A Baby on Her Christmas List

by Louisa George

  ‘Oh. Okay. Great. Thanks.’ In black and white it seemed so cold-hearted. And yet it absolved him of everything. No responsibilities. He took it and shoved it in to his backpack. He didn’t need to reread it. He was signing every right to this child away.

  Truth was, his thoughts about this baby were so blurred now. He’d thought it would be easy to walk away. But...well, it wasn’t easy at all. He felt like he was giving his child the same fate he’d had—a life with little contact with his father. A life wanting something...guidance, truth, recognition. He couldn’t give his child that. He just couldn’t. But what could he give? What did he have left?

  Georgie peered up at him and everything he knew about her was in that guarded look in her eyes. She understood his pain, but was equally angry. She was putting her needs first. And she needed to, he didn’t blame her a jot for that. ‘That’s what you really want, isn’t it, Liam? You don’t want to help me get a nursery ready—that is clear. Or choose decor. Or talk about baby things. You don’t want me to be pregnant. You don’t want any of this...’

  ‘Look, Geo, that’s not it. I’m thrilled for you. I am. It’s what you want and you look so happy, how could I not be pleased for you? I thought this was what you wanted.’

  ‘Me too. But I don’t know how you can do it. The more I think about it, the more I don’t understand you. I’ve known all along that you cut yourself off from any kind of decent meaningful human connection...’ She twisted in the sand and stepped towards him. ‘So just explain to me one thing: what are you so afraid of?’

  ‘I’m not afraid of anything.’ And that was the biggest lie he’d ever told. He was afraid of the responsibility of another baby’s life, of not being able to protect it from harm. Of loving too much. Of dealing with the utter heartbreak if something went wrong, because he didn’t think he could live through that again. His heart raced as blood drained from his head, from his face. ‘Nothing.’

  ‘I watched you, Liam...that day in Resus, when your whole world crumbled at the sight of a sick baby. I know you are carrying some terrible burden and, through knowing you for ten years, I think it has something to do with your family. Your sister Lauren?’

  He railed around, wishing he didn’t know her so well, wishing she couldn’t see through the barriers he’d erected. ‘It has got nothing to do with anyone.’

  ‘If you choose to let whatever happened colour everything you do for the rest of your life then I can’t help you. And I want to, I really do. But I can’t bear that every time I mention my baby—our baby—you flinch. So I’m going to do this my own way. I’m sorry if that doesn’t work for you. Just go off to the South Sudan and do your precious job.’

  ‘What?’ His heart thumped harder, fast and furious. ‘Is this about my job now as well? You don’t like it that I’m going to be leaving all the time, is that it?’

  ‘It’s about everything, Liam. About your attitude, about your refusal to admit what’s bothering you, the damned contract that means you will willingly let our friendship irrevocably change and allow a baby to be fatherless, and, yes, it’s about your job. It’s dangerous, and scary for those of us left behind.’

  He shoved his hands in his pockets. He could barely look at her. By donating his...by delivering the goods, he’d done what he’d thought was the right thing—he had done the right thing—but the fallout kept coming. ‘That job keeps me sane.’

  ‘And drives me mad with worry. But I don’t know why we’re even bothering talking about this. You’ve got your contract, you can go off unhindered by any kind of sense of responsibility.’

  Responsibility? That was the one single thing that drove him to do what he did. Every damned day.

  She whirled around and stalked away, but paused, momentarily to turn back. Scraping her hair back from her face, she glared at him, her body language so at odds with her words. ‘Stay safe.’

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Four months ago...

  ‘ONCE THE PAIN relief kicks in you can take him to X-Ray. Let’s see exactly how far up the little tyke stuffed the ball bearing, shall we? Depending on where it is, he might need a sedative for us to get it out. But we need to know more before we do anything else.’ Through the fog of his sleep-deprived brain Liam offered the concerned mum a smile. Just a little shut-eye between his plane hitting the tarmac and coming into work would have been nice. Still, boys would be boys, and stuffing things up nostrils was par for the course for a four-year-old.

  Hopeful images of a little boy who looked a lot like him flashed through his head. He batted them away. He’d call Georgie and talk to her later, explain his plan, what he wanted...once he’d worked out exactly what it was he was going to say. Theoretically it made sense to have some contact with his baby. He’d be responsible for finances and guidance, provide things. No emotional involvement. No day-to-day stuff—he didn’t want to tread on Georgie’s toes. But enough that his child would be able to identify him as his father. He was responsible, for God’s sake.

  All very good in theory, but in practice he had no idea.

  Maybe this was just another of his ludicrous plans that would be fraught with endless fallout. But somehow he did not like the idea of being a dad and not having at least some contact with the child.

  The little boy’s mum laughed, but Liam could see by her lined forehead and forced smile that she was still anxious. It didn’t matter what befell a kid, their parent always worried.

  ‘I don’t know why he decided it needed to go all the way up his nose. I just wish he hadn’t found it at all. I’ll kill his dad when we get home. Leaving little things on the floor is so dangerous.’

  ‘I guess having kids means big changes. It takes a bit of getting used to.’

  That thought had been running over and over in his head since he’d left. Would he be like that with his child? Worried sick if it stuffed something up its nose? Would he refuse to let them play outside in case they injured themselves? He’d seen extremes in this job. Neglect that almost tore his heart in two, and the worried well who caused a fuss over nothing. Where children were concerned, it was difficult to get the balance right. But generally it didn’t matter where he was—flooded Pakistan, drought-ridden Africa—parents were the same the world over. They loved. They gave their children what they could. They worried.

  He tried to find the wee lad a smile.

  The boy grinned back. With sticky-out ears beneath sand-coloured hair he was pretty cute. And now, with the analgesic kicking in, clearly unbothered by the metal ball in his left nostril. ‘I liked it. It was silver. I wanted to smell it.’

  ‘Oh.’ Kids said the strangest things. Stupefied by his inadequacy where children were concerned, Liam wondered whether you should talk to them like adults or use special kiddy words. He stuck to plain and simple. ‘Metal ball bearings don’t have a smell, buddy. Now, don’t put anything else up your nose. Not even your finger. Off you go.’ He turned to the mum and relaxed a little. It was far easier to talk to a grown-up. ‘See you when you get back from X-Ray.’

  The kid laughed at Liam’s grumbling stomach, clearly unfazed by whichever way Liam spoke to him. ‘What’s that funny noise?’

  ‘It’s...er...’ Not often he was lost for words. ‘I’m hungry. My tummy’s asking for lunch.’

  ‘Metal balls don’t smell and tummies don’t talk.’

  ‘No. Well, I don’t suppose they do. But they growl, like mine, so go on and get your picture taken so we can see inside you. Skedaddle.’

  And lunch was supposed to have been six hours ago. But since then he’d had a steady stream of minor emergencies on top of a few pretty major ones. Now, shift almost over, he could finally go home. Looking forward to getting something into his stomach that wasn’t yet another Sudanese stew or tasteless plane mush, he strode across the ER floor, past the whiteboard. And stopped. Turned. Refocused on the names. What the...?

  White noise filled his ears, his appetite replaced by an empty hole deep in his gut as he hot-footed it
back to Minors and threw the cubicle curtain open. Sure enough, she was there, head in her hands, making soft snuffling noises.

  ‘Georgie? What the hell—?’ Four months he’d lain sweltering in a too-hot tent and she’d been tattooed onto the back of his eyelids as he’d gone to sleep, their last conversation going over and over in his head. Making things right hadn’t seemed possible from the dodgy dirty-walled internet cafés he’d visited sporadically, so his emails had been short and perfunctory.

  He’d spent weeks wondering what he’d say when he saw her in person, how he’d feel when he saw her carrying his baby. How he’d feel when he saw her, period. He hated it that she had put a line under their friendship, ending everything so abruptly. But none of that mattered now, none of it.

  He tugged her into his arms, hauled her head against his chest and stroked her back. ‘Hey, don’t cry. It’s okay. It’s okay. Whatever’s happened we’ll fix it. It’s okay.’

  Firm hands pressed on his chest and gripped his shirt. Her voice was low but not upset. In fact...was she laughing? ‘Oh, my God! Liam. You’re back! When?’

  He’d finally stopped shaking enough to concentrate. Goddamned ER doctor and he’d crumbled the second he’d seen her name. Georgie. The baby. He didn’t know which thought had come first—one had been so quickly followed by the other. And if that wasn’t the most bizarre sequence of mind mess he didn’t know what was.

  And now she was here, damaged somehow—because this was where damaged people came. And that was just the staff. Worst-case scenarios flitted through his doctor’s brain, fuelled by his own awful experiences. ‘Early this morning. I was going to call you once I’d had a sleep, but they needed me here urgently. I didn’t even get the chance to go home. But what the hell—?’

  ‘Don’t get carried away. And, no, I’m not crying.’

  ‘What happened? The baby?’ He took a step back and surveyed her belly with quick observations. She had a rounded-out bump now, small and perfect, but the rest of her was thin. Too thin. Grimy, dusty. None of this added up. ‘Is the baby okay?’

  ‘Yes, everything’s fine. Except...’ She finally let him go and moved her hand away from her face. ‘I hurt my eye.’

  Her right eye was weeping, closed and puffy. Her cheek was swollen. ‘Whoa. Great job. What did you do?’

  ‘I smashed a wall through and got dust or shards of chipboard or plaster or something in it. It hurts like hell.’ She grimaced, swabbing at her damp face with a dusty fist.

  Thank God she was okay. Thank God the baby was okay. Unfamiliar feelings sliced through him, accompanied by a strange lumpy sensation in his throat that made words hard to find. ‘You were knocking a wall through? On your own? Are you mad?’ He hauled in air. ‘Don’t answer that. I know the answer. Which one?’

  ‘The kitchen-lounge one. I thought it’d be nice to have one big sunny room all finished in time for Christmas. Imagine what fun it’ll be to have dinner in there.’

  ‘The legendary Georgie Taylor Christmas, with enough liquor to sink a ship. And enough food to feed an army. But couldn’t it have waited until you got help? Christmas is months away.’

  ‘I’ve got to be prepared, Liam. This renovating lark takes time and I want Christmas to be perfect this year. I have grand plans.’ With her one good eye she glared at him. ‘If all you’re going to do is tell me off, I’ll ask for someone else to deal with my injury.’

  ‘Go right ahead, missy. I think you’ll find I’m the most experienced doctor here but, please, feel free to find someone better. I’ll take you on a tour if you like. See if any one takes your fancy.’ He thumbed the teary trail across her cheek. As he touched her an immediate heat suffused his body. He took his hand away, shaken by such an intense response. ‘Oh, sorry, I forgot, you can’t see.’

  ‘Excuse my bluntness, Dr Mac, but your bedside manner is slipping. You’re supposed to be nice to people when they come and see you with an injury. Basic ER doctoring.’ She stuck her tongue out and if she’d felt any electric surge at his touch she didn’t show it. He’d thought he’d purged her from his heart, that if he’d worked harder, faster, later then he wouldn’t care so much. Feel so much. Too bad it hadn’t worked. He didn’t want to feel anything at all.

  ‘Looks like I suck at interpersonal skills.’ He picked up her chart and feigned calmness. ‘That was meant to be an apology, by the way.’

  ‘Must try harder. See me after class.’ Her lips pressed together tightly. She took a breath and let it out slowly. She definitely looked thinner than the last time he’d seen her, cheeks a little more hollow. Her hair, T-shirt and jeans were covered in bits of wood chip and plaster, but her eyes...well, her good eye had darkened shadows round it. She gave him a reluctant smile that had him craving more. ‘Oh, Liam, I’ve missed you. Missed this.’

  Me too. ‘Okay. So sit still and let me have a good look.’ He tipped her chin towards him. And, yes, it would break every damned oath he’d ever made but, hell, if those lips weren’t made for kissing. Which would be a pretty dumb move all round, because things would never be the same again. ‘Trust me, I’m a doctor.’

  She laughed. ‘The old ones are the best. I bet you use that on all incapacitated women?’

  ‘Only the bloody foolish ones who are hell-bent on being so independent they do themselves a mischief. You tried to knock down a wall on your own?’ He focused on her eye, not her lips. Damaged or downright sexy. Either way his heart hurt.

  ‘And who else could help me? I’m hardly going to pay someone.’

  ‘You could have waited for me.’

  ‘We both know that that wasn’t an ideal option. I didn’t know when you were coming back or if we were still friends. Are we?’

  The heart hurt intensified. ‘Come on, we’ll always be friends, whatever happens. Now, let me look.’

  ‘Okay. Give it your best shot.’ She managed to open her eyelid a tad but blinked so rapidly he knew it was painful. It slammed closed again, tears rolling down her cheek.

  He grabbed a tissue and wiped them away, unwilling to risk a skin-on-skin encounter again. ‘Hey, it’s okay. I forgive you.’

  One eye widened in disbelief. ‘What? You? Forgive me? But you were the one—’

  ‘Seriously, no need to cry over me.’

  Her lips pursed. Pouted. ‘I’m not crying over you, matey. I just can’t stop it watering.’

  He looked away and began writing on her charts, mainly because it was far easier to do that than look at her. At least he didn’t want to kiss the charts better. ‘Well, whatever you’ve done, you’ve made an almighty mess in there. We’re going to need to give you an eye bath to get the gunk out and then get an ophthalmic opinion.’

  Her shrugging shoulders confirmed her agreement. ‘So you’d better get it organised, then. You must be busy with more needy people than me. I don’t mind seeing someone else. That would be if I could see at all.’

  ‘Actually, I’m finishing my shift very shortly. I’ve got one patient to review then I’ll sort out your referral while you have an eye bath. As soon as I’m done I’ll wait with you.’

  She shook her head. ‘No need, honestly. If you don’t want to.’

  ‘Of course I want to.’ He wasn’t letting her go that easily. ‘I know I made you angry and for that I’m sorry. I know I can be blunt and unthinking at times, but I realise there are two of us in this friendship...’

  ‘Three now,’ she hissed at him, rubbing her belly. His heart gave a little jerk. His baby. At once he felt proud and anxious. Excited and terrified.

  Protective. Should he say something now?

  No. She was damaged and he needed to deal with that, get things on a firmer footing. And work out exactly what it was he wanted to say. What kind of involvement he wanted. He rubbed his hand across his forehead. ‘Come out with me for dinner, like old times. We could do fish and chips with extra grease, your favourite. Or curry. Thai, Chinese?’

  ‘Urgh. Please. Don’t mention—’ She held up her
hand then covered her mouth. ‘I should have... Oh. No.’ She grabbed the back of her chair and stood. Swayed a little.

  ‘Should have what?’

  She murmured through her fingers, ‘Eaten something. I’m sorry, I have to—’

  Then she was ripping back the curtain and staggering across the corridor to the toilet, leaving grubby handprints along the wall. He was beside her in a millisecond. Maybe she’d hit her head too and forgotten to mention it? Concussion? ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Morning sickness? Morning? Yeah, right. Liars. All-day sickness, more like. Switches on at the thought of food. Goes away when I eat. In all this excitement I forgot to eat.’ She pushed him back away from the bathroom door. ‘Wait. Please, wait here. Before I chuck on your shoes.’

  And he got a distinct impression that she probably didn’t care if she did. ‘No, Georgie, you can’t see a thing. I will not wait. I will stay here and make sure you’re okay.’

  ‘Go do your patient review. You’re not the boss of me.’

  ‘How old are you?’ He’d spent ten years getting to know that no one could ever be the boss of Georgie. He could hardly leave her and go back to ball-bearing-in-nostril kid when she was like this. ‘You infuriating woman—’

  But he stopped arguing as she slammed the door open and crouched down while he held her hair back in a thick makeshift ponytail. Her body shook. He held her steady.

  This was his fault. He’d allowed this to happen. He’d facilitated this. He ran his hands across her back, felt the knobbly bones of her spine through her loose-fitting T-shirt. Jeans hanging off her hips. She was definitely thinner. This pregnancy was taking a toll on her and she was so damned proud she would never think of mentioning it. She needed a good meal. To be looked after. Someone to take care of her while she grew her baby, instead of believing she could do it all on her own. ‘Does this happen a lot?’

  ‘Enough.’ She rocked back on her heels and wiped her mouth with toilet tissue.

  Putting his hands under her arms, he hauled her up, made sure she was steady on her feet, watched her wash her hands and splash her face, wincing as cold water hit her eye. ‘You’re losing weight.’