Читать книгу The Baby That Changed Everything - Kate Hardy - Страница 12

OVER THE NEXT couple of weeks, working at the football club was easier, Bailey thought. Jared was at least showing some interest in her research project rather than being an insurmountable bulwark, and he’d even come up with a couple of suggestions that she was trying to incorporate into her data.

Then she noticed that he was favouring his right knee when he went onto the pitch to treat one of the players. She waited until he’d come back to sit next to her on the bench, and then asked, ‘What did you do?’

‘For Mitch?’ He shrugged. ‘It was just a flesh wound—some studs scraped against his shin, so I cleaned it and dressed it. He shouldn’t have too much trouble with it.’

‘No, I meant what did you do to your knee?’

He looked away. ‘Nothing.’

‘Jared, I’m a doctor, so don’t try to flannel me. I could see you were favouring your right knee,’ she said.

He sighed. ‘It’s an old injury. I guess I might have overdone the running a tad at the weekend.’

‘Tsk. And you’re a sports medicine doctor,’ she said.

He gave her a crooked grin that made her libido sit up and beg. ‘It’ll be fine. It’s strapped up.’

‘So you didn’t actually see anyone about it?’

‘I didn’t need to.’

She tutted. ‘What a fine example to set the team—not. Let me have a look when they’ve gone, so they don’t know what an idiot you are.’

He shook his head. ‘It’s fine. You don’t have to do that.’

‘You’re my colleague. You’d do the same for me.’

Jared thought about it. Would he? Yes, probably. And he’d nag her if she was being stubborn about it, just as he’d nag Archie. Just as she was nagging him. ‘I guess,’ he admitted.

‘Are you icing it? Because obviously you’re not resting it or elevating it.’

‘No. I’m taking painkillers,’ he said. ‘And not strong ones, either. Just normal ibuprofen to deal with the inflammation.’

‘Hmm,’ she said.

After the training session, Jared said to Archie, ‘I’ll lock up if you need to go. I want to discuss a couple of things with Dr Randall.’

‘Cheers,’ Archie said. ‘It’ll give me a few extra minutes to make myself beautiful for my date.’

‘What, another one?’ Bailey teased. ‘I’m sure she’ll think you look beautiful.’ She blew him a kiss.

Archie grinned and sketched a bow.

‘Why didn’t you just tell him that your knee hurts?’ Bailey asked quietly when Archie and the players had gone, and she and Jared were alone in the dressing room.

‘Because it isn’t relevant.’

‘Of course it’s relevant. If you have to kneel on the pitch to treat one of the players, it’s going to hurt you.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘Men.’

‘Women,’ he sniped back.

‘Just shut up and lose the tracksuit bottoms.’

Oh, help. The pictures that put into his head. To clear them, he drawled, ‘Fabulous bedside manner, Dr Randall.’

Except that made it worse. Bed. Bailey. Two words he really shouldn’t have put together inside his head, because now he could imagine her lying against his pillows and giving him a come-hither smile …

She just gave him a dry look. He shut up and removed his tracksuit bottoms. He knew she wasn’t thinking of him in terms of a man right now, but in terms of a patient. What she saw wasn’t six foot two of man; she saw a sore knee. An old injury playing up that needed to be looked at and soothed.

Gently she examined his knee. ‘Tell me where it hurts, and don’t be stubborn about it—because I can’t help you if you’re not honest with me.’

‘Do you talk to all your patients like this?’ he asked.

‘Just the awkward ones.’

He guessed he deserved that. ‘OK. It hurts there. And there.’ He gave a sharp intake of breath. ‘And there.’

‘All righty.’ She grabbed a towel and spread it across her lap. ‘Leg. Here. Now.’

His bare leg astride her body.

Uh-oh. How on earth was he meant to stop his thoughts doing a happy dance?

‘Yes, ma’am,’ he drawled, hoping she didn’t have a clue what was going through his head right now.

Her hands had been gentle when she’d examined his knee. Now they were firm. There wasn’t anything remotely sexual about the way she touched him, and he had to grit his teeth on more than one occasion.

But when she’d finished the deep-tissue massage, he could move an awful lot more easily.

‘You’re very good at that,’ he said when she’d finished and he’d put his tracksuit bottoms back on. ‘Thank you.’

‘Better?’ she asked.

He nodded. ‘Sorry for being snippy with you.’

She shrugged. ‘You were in pain. Of course you were going to be snippy. It’s forgotten.’

‘Thanks. I owe you one,’ he said lightly, expecting her to brush it aside.

To his surprise, she looked thoughtful. ‘I wonder.’

‘Wonder what?’

‘I do need a favour, actually, and you’d be perfect.’

He still wasn’t following this. ‘For what?’

She took a deep breath. ‘My best friend’s getting married in three weeks’ time. And I’m under a bit of pressure to take someone to the wedding with me. My family’s convinced that I need someone in my life, and I can’t get them to see that I’m perfectly happy just concentrating on my career.’

‘You want me to go to a wedding with you?’

‘Yes.’

‘As your partner?’

She grimaced. ‘I’m not asking you on a date, Jared. I’m asking you to do me a favour.’

‘To be your pretend boyfriend.’

‘For one day. And an evening,’ she added.

Go with her to a wedding.

She’d just made his knee feel a lot better. And this would be payback.

But … a wedding.

Where people promised to love, honour and cherish, until death did them part.

Vows he’d taken himself, and had meant every single word—although it turned out that Sasha hadn’t. For all he knew, Tom hadn’t even been her first affair. He’d been so clueless, thinking that his wife was happy, when all the time she’d been looking for something else.

Sasha had broken every single one of her vows.

She’d lied, she’d cheated—and then she’d made a crucial decision without talking it over with him. A decision that had cut Jared to the quick because he really couldn’t understand her reasoning and it was totally the opposite of what he’d wanted. Even if the baby hadn’t been his, it would still have been hers. They could’ve worked something out.

Except she hadn’t wanted to. The only person she’d thought about had been herself. Not him, not the baby, not the other man who also might’ve been the baby’s father—as she’d been sleeping with them both, she’d had no idea who the father of her baby was.

To go and celebrate someone else making those same vows when he’d lost his faith in marriage … that would be hard.

‘If it’s a problem …’ her voice was very cool ‘… then forget I asked.’

He didn’t want to tell Bailey about the mess of his divorce, Sasha’s betrayal and the termination. He didn’t want her to pity him. Besides, he owed her for helping him with his knee. ‘OK. I’ll do it.’

He knew it sounded grudging, and her raised eyebrow confirmed it. He sighed. ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to sound quite so—well—Herod-ish.’

That netted him the glimmer of a smile. ‘Knee still hurting?’ she asked.

It would be an easy excuse. But he thought she deserved the truth. ‘Let’s just say I’ve seen a lot of divorces.’ He’d been through a messy one, too. Not that she needed to know that bit. ‘So I guess my view of weddings is a bit dark.’

‘This one,’ Bailey said, ‘is definitely going to work. My best friend used to be engaged to a total jerk, but thankfully she realised how miserable her life was going to be with him, and she called it off.’

Interesting. So Bailey was a realist rather than seeing things through rose-tinted glasses? ‘I take it you like the guy she’s marrying?’

She nodded. ‘Aaron’s a genuinely nice guy. And he loves Joni as much as she loves him. It’s equal.’

Did that mean Bailey had been in a relationship that hadn’t been equal, or was he reading too much into this?

‘Plus,’ she said, ‘I happen to know the food’s going to be good—and the music. Joni’s brother has a band, and they’re playing at the evening do.’ She paused. ‘Dinosaur rock. They’re seriously good. So I think you’ll enjoy that.’

‘You don’t need to sell it to me. I’ve already said I’ll go with you, and I keep my word.’

Funny how brown eyes could suddenly seem so piercing. And then she nodded. ‘Yes. You have integrity. It’s better to be grumpy with integrity than to be charming and unreliable.’

That definitely sounded personal. And it intrigued him. But if he asked her any more, then she’d be able to ask him things he’d rather not answer. ‘Let me know when and where the plus-one thing is, then,’ he said instead.

‘Thanks. I will.’

Bailey couldn’t stop thinking about Jared on the way home. The world of football was pretty high profile—as much as the worlds of music and Hollywood were—and the gossip magazines were forever reporting divorces and affairs among sporting stars. But something in Jared’s expression had made her think that it was a bit more personal than that. Was Jared divorced? Not that she’d pry and ask him. But it made her feel a bit as if she’d railroaded him into agreeing to be her partner at the wedding. And that wasn’t fair.

When she got home, she texted him: You really *don’t* have to go to the wedding.

The answer came back promptly: I said I’d do it. I’ll keep my word.

Typical Jared. Stubborn.

Well, she’d given him the chance to back out. But hopefully he wouldn’t hate it as much as he seemed to think he would. OK, thanks, she texted back, and added all the details of the wedding.

The next day was one of Bailey’s clinic days at the London Victoria. Her first patient was a teenager who’d been injured playing tennis.

‘Viv landed awkwardly in training,’ Mr Kaine said. ‘She said she felt her knee give and heard a popping sound. And her knee’s started to swell really badly.’ He indicated his daughter’s knee. ‘It hurts to walk.’

‘It’s just a sprain, Dad. It’ll be fine,’ Vivienne said. ‘Let’s stop wasting the doctor’s time and go home.’

‘No,’ he said firmly. ‘You’re going to get this checked out properly.’

It sounded as if Mr Kaine was putting his daughter’s welfare first and would support her through any treatment programme—which was a good thing, Bailey thought, because what he’d just described sounded very like the injury that had finished Jared’s career. Damage to the anterior cruciate ligament.

She pushed Jared to the back of her mind. Not here, not now. Her patient came first.

‘Thank you for giving me the background, Mr Kaine. That’s very useful,’ she said cheerfully. ‘Vivienne, would you mind if I examine your knee?’ she asked.

The girl rolled her eyes, as if she thought this was a total waste of time, but nodded. She flinched when Bailey touched her knee, so clearly it hurt to the touch and Bailey was very, very gentle as she finished examining the girl’s knee.

‘I’m going to send you for an MRI scan to confirm it,’ she said, ‘but I’m fairly sure you’ve torn your anterior cruciate ligament. I’m afraid you’re going to be out of play for a little while.’

Again, she thought of Jared. He must have had a similar consultation with a doctor at a very similar age.

‘What? But I have to play! I’ve got an important tournament next week,’ Vivienne said, looking horrified. ‘I’ve been training for months. I can’t miss it!’

However bad the girl felt about it, she had to face up to the severity of her injury. She wouldn’t even be able to have a casual knockabout on the court for a while, let alone play an important match on the junior tennis circuit. Not even if her knee was strapped up.

‘Viv, you have to listen to the doctor. She knows what she’s talking about,’ Mr Kaine said. ‘I’m sorry, Dr Randall. You were explaining to us what Vivienne’s done to her knee.’

Bailey drew a couple of diagrams to show Vivienne how the ligaments worked and what had happened to her knee. ‘You have a complete tear of the ligament—it’s the most common type, and I’m afraid it also means you’ve damaged the other ligaments and your cartilage.’

‘Will it take long to fix?’ Vivienne asked. ‘If I miss this tournament, can I play in the next one?’

‘I’m afraid that’s unlikely,’ Bailey said. ‘You’re going to need surgery.’

‘Surgery?’ The girl looked totally shocked. ‘But—but—that means I’ll be out for ages!’

‘The injury won’t heal on its own and unfortunately you can’t just stitch a ligament back together. Vivienne, I’ll need to send you to a specialist surgeon. I know Dr Martyn here quite well, and he’s really good at his job, so I promise you’ll be in the best hands.’ She looked up at Vivienne’s father and gave him a reassuring smile, too. ‘He’ll replace your torn ligament with a tissue graft, which will act as a kind of scaffolding for the new ligament to grow on. You’ll be on crutches for a while afterwards.’

‘Crutches. I can’t play tennis with crutches.’ Vivienne shook her head. ‘This can’t be happening. It just can’t.’

‘Crutches will stop you putting weight on your leg and damaging the structure of your knee further,’ Bailey said. ‘I can also give you a brace to protect your knee and make it more stable. But I’m afraid it’s going to be at least six months until you can play sports again. After the surgery, you’ll need a rehab physiotherapy programme—that means exercises tailored to strengthen your leg muscles and make your knee functional again.’

‘Six months.’ Vivienne closed her eyes. ‘Oh, my God. My life’s over.’

‘Viv, it’s going to take six months for you to get better. I know it feels bad, but it’s not the end of the world. You’ll come back stronger,’ Mr Kaine said.

It was good that her dad was so supportive, Bailey thought. But Vivienne was clearly finding it hard to adjust.

‘If you go back to playing too soon, you might do more damage to your knee and you’ll be out of action for a lot longer,’ Bailey said. ‘The good news is that the way they do surgery today is a lot less invasive. It’s keyhole surgery, so that means you’ll have less pain, you’ll spend less time in hospital and you’ll recover more quickly.’

‘When will the surgeon do it?’ Mr Kaine asked. ‘Today? Tomorrow?’

‘Not straight away,’ Bailey said. ‘We need the inflammation to go down a bit first, or there’s a risk of scar tissue forming inside the joint and you’ll lose part of your range of motion.’

‘And that means I won’t be able to play tennis the way I do now.’ Vivienne bit her lip. ‘Not ever.’

‘Exactly,’ Bailey said. ‘What you do next is going to make the biggest difference. For the next seventy-two hours you need to remember RICE—rest, ice, compression and elevation.’ She talked Vivienne through the treatment protocols.

‘What about a hot-water bottle to help with the pain?’ Mr Kaine asked.

Bailey shook her head. ‘Not for the first three days—and no alcohol, either.’

Vivienne rolled her eyes. ‘Fat chance of that. Dad’s part of the food police. We were told in sixth form that as soon as you’re sixteen you’re allowed a glass of wine with your meal in a restaurant. But Dad won’t let me.’

‘Alcohol slows your reactions and you can’t play tennis with a hangover,’ he said. ‘At least, not well—and I should know because I’ve tried it.’

Bailey smiled at him. He was definitely going to need a sense of humour to help coax Vivienne through the next few months of a total ban from tennis. ‘No running or massage, either,’ she said. ‘But I can give you painkillers—ones that will help reduce the inflammation as well as the pain.’ She looked at Mr Kaine. ‘Are there any allergies I need to know about?’

‘No,’ he confirmed.

‘Good.’

‘Six months,’ Vivienne said again, making it sound like a life sentence.

‘Better to make up a bit of ground in a couple of months,’ Bailey said softly, ‘than to go back too soon, do more damage and then have to spend even more time recovering.’

‘She’s right, love.’ Mr Kaine rested his hand briefly on his daughter’s shoulder. ‘So what happens after the operation?’

‘For the first three weeks the physio will concentrate on increasing the range of motion in the joint but without ripping the graft,’ Bailey said. ‘By week six Vivienne should be able to use a stair-climber or a stationary bike to maintain the range of motion and start strengthening her muscles, and then the plan will be to work to full rehab over the next few months. You need a balance between doing enough to rehabilitate the knee,’ she said gently to Vivienne, ‘but not so much that you damage the surgical repair and make the ligament fail again.’

‘Six months,’ Vivienne said again, looking totally miserable.

‘There are other things you can work on that won’t involve your knee,’ Mr Kaine said cheerfully. ‘Chin up.’

Vivenne just sighed.

Once Bailey had sorted out a compression bandage and painkillers, she said, ‘I’ll see you again in a couple of days and then we’ll see the surgeon. Reception will make an appointment for you. Call me if you’re worried about anything. But we’ll get your knee fixed and you’ll be back to playing tennis again.’

And, some time before their next appointment, there was someone she needed to talk to who might just be able to give her some really, really good advice to help Vivienne cope with the next few months.

She hoped.