Читать книгу Midwife Under The Mistletoe - Karin Baine - Страница 10

CHAPTER ONE

‘ANYONE WOULD THINK I had baby brain,’ Iona muttered as she retrieved her perfectly good pen from the bin, where she’d tossed it along with the wet paper towel.

‘Are you sure you don’t?’ Della, her heavily pregnant last appointment of the day, enquired with a grin.

‘I’m one hundred percent positive on that score.’ You needed to have had some sort of relations in order for that to happen and Iona had been a born-again virgin since moving to the tranquillity of the Scottish Highlands. A serious relationship was the last thing she wanted to get entangled in when she was just beginning to get her life together at last.

Although baby brain wasn’t an actual recognised medical condition Iona did believe the to-do list for mothers and mothers-to-be could easily push other thoughts from mind. Her lapses in memory today were more likely to be new-house brain. She’d received the keys to her first non-share, non-rented flat this morning and couldn’t wait to finish work and go home for the first time.

‘That’s a shame. I was hoping for a buddy to go to mother and baby club with at the church hall.’

‘Sorry to disappoint. Maybe when you’re planning baby number three we can co-ordinate our schedules.’

Iona took the teasing with a pinch of salt because a child of her own was never going to happen. She loved the innocence of a newborn and the pure joy they brought to families and had her personal experiences been different she would’ve loved to have been a mother herself.

Unfortunately, having a baby meant tying yourself to the father for the rest of your life, with no escape, and she wouldn’t trust another man enough to make that sort of commitment again. She’d seen her parents caught in that trap, persevering with a long-dead marriage for the sake of their child, until they’d ended up resenting each other. In her effort to escape the toxic atmosphere she’d attached herself much too young to the dashing Andy, marrying him straight out of school. Only to find herself in an abusive relationship that she knew she would never have left if children had been involved too. It had taken her long enough just to get herself out of it.

No, Iona was happy to remain on the spectator side of pregnancy as a midwife. She was keen to help and support mothers until their babies had been safely delivered and monitor them for as long as they needed it, but her obligation didn’t go beyond a medical capacity. At the end of the day the babies went home with their mothers and she wasn’t beholden to anyone but herself and her job. She hadn’t gone back to school and spent years retraining as a midwife to throw it all away for another man.

Della laughed, clutching her beachball belly. There was definitely a glow in the women who came to the clinic to see Iona and whilst she might experience a pang of regret she’d never get to go through the joys of pregnancy herself, she’d accepted it. Conventional motherhood dictated a lifestyle she wasn’t prepared to give up her newfound freedom for.

She dipped the test paper into her patient’s urine sample and checked it against the colour chart for analysis. ‘Hmm, there’s a slight trace of protein. Excess protein can be a sign of a urinary tract infection so we’ll have to keep an eye on that in future appointments and if you experience any other symptoms, let me know straight away. Other than that, I’d say pregnancy is agreeing with you.’

Protein in the urine could also be an indicator of kidney damage or other disorders, including pre-eclampsia, but since Della’s blood pressure was normal and this was the first sign of a problem, Iona didn’t deem it necessary to worry her. If repeat tests showed similar readings she would send a sample to the lab for testing.

She tossed the used stick in the bin and gave her hands another wash. After Dr Irvine’s retirement she’d been temporarily upgraded to using this room to treat her patients. Although she was glad of the extra space, she had been sorry to see him go. The senior GP partner—whom she suspected had been practising medicine when Highlanders had still roamed these hills—had made the decision to take her on here at the clinic permanently. It was a position for which she’d be grateful for ever when it had provided her with the financial independence she’d long dreamed about.

Jim, as he’d insisted she call him, had been a true gent with an old-school approach to treating his patients. He’d known everyone in Culcranna by name and had always had time for those who’d needed him. As a result, he’d been well loved and respected. Only time would tell about his replacement, Dr McColl, who’d taken over as senior partner now Jim was content to spend his retirement on the golf course.

Although Fraser McColl was closer to her age than his predecessor, there was a stern quality in his manner that put her on edge and had caused a few run-ins between them. The latest had been his decision to cancel the staff Christmas party usually held on the premises out of hours. He’d called it unprofessional, made noises about it not being covered by insurance and she’d fought him on the issue because she’d been so looking forward to experiencing the tradition she’d heard so much about. Her colleagues had made the annual shindig sound so much fun she’d imagined it would be the perfect way to mark her first Christmas in the village.

Fraser had refused to back down, probably because he’d never understand how much her new job and new home meant to her. By all accounts he came from a family of means, with land and a title to boot, so a tiny flat and a steady income were probably inconsequential to him when they were everything to Iona.

Despite her rallying cry to the rest of the staff to protest, Fraser had imposed so many restrictions on the celebrations they’d been forced into a staid dinner at the nearest restaurant instead. Iona thought his stance on the matter was more about him letting the power go to his head than any insurance issues and had told him so in a fit of pique.

Since then they’d had a few minor rows, more to do with their clash of personalities than to any professional discourse. Iona didn’t appreciate anyone imposing unjustified restrictions on her after enduring a lifetime of that with her ex, and apparently Fraser didn’t gel well with people who didn’t fall into line. Which was tough luck for him because she was no longer prepared to tailor who she was to suit the needs of others.

There was no doubting Fraser’s skills or popularity as one of the practice doctors but his tendency to take over certain situations wasn’t a character trait she was keen on these days. With his dark, wavy hair and piercing green eyes he certainly cut a dashing figure in the sleepy village that even Iona wasn’t immune to. Whilst he had some of the local ladies hot under their cardigans, he reminded her of the men in her past who’d tried to stunt her personal growth. There was too much apparent control freakery about him for her to drop her defences, or any item of clothing, and she hated herself for finding him remotely attractive.

Perhaps if he kept his mouth shut she could enjoy the view at least, without having her hackles raised along with her pulse.

‘You wouldn’t be saying that if you saw me in the wee hours of the morning, running to the loo every five minutes, or when my insides are on fire with heartburn.’ Della shuffled her bottom to the edge of the chair before attempting to get to her feet, trying to balance the extra weight she was carrying around her middle.

Iona gave her a hand rather than watch her struggle like a turtle flipped onto its back, trying to right itself.

‘Well, you haven’t long to go now. I’ll see you in a couple of weeks if you don’t go into labour before then.’ They’d discussed Della having to be induced if she went too far past her predicted due date but as this was her second pregnancy with no previous complications, Iona wasn’t expecting she would require medical intervention.

‘Thanks. I can’t wait to have this little bundle in my arms.’ That tender belly-rub every mother-to-be performed in here made Iona think about her own mum and the excitement she must’ve felt before her impending birth. A woman didn’t carry and protect her baby for nine months expecting they’d both end up trapped in a life neither of them wanted.

She swallowed the rising sob in her chest. They were both free from those soul-destroying relationships now. It was just a tragedy it had come at the price of her mother’s death.

‘Your daughter will be here soon enough.’ Iona handed Della’s antenatal notes back to her with a smile. This was supposed to be a happy time for both of them. She had her own baby to get back to—her shiny new flat—and since they were three-quarters of the way through December she’d even treated herself to some new Christmas decorations. Some might say she’d gone overboard but she had enough to brighten up this dreary place too and really mark her first Christmas in the village.

* * *

‘I need these bloods sent off to the lab, there’s a pile of hospital referrals that need to be chased up, and this is Mrs Robertson’s prescription. Her husband’s going to call in before closing. I’ve informed him we usually require forty-eight hours for repeat prescriptions and we can’t keep on doing this.’

‘But she is eighty-three and we have to make allowances,’ Sheila, Fraser’s secretary, reminded him as she took the stack of paperwork from him with a nod and set it on her desk.

‘It doesn’t mean I have to be happy about it.’ He had enough to do without these last-minute requests to deal with too.

Taking on the role of senior partner brought with it a lot of extra form filling and bureaucracy but it was a position he revelled in. It gave him an extra say in how the practice was run and that would make him infinitely happier in his work. Structure and boundaries gave him a sense of security, an assurance he was doing things right. It was when he strayed from the rules that things fell apart. Okay, so he was no longer that over-active little boy whose parents had sent him to boarding school so he wouldn’t disturb his sick mother, but he’d learned his lesson since then. If he played by the rules there was a place for him and things would work out fine. Now he simply had to get everyone else to fall in line with him.

Not all of Jim Irvine’s practices adhered with that idea of running a smooth clinic. Now, there was a man who hadn’t bothered too much about form filling or adhering to schedules. That kind of reckless approach had led to inevitable chaos and caused a run-on effect that could have seen the practice run into the ground if not for Fraser picking up the slack to keep the place afloat.

At least Sheila, his second-in-command, who’d been here since the year dot, appreciated how hard he was working to make these changes a success and could be relied on to keep on top of things. Sure, some of his forward-thinking ideas were going to rub a few members of staff up the wrong way. One particular community midwife with chestnut-coloured curls, who thrived on challenging his authority, sprang to mind, having made it clear she preferred his predecessor’s slap dash ethos to his.

When Iona had first started working at the clinic Fraser had been pleased they’d drafted in some new blood to bring some modern thinking into the outdated practice and lower the average age of the village population at the same time. There weren’t many single, young women in the vicinity but if he’d harboured any nonsensical ideas about finding someone else to settle down with again, Iona had put paid to that with her rebellion against his attempts to bring some structure to the practice.

She refused to attend his weekly meetings regarding the cleaning rota for the staffroom on the basis she ate her meals in her car and was solely responsible for its upkeep. Then there was the argument they’d had over the clutter Iona seemed to accumulate in her room. She’d told him in no uncertain terms that it was her territory and as long as it was clean and functional it was not Fraser’s concern.

It seemed Iona preferred to tackle problems as they came in rather than pre-empt them. He’d been there with Caroline, his last girlfriend, and wasn’t prepared to go through it again. Caroline had let him imagine they had a future together, planning that happy family with him he’d long been denied. Only she’d decided at the last minute it wasn’t what she wanted at all and had blamed him for apparently not being true to her, or himself. Whatever that meant.

So he’d ploughed all of his energy back into work instead of the domestic bliss he’d been promised. He wasn’t going to let another flighty woman steal his dreams from him when a new efficient way of working would better serve patients and staff alike.

Whether Iona Munro liked it or not, his new system was getting results. His last patient had been and gone and he was finishing for the day bang on time. Simply by sticking to the ten-minute time slots for each appointment, everything was running like clockwork. He’d say that was a resounding success and a score for all of the Type A personalities out there.

‘I’ll get on to these straight away, Dr McColl,’ Sheila called after him since he’d already left the main office to check all patients had left the premises. At this time of the evening, as the working day was winding down, the hubbub outside the treatment rooms had usually died down, but there were still a few voices ringing out from the reception area. Any out-of-hours emergencies now should have been referred to the hospital or the doctor on call for the area.

The notion that his perfectly executed schedule had been thrown into disarray ploughed grooves across Fraser’s forehead even before he was met with the debacle in the waiting area.

‘Lift your side up a little higher. Left a bit. How does that look now? Is it straight?’ Iona was balanced on a chair, trying to pin a gaudy gold-foil garland to the ceiling, with Victoria, the receptionist, as her partner in crime.

‘What the—?’ Fraser stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of Iona, barefoot and on tiptoe, breaking every health and safety rule in the workplace. He was in danger of hyperventilating as he did a quick risk assessment of the scene.

‘Oh, hi, Fraser. I thought we could brighten the place up and make it look less sterile in here.’ Unlike the rest of the staff, who quickly made themselves scarce, Iona carried on decorating as though she was perfectly entitled to do as she pleased. It was one thing managing her own caseload but she didn’t have any authority outside that.

‘It’s supposed to be sterile!’ Fraser didn’t want to lose his temper when that would be a sign he wasn’t in control. Although the garish garlands draped across every available space, transforming the beige room into an eyesore of gold and red, hinted he hadn’t asserted his authority here as much as he’d believed.

‘Lighten up, Fraser. It’s Christmas. If you’re worried about the cost, it’s coming from my own pocket, not yours.

‘Fraser.’ This was exactly why she rubbed him up the wrong way. Iona gave no thought for the rules or decorum in the workplace, or anywhere else for that matter. The patients loved her easygoing persona but for Fraser that free spirit vibe was unsettling, as was anything that didn’t fit into his idea of conformity. It upset that safe environment he was trying to set up here, and quite frankly he didn’t know how to handle it.

Fraser had mistakenly believed Caroline had been the one person who’d understood him when they’d made their plans to get married and settle down into quiet family life, but when his father had died and he’d inherited the family estate he’d discovered the truth. Once Fraser had the means to make those dreams a reality Caroline had confessed they’d been nothing more than an idea she’d been paying lip service to, not a legitimate option. That level of deception had ultimately ended their relationship and Fraser’s hope for the future.

This was different, though. Iona wasn’t a love interest, so her casual attitude to life shouldn’t bother him on a personal level, but she was a staff member and they had rules in place here for a reason.

‘I appreciate the gesture,’ Fraser said diplomatically, doing his best to remain calm. Iona didn’t know him personally so wouldn’t understand the issues he had with the whole palaver at this time of the year.

They’d never gone in for the whole over-the-top lead up to Christmas at boarding school and the death of his mother on Christmas Eve had cemented Fraser’s dislike of the season. It was a reminder of the childhood he’d lost and the family that had never recovered from the devastation of cancer. Now he dreaded that last week in December more than ever since it was also the anniversary of his break-up with Caroline.

He’d made the mistake of trying to embrace Christmas last year in an effort to make it special for her with an over-the-top marriage proposal, including a horse-drawn sleigh and carol singers serenading them along the ride. Only she’d turned him down on the basis that he was ‘being fake’. Fraser couldn’t win and was now even less likely to get caught up in the fuss, reverting back to his true Grinchy self, unwilling to be one of those people who lost their minds for the sake of one anti-climactic day.

On the rare occasions his parents had retrieved Fraser for the holidays it had been a non-event anyway. They’d gone through the motions without ever getting bogged down in the sentiment. Whilst he’d yearned for this infantile nonsense as a child far from home, he’d learned to live without it.

Iona carried on making her mark on the recently painted ceiling, humming Christmas carols and reminding Fraser what a very long month December could be when you weren’t in the festive spirit.

‘As I said, I appreciate the gesture but we can’t have all of this cluttering up the surgery.’ He would’ve told her that if she’d sought his permission in the first place.

‘I think the patients will love it. It gives them something to focus on other than their aches and pains.’

Sure. They’d all end up with tinsel blindness on top of everything else.

‘I’m sorry, it’ll all have to go. It’s a health and safety hazard.’ Fraser began to detach the string of fairy lights from the reception desk.

‘Okay, I’ll give you the lights. They haven’t been assessed by a registered electrician but they are bonny. Perhaps I could bung more tinsel there instead. I have some neon pink somewhere...’ Iona clearly wasn’t going to give this up without a fight and, as had become the custom, Fraser would have to get tough to have his opinion heard.

He ripped down the cardboard Father Christmas she’d stuck to the counter and hoped it wouldn’t leave any sticky marks behind. ‘It’s all going to have to come down.’

Iona stopped this time. ‘You’re kidding me, right?’

‘I don’t kid.’ He reached his hand up and tugged the large blue and silver foil star dangling from the ceiling until the tack holding it in place dislodged and pinged to the floor. This was exactly what he was talking about. One drawing pin in the wrong person’s foot and they could be facing a lawsuit. Luckily for them both he spotted the gold pin glinting on the dark carpet and retrieved it before it damaged more than his peace of mind.

‘What harm can a few decorations do?’ Iona faced him, her displeasure flaring in her big brown eyes and her full lips pursed into a tight line. It didn’t thrill him to note he was the one with the power to steal away the twinkling smile she wore for everyone else.

‘They’re a breeding ground for germs with so many sick people coming and going. Then there’s the dust. Think of how many asthma patients we have. Our appointment list is full enough without putting it under more stress.’ Deep down Fraser knew he was grasping for excuses but coming into the clinic every morning and being reminded of the worst days of his life was too much for him to bear.

‘Okay. Okay. I get it. I was only trying to do something nice. Talk about dampening the mood,’ she muttered as though he wasn’t there, and began dismantling her ceiling display.

‘I know, but perhaps next time you could check with me first instead of going rogue?’ Fraser understood her intentions had been good and would’ve preferred not to fuel this animosity between them, but Iona’s spur-of-the-moment actions were infuriating when they impeached on his carefully laid plans and tugged on emotions that needed to remain dormant for the remainder of this dreaded month.

‘Yes, sir.’ With her anger clearly still bubbling away, Iona yanked down the bunting she’d only finished hanging.

Fraser watched in horror as she tottered on the chair, clearly off balance, her arms freewheeling in the air as she fell.

With lightning-fast reflexes he rushed over and caught her in his arms before she hit the floor. Iona’s yelp softened to a gasp as he hooked a hand under her knees and one under her arms. Instinctively she latched her arms around his neck but that contact and the strong grip she had on him almost startled him into dropping her again.

The adrenaline rush was making them both breathe heavily and in that moment, holding her in his arms, their faces almost touching, it was easy to forget what they’d been fighting over, or even where they were.

She weighed very little, reminding him how delicate she appeared to be beyond the bravado. Despite her petite frame, she projected herself as a larger-than-life character but, with their clashing personalities stripped away for the time being, he was reacting solely as a man with an attractive woman pressed against him and was too stunned to do anything other than enjoy the sensation.

Iona blinked first. ‘You can put me down now. I think I’m safe.’

‘Sure.’ Fraser abruptly set her back on her feet and tried to compose himself. ‘Like I said, a health and safety nightmare.’

He ignored her tutting as she tore down the rest of the decorations, thankful that this moment of madness had passed, letting normal, tense service resume between them. It was easier to view her as a threat to his plans for a new, improved workplace than through any inappropriate romantic haze.