to her roots as Corey counted out the notes to the cashier, checked and rechecked his change with the unfortunate Adele while Bailey helped himself to a large slab of chocolate from the display stand.

‘Poor woman,’ Lydia muttered to the checkout girl as finally they moved off.

‘Oh, I don’t know…’ The checkout girl looked dreamily over her shoulder as the trio departed, didn’t even offer Lydia the mandatory ‘How are you tonight?’ ‘I think he’s kind of cute.’

This was the bit she hated—unloading the groceries from the boot of the car, lugging them up the garden path and heaving the bags into a dark, empty house. No one to come out and offer to help, no one to moan she’d forgotten to get coffee-beans…

No one, full stop.

Not that she minded her own company. When Gavin had still lived there, invariably he’d be away on some course or interstate on some business trip—at least, that’s what he’d said he’d been doing, Lydia thought darkly, filling her freezer with her purchases. She hadn’t minded a bit—in fact, she’d actually enjoyed it in many ways. Having beans on toast, or just toast for dinner, even taking the said toast into bed and curling up with a good book.

Gavin had hated that.

Come to think of it, Gavin had hated a lot of things in the last few months of their marriage.

Slamming the freezer door closed, Lydia pulled a couple of slices of bread out of the pantry and loaded them into the toaster.

Toast, a good book and bed.

What more could a girl want?

‘I’ve saved you a ticket.’

Frowning into the telephone that seemed to be permanently glued to her ear these days, Lydia looked up.

‘For what?’

‘The special care unit Christmas fundraising ball. It’s held every year at the beginning of December and it usually turns out to be a great night.’

‘No, don’t put me back on hold,’ Lydia yelped as finally a human voice responded, but as the music droned on Lydia settled back for the long haul, digging in her pocket for a proverbial ten-dollar note then baulking as she eyed the gold-rimmed ticket more closely. ‘Two hundred dollars!’

‘It’s a black-tie do.’ Corey shrugged. ‘And the money goes to a good cause.’

‘It’s a bloody rip-off.”

He thought she was joking. Looking up, she watched him laugh, waiting for her to pull out her cheque book, to sign herself up for taxi fare both ways and a maternity ballgown that would make the ticket price pale into comparison, but for the first time in her adult life Lydia couldn’t do it, couldn’t write a cheque for the sake of it, couldn’t rob Peter to pay Paul. Suddenly money mattered when it never had before.

‘I’ll let you know.’ Frowning into the telephone, Lydia turned away but still he persisted.

‘You’re not working.’ Corey grinned. ‘I’ve checked, so there’s no excuse.’

‘How about this for an excuse?’ Swinging her chair around, Lydia met him face on, her cheeks burning with embarrassment at having to admit the appalling truth, her voice too harsh, too sharp as she choked on the pride she was being forced to swallow yet again. ‘For someone who’s so up on the price of orange juice, for someone who checks their change three times before moving off from the checkout, you’re terribly careless where other people’s money is concerned.

‘Did it never occur to you that just because I’m a registrar, just because I’m supposedly affluent and raking it in—maybe that isn’t the case?’ She watched his eyes widen, watched as he attempted to beg to differ, but Lydia was on a roll now. ‘Would you be quite so accepting if your wife strolled home with a two-hundred-dollar ticket in her hand?’

‘I don’t have a wife.’ Corey shrugged.

‘Well, girlfriend, then,’ Lydia snapped. ‘The poor woman’s received a five-minute lecture into the variances of orange juice prices and she has to show you her cashier’s receipt, yet you don’t bat an eyelid when it’s a co-worker’s money you’re spending!’

Suddenly the temperature seemed to have dropped, suddenly the usually stifling nurses’ station seemed to be taking on arctic proportions. As she watched his face darken Lydia knew she’d gone way too far. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said quickly. ‘That was way below the belt.’

‘It was,’ Corey agreed grimly, and Lydia shifted uncomfortably as he carried on talking. ‘Adele’s not my wife and neither do I have a girlfriend or a son.’ He watched her frown, watched her squirm for an uncomfortable second before continuing.

‘Adele’s my sister, Bailey’s my nephew, and for your information I personally couldn’t give a damn about the price of orange juice, but given the fact my sister was involved in a car accident two years ago and she has changed from an eloquent, educated woman into someone with the personality of an errant teenager, it seems rather more fitting to show her that ten dollars can be spent on staples like bread and orange juice rather than a basket full of crisps and bubble gum or cheap wine and cigarettes.’

‘I’m sorry.’ Lydia’s voice was a faint whisper. ‘I’m so very sorry.’

‘Not as sorry as I am,’ Corey responded curtly, and picking up his stethoscope he shot her a black look before stalking off to his office. She was vaguely aware of a voice on the telephone line, vaguely aware of someone asking how they could help, but mumbling her apologies Lydia hung up the telephone, appalled at what she had done and desperate if not to put things right exactly to at least make some sort of amends.

Knocking on his office door, she neither expected nor received a response. Pushing the door open, she stood for a hesitant moment watching as Corey scribbled furiously on the paperwork in front of him, determinedly not looking up. Lydia rather less determinedly moved the pile of folders herself this time and, after making sure the door was firmly closed behind her, tentatively sat down.

‘I’m sorry.’

‘So you said.’

‘I’d like to explain something—’

‘There’s really no need,’ Corey cut in, fixing her with a most withering glare.

‘But there is.’ Dragging her eyes down, Lydia went to fiddle with the solid gold band around her wedding finger, as she did when she was nervous, but like everything else familiar to her it wasn’t there. ‘What I said out there was wrong. Whether Adele is your sister, wife or girlfriend, I had absolutely no right to pass judgement on you, no right to infer you were mean.’ She was tying her fingers in knots now. ‘Which you’re not, of course, but even if you were, even if you do care about the price of loo rolls…’

‘We were in the soft-drink section,’ Corey pointed out, and if she’d looked up at that point she’d have been rewarded with a ghost of a smile. ‘Where do loo rolls come into it?’

‘They don’t.’ Her eyes did meet his then, briefly, awkwardly and she immediately pulled them away. ‘What I’m trying to say is that I was way out of line.’

‘You were,’ Corey agreed, but more gently this time. ‘But I was probably being overly sensitive.’ Those massive shoulders moved downwards as he gave a ragged sigh, and Lydia saw the lines of concern grooved around his eyes. ‘There’s a lot going on there.’

‘With Adele?’

Corey nodded. ‘She was a lawyer. Hard to believe it now, but she was the epitome of sophistication. Somehow she and Luke made it all look so damn easy.’

‘Luke’s her husband?’ Lydia checked, wincing when Corey continued.

‘Was. He was killed in the car accident. Adele was in a coma for six weeks. We were so close to making that awful decision—to discontinue treatment. She was so sick and there really seemed no hope.’

‘But look how well she’s done,’ Lydia said optimistically, her voice trailing off as Corey shook his head.

‘She suffered massive brain injuries—she’s got frontal lobe damage, which means no inhibitions and no responsibility for her actions. Sometimes I wonder if we did the right thing.’ Strained eyes met hers. ‘You’ve seen Bailey. No doubt you think the kid needs a good smack, to be disciplined…’

Lydia shook her head, but her blush gave her away.

‘You wouldn’t be alone,’ Corey said sadly. ‘Bailey was in the accident as well. He’s undergoing a load of tests, they’re not sure if he suffered brain damage himself or if he’s got attention deficit disorder. His paediatrician has even started to suggest autism.’

‘What do you think?’ Lydia asked, hearing the doubt in his voice.

‘I think it’s a rather more basic problem.’

‘Such as?’ The room was deathly quiet now and it took an age for him to answer.

‘Neglect,’ Corey said finally. ‘I’ve made so many excuses for her, rushed over there to clean up before the social worker comes, filled up her fridge with healthy food. I go round every night or morning and bath him, cut his toenails, clean his ears, all the things Adele wouldn’t even think of doing, but…’

‘It’s not enough?’ Lydia ventured, watching as Corey shook his head sadly.

‘I don’t know what to do,’ Corey admitted. ‘So if I jumped down your throat out there, it was with reason.’

‘You had every right to jump down my throat,’ Lydia said softly. ‘Even without what you’ve just told me. I know I can be harsh sometimes, know I can come across as rude. In fact, it’s becoming rather a habit.’ Tears were appallingly close now, but she blinked them away, picking instead at an imaginary piece of fluff on her theatre blues. ‘I seem to be eternally putting my foot in it these days, snapping people’s heads off, saying the wrong thing…’

‘You’ve got a lot on your mind.’

‘I know,’ Lydia admitted, ‘but so do you and yet you still manage to come to work with a smile. It would be nice to manage a simple greeting without messing things up.’

‘I think you’re being a bit harsh on yourself. I haven’t had any complaints from the staff and the parents seem to like you.’

‘Because I talk to them about medicine,’ Lydia snapped, and then bit it back, shrugging her shoulders helplessly at her own abrasiveness. ‘Six months ago I was an entirely different person.’ She gestured to the window, and they stared out through the half-open blinds for a second or two before Lydia carried on talking. ‘See Jo there, chatting away while she works, laughing at something someone’s said? Well, that was me. I knew all the staff, and I don’t mean just their names, I knew what was happening in their lives.’

‘You’ve only been here a couple of weeks,’ Corey pointed out, but Lydia shook her head.

‘I’m a fast learner. I get on with people, or at least I used to.’ Green eyes were staring at her now, the anger gone from them. But Lydia knew he deserved an explanation and, perhaps more pointedly, she wanted to tell him her story, though why she couldn’t quite fathom.

‘I thought we had a good marriage. Gavin was a pharmacologist working for a big US drug company. He was away a lot, but I didn’t mind.’ Corey didn’t say anything, just headed for the inevitable kettle, making a cup of tea as she carried on talking. Lydia was infinitely grateful for the reprieve from his gaze as she told her difficult tale. ‘He was involved in drug trials on my old ward. It was terribly complicated and meant he was there a lot.’

‘You didn’t mind?’ It was the first time Corey had spoken, his hand hovering over the sugar bowl but his back still to her. ‘Seeing him at work every day?’

‘Not in the slightest. I mean, we were so busy there wasn’t exactly time for social chit-chat, at least not on my part.’ She watched him spoon the sugar into her mug, watched as it passed the one mark and went to two, didn’t even think to stop him as a third sugar hit was ladled into the brew. Accepting the sickly offer, she took a sip, glad of the sweet warmth before she continued. ‘You asked where the loo rolls came into things.’ A hollow laugh filled the room. ‘Suddenly we were rowing about everything, even down to loo rolls, but whenever I pushed, whenever I asked what was wrong, I got the same response: “I’m just tired.” I knew that wasn’t it, knew there must be something else…’ Her voice trailed off and Corey spoke for her.

‘He was having an affair?’

‘Of course.’ She watched as he blinked in surprise at her openness, even managed a wry smile of her own as she found her voice again. ‘But that’s not the best bit. As I said, I knew there was something wrong and finally Gavin came up with an answer. He wanted a baby, figured that now we were in our thirties it wasn’t such an unreasonable request.’

‘You didn’t want children?’

Lydia shook her head. ‘No. When people asked, I always qualified that with “not for ages”, but the honest answer is I really didn’t want to have a child. I love my work, loved my husband, it was truly enough for me.’

‘But not for Gavin?’

‘Seemingly not. He knew I didn’t want children and with hindsight I guess it was the one thing he could hang on me, apportion blame to. I guess he didn’t know me well enough.’ Tired, confused eyes met his. ‘I came off the Pill.’ Her voice dropped so low it was barely audible. ‘Figured I was being selfish. After all, it was hardly an unreasonable request—we’d been married five years, for heaven’s sake. I should have held my ground.’

Realising she’d lost him, Lydia gave a tired shrug.

‘It turned out he never wanted a baby either. It was just an excuse, an excuse to dust away the rows, to explain the sudden lethargy and the problems we supposedly had. Gavin no more wanted a child than I did. I found out he was sleeping with one of the nurses on my ward.’

‘Oh, no.’ She heard the genuine shock in Corey’s voice but it bought no comfort. Lydia was far too used to being the centre of gossip, way too used to the incredulous reaction to the news.

‘Oh, yes! He’d been sleeping with Marcia for three months, and the worst part was I thought she was my friend.’ Her eyes screwed closed for a second. ‘She was actually my best friend. I thought we were really close, I’m not one for opening up…’

‘I’d never have guessed.’

His dry comment even forced a tiny smile but it didn’t last long as Lydia continued her painful tale. ‘I’d even confided in her about our problems, told her I was thinking of coming off the Pill…’ Gripping her fists tightly in her lap, Lydia took a deep breath before continuing. ‘I know it was a one-off, know most people don’t behave like that, would be appalled by Marcia’s behaviour, but I simply don’t know how to respond any more, I don’t know who I can trust.’

‘You can trust me.’ The directness of his statement caught her unawares, dragged her out of her introspection, enough to at least meet his eyes. ‘I know I’m no compensation for an errant husband and a lousy best friend, but I can be a good ally when needed.’

Lydia nodded. ‘When you asked for the money—’

‘Forget it,’ Corey said. ‘It was my turn to be insensitive, my turn to make stupid assumptions. You’re right. Because you’re a registrar, because you’ve got fabulous nails and immaculate hair, I assumed you were loaded.’

‘Immaculate hair.’ Lydia gave an incredulous laugh. ‘It’s all over the place.’

‘So is Nicole Kidman’s,’ Corey pointed out.

Lydia gave a dry laugh. ‘Ah, but mine’s naturally chaotic.’ Peering down at her hands, Lydia stared at her nails.

And very nice they looked, too! But only because she’d given up biting them, only because she’d awarded herself a weekly home manicure as a treat for not chewing the blessed things.

‘As seemingly unplanned as this baby was, I had at least worked out the basics.’ Her eyes were still focused on her nails, the uncomfortable subject of money not really allowing for eye contact. ‘I was due long service leave, I’d worked at Bayside for years, I had more sick days and annual leave owing than anyone I’ve ever met, the pay office was always ringing and insisting I take a break…’

‘But the roster never accommodated,’ Corey filled in wisely, and Lydia nodded.

‘I could have taken close to a year off on full pay, bar shift allowance, but at the end of the day I couldn’t do it, couldn’t stay there another minute, with everyone knowing my business, everyone feeling sorry for me.’

‘Did Marcia leave?’

‘Why would she?’ Lydia responded, surprisingly without bitterness. ‘When I was more than ready to?

‘So now I’m having the baby Gavin insisted he wanted but evidently didn’t and facing three months off with no maternity leave pay. And as I bought Gavin out, I’ve now got a mortgage that would feed a third world country.’

‘You can make him pay,’ Corey ventured, but watching her stiffen he changed track. ‘Sorry, wrong choice of words. What I’m trying to say—’

‘I know,’ Lydia gulped. ‘And you’re right, I could make him pay: drag him through the children’s court for alimony and child support. But I’m not going to do it, Corey, because guess what? I neither want nor need his help. He signed himself out of this marriage when he slept with Marcia, and for a guy who’s so wrapped up in saving lives with his bloody drug trials, he couldn’t even raise a smile when he found out I was pregnant. So if you think I’m going to run to him with a begging bowl…’ She stopped, realising her anger, however merited, was misdirected. ‘I’d love to go to the ball, love to dig in my bag and sign a cheque, but the simple truth is I can’t.’ Lydia gave a dry smile ‘Have you seen the price of nappies?”

‘Wait till they’re weaned and hit the orange juice!’

She would have laughed but tears had started. Corey pushed a box of tissues over the desk and when she couldn’t quite reach it he came around, wrapping her in his arms as if she were a rugby ball, letting her cry as if it was the most natural thing in the world, not remotely embarrassed as he held her and wiped rivers of mascara from her cheeks.

And somewhere in mid-gulp, somewhere between another tissue and a glass of water, those arms that were holding her didn’t feel quite so comforting any more, the aftershave filling her nostrils not quite so reassuring…

Panicky and out of control would be a rather more apt description, and for the first time in months it had nothing to do with an errant husband and a baby that hadn’t been on the agenda.

For the first time in months it had everything nice to do with being a woman.