Saskia thrust her away, her eyes searching Anouk’s. ‘You haven’t heard, then?’ she demanded.
‘Heard what?’
‘That the explosion affected King’s Boulevard?’
‘That’s us.’ Anouk frowned.
‘Yes. The whole area has been cordoned off until they can determine which buildings are structurally intact and which aren’t. We can’t go home.’
Anouk didn’t answer and Saskia hugged her again. Though whether it was to make her friend feel better or herself, she couldn’t quite be sure.
‘At least we’re both safe.’
‘We should book a hotel, then...’ Anouk looked dazed. ‘I’ll call now.’
Guilt jostled around Saskia’s chest.
‘Not for me.’ She placed her hand over Anouk’s to still her, even as she reached into her locker for her mobile. ‘I’m... I have somewhere to be.’
‘Where?’
The guilt swelled. And with it another sharp abdominal pain. It took everything she had not to wince. Not to let Anouk see. Not until she knew what was going on with her body, and not until she’d told Malachi first.
‘I... I’m staying with Malachi,’ she managed.
‘With Malachi?’
Anouk frowned, peering at her a little too closely for Saskia’s peace of mind. And then the unmistakable baritone of Sol Gunn, top neurosurgeon and Malachi’s brother, came to her rescue.
‘Saskia? Are you in here?’
And then he appeared in person, and all Saskia could wonder was whether he knew about her and his brother. If so, how much did he know?
But when he rounded the corner fully, his attention seemed distracted.
‘Oh, Anouk...’
He paused for a fraction of a second before turning back to her. Curious.
‘Mal says you need to get going, Saskia. His heli is on the roof and they want it cleared in case another emergency has to come in.’
‘I’m going,’ Saskia muttered, but Sol had already turned back to her friend, an intense expression clouding his face.
‘If you’re calling for a hotel, Anouk, you’re too late. I heard a couple of guys complaining an hour ago that every hotel in the city is booked out. The cordon is quite extensive—lots of apartment blocks have been evacuated.’
‘Great.’
Anouk gritted her teeth and Saskia couldn’t bring herself to leave. If their apartment block was in the cordon then Anouk would have nowhere to go. Yet she could hardly invite her back to Malachi’s; she didn’t even know where she stood with him herself.
‘You could find an on-call room,’ she suggested hesitantly.
‘I’m guessing they’ll all be taken, too,’ Sol told them. ‘They’re setting up temporary beds in community centres all around the place.’
‘Oh...’ Anouk’s face fell, and Saskia couldn’t help grabbing her friend’s hand.
‘I could speak to Malachi? See if you can come with us?’
‘Or you could just stay with me,’ Sol cut in quietly, firmly.
He didn’t add to the sentence, but it hung there in the silence. Slowly, so slowly, the reason for the tension between Sol and Anouk dawned on her.
Could it really be...?
‘Thanks,’ Anouk managed stiffly, ‘but I don’t think it’s a good idea.’
It was just too deliciously ironic to be true. Her and Malachi? Anouk and Sol?
‘That’s a great idea,’ Saskia gushed, before Anouk could shut him down.
When was the last time Anouk had done anything crazy? Why not now?
‘I’m sorry—I do have to go,’ she muttered, squeezing Anouk’s hand again, as if that could convey all the things she couldn’t say to her friend in front of Sol.
‘I don’t understand, Sask?’
She wished, not for the first time, that she’d found a way to tell her friend about the baby. But this wasn’t the time.
‘It’s complicated. I’ll explain everything when I can.’
Then Saskia hurried out of the room, before she could say anything more to give herself away.
The cramps were stronger now, along with chest pain. Gripping the wall, Saskia made her way down the corridor and into the bathroom. She needed to know if she was losing the baby.
Slipping into the stall, she closed her eyes and sent a silent plea out into the ether.
No blood. Not even spotting. No sign that she was losing her baby. Thank goodness.
Saskia slumped against the wall with relief. A sob racked her. It was incredible that something she hadn’t even thought about, let alone planned, should mean so much to her, and yet it did.
Which was why she needed to go to the maternity wing now, and make sure everything was all right.
Whatever the situation with Malachi, she wasn’t going to shut him out of their lives. This was his baby, too, and whether he chose to be a part of it or not would have to be his choice. They were never going to have the kind of deep, passionate love her parents had shared, but that could only be a good thing when she thought about how they had ended up devastating her as a child. She should be pleased that Malachi wanted to be an active part of his child’s life.
It was wrong to want to keep him at bay simply because she didn’t think she could handle their physical attraction. Which meant that right now he had as much right to know what was happening with this pregnancy as she did.
Sucking in a deep breath, Saskia took her mobile out of her bag and, with shaking fingers, texted his number.
* * *
Malachi raced down the stairs to the maternity wing and battled not to let his world fall apart all around him.
How was it that a baby he hadn’t even thought he wanted a few weeks ago was now the most important thing in his life?
He snatched open the door to the floor and glanced up and down the corridor, trying to find his bearings. There. Room 214... Room 216... He kept moving until he found the room number Saskia had texted him, knocked once and walked inside.
She was there alone, a bottle of water gripped with white-knuckle tightness.
‘What’s going on?’ he demanded without preamble.
‘Where’s your helicopter?’ She shot him a shocked, slightly dazed glance, peering around him as though she half expected it to be in the corridor behind him.
‘Dealt with.’ He just about swallowed his frustration. ‘What’s happening with you?’
She didn’t look as though she’d heard him.
‘You can’t leave it on the roof. What if an emergency comes in and an air ambulance needs to land?’
‘I didn’t leave it on the helipad—it’s dealt with. It’s safe,’ he managed. ‘Now, tell me about you, Saskia.’
‘Oh...she’s gone to set up a scan,’ Saskia blurted, sending his heart tumbling in a fast, wild freefall which he didn’t think would ever end. ‘Hence the water.’
Of course.
‘Is something wrong with the baby?’
‘No...maybe...probably not.’ She struggled to speak. ‘They think I was just having a panic attack. I had abdominal pains, chest pains, some trembling.’
‘You have a stressful career and you just worked a major incident after a three-day shift,’ he pointed out, trying to keep any hint of accusation out of his voice.
This wasn’t about laying blame. It was about understanding what had happened to Saskia, and potentially to their baby, and why.
‘Which is why they want to do the scan. Impact on the developing foetus isn’t inevitable, but high anxiety could lead to reduced blood flow to the baby, which could result in low birth weight or premature labour.’
The words pounded down on him.
‘Premature labour? That can’t happen. So from now on do you need bed rest?’ he demanded.
‘Not bed rest, exactly,’ sh
e countered. ‘But they may suggest some activity restrictions.’
A low sound rumbled in his chest. ‘I need more than that, zvyozdochka. Tell me precisely what restrictions.’
‘It’s not definite yet,’ she hedged.
‘Saskia.’
The warning was clear, but still she blinked at him before capitulating.
‘Fine. Light exercise is fine, but lifting heavy weights, housework, for the moment they’re off limits.’
‘Work?’ he pushed.
‘Let’s see what the scan shows,’ she countered shakily.
He knew he should let it go and give her some semblance of feeling that she was still in control.
But he couldn’t.
‘I can’t imagine they left that open to interpretation when, as a doctor, you’re constantly running around a hospital—a highly stressful environment.’
‘Lots of pregnant women work.’ She narrowed her eyes at him. ‘Some even work in hospitals.’
‘And they don’t end up here,’ he said trying to keep the dark, terrible thoughts at bay. ‘Afraid for their baby.’
‘We don’t know anything yet,’ Saskia repeated, but there was no strength to her words. Only thinly veiled fear. ‘I can’t just take the next five months off for a panic attack.’
He softened his voice, taking her hand. ‘This is about the baby. Our baby. And your health. If it’s about the money, I can cover any expenses.’
‘It isn’t about the money!’ she cried, but she didn’t try to pull her hand away. ‘This is about letting down the hospital, my patients, my colleagues.’
A savage fury swept through him in that moment, but he couldn’t reply. He couldn’t even speak.
And then suddenly she shot him a desperate look.
‘I don’t even know if anything is wrong.’
It was like a fog lifting.
‘You feel responsible for them,’ he realised abruptly. It was a sensation that he knew only too well, and she didn’t need him judging her or condemning her. She needed him to understand and take control.
‘I...yes.’
‘But this isn’t about them. It’s about you and it’s about our child. And you won’t be going through this alone.’ Malachi dropped his voice. ‘I will look after you, zvyozdochka.’
She dragged her eyes up to him, searching, imploring. And then she stopped and offered the briefest of nods, her fingers gripping his hand tightly, as though she was never going to let it go.
There was so much more to say. So many ways to reassure her. But at that moment Saskia’s consultant returned and, after a brief introduction, led them to an available ultrasound room.
The same one they’d been in for that first scan. It almost felt like fate—if Malachi had ever believed in such things.
But this time the screen was kept turned away from him and Saskia as the checks were carried out, and when Saskia slid her hand back into his all he could do was hold on tightly.
He had no idea what to do with this ball of emotion churning inside him. So he just sat there and stared at the back of the screen, as if he could make everything all right just by sheer force of will.
When the consultant finally glanced up, the faintest smile on her lips, and clicked the sound on so that the baby’s rapid constant heartbeat filled the room, it was as if a weight had been lifted.
Still, it felt like an age whilst the rest of the checks were conducted, and he had to sit there, feeling powerless and furious, whilst she prodded Saskia and asked her to move position several times. It felt like another eternity while they took measurements and checked organs.
He’d spent half his life learning to read people, honing the skill to perfection. But right now he couldn’t read the consultant’s neutral expression, and a part of him didn’t even want to. The fact that there wasn’t another smile, or any moment of engagement, told him everything.
All he could do was keep Saskia’s cold hand nestled in his. The impending news was almost suffocating him, and nightmare scenarios were racing through his mind. He could only imagine the plethora of things that Saskia—a medical professional herself—could be imagining.
‘So, the baby looks generally healthy, and it’s growing,’ the consultant began, showing them a couple of images she’d saved. ‘However, there are a couple of areas of concern. The scan shows a potential clubbed foot—but, more concerning, it seems there is a mass on your baby’s left foot and another smaller one on the left hand. Your baby’s movements seemed to be a little restricted, however, I’d like to do some more rigorous scans before I draw any conclusions—’
‘But it’s consistent with ABS?’ Saskia cut in. ‘One professional to another?’
‘I’m sorry, Saskia, but it’s a working theory, yes.’
Malachi waited for them to elaborate, and when they didn’t he spoke.
‘ABS?’
‘Amniotic Band Syndrome,’ Saskia answered dully.
The consultant chimed in quickly. ‘But we won’t know for sure until we can get some clearer scans.’
‘When will that be?’ he demanded.
‘There’s another machine, a better one, but it’s in use now. We could try in about half an hour,’ she suggested. ‘I just need you to keep drinking water, Saskia. That should help, too.’
Saskia grunted in what might have passed as acknowledgement. It only made him feel all the more helpless. There was nothing he could say or do to help right now, and he wasn’t used to not being the person in the room people looked to in order to solve a problem.
Hell, he didn’t know if anyone could solve this one.
CHAPTER NINE
‘SO IT’S DEFINITELY this Amniotic Band Syndrome?’ Malachi gritted out, and Saskia turned to face him.
If she was feeling this numb, this out of her own body, then how must Malachi be feeling right now?
‘Can you see those weblike lines on the image?’ she managed jerkily.
‘I’m the only non-doctor in this room,’ he said pointedly.
‘Right. Sorry. Yes...’ her consultant cut in. ‘Because it’s Saskia, I forgot that you might not be following. So, ABS is caused by thin strands of the amniotic sac which have separated and are wrapping around parts of the baby.’
‘But it’s a fluid?’ he frowned. ‘Amniotic fluid. It’s meant to protect the baby.’
Saskia shook her head, unable to speak. She’d had to pass bad news on to parents and guardians countless times, keeping level-headed in some incredibly high-pressure situations. But this time she was on the other side of the fence. She couldn’t even begin to think straight, let alone make her voice form the words to explain.
‘Think of it this way,’ the consultant interjected gently. ‘Two membranes form around the embryo to protect it during gestation, the amnion and the chorion—almost like one balloon being blown up inside another. In between the two is a sticky substance which allows these two membranes to fuse together, usually by week fourteen.’
‘But in this case they haven’t,’ he stated flatly.
‘Right—and sections of the amnion have broken away in long, fine strands. These strands can wrap around the foetus, entangling digits, limbs or other parts of the developing baby.’
‘We’re at seventeen weeks. Why wasn’t this spotted earlier?’ he demanded, and Saskia could read the fear and frustration in his voice.
It echoed her own.
She reached out her arm stiffly to touch his.
‘The strands are so fine that they can be hard to spot on ultrasound, Malachi,’ she whispered. ‘A diagnosis is usually made by observing the birth defects caused by ABS.’
He turned his head to look at her, and for a moment they didn’t feel like two strangers who had made a baby during a one-night stand. They felt like a unit. A team.
‘Like these masses on the b
aby’s left hand and foot?’
‘Yes,’ the consultant confirmed. ‘And the club foot we’ve seen today.
Malachi turned back to face the woman, away from Saskia. There was no need for Saskia to feel the loss so acutely. Yet she did.
‘We...we were intimate,’ he bit out at length. ‘Last week...’
‘No,’ the woman shook her head firmly. ‘We don’t always know what causes chorioamniotic separation, but usually—that is, in about eighty-five percent of cases—it is invasive foetal surgery. Either way, it won’t have been sexual intimacy.’
He still looked rigid, as if he wasn’t convinced that he wasn’t somehow to blame. Saskia wanted to say something but she didn’t know what. She didn’t know how.
‘So what now?’ he demanded abruptly.
Something surged through Saskia. She couldn’t have said what it was, but it lent her strength suddenly.
‘I want surgery.’
‘That’s what I would advise,’ the consultant agreed. ‘Though we need to discuss the risks.’
‘I know the risks.’
Galvanised, Saskia leaned forward, as though that would somehow better convey her desire.
‘But, depending on how tightly those bands are wrapped around my baby’s foot and hand, they could end up amputating them in the womb.’
‘So they are going to perform the surgery on you now?’ Malachi growled. ‘I realise this is something you can do—operate on babies in the womb—but this is my baby. Our baby. Talk me through it. I need to understand.’
‘There was something else I noted on the scans which we need to discuss,’ the consultant said.
Saskia blinked. ‘Something else?’
‘At one point during the scan your baby moved. It appeared as though part of it moved out of the amniotic cavity.’
‘PROM?’ She echoed in disbelief, staring at the consultant.
‘Right...’
‘What is PROM?’ he demanded.
Almost robotically, Saskia turned to face Malachi. ‘Premature rupture of the membranes. It means that a purely fetoscopic release of the amniotic bands will be impossible.’
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