Читать книгу Perfect Proposals Collection - Lynne Marshall - Страница 41

CHAPTER FOUR

WHEN the going gets tough, Katrina thought, the tough get cooking. And as she was on a late shift the next day, she spent the morning at home baking brownies. Lots of them. The combined scents of chocolate and vanilla lifted her mood, and by the time she’d walked into work she was feeling a lot more serene.

She left a note on top of the tin in the staffroom, telling everyone to help themselves, and was about to head for the ward when Rhys walked in.

‘Good morning,’ he said.

‘Morning.’ She gave him a polite smile, reminding herself that she was going to keep it professional between them.

‘What do you know about choanal atresia?’ he asked.

‘The nasal passage is blocked by bone or tissue, so the baby can’t breathe properly,’ she recited. ‘Has the neonatal unit asked us to look at a baby?’

He shook his head. ‘We’ve got a little girl in, four months old—one of her nasal passages is blocked, which is why it’s taken so long to diagnose her. But I noticed yesterday you’re very good at reassuring parents. The Gillespies are pretty upset, and I could do with a calming influence. As in you.’

She blinked. ‘So you’re being friendly again this morning.’

He flushed, clearly aware of exactly what she meant. ‘I’m sorry, Katrina. What can I say?’

‘Well, it’d be nice to know if I did or said anything to upset you last night.’

‘No, of course you didn’t.’ He raked a hand through his hair. ‘I’m just not very good at this friendship business. I’ve always been a bit of a loner and I’m more used to dealing with people on a professional basis. And I guess I panicked a bit because I was more relaxed with you yesterday than I’ve been with anyone in a long, long time. I’m sorry.’

He was being honest with her. She could see it in his face. And it must have been difficult for him to open up that much to her just now. ‘Apology accepted.’

‘Good. So, the Gillespies—walk this way, Dr Gregory,’ he said, ‘and I’ll talk you through baby Rosanna’s notes.’

By the time they reached the cubicle, she knew the full patient history. Rhys introduced them both to the Gillespies.

‘Oh, she’s gorgeous,’ Katrina said, stroking the baby Rosanna’s cheek and smiling at Mrs Gillespie. ‘You must be so proud of her.’

‘We are.’ Mrs Gillespie bit her lip. ‘But…’

‘You’re worried sick about the operation. Of course you are,’ Katrina said. ‘But you’re in the best place. I’ve worked here ever since I qualified, and Will’s a fantastic surgeon.’

‘Obviously you’ll have a chance to meet him and talk to him before the operation,’ Rhys said, ‘but as he’s in Theatre at the moment and we’ll be caring for Rosanna after her operation, I wanted to talk you through what’s going to happen this afternoon and answer any questions you might have.’

‘Thank you,’ Mr Gillespie said quietly.

‘Rosanna has a condition called choanal atresia—what that means is her nasal passages are narrower than they should be and she can’t breathe properly, because babies can’t breathe through their mouths until they’re about six months old. It’s usually picked up just after a baby’s born, but in Rosanna’s case only one passage has narrowed so it’s taken us a bit longer to realise there’s a problem,’ Rhys said.

‘Is she going to be all right?’ Mrs Gillespie asked.

‘Absolutely. She’ll have an operation to widen her nasal passages and Will can then put a little plastic tube called a stent up each nostril. They won’t hurt her, and the stents will keep her nostrils open while her nose heals,’ Rhys explained. ‘They’ll stick out just a tiny bit.’

‘The surgeon will take the tubes out in about three months’ time, and she’ll be able to manage perfectly without them,’ Katrina added.

‘The operation takes about an hour,’ Rhys continued. ‘It’s under a general anaesthetic, so you won’t be able to be with her during the operation, but you’re very welcome to wait here on the ward or in the coffee bar, and we’ll come and find you as soon as Rosanna’s out of Theatre so you can give her a cuddle.’

‘We can touch her afterwards?’ Mr Gillespie asked.

‘Definitely—talk to her, cuddle her, hold her hand. She’ll be hooked up to some monitors, which might look a bit scary, but they’re there to help us look after her,’ Katrina reassured him. ‘We’ll check her breathing, her heart rate and oxygen levels, and she’ll have a drip in to give her pain relief, but over the next few days we won’t need them. As soon as she’s feeding well and gaining weight, and we’ve taught you how to keep the stents clean, you can take her home and carry on as normal.’

‘About six weeks after the operation, the surgeon will give Rosanna a check-up—again under a general anaesthetic—to make sure her nasal passages are still wide enough for her to breathe properly,’ Rhys said. ‘If you’re at all worried in the meantime, you can talk to your health visitor or your family doctor, or ring us here on the ward.’

Mrs Gillespie dragged in a breath. ‘But she’s going to be all right?’

‘She doesn’t have any other health problems, so she’ll grow up able to lead a perfectly normal life,’ Rhys reassured her.

‘We’ve got a leaflet about the condition we can let you have, just to ease your mind a bit,’ Katrina offered.

‘It’s a lot to take in, and if someone else in the family asks you about it, it might be hard to remember everything we’ve said,’ Rhys added. ‘Is there anything else you’d like to ask us?’

‘I don’t think so,’ Mrs Gillespie said, looking doubtful.

‘If you think of something later, just have a word with one of the nurses and they’ll come and get one of us,’ Rhys said. ‘Rosanna’s going to be in excellent hands. And you’ll find that feeding her is a lot easier when she can breathe properly through her nose again.’

‘She’s such a tiny scrap. All my friends’ babies are getting huge—I thought I was doing something wrong.’ Tears welled up in Mrs Gillespie’s eyes.

Katrina took her hand. ‘You weren’t doing anything wrong at all. You did absolutely the best thing, talking to your health visitor about it instead of struggling on your own and worrying.’

‘My mother-in-law said I should have weaned her ages ago, that’s why she isn’t growing and why she isn’t sleeping through the night yet.’

‘Absolutely not,’ Rhys said. ‘We don’t recommend weaning any earlier than four months. Rosanna was finding it hard to feed because it was hard work for her; she’s been eating little and often because it’s been easier for her. And babies decide when they’re going to sleep through the night—every baby’s different.’

‘Though that’s made it harder for you,’ Katrina added. ‘When you’ve had a lot of broken nights, you’re tired and everything feels much more of a struggle than it would if you’d had enough sleep. Things are going to be a lot better after today.’

Mrs Gillespie brushed away a tear. ‘Thank you. Sorry, I’m being stupid,’ she said shakily.

‘Not at all. You’re human, and you’ve had a lot on your plate.’ Katrina gave her a hug. ‘Would you like me to get you some water or something?’

Mrs Gillespie shook her head. ‘I’m all right. But thank you.’

‘We’ll come and see you again later,’ Rhys promised. ‘If you need anything, just ask. You’re not making a nuisance of yourself—it’s what we’re here for.’

The Gillespies, clearly still overwhelmed, just nodded, and Rhys shepherded Katrina out of the cubicle. ‘You,’ he said, ‘were brilliant. Thanks for your help.’

She shrugged. ‘It’s my job.’

‘That’s not how it comes across. You really care.’

‘It’s hard enough for parents to come to terms with the fact their baby’s not well or needs an operation—the least we can do is make it easier for them. And Will’s always taught the staff on this ward to treat patients as if they’re our own family—so we show them respect, dignity and kindness.’

‘Not all families are like that,’ Rhys said.

That, Katrina thought, sounded personal. Not that she was going to try to get him to talk about it. She knew he’d only back away from her again. ‘This one is,’ she said simply. ‘That’s why I love working here so much.’

Later that afternoon, Katrina was having a coffee break when Rhys walked into the staffroom.

‘Just the person I wanted to see,’ she said with a smile.

‘You want a second opinion on a patient?’ he asked.

She shook her head. ‘I’ve been looking at the listings. There’s a film festival on this week—and there are some really good ones showing tomorrow evening. Shall I book tickets for us?’

‘Tomorrow evening?’ He looked regretful. ‘Sorry. No can do. I’m absolutely up to my eyes in paperwork. If I don’t get some of it shifted…’

Katrina had the nasty feeling that he was making a polite excuse. Rhys’s predecessor had been a little bit slapdash when it came to paperwork, but things couldn’t be that bad, surely?

Well, she wasn’t going to push herself in where she clearly wasn’t wanted. ‘I understand,’ she said. Her mistake, thinking a shared love of film would be the basis of a good friendship. She could accept that he didn’t want to be more than friends— that suited her, too—but it was obvious that Rhys wasn’t interested in even that. ‘And I’d better get on,’ she said, glancing at her watch.

‘You’re not finishing your coffee?’

No. Knowing that she’d just made a fool of herself, she wanted to get out of there as fast as possible. Not that she was going to tell him that. ‘I’ve already had too much caffeine today. I don’t want to be still awake at 3:00 a. m.,’ she said lightly, then rinsed out her mug and left the room.

She managed to keep a lid on her feelings until Friday evening, when she was leaving the ward after a late shift. The light was still on in Rhys’s office; she knew he’d been in early and he should’ve gone home hours ago.

She rapped on the open door and he looked up. ‘Yes?’

‘Are you OK?’ she asked.

‘Fine.’ He spread his hands. ‘Why shouldn’t I be?’

‘It’s just…’ Even though part of her knew she should keep her mouth shut, the words spilled out. ‘Apart from Tuesday, you’ve worked late every night this week, even if you came on duty well before 9:00 a. m.’

He shrugged. ‘I’d rather spend my shifts actually treating patients on the ward or in clinic, and I need to catch up on the paperwork at some point.’

‘Fair enough, but you’re taking it to extremes. Working these sorts of hours really isn’t good for you.’

He folded his arms and leaned back in his chair. ‘So what are you saying, Katrina?’

‘There’s more to life than work, and maybe you should cut yourself some slack.’

‘Thank you for your concern, but it’s really not necessary.’

Her mouth really didn’t know when to stop. ‘Actually, I think it is. Because you’re working ridiculous hours, everyone else is starting to feel they ought to work late, too—and that’s not fair. Especially on colleagues who have young families.’

His expression was unreadable. ‘I wasn’t aware I’d asked anyone else to work late.’

‘You haven’t,’ she admitted, feeling her face heat. ‘But you do it, so they feel that if they don’t they’re not pulling their weight.’

‘As you’re clearly their spokesperson, you can go back and tell them I said I don’t expect them to work the same hours as I do. If anyone has a problem with my hours, they can talk to me themselves.’ He frowned. ‘And if you’ll excuse me, I need to go and check on a patient.’

‘The night staff are perfectly capable of dealing with things. If there’s a problem where they need your help, they’d be straight in to see you, and you know it.’ She folded her arms. ‘I think you’re just avoiding the issue.’

‘There isn’t an issue.’

‘Yes, there is. You’re working crazy hours and it isn’t good for you—or for the patients.’ She shook her head in frustration. ‘You have to be tired. Nobody can put in that amount of hours without wearing themselves out.’

‘I’m fine. And, just for the record, I would never, never put a patient at risk.’ His voice was very cool.

She sighed. ‘You really won’t let anyone close, will you? On Tuesday, you said we were friends. Since then, you’ve avoided me—and you’ve used work as an excuse not to go to the cinema with me. My mistake for taking your words at face value. You were obviously just being polite at the restaurant.’

When he said nothing, she shrugged. ‘Well, now I know. I’ll leave you to it. Sorry to have bothered you.’ She turned away.

‘Katrina, wait.’ Rhys left his desk and put his hand on her shoulder as she reached the doorway.

She turned to face him. ‘What?’

‘I have the social skills of a rhinoceros. I’m fine with patients and their parents because it’s work and I know what I’m doing. But…’ He removed his hand from her shoulder and raked it through his hair. ‘I’m not particularly good at this friendship stuff. I’m sorry.’

Katrina had known several people at university who had been practically geniuses in the lab, but utterly hopeless in social situations and hadn’t had a clue what to say in the bar. Rhys was clearly the same type: talk about facts and food and film and medicine and he was fine. Talk about something personal, and he was all at sea. And right at that moment he was looking awkward and as embarrassed as she’d just felt. He was trying, really trying, at something he obviously found difficult. The least she could do was acknowledge that. ‘Apology accepted.’

‘I probably do put in too many hours. But I happen to like my job.’

‘Including paperwork?’ Now, that one she didn’t believe.

‘It’s not quite the kind of paperwork you’re thinking of. Right now I’m reviewing all our patient leaflets and updating them, and working out how we can make our department’s website pages easier for parents and children to use. I could do it at home, but from a technical viewpoint it’s a lot quicker to do it at the hospital. And,’ he added, ‘I might point out that you stay late, too, or you come in early to read stories to the children.’

‘Half an hour at the beginning or end of my shift,’ she said. ‘That’s reasonable. What you’re doing isn’t reasonable. It’s practically doing a double shift. And don’t protest, Rhys—you know it isn’t reasonable.’

‘So I’m a workaholic.’ He spread his hands. ‘It’s not a crime. Plenty of other people work as hard as I do.’

She flushed. ‘I’m not nagging.’

‘Actually, you are.’ He smiled ruefully. ‘But I suppose you have a point. All right.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Do you have to be somewhere, or do you fancy going for a drink?’

He was asking her out?

Her thoughts must have shown on her face, because he raised an eyebrow. ‘As colleagues.’

‘And then you’ll blank me on Monday morning?’ she asked wryly.

He sighed. ‘I’ll try not to. So. Do you want to go for a drink?’

‘Thanks, but at this time of night everywhere’s going to be crowded and noisy.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘Not to mention dark.’

‘Which means it’ll be difficult for you to hear or lip-read.’ He grimaced. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t think.’

She shrugged. ‘Not your problem. But thanks for the offer, anyway. It was nice of you to ask.’ And even though she was tempted—severely tempted—she didn’t suggest an alternative. Because it would be all too easy to let herself fall for Rhys Morgan, to want something from him that he clearly wasn’t prepared to give. ‘I’d better be going. Have a nice weekend.’

‘You, too.’