Unless they changed their minds and left Iona literally holding the baby.
Did that make it his business? Did the fact that his baby might not be loved and cherished as it surely deserved—did that make it his business? Should he—could he—try and make a go of it with Iona? Because for all his denial, this was his baby. His own flesh and blood. His...
He filtered the conversation through his head again, and found what he was looking for. ‘Did you say “she”?’
She looked up and met his eyes, and they welled with tears. ‘Yes. It’s a girl,’ she said with a hitch in her voice, her free hand curling protectively over her bump. ‘Our baby’s a girl.’
A girl, a tiny little girl, who might end up with parents who did love her, but not quite as much as they would their own baby. Not nearly as much as he would...
Tears stinging his eyes, he got to his feet, walked to the other end of the kitchen and poured out the soup on autopilot.
‘Here. You need to eat this. I’ll butter some bread.’
‘I don’t want it—’
‘Tough. You need to eat and so do I. Come on.’
She sat up straighter, arching her back a little as if it was aching, and he stared at the smooth, rounded curve of her abdomen. Their baby was in there. Their daughter...
He sat down abruptly at the table, cajoled Iona into eating, and then when she was done he led her upstairs, tucked her up in bed and headed for the shower.
The water was steaming hot, sluicing over him in a torrent, and he stood under it and let it wash away all the things that didn’t matter. By the time he turned it off, the only thing left in his mind was Iona, and she needed him now as she’d never needed him before. The rest he could deal with when he knew what he was dealing with.
He towelled himself roughly dry, gave his hair another rub and got into bed behind her, wrapping himself around her and holding her close. She turned in his arms and he realised she was crying, and it made his chest ache with sadness.
He stroked her hair soothingly, pressing his lips to her wet face. ‘It’s all right, Iona, I’m here, I’ve got you, I’m going nowhere. It’ll be OK,’ he murmured, and he didn’t know who he was trying to reassure—her, or himself...
* * *
She’d hoped the morning would bring clarity, but it didn’t. It brought more worry, more stress, more uncertainty.
And a million ‘what ifs’.
‘It’ll be OK,’ he said again, after she’d poured out all her fears and worries all over him in a torrent. ‘Just give it time. It’ll work itself out.’
His hand cradled her cheek, his mouth finding hers, tenderly at first and then hungrily as she responded. His hand left her face, traced her body, his leg easing between hers as he stroked the taut skin over their baby. And then she felt a movement, and he froze.
‘Was that—?’
She nodded, smiling wistfully. ‘Yes. I felt it a week or two ago. She’s a wriggler.’
‘She is,’ he said softly, his hand splayed over her bump. He shifted, his breath teasing over her skin as he bent and touched his lips to the place where his hand had been. ‘Hello, you,’ he murmured, and he sounded odd.
Awestruck?
Maybe. That was how she’d felt, but then she’d always been more ready for this than him. Until now, when she had no idea how it was going to end—
His mouth came back to hers, picking up where he’d left off, but his touch was gentler, more tender. More loving?
* * *
He had to start work before her, so he dropped her off at home en route to the hospital, parked the car and went to IR via the Park Café to pick up breakfast. A cappuccino with an extra shot, an almond croissant, and a banana, to redress the balance.
And while he was walking, he gave himself a stiff talking to. OK, so the baby had kicked and he’d felt it. So? Babies kicked. Any woman who’d ever been pregnant would tell you that. It didn’t change anything. It still wasn’t his baby, it didn’t matter what Isla and Steve did, or what Iona did, come to that. She’d cope. Women did. She’d give her baby up to them, or she’d put her in child care, and go to work, and he’d press on with his life plan. Just a few more months down the line and it would all be over, for him at least, because it wasn’t and never had been on his agenda for him to have a family at this point in his life and he wasn’t going to be swayed by this sudden kink in life’s direction.
Except that he wanted to see it—her. To maintain contact with her, follow her progress, maybe sometimes go to a Nativity play or school sports or something like that.
Things a father would do, he realised with a shock. Things he’d wanted to do for his other children, things he’d been denied, both by the donor process and then by Natalie.
So—did he want to be a father? Was that it?
Absolutely not. He’d get these exams out of the way, finish his training and hopefully get the consultancy. Failing that, he’d look elsewhere.
And the baby, whoever she ended up being parented by, would be loved, he was sure of that. It just wouldn’t be him because, apart from any other consideration, he’d given up that right. And he was shocked at how much it hurt...
CHAPTER NINE
JOE WAS WORKING AGAIN.
Well, still working, really, but the pace seemed to have picked up again. He worked gruelling hours in the hospital as it was, never clocked off on time, and then would go home and work until he couldn’t see straight.
Not that he told her this, but she’d seen enough of the pattern, and so she left him to it because she realised how important it was to him that he should succeed. And not just for himself, but so that he could stay near Elizabeth for what time she had left.
If he was simply being driven by that urge to succeed, she would have found it harder to accept, but she knew he wasn’t, so she left him alone rather than unloading all her angst on him when he really, really didn’t need it.
This was between her and Isla, who still hadn’t said what their plans were. March came and went, then April, with the safe arrival of Johnnie and Kate’s baby boy, and then in the first week of May Isla phoned her in the middle of her shift to say she’d had a bleed—nothing drastic, but it had triggered more scans, further tests, and Iona knew they were worried something might be wrong and they might lose it. And they still hadn’t said what they wanted to do about her baby. They probably hadn’t given it any more thought, not yet, not when their own baby’s life seemed to hang in the balance.
And Iona found herself willing their little baby to stay safe, to be fine, because that would mean they wouldn’t want her baby. Which was silly. So silly, because how could she give her anything like the life that they would do? She’d be on her own—how could she ask Joe to help her? That wasn’t fair, not what he’d signed up for. And he’d made his attitude to relationships perfectly clear on many occasions.
‘Take care,’ she said gently. ‘And keep in touch, Isla. Let me know how you are. Love you.’
‘Love you, too. Iona? Pray for us.’
Pray for them? She hadn’t prayed in years, yet she found herself doing it over and over again, a kind of mantra.
Please let it be all right. Please don’t let them lose the baby. Please let it be—
‘Iona?’
She looked up, blinking away tears, and James steered her into his office and shut the door.
‘What’s up?’
So she told him, all of it except the bit about Joe, and he listened in silence and then shook his head slowly.
‘That’s a lot to deal with. Do you need time off?’
‘To do what? Sit at home and fret? No, absolutely not. I want to be busy. I don’t want to have time to think, because it’s pointless until I know what’s happening.’
‘If it all goes well and they don’t want it—’
‘Then
I’ll keep it, which is unfair on the baby, and career suicide, but what else can I do? I can’t give her up for adoption, James—’
Her eyes welled, and she swiped the tears away angrily.
Don’t cry! Don’t give in!
‘No, of course you can’t, I can see that, but you’ll cope, Iona. Women have always coped with this, even chosen it. There are ways, and I’ll do everything I can to support you if it comes to that. Starting with you having a year off for maternity leave.’
‘But—that would leave you in the lurch, and what do I do then? After a year? What do I do, James? It’s not like I can take a staff grade, I’m not qualified.’
‘Go into general practice? At least you’d get regular hours and you’ve worked in all the right fields. Just bear it in mind, and in the meantime go and have a lunch break and come back when you’re ready.’
She wanted to hug him, but she made do with a wordless nod of thanks, and went to the Park Café, grabbing a decaf coffee and a sandwich and taking them out in the park.
She’d never thought of being a GP, but—could she? And keep her baby? She felt a leap of hope, and then squashed it, because she still hadn’t heard from Isla and it might all change again in an instant.
* * *
There was a boy, he couldn’t have been more than seven or eight, standing on the other side of the ditch staring at something in his garden. He was looking worried, and as Joe watched, the boy climbed over the fence and onto the rotten bridge that his uncle had made him nearly thirty years ago.
‘No, no, no, you’ll fall in the nettles,’ he muttered. He’d meant to cut them back—meant to do all sorts of things, but between work and the baby business he’d had no time for anything.
He shot his chair back and went outside, reaching the edge of the ditch at the same time as the boy.
He wobbled and would have fallen if Joe hadn’t caught him by his T-shirt and hauled him to safety off the rickety bridge.
‘Are you OK?’ he asked, and the boy nodded, looking worried and a bit scared.
‘I didn’t mean to disturb you. I was just worried about the squirrel.’
‘Squirrel?’
‘Yes—it’s stuck in the bird feeder. I’ve been watching it for ages, and it can’t get out, so I was going to climb up the tree and help it.’
He shook his head. ‘No. They bite. Let’s have a look.’
They went round to the other side of the tree to the hugely expensive fat ball feeder that he’d restocked only that morning. Supposedly squirrel proof, only not, apparently, and most of the fat balls seemed to be inside the squirrel. It had worked its way half-out, but was stuck and struggling through a hole that seemed impossibly small.
‘Hello, squirrel,’ he said softly. ‘You’re in a bit of a mess, aren’t you? It’s a good job this young man spotted you. I’m Joe, by the way,’ he said, turning back to the boy.
‘I’m Oscar. Will you kill it?’
‘No, of course not. We’ll have to get it out, won’t we?’
It took thick gloves, a pair of pliers and some doing, but by the time he’d unhooked the feeder, taken the lid off and dodged the teeth of the hissing, terrified squirrel, it had managed to wriggle its way free and shot off across the lawn and up the oak tree.
He pulled off his gloves, turned to Oscar and gave him a high five. ‘Well, done, you. I’m glad you found him. Now I’d better get you home to your mother.’
‘She’s at work,’ he said glumly. ‘She works from home, but sometimes she has to go to the office but that’s OK, I can look after myself. I’ve got a key and she’s not out for long.’
‘Shouldn’t you be at school?’
He shook his head. ‘No. It’s a training day for the teachers.’
He nodded. His aunt had worked part time, too, but he’d gone with her to her surgery and played in the waiting room under the eye of the reception staff when he’d been young. Not everyone had that opportunity. ‘Have you got any brothers or sisters?’
‘No. Just me.’
And he was lonely, just as Joe had been lonely. He’d spent hours alone in the playground across the ditch, idly kicking a ball around or pretending to be an explorer, and he could see that loneliness in Oscar’s eyes. At least he knew his donor children all had siblings. That was one of the fears he’d nurtured needlessly all these years. Except his little daughter, safe inside Iona for now, but what would become of her? Would she go to Isla, or would Iona bring her up as an only child?
His heart squeezed, and he looked down at Oscar and smiled gently.
‘I tell you what, it’s lunchtime. Why don’t we make a sandwich and go and eat it in the playground? And maybe someone will come who you can play with. You can tell them all about the squirrel.’
* * *
He went back to work, but the look in Oscar’s eyes stayed with him for the rest of the day. Was that what was in store for Iona’s baby? To be the only child of a working mother? He couldn’t stand back and let that happen, and maybe it wasn’t necessary. Maybe—if he could just shelve his doubts and dare to trust himself not to let her down as he had Natalie, to love her and cherish her and care for her as she deserved—they could do this together?
Keep the baby, and maybe have another one further down the line?
Was that too much to hope for? Right then it seemed like an impossible dream, such an outside chance that even the most desperate gambler wouldn’t bet on it.
And he didn’t believe in miracles.
* * *
They wanted it.
Isla and Steve’s baby was all right, the bleed had been very minor and was nothing to worry about, just a slightly low placenta, but it was fine, she should go to term, and they’d made the decision to have Iona’s baby, too.
‘We’ll bring them up as twins,’ Isla said, her voice filled with enthusiasm. ‘It’ll be amazing. This baby was such an outside chance, and who knows if I’ll ever have another, so twins would be just perfect and we’d never have to worry about having another one or it being an only child. And neither of us wants that. Does that make sense to you? I can’t imagine growing up without you there by my side every step of the way, and our babies will have that. It’ll be perfect!’
Perfect? Iona waited for the flood of relief, but it didn’t come. Instead there was a wrenching feeling of loss, and she had to swallow hard.
‘Are you sure? It’s a lot to take on, two babies at the same time—and of course they won’t really be twins, not like we were. We knew each other long before we were born, and these two won’t. They won’t even share a birthday, yours will be born after mine.’
Mine? Could she still say that?
‘Only a little, just a few weeks, and they’ll share everything. He’ll soon catch up.’
He...
Her breath caught. ‘It’s a boy?’
‘Yes—yes, we didn’t want to find out, really, but they did a 4D scan, a video, and he was wiggling around and it was so clear—he’s gorgeous, Iona. It’s such a miracle.’
Iona shut her eyes, and a tear squeezed out and ran down her face. She swiped it away. ‘It is. It’s wonderful. I’m so happy for you.’ Another tear, another wipe. ‘Look, I’m at work right now. Can I call you later?’
‘Yes, of course. I’ve sent you a picture. He’s the image of Steve.’
Oh, lord. She hung up, just as her phone pinged, and she opened the picture. Isla was right. Even as tiny as he was, she could see Steve in him.
Does my baby look like Joe?
‘It’s not my baby,’ she gritted under her breath, and then she heard Joe’s voice in the corridor and walked out of the locker room.
‘Can we talk?’ He searched her face and she avoided his eyes.
‘Here?’
She shook her head. ‘No. Yours, later?’
He nodded. �
�I’ll call when I’m finished.’
* * *
They wanted the baby, to bring them up as twins.
He waited for the flood of relief, and it didn’t come, its place taken by a hollow ache that took his breath away for a moment.
‘Are you OK with that?’ he asked gruffly, struggling with a lump in his throat.
She shrugged. ‘I have to be. What else can I do?’
‘Keep it?’
She shook her head. ‘No. It would be career suicide. I don’t want to be a GP, I want to work in hospital medicine and they’re not compatible, not at my level. I’m years from being able to do that.’
He nodded, knowing she was right, knowing it made sense as far as her career was concerned, and at least his fear about the baby being the only child of a working mother was put to bed, but she didn’t look convinced.
‘So what’s wrong, then?’ he asked, and she shrugged.
‘They won’t be twins like we were, she won’t be theirs, they won’t love her the same as him, they can’t...’
He pulled her into his arms, cradling her against his chest. ‘They’ll nearly be twins, and you were twins. It’s better than her being an only child. She won’t be lonely.’ Like me. Like Oscar. But would she truly be loved? ‘It’ll be fine, Iona,’ he said firmly, as much to himself as to her, ‘and the baby will be part of you, so how could they fail to love her? Of course they will.’
But not as much as he and Iona would have done. How could they? But it wasn’t his business. He’d told himself that over and over again, and although he couldn’t have stood by and seen her struggle alone, that wasn’t going to happen now, so it was back to what he’d signed up to, giving her a baby for Isla and Steve. That job was done, and it wasn’t his job to worry about how they’d cope with two tiny babies at once.
Not my baby, and definitely not our baby.
Their Own Little Miracle Page 14