Читать книгу Medical Romance January 2017 Books 1 -6 - Marion Lennox - Страница 18

CHAPTER NINE

‘I THINK WE can safely say you’re all right to drive again.’

Of all the things he’d been hoping for, this should have been the biggest. Sally had just performed intensive neurological tests. She’d pushed him every way she could. His left leg was still weaker than the right. He still had a slight limp. His fingers didn’t flex instantaneously but they were pretty fast. In these last four weeks he’d pushed himself to the physical edge and now he was reaping the rewards.

He was cured. Well, almost. Recovery from cerebral damage was slow. His brain was making new neural pathways. He still had a way to go before he could balance well on a surfboard again, but essentially his body could almost be classified as normal.

He should be over the moon.

He walked out of the physiotherapy clinic and missed Tasha.

She still came with him occasionally, but she’d ceased joining in. She sat on the sidelines, silently, reading a book, pretending she wasn’t watching. Anger still vibrated between them. It felt as if they’d betrayed each other. A normal friendship was impossible.

She hadn’t come today. Darryl and Louise Coad had turned up at the surgery to discuss their worries about their elderly mother. Tasha could have put them off until tomorrow, or she could have asked Tom to see them later—they were, after all, his patients—but instead she’d welcomed them.

‘Of course I can see you. Tom, can you ask Karen to drive you?’

She’d sounded almost relieved, which was the story of their lives right now. She didn’t want anything more to do with him than she had to.

Her fear left him feeling angry. Why couldn’t she trust when he’d made such a leap himself?

‘Why the black face?’ He’d been sitting in Karen’s cab, silent, his thoughts grim as Cray Point’s taxi driver took him home. ‘I would have thought you’d be on top of the world,’ she said. ‘Great report from your physio. And, hey, did you know the solicitors have put a freeze on Ron’s assets? Iris should be set for life. There’s also a question about the legality of Ron’s financial dealings. Some of those documents we copied are red hot. The local cop says we might end up with Ron facing charges other than assault and battery. How cool’s that?’

‘Really cool,’ Tom said, and tried a smile, but Karen looked sideways at him and grimaced.

‘You got it bad, huh?’

‘What?’

‘Don’t what me. The whole town knows you’re loopy over Tasha. We all know why she moved out and we’re all really sorry. And now you’ve recovered, she can leave and we’ll be stuck with your sorry face for the rest of our lives. Whatcha going to do about it, Doc?’

‘There’s nothing I can do,’ he said explosively. ‘She loved my half-brother and he was a toe rag. She lost her baby. How do I persuade her to trust again?’

And there it was, out in the open. He’d said it. He sat back, aghast, feeling more exposed than he’d ever felt in his life.

Karen didn’t say anything. There was nothing to say, at least for the moment. It took her a good two minutes before she opened her mouth again and even then it wasn’t to impart wisdom.

‘Guess flowers and candles and Hilda’s casseroles won’t work on this one, hey, Doc?’

He almost lost it. He gritted his teeth and they drove on in silence.

When finally they pulled up outside the surgery he had himself under control—almost. ‘Thank you,’ he said curtly. ‘Put it on my account.’

‘Sure thing, Doc.’

‘And don’t go saying—’

‘I don’t need to. The whole town knows. Tasha’s looking as grim-faced as you. I don’t know why we don’t just knock your heads together and be done with it.’

‘And put us both back into hospital with cerebral bleeds?’

‘Not funny, Doc,’ she said. She paused. ‘You know Rhonda and Hilda and their dad will be back on Sunday. If you’ve got your driving licence back and they’re wanting their house, what’s to stop Tasha from leaving?’

‘Nothing.’ Except a small grave up on the hill, but that wouldn’t hold her, he thought.

And he couldn’t hold her.

‘Think of something, Doc,’ Karen said urgently. ‘There must be some way...’

‘Leave it, Karen,’ he said heavily, and slammed the taxi door and headed up to the house.

He limped. When he concentrated he no longer limped but he wasn’t concentrating on his leg now.

He was thinking of nothing but Tasha.

The post box was full. He grabbed it as he went past, and riffled through. He wanted something—anything—to distract him, but there seemed nothing out of the ordinary. They all looked like specialist letters sent after referrals, all like the dozen or more he sorted at the end of each day.

He poured himself a beer and settled down to read. Work... It was the only way he could think of to get his head away from where it most wanted to be.

* * *

Rhonda and Hilda shared a picturesque cottage in the centre of town. It was cute to the point of twee, filled with mementos of lives back in England, husbands now gone, shells collected over years, pieces of driftwood, china ornaments, cats past and present.

Tasha was currently sitting on the back step overlooking a hundred or so pot plants. Cats were twining through her legs and her eyes were watering.

She wasn’t noticing. She was staring in horror at a small white stick.

A stick with two red lines in the centre.

How had this happened? How?

She’d been a bit queasy yesterday and the day before. And tired. Then she’d woken in the middle of the night thinking dates. Thinking horror.

This morning she’d lost her breakfast.

She tested herself at the surgery and told herself it must be a mistake. She’d pleaded that it was a mistake. Then she’d worked all day, thrusting it on the backburner.

She’d just tested herself again.

If she was asked to describe her feelings right now, she couldn’t. Of all the dumb, terrifying, catasmotic—was that a word?—things to happen...

She was pregnant with Tom’s child.

One night.

They’d used condoms. Of course they had—they weren’t kids like Benny and Kylie. They’d stopped before things had got out of hand. They’d decided—like mature adults—to go ahead but to be careful.

She’d been sensible. Tom had been sensible.

Okay, they might have been in a hurry...

This was too big. Her head couldn’t take it in. She was staring at the red lines until they blurred.

She was exposed again. She was totally, absolutely out of control, when she’d made a conscious, intelligent decision to stay in control. She’d moved out of Tom’s house four weeks ago and she’d kept her distance. Even if her heart did give this crazy hammer every time she saw him, she had it under wraps. She was being sensible.

Rhonda was due home tomorrow and Hilda and their dad soon after. She’d intended to stay on in their guest room, work here for a couple more weeks until she was sure Tom could cope, and then go... Where?

It didn’t matter. She’d intended to start looking at job offers soon. Somewhere busy, she’d thought. Somewhere demanding where her head didn’t have to think.

Of Emily. Or Paul. Or her parents.

Or betrayal and loss.

Or Tom.

She’d written to the IVF clinic and asked them to destroy the last vials of Paul’s sperm. She had no use for it. She knew she didn’t have the courage to start again.

The plastic stick in her hand with its red lines made a mockery of every single decision she’d made.

She felt dizzy and more than a little sick. Her hands went instinctively to her belly.

A foetus.

A baby.

‘Tasha?’

Of all the people she most didn’t want to face right now it was Tom. She gasped as she saw him appear at the back gate. Her hand instinctively dropped and she let the small white stick fall through the planks between the steps.

Somehow she forced a smile.

He was wearing his customary jeans and ancient T-shirt. He was smiling at her just the way she loved him to smile.

Tom.

The father of her baby.

She thought she might faint.

‘Are you okay?’ He knew her well, this man. He opened the gate and came towards her, looking worried, and she made a huge effort and summoned a smile to greet him.

‘H-hi. Yes, I’m fine.’ And then she thought he wouldn’t believe that. She knew she’d lost colour. ‘I think I ate something at lunch,’ she told him. ‘I did a house call on Bert Hathaway and he insisted I try one of his homemade sausages. It’s been sitting like a lump of lead in my stomach all afternoon.’

‘He makes great sausages.’

‘Says the man with a cast-iron stomach. Do you know how much chilli he puts in those things?’

‘That’s why I know they’re safe. No bug could stand the heat. Are you vomiting? Need a nice injection? I’m just the man for the job.’

‘I’m sure you are but no, thanks.’

‘And I have the all-clear to give as many injections as I want,’ he told her, smiling down at her. ‘As of today I have my driving licence back. I’m classified normal.’

That was good—wasn’t it? She was so confused her head was having trouble operating her tongue. ‘Your arm and leg still aren’t what they should be,’ she managed.

‘I’ll keep on with the rehab,’ he told her. ‘But I’m improving every day. Thanks to you.’

‘Just because I’m bossy...’

‘Sometimes a man needs bossy,’ he said, and sat down on the step beside her.

She didn’t want him to sit down. She wanted to get up and run.

The sun was almost down. The sky was tinged with the gold of a truly amazing sunset. Grass parrots were settling in the gumtrees around the house, squawking as they fought for the best nesting perch. A cat was purring across her feet. Two more were prowling under the steps.

She was sitting on the back step with the man she loved with all her heart, and all she wanted to do was run.

‘Tasha,’ he said gently, and her heart did a back flip.

‘I... Yes.’

‘A letter came to the surgery today,’ he told her. ‘It was addressed to Dr T. S. Blake. I’m T. R., but I didn’t notice. It was in a pile of specialist letters. They all look the same and I didn’t even think. I opened it and read it before I realised. I’m sorry.’

And he flipped a letter from his back pocket, tugged it open and handed it over.

It was a formal letter from the IVF clinic.

Dear Dr Blake

We have received your letter advising us that you wish us to cancel your appointment and dispose of the sperm held in your name. To do this, however, we need you to complete the attached legal documents.

You are required to have the forms witnessed...

Please return the forms to...

Documents were attached. This was the formal acknowledgement that she wished never to have a child.

That she wished for no more pain.

She held the letter in her hand and watched the letters blur, as the lines on the pregnancy test had blurred moments ago. Her head felt like it might explode. She wanted to shrink into nothing. Disappear.

‘I guess Paul used your married name when he deposited the sperm,’ Tom said helpfully from the sidelines. ‘Though I would have thought they’d use your full name.’

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, because she couldn’t think what else to say.

‘You don’t need to apologise.’ He put a hand over hers. ‘Tasha, was this decision because of us? Were you intending to try for another child and cancelled because of what happened between us?’

‘It’s nothing to do with you.’ Except it was. Now it was.

‘I can’t bear it,’ he said at last. ‘That I hurt you...’

‘You didn’t hurt me.’

‘I know I wasn’t meant to read it,’ he said. ‘But this letter tells me you’d made the decision to try again for a baby, and now you’ve cancelled.’ He shook his head. ‘Tasha, they attached a copy of your letter. You wrote it the day you moved out of my home.’

‘I should be grateful,’ she whispered. ‘I’d forgotten how much love hurts. All you did was remind me. This decision is all about me, not about you.’

‘Tasha...’

And then he paused, his attention caught by what was happening at his feet.

Two cats had been snooping under the steps where they’d been sitting. They were agile, curious Burmese, ready to play with anything.

Neither Tasha nor Tom had been paying them attention but they’d been playing with something. Batting it forward.

Now one creamy paw batted their plaything out from the narrow opening under the bottom step. The cats had to go sideways to get out, so for a moment their toy lay untended.

It was a white plastic stick. It showed two red lines facing upwards.

Tasha couldn’t move. She sat frozen as Tom reached forward, almost idly, as if it was of no importance at all that he was picking up a pregnancy test stick and reading the results.

The cats yowled their protest that their toy had been taken from them. The parrots kept on squawking overhead. The surf was a faint hush-hush in the background.

All Tasha heard was white noise. The world spun. And then Tom was pushing her head down between her knees, holding her, supporting her while she decided whether to retch or faint—or do nothing.

Nothing was safest. Nothing was what she wanted most in the world.

Tom sat silent and let her have her nothing.

It couldn’t last. Of course it couldn’t. She sat, head bowed, while Tom ran his fingers through her curls and the silence between them built to a crescendo.

When Tom finally spoke his voice sounded as if it came from a long way away. ‘Tasha...’ He stopped, cleared his throat and tried again. ‘Tasha, are you pregnant?’

‘I... Yes.’ There was nothing else to say.

He looked at the stick again, then set it aside to pick up the letter and re-read. ‘This means... Tasha, did you contact the IVF people to cancel before you knew you were pregnant?’

‘Yes.’ What did he think? That she’d deliberately used his sperm instead? The thought made her want to laugh but there was no way she could laugh. She was so close to hysterics.

Unbidden, her hands went to her belly again. Tom noticed. She knew he’d noticed.

He started stroking her hair again, as one would stroke a wounded wild creature, giving reassurance that help was at hand. Only help wasn’t at hand. She was flailing. ‘We were careful,’ he said, and she heard shock underneath the caring.

She had to make herself talk.

‘One of my professors once said the only sure contraceptive is a brick wall,’ she managed. ‘Tom, I’m sorry.’

Her voice was muffled. She had to straighten. She did but heaven only knew the effort it cost her. To sit up and face the world...

To sit up and face Tom.

‘When did you find out?’ he asked, still in that strange, neutral voice.

‘I’ve been off colour for a couple of days. This morning...’ She bit her lip. ‘I woke up and knew. I just knew.’

‘So just today.’

‘Y-yes.’

‘And it’s mine.’

That was harder. She had to struggle to make her lips move. ‘Yes.’ She should say something else, she thought, but she couldn’t make herself think what.

Would he be angry?

He didn’t sound angry.

Of all the sensations whirling around them right now, anger didn’t seem one of them.

There was a long silence. It must have hit him like a sledgehammer, she thought, but the sledgehammer had been at work on her as well and she didn’t have a clue where to take this. But finally he spoke.

‘Tasha, could you bear to have it?’

And there it was, out in the open.

Could she have Tom’s baby?

The thought was so immense it took her breath away. To carry a baby for nine months? To give birth to a little one who looked like Tom? To watch Tom fall in love with his child as she knew instinctively that he would?

Family. The chasm was right before her but instead of running away she seemed to have stepped forward so one foot was in mid-air. Maybe both feet were.

‘Tasha, don’t look like that.’ He turned her face with his lovely strong hands, forcing her to meet his gaze. ‘Love, this little one’s safe. You know the odds of what happened to Emily are so small that they melt into insignificance. There’s nothing to say our baby won’t be perfect.’

There it was. Our baby. She was trapped in her own terror. Her hands still clutched her belly.

Tom’s hand closed over hers and held.

‘Tasha,’ he said, strongly, forcefully. ‘This will be okay. This will be good. We can do this.’

We. There it was again.

‘Tasha, you can trust me.’

At least he got it, she thought. At least he understood the chasm of faith that was required—faith that she was unable to give.

But she couldn’t answer him. She tried but no words came out.

‘Cup of tea,’ he said, suddenly cheerful. He schecked out the stick’s red lines again, then tucked it into his pocket. ‘Yep, I’d call that a definite positive. We should keep this. It’s the first entry in our baby’s memento book. But meanwhile, tea with lots of sugar. I could handle a beer but just this once I’ll forgo it. Two mugs of tea coming up.’

* * *

Tasha stayed on the step, gazing at nothing. Tom headed into the kitchen, found the mugs among the kitsch and made two mugs of tea.

And tried to come to terms with what he’d just learned.

Tasha was having a baby.

His baby.

Their baby.

The thought was almost overwhelming.

He’d never imagined this. As long as he could remember, he’d thought of himself as a loner. Relationships couldn’t be trusted. He couldn’t be trusted. He’d never met a woman who he’d known he could commit to for the rest of his life and he’d assumed he never could.

And then there was Tasha. For the first time he’d felt the beginnings of trust in himself. For the first time he’d thought that here was a woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. Betrayal was out of the question because this was Tasha. Hurting Tasha, betraying Tasha’s trust, would be like ripping out a part of himself.

He suddenly found himself thinking of that tiny grave high on the headland. Of Emily. Of the way her tiny fingers had curled around his. Of the way her wide eyes had struggled to focus. Of the feel of her tiny body against his. Her newborn smell.

He wanted it. He ached for it.

He wanted a family.

How far had he come since he’d met Tasha?

And how to ease her pain now?

He took the tea outside and she was still staring sightlessly down at Rhonda’s pot plants. He stared for them for a while, too. They were pretty boring.

‘Seen one geranium, seen ’em all,’ he ventured, and Tasha hiccupped on something that might have been a sob. He sat down and pressed her tea into her hands.

‘Drink.’

‘I don’t need—’

‘Doctor’s orders. Drink.’

She did. Slowly. He drank his, too, and by the time they’d finished the sun had set and it was almost dark.

‘I don’t know what to do,’ she whispered at last.

He took her empty mug and set it down on the veranda and tried to find a way in.

‘Do you want a termination?’ The words were a slash across the silence of the night and she drew in her breath with a shocked hiss.

But she didn’t answer straight away. It’s on the table, he thought, and the sensation hurt.

The silence stretched on. Finally her hands went back her belly, the movement a protective gesture as old as time itself.

‘No,’ she whispered. ‘How can I? It’s real. A baby...’

‘Our baby,’ he said again into the night, feeling almost light-headed with relief. He’d never thought he wanted a child. Why was he suddenly desperate for this one? His hands rested against hers as he searched for the next thing to say. The right thing. ‘Tasha, whatever else is between us, this is non-negotiable. You’re not doing this as a single parent. I’m with you every step of the way. I know you don’t trust me. I know you don’t want a relationship between us and I accept that. But you will need support...’

‘So here it comes again,’ she managed, suddenly sounding dreary. ‘You support me during Emily’s loss. I support you after your injury. You support me while this one’s born... We’re taking turns.’

‘It doesn’t need to be taking turns,’ he said softly. ‘We can support each other forever.’

‘Tom...’

‘I know—you can’t,’ he said. ‘So we’ll do what we need to do to care for this little one with all the love we can muster.’

‘I don’t want to stay here.’ It was a wail and he gave a rueful smile.

‘There’s no need for you to stay.’

‘But it’s your baby.’

‘And if I need to, I’ll leave Cray Point.’

She turned and stared at him in stupefaction. ‘You’d leave...’

‘I’ve hardly thought this through,’ he said ruefully. ‘But my initial feeling... Tasha, if you need to return to England, then maybe I can, too. Don’t worry. I won’t turn into some weird stalker. We can still live separate lives but I’ll not ask you to parent on your own. I can get work wherever.’

‘But you love it here.’

‘I love you.’

The words seemed to take all the air from her lungs. She was flailing. ‘Tom...’

‘I never thought I’d say those words but it’s true,’ he continued. ‘You don’t want it and I accept that, but, Tasha, I will love our baby. I’ll be there whenever you need me and whenever he or she...’ He frowned. ‘Who is this, by the way.’

‘I have no idea,’ she snapped, torn between tears and laughter. ‘The pregnancy test doesn’t come with blue for boy, pink for girl. It’s currently the size of a tadpole.’

He grinned, that gorgeous smile that had her heart twisting. ‘I wasn’t talking about our baby’s gender. I was talking of names. Hey, my grandma used to call tadpoles pollywiggles. How’s that for a name? Yes? Okay, I’ll be there whenever Pollywig needs me. Birth? If you want me there, check. Teething? I sing a cool lullaby as long as she’s into Pink Floyd. First day at school? I’ll probably cry.’

‘Tom!’ She was practically crying herself. ‘You can’t put your life on hold...’

‘See, that’s what I hadn’t figured,’ he said gravely, and his hands tightened on hers. ‘But finally I have it sorted. Life isn’t Cray Point. Life is family.’

‘Tom, I can’t...’ It was practically a wail.

‘You don’t need to do anything,’ he told her. ‘You definitely don’t need to commit to me. All I ask is that you accept you have family. I’m your ex-half-brother-in-law who’s now the father of your baby. That seems pretty much family to me.’ And before she knew what he was about he leaned forward and kissed her lightly on the lips. It was a feather kiss, a fleeting touch, a gesture of reassurance and warmth. Surely nothing more.

‘Are you sure you don’t need anything for nausea?’ he asked. ‘I’m starting to not believe your sausage story.’

‘It was a fib,’ she confessed.

‘So...morning sickness?’

‘Nothing I can’t handle.’

‘Tasha, you will ask for help?’

She took a deep breath. ‘I will ask for help.’

‘And you’ll stay for the next two weeks at least.’

‘I will do that.’ Because what option did she have?

But suddenly she thought, The terror has faded. The overwhelming, paralysing fear when she’d seen those two lines had dissipated.

‘Pollywig...’ she said tentatively, and he smiled and touched her hair.

‘It’s a fine name, but we can discuss options if you like.’

‘I like Pollywig.’

‘So do I.’ He rose and smiled down at her. ‘And I like Pollywig’s mum. But Pollywig’s mum needs to head to bed and get her head around the new norm. And me... I’m heading out behind the wheel of my little car to celebrate the fact that I can drive again. And I’m going to be a dad. It’s been quite a day.’

‘It has. Tom...’

‘Mmm?’

‘Thank you.’

‘Think nothing of it,’ he said grandly. ‘And don’t you dare go to bed and tremble. Together we can cope with one cute Pollywig. Together we can do anything.’

And he leant forward again and his lips brushed her forehead.

And then he was gone and the night was darker for his going.

* * *

Who could sleep?

She lay in bed and stared up at the darkness and called herself all kinds of coward.

Tom loved her. She knew it. She could see it in the way he looked at her. She could feel it in the way he touched her. She just...knew it.

It would be so easy to walk into his arms and let the future take over.

Become Mrs Blake again? Pregnant.

Rhonda and Hilda had left strict instructions as to the temperature the cats needed for comfort. The house was constantly overheated, but right now she was cold.

Why was she shaking? It wasn’t as if she was frightened of Tom, and surely logic would decree that this pregnancy should be fine. The odds were on her side.

She was pregnant with Tom’s baby. She suddenly felt a burst of warmth amid the fear.

This baby would be Tom’s. He wanted to be its father.

Pollywig.

‘It’s a lousy name for a baby,’ she said out loud, and she almost found the courage to smile.

Tom had said he’d move from Cray Point to be a father. She couldn’t make him do that.

So live here? He’d suggested a medical partnership.

But part of her shut down at the thought. Working with Tom every day... She couldn’t.

Why? she asked herself, but the same part refused to answer.

Because she loved Tom? Because she couldn’t bear to see him every day?

Because she was a coward?

None of those things, she told herself savagely. It was just that there was an attraction between them that couldn’t be denied, and she was being sensible. She wanted no part of it so she needed to leave.

But she couldn’t go back to England. It wouldn’t be fair to Tom.

Or to her?

For home felt like here.

‘It does not.’ She said it out loud and one of the cats wandering past her bedroom door leaped in fright and bolted for the company of his mates. ‘I don’t have a home.’

‘You’ll need to make one. So think about sensible.’

Sensible was what she needed. She needed to make plans, get herself under control again, stop the crazy vortex in her head once and for all.

‘Summer Bay.’ There was a sensible thought. Summer Bay, where Tom had gone to rehab, was a town big enough for a large medical centre with half a dozen doctors. She could get a job, relieving at first, and then as Pollywig grew maybe full-time work.

She had money from Paul’s life insurance. She could buy a wee house.

Maybe a puppy...

Tom could visit. The towns were only half an hour apart. It was a sensible distance, where Tom could be as involved as he wanted with Pollywig but their lives could be as separate as they needed to be.

‘I wouldn’t even have to know who he was dating.’ She said that out loud, too. It should have sounded sensible. It should have sounded reassuring but instead it came out a bit...petty?

All of a sudden she felt silly and just a little bit small. To not have the courage to trust...

‘I can’t help it,’ she told the night, and the night just had to listen. ‘I’m not built to trust again.’

‘You’re a coward.’

‘Yes, but I’m a pregnant coward and I need to look after me for my baby’s sake.’

‘That’s an excuse and you know it.’

‘Okay, I’m afraid,’ she said out loud. ‘I’m a great blob of yellow custard, quivering at the edges, and there’s not a thing I can do about it. So go to sleep.’

She closed her eyes but sleep wouldn’t come. The quivering wasn’t helping.