Without warning, Daisy was grabbed from behind and lifted off her feet, and she shrieked loudly.
‘Where have you been all my life, gorgeous?’ a beer-laden voice rasped in her ear, and the next thing Daisy knew, she and her drunken assailant were heading towards the floor.
She landed on top of the man with an oomph, and he grunted when her elbow connected with something soft. She lay there, stunned, her dress up around her thighs, a sticky drink trickling down her forehead, and her legs wide apart showing her knickers.
Laughter and cat-calling rang in her ears.
Then a meaty hand closed around her right boob and squeezed. ‘Nice tits,’ the man she was lying on declared.
She elbowed him again, this time intentionally. Another grunt. Good. I hope I’ve broken something, she thought crossly.
A helping hand reached out of the sea of bodies and Daisy took it. The sooner she was upright the better. And in the sudden, relative silence of one song ending and another beginning, Dr Hartley said quite clearly,
‘I gather you’re not pregnant, then?’
Chapter 22
Daisy eased her shoes off her aching feet and sank into the arm chair with a groan, glad the evening was finally over.
She’d been rugby tackled to the floor, had received an unwelcome beer shampoo, had been humiliated by a professional man who should know better (what about patient confidentiality?), had been chatted up by a bloke old enough to be her dad, had been bought a drink by another bloke who’d then assumed she would sleep with him, and had been propositioned by a pizza delivery driver on her way home. To top off what had been a disappointing night out, she hadn’t been able to get a taxi and had been forced to walk (stagger) the two and a half miles from the city centre to her brother’s house. When she’d arrived, she realised she’d forgotten to take a key. Her mother had been furious at being woken up, and Daisy suspected she would still be furious come morning. It didn’t help that her brother was sprawled on the sofa in a drug-induced sleep and was snoring his oblivious head off.
And she was starving, but there was very little she fancied in the fridge. She was rooting around in it, picking up packets of unidentifiable stuff and putting them down again, when her phone rang. It was Freddie – great. A perfect end to a perfect night. Not.
‘What do you want?’ she sighed into her mobile. ‘If it’s to wish me a Happy New Year, don’t bother.’
‘He’s left me,’ Freddie said. He sounded upset, or drunk, or maybe both – she’d never seen Freddie drunk before.
‘Who?’ she asked absently, wondering what the weird packet of smelly circles were. They looked like some kind of sausage slices.
‘Carl.’
Daisy put the packet down, and thought about what Freddie had said. A mean little voice in her head whispered, “serves you right”, and she immediately felt contrite. Freddie sounded distraught.
‘He packed his things and has gone back to live with his sister. He said he didn’t think I was fully committed to the relationship,’ Freddie wailed. ‘What does he mean by that?’
Daisy had no idea, and she wasn’t really in the mood to give relationship advice to the ex who’d so recently and spectacularly dumped her. Especially since she was tired and hungry, and had enough problems of her own.
‘I don’t know, but I’m sure everything will be better in the morning,’ she said. ‘Good night, Freddie.’
But things weren’t better in the morning – far from it.
When her phone rang again a little after seven, Daisy struggled out from a heavy sleep (heavy because she’d not long managed to drop off, what with her mother’s restless leg kicking her every five minutes, and the steady snoring in her ear) and she blearily reached for the phone before it woke Sandra.
She looked at the screen. It wasn’t a number she recognised. ‘Hello?’
‘I’m Staff Nurse Marsden from Worcester Royal Hospital,’ a brisk female voice on the other end said. ‘Am I speaking to Daisy Jones?’
Daisy eased out of bed, so as not to disturb snore-a-lot next to her. ‘This is she,’ she said. Please don’t say anything has happened to Gee-Gee, she pleaded, silently.
‘Do you know a Frederick Young?’
‘Yes…’
‘He’s been admitted to hospital and has cited you as his next of kin.’
‘What do you mean, “cited”?’
‘Your name was the one he gave us when we asked if there was anyone who we should contact.’
‘Is he alright?’
‘If you could come in, someone will explain it to you. He’s in the A&E department for the moment, until we can find him a bed.’
A&E? She’d seen enough of the hospital’s accident and emergency department over the past few days to last her a lifetime, but what else could she do, she’d have to go.
‘I’m on my way,’ she promised, and for the third time in a week, Daisy found herself standing at the hospital’s accident reception desk.
‘Freddie Young?’ she enquired and a different receptionist consulted her computer and told her to take a seat. This was becoming a bit of a habit. If she kept this up, she would be spending more time here than the staff.
This time she waited over an hour before a nurse took her through the same security door and asked her to take a seat in a very familiar corridor.
Daisy sat.
‘The doctor is with Mr Young now. I’ll let him know you’re here,’ the nurse informed her.
‘Is Freddie okay? What’s wrong? Has he had an accident?’
‘The doctor will be able to answer your questions,’ the nurse said firmly, before bustling off.
Daisy waited, and as she waited, she ran through all the possible scenarios in her mind.
Freddie’s voice came from a cubicle at the far end of the corridor. ‘There’s no point in going on without the love of my life!,’ he cried.
Daisy strained to hear any response, but the distance was too great, and the blip of a machine opposite made eavesdropping difficult.
‘I want Daisy,’ Freddie wailed.
More muted voices.
‘I gave up everything for Carly, and this is how I’m treated. My life is ruined!’ Freddie yelled, and Daisy had an awful, sneaking suspicion she knew the reason why her ex-boyfriend might be in hospital.
‘Daisy! Daiseeey!’
‘I’m here!’ she shouted. ‘Freddie? Can you hear me?’
The cubicle curtain was yanked open and Daisy’s favourite doctor strode out, his face like thunder.
‘Will you be quiet – this is a hospital, not a nightclub,’ he called, probably making more noise than Daisy had.
‘Sorry,’ she muttered, as he came closer. ‘But I heard him yelling for me.’
‘If it was up to me, I wouldn’t let you anywhere near him, but he wants you and no one else, though lord knows why,’ the doctor said.
‘Has he…? Did he…?’ Daisy didn’t know how to phrase it.
‘Tried to take his own life?’ The doctor’s tone was harsh and unforgiving. ‘Yes, he did.’
‘How bad is it?’
Dr Hartley’s expression softened a little. ‘He’s fine – physically, at least..’
‘Thank God,’ she breathed. ‘I’d never forgive myself if he’d…’ She trailed off, remembering Freddie’s phone call to her last night, and her dismissal of him. If she hadn’t been so tired, pissed off, and grumpy herself, she might have realised how out of character her ex was behaving. She’d never seen, or heard, him even remotely upset before. Daisy hung her head in shame. Freddie had reached out to her in his hour of need, and she’d brushed him off.
‘What happens now?’ she asked, in a small voice.
‘He’s yet another member of your family who I’m going to have to admit to hospital.’
‘Hold it there,’ she interrupted. She’d willingly take the blame for Freddie, but neither Zoe nor David was down to her.
Or was it?
Oh shit! The sixp
ence. It was exerting its evil influence yet again. How many more people would it affect?
‘I need an operation,’ Daisy blurted. ‘You’ve got to get this thing out of me.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘An operation. I have to get rid of it.’ She pressed her fingers into her stomach, convinced she could feel a little hard disc in amongst the fat.
The doctor let out a low growl, and Daisy cringed. Surely her request wasn’t that strange? And it didn’t seem to want to come out of its own accord (day eight today, if Christmas Day was taken into account). What if the damned thing stayed inside her forever, wreaking havoc at every opportunity, until it finally killed someone?
‘Go to your GP,’ he said harshly. ‘You can’t just waltz in here off the street and demand something like that. There are procedures to follow, you know.’
‘But you said—’
‘I don’t care what I said. Bloody hell, woman, no wonder you were out getting pissed last night, and making a show of yourself.’
‘You’d get pissed if you had something like that inside you. It’s been nothing but bad luck.’
The doctor drew himself up to his full height and glowered at her. ‘You can’t blame your pregnancy for everything.’
Daisy paused, remembering that she had a bone to pick with him on the subject of pregnancy.
‘How dare you tell the whole world my personal business,’ she began, her hands planted firmly on her hips. ‘Everyone in the pub now knows that I thought I was pregnant, maybe everyone in Worcester. There should be a law against it.’
The doctor paled. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, stiffly. ‘It was unacceptable. I never should have said what I did.’
‘Daiseeeey.’ The wail was loud and plaintive. ‘Daze….’
‘Freddie is asking for me,’ she said, taking a step towards the cubicle her ex was in, but Dr Heartless hadn’t finished with her yet. ‘It was unethical of me,’ he was saying, ‘and if you want to take it to the medical board, and put in a complaint, I fully understand.’
That took the wind right out of her indignant sails, and she hesitated. She’d not even thought about ethics, but now he’d put the idea in her mind…
No. She wouldn’t be so petty, and after all, no real harm had been done, though if she really had been pregnant, she might be thinking along different lines.
‘I’m not going to complain,’ she said, with a loud sigh. ‘I know you don’t have a very high opinion of me – I’ve no idea why; last night was an accident, nothing more, nothing less – but I’m not the kind of woman to drop someone else in it.’
‘Thank you.’ He didn’t sound thankful. He sounded just as irate as before. ‘Tell that to Mr Young,’ he added.
‘Tell what to Mr Young?’
‘That it was an accident.’
‘He doesn’t know.’ Daisy was thoroughly confused.
‘I think you’ll find he does.’
Eh? Yet another surreal conversation with this mad doctor. The guy was a menace. ‘What I do, or don’t do, no longer concerns Frederick Young,’ Daisy said, miffed.
How dare he! Freddie had left her (though technically she was the one who had walked out), but he’d left her in body, mind, and spirit long before that. What was she supposed to do – stay with him? She didn’t think she had the necessary anatomy to be of any use to Freddie. Mr Young had made his sexual orientation quite clear, thank you very much. And the fact that he was now shouting for her and not his mother, served only to highlight just how badly his parents had accepted his coming out of the closet.
‘Is he the father?’ Dr Hartley asked.
She shook her head in confusion. ‘Whose father?’
‘Do you even know who it is?’ Dr Hartley persisted.
‘What kind of a question is that?’
‘A reasonable one, considering.’
Hands on her hips again, Daisy took a deep breath. ‘Look here, I don’t know what’s going on, or what you’re referring to, but I think you are out of your tiny, little mind.’
‘Daiseeeey!’
‘Oh, shut up, Freddie!’ Daisy yelled back, earning herself shushes and dagger-looks from an assortment of patients, their relatives, and staff.
‘Freddie isn’t the father of anyone’s baby. Freddie is gay.’ She shook her head angrily.
Sudden silence descended on the whole department. Daisy could have sworn that even the bleepy machine had stopped to listen.
Dr Hartley, his face stony, took hold of her arm. ‘Let’s go somewhere more private,’ he suggested, leading her down the corridor.
‘Daiseey?’
‘Give it a rest, Freddie,’ she called through the curtain. ‘I’ll be with you in a minute.’
Dr Hartley shut the office door with a soft click, turned to face her, and leaned against it, folding his arms. ‘I want to see if I’ve got this right,’ he said. ‘David is your brother,’ he stated.
Daisy nodded.
‘David is married to Zoe, and Zoe is pregnant?’ he continued.
Another nod.
‘Freddie is your…?’
‘Ex-boyfriend,’ Daisy supplied.
‘And he’s an ex because…?’
How many times was she going to have to tell this story? ‘Because I came home from work early and caught him in bed with someone else.’
Dr Hartley no longer looked like a bulldog chewing a wasp. He was beginning to look almost sympathetic. ‘No wonder you want a termination.’
Daisy blinked. ‘I’m not pregnant.’
‘You just said you were.’ He took a step towards her. ‘I’m not going to persuade you one way or the other, it’s not my place to do so, but let me offer you a little impartial advice – don’t do anything rash. You’ve got time to make a decision, and the last thing you want to do is to keep drinking if you decide to go ahead with the pregnancy.’
‘I told you, I’m not pregnant.’
‘But you said you wanted a termination.’
‘I said no such thing.’
‘Okay, the word you used was “operation”.’
‘Yes, and that’s what I want.’
‘It’s called a termination.’
‘Not. When. You’re. Not. Pregnant!’
The pair of them stared at each other for a while, before the doctor said slowly and quietly, ‘What operation do you want, exactly?’
‘I want to get this sixpence out of me.’
‘Ah.’
‘Yes, “ah”.’
He took a step back, until he was up against the door, and this time Daisy had the impression he wanted to disappear through it as fast as his long legs could carry him. ‘I’ve got the wrong end of the stick again, haven’t I?’
‘You most certainly have, mister.’
‘Doctor.’
‘Whatever.’
‘Do you still love him?’
‘Who, my imaginary baby’s imaginary father?’
‘Freddie.’
Daisy took a long time to answer. ‘Yes.’
The doctor let out a small sigh.
‘And, no. I thought I did. I thought we were going to get married and have kids,’ she glared at Dr Hartley when she said the word “kids”, ‘but when I found out he was gay, I realised my pride was hurt and my femininity was crushed, but not my heart.’ And why was she telling this sorry excuse for a doctor anyway?
Then Dr Hartley asked her something she most certainly hadn’t been expecting.
‘Will you have dinner with me?’ he said.
Chapter 23
‘No, yes, I’m not sure. Maybe.’ No, because it was the immensely irritating Dr Hartley who was asking (she didn’t even know his first name); yes, because this was gorgeous brooding Dr Hartley who was asking; I’m not sure, because she wasn’t sure a doctor who had once treated her was allowed to ask her out. And maybe, because she’d have to check if her mother could David-sit. Her mother had set evenings for set activities, like bingo, flower arranging, (not that Daisy had
seen any evidence of anything more substantial than a bunch of daffs in her mother’s house), and her pub quiz nights, which seemed to involve more socialising than quizzing.
‘Oh, I see. I’m sorry, I should have realised,’ Dr Hartley said.
‘Realised what?’
‘The man you were kissing last night. I should have guessed you wouldn’t be on the shelf for long.’
On the shelf, indeed! He made her sound like a dusty tin of forgotten peaches, hidden in the depths of an old lady’s cupboard.
‘I’m still on the shelf, as you so kindly describe it,’ she said, then wished she hadn’t as his expression became closed once more. Great – now he was thinking she was an easy lay, jumping straight out of Freddie’s bed and into some other man’s.
‘For your information,’ she said, ‘I only just met Art last night. I didn’t sleep with him,’ she added, aware that the hole she was so busy digging was getting deeper with every word she uttered. ‘It was just a snog.’
‘A drunken one?’
‘I wasn’t drunk, not very.’
‘You were lying on top of some random bloke, with your dress up around your waist,’ he pointed out. ‘You looked drunk to me.’
‘He rugby tackled me and I fell over,’ she retorted.
Dr Hartley was staring at her as if he wished he’d have been the one to rugby tackle her – all deep, and dark, and hungry. Her insides did a little roll of excitement.
‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I’d love to go to dinner, but we’ll have to confirm the date later. I’ve got to ask my mother to babysit first.’
‘You’ve got children?’
Would that make a difference, she wondered, and she said, not really having the faintest idea why, ‘Yes, two. Does that change anything?’
‘No,’ he said, but Daisy was certain she heard the hesitation in his voice, and she had no doubt that one of two things would happen now. Either he’d hedge about settling on a day and time so that nothing would ever come of their planned date, or they’d have dinner, then he’d never phone her afterwards.
Not a keeper then. This one wasn’t into baggage. Her opinion of him, which had slowly been creeping out of the gutter, plummeted back down with a clang. She debated whether to simply tell him she’d changed her mind. But what the hell, it was only dinner, and she guessed she might be ready for a break from caring duties after a couple of days.
A Very Lucky Christmas Page 15