‘Look, I know you help out your sister…’ He simply did not understand her. In so many things they were open, there were so many things they discussed, but really he knew so little about her. There was still a streak of hurt in her eyes, still a wall of silence around her. ‘But surely you can have a weekend off.’
‘Maybe I don’t want one,’ Bridgette said. ‘Maybe I don’t want to go up to Sydney and to see the life you’ll soon be heading back to.’
‘Bridgette…’ He was trying to prolong things, not end them. ‘I don’t get you.’
‘You’re not supposed to, that’s not what we’re about.’ It wasn’t, she told herself. It was supposed to be just a few short weeks—a break, a romance, that was all. It was better over with now. ‘Just go to Sydney,’ Bridgette said. ‘That’s what you want, that’s where you’ve always been heading. Don’t try and blame us ending on Harry.’
‘I’m not blaming Harry,’ Dominic said, and he wasn’t. ‘I’ll admit I was a bit fed up with his aunt on Friday.’
‘Sorry to mess up your night.’ She so wasn’t going to do this again. ‘God, you’re just like—’
‘Don’t say it, Bridgette,’ Dominic warned, ‘because I am nothing like him.’ He’d heard a bit about her ex and wasn’t about to be compared to Paul. ‘I’ll tell you one of the differences between him and me. I’d have had this sorted from the start. Your sister’s using you, Bridgette.’ He looked at her, all tousled and angry, and truly didn’t know what this was about.
‘Do you think I don’t know that?’
‘So why do you let her?’ He gave an impatient shake of his head. ‘Do you know, I think you hide behind Harry. He’s your excuse not to go out, not to get away.’ Bridgette was right, Sydney was where he’d always intended to be—that was his hospital of choice and he wasn’t about to have his career dictated to by Courtney.
‘I’m going for the interview. I’m flying out on Thursday night. I’ll text you the flight times. We’ll be back Sunday night.’
‘Don’t book a ticket for me,’ Bridgette said. ‘Because I can’t go.’
‘Yes, you can. And, yes, I am booking for you,’ Dominic said. ‘So you’ve plenty time to change your mind.’
He did book the tickets.
But he knew she wouldn’t come.
CHAPTER TEN
‘SORRY to call you down from NICU.’ Rebecca, the accident and emergency registrar, looked up from the notes she was writing. It was four a.m. on Tuesday morning. It had been a long day for Dominic and a very long night on call. After the interviews in Sydney and long walks on the beach with Chris, his head felt as if it was exploding, not that Rebecca could have guessed it. He was his usual practical self. ‘I’m trying to stall Mum by saying we’re waiting for an X-ray.’
‘No problem. What do we know so far?’
‘Well, the story is actually quite consistent—Mum heard a bang and found him on the floor. He’d climbed out if his cot, which fits the injury. She said that he was crying by the time she went in to him. It was her reaction that was strange—complete panic, called an ambulance. She was hysterical when she arrived but she’s calmed down.’
‘Are there any other injuries you can see?’
‘A couple of small bruises, an ear infection, he’s a bit grubby and there’s a bit of nappy rash,’ Rebecca said, ‘but he is a
toddler, after all. Anyway, I’m just not happy and I thought you should take a look.’ She handed him the patient card and as Dominic noted the name, as his stomach seemed to twist in on itself, a young woman called from the cubicle.
‘How much longer are we going to be waiting here?’ She peered out and all Dominic could think was that if he had not recognised the name, it would never have entered his head that this woman was Bridgette’s sister. She had straggly dyed blond hair and was much skinnier. Her features were sharper than Bridgette’s and even if she wasn’t shouting, she was such an angry young thing, so hostile in her actions, so on the edge, that she was, Dominic recognised in an instant, about to explode any moment. ‘How much longer till he gets his X-ray or CT or whatever?’
‘There’s another doctor here to take a look at Harry,’ Helga, the charge nurse, calmly answered. ‘He’ll be in with you shortly—it won’t be long.’
‘Well, can someone watch him while I get a coffee at least?’ Courtney snapped. ‘Why can’t I take it in the cubicle?’
‘You can’t take a hot drink—’ Helga started, but Dominic interrupted.
‘Courtney, why don’t you go and get a coffee? Someone will sit with your son while you take a little break.
‘Is that okay?’ He checked with Helga and she sent in a student nurse, but Rebecca was too sharp not to notice that he had known the name of the patient’s mother. ‘You know her?’ She grimaced as Courtney flounced out, because this sort of thing was always supremely awkward.
‘I know his aunt.’ Dominic was sparse with his reply but Helga filled in for him.
‘Bridgette. She’s a midwife on Maternity. She’s on her way. I called her a little while ago—Courtney was in a right panic when she arrived and she asked us to.’
‘Okay.’ Dominic tried not to think about Bridgette taking that phone call—he had to deal with this without emotion, had to step out and look at the bigger picture. ‘I’m going to step aside.’ He came to the only decision he could in such a situation. ‘I’m going to ring Greg Andrews and ask him to take over the patient, but first I need to take a look at Harry and make sure that there’s nothing medically urgent that needs to be dealt with.’ His colleague might take a while. He did not engage in further small talk; he did not need to explain his involvement in the case. After all, he was stepping aside. Dominic walked into the cubicle where Harry lay resting in a cot with a student nurse by his side. Rebecca came in with him.
‘Good morning, Harry.’ He took off his jacket and hung it on the peg and proceeded to wash his hands and then made his way over to the young patient. He looked down into dark grey eyes that stared back at him and they reminded him of Bridgette’s. He could see the hurt behind them and Dominic did not try to win a smile. ‘I expect you’re feeling pretty miserable? Well, I’m just going to take a look at you.’ Gently he examined the toddler, looking in his ears for any signs of bleeding, and Harry let him, hardly even blinking as he shone the ophthalmoscope into the back of each eye, not even crying or flinching as Dominic gently examined the tender bruise. Through it all Harry didn’t say a word. ‘Has he spoken since he came here?’ Dominic asked
‘Not much—he’s asked for a drink.’ The curtains opened then and Helga walked in. Behind her was Bridgette, her face as white as chalk, but she smiled to Harry.
‘Hey.’ She stroked his little cheek. ‘I hear you’ve been in the wars.’ She spoke ever so gently to him, but her eyes were everywhere, lifting the blanket and checking him carefully, even undoing his nappy, and he saw her jaw tighten at the rash.
‘How is he?’
‘He just gave everyone a fright!’ Helga said, but Bridgette’s eyes went to Dominic’s.
‘Could I have a quick word, Bridgette?’
He stepped outside the cubicle and she joined him.
‘He’s filthy,’ Bridgette said. She could feel tears rising up, felt as if she was choking, so angry was she with her sister. ‘And he didn’t have any rash when I saw him on Friday. I bought loads of cream that she took—’
‘Bridgette,’ he interrupted, ‘I’m handing Harry’s care over to a colleague. You will need to tell him all this. It’s not appropriate that I’m involved. You understand that?’ She gave a brief nod but her attention was diverted by the arrival of her sister, and he watched as Bridgette strode off and practically marched Courtney out towards the waiting room.
‘I’ll go.’ Helga was more than used to confrontations such as this and called to
the nurses’ station over her shoulder as she followed the two sisters out. ‘Just let Security know we might need them.’
And this was what Courtney had reduced her to, Bridgette thought, standing outside the hospital early in the morning, with security guards hovering. But Bridgette was too angry to keep quiet.
‘He climbed out of his cot!’ Courtney was immediately on the defensive the moment they were outside. ‘I didn’t know that he climbed. You should have told me.’ Maybe it was a good idea that security guards were present because hearing Courtney try to blame her for this had Bridgette’s blood boiling.
‘He’s never once climbed out of the cot when I’ve had him,’ Bridgette answered hotly. ‘Mind you, he was probably trying to get out and change his own nappy or make himself a drink, or give himself a wash. You lazy, selfish…’ She stopped herself then because if she said any more, it would be way too much. She paused and Helga stepped in, took Courtney inside, and Bridgette stood there hugging her arms around herself tightly, mortified when Dominic came out.
‘This has nothing to do with you,’ Bridgette said, still angry. ‘You’ve stepped aside.’
‘You know I had to.’
She did know that.
‘Is this why you couldn’t get away?’ Dominic asked, and she didn’t answer, because a simple yes would have been a lie. ‘Bridgette?’
‘I don’t want to talk about it.’
‘You never do,’ he pointed out, but now really wasn’t the time. ‘I know that it doesn’t seem like it now,’ Dominic said, ‘but Harry being admitted might be the best thing that could have happened. Things might get sorted now.’
As an ambulance pulled up she gave a nod, even if she didn’t believe it.
‘Bridgette, I was actually going to come over and see you today,’ Dominic said, and she knew what was coming. ‘I didn’t want you to hear it from anyone else—I’ve just given notice. I’m leaving on Saturday.’ He chose not to tell her just how impossible the decision had been, but in the end it had surely been the right one—he wanted simple, straightforward, and Bridgette was anything but. He’d opened up to her more than he had with anyone, and yet he realised that, still, despite his question, he knew very little about her and even now she said nothing. ‘Anyway, I thought I should tell you myself.’
‘Sure.’
‘I’d better get up to…’ His voice stopped, his stomach tightened, as the ambulance door opened and he met Tony’s frantic eyes.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
DOMINIC checked himself, because it should make no difference that it wasn’t Esperanza on the stretcher. Instead it was Roman, their three-year-old, and he needed Dominic’s help and concentration just as much as his little sister would have. ‘Dr Mansfield’s here…’ Tony was talking reassuringly to his son, who was struggling hard to breathe as they moved him straight into the critical area. ‘The doctor who looked after Esperanza. That’s good news.’
‘He did this last year…’ Tony said as Dominic examined him, and Tony explained about his severe asthma. ‘He does it a lot, but last year he ended up in Intensive Care.’
‘Okay.’ Dominic listened to his chest and knew that Roman would probably have to head to Intensive Care again this morning.
Roman took up all of Dominic’s morning, but by lunchtime, when he’d spoken to the family and the frantic abuela, things were a little calmer.
‘While he’s still needing hourly nebulisers it’s safer that he is here,’ Dominic explained, but then it was easier to speak in Spanish, so that Abuela understood. He told them things were steadily improving and would continue to do so.
Tony rang Maria, who was of course frantic, and Dominic spoke to her too.
‘You get a taxi home,’ Tony said to Abuela, ‘and Maria can come in between feeds.’
Writing up his drug sheets, Dominic listened for a moment as they worked out a vague plan of action, heard that Tony would ring his boss and take today off.
‘You think he might go to the ward tomorrow?’
‘Or this evening.’ Dominic nodded.
‘I’ll stay with him tonight and if you can come in in the morning to be with Roman I can go to work tomorrow,’ Tony said to his mother. She rattled the start of twenty questions at him, but Tony broke in.
‘We’ll deal with that if it happens.’
Dominic headed down to the children’s ward. Bridgette wasn’t around and neither was Courtney. An extra layer had been added to Harry’s cot, in case he was, in fact, a climber, and it stood like a tall cage in the middle of the nursery. He walked in and took off his jacket, washed his hands and then turned round and looked straight into the waiting grey eyes of Harry, who wasn’t his patient, he reminded himself.
* * *
Harry’s head injury wasn’t at all serious, but he had been moved up to the children’s ward mid-morning. Bridgette knew it was more of a social admission. Maybe she had done rather too good a job of reassuring her parents that it wasn’t serious when she rang them, because they didn’t dash in. After all, her father had to have a filling that afternoon, so they said they would come in the evening and, with a weary sigh, her mother agreed, yes, they would stop by Bridgette’s flat and bring a change of clothes, pyjamas and toiletries.
Bridgette took the opportunity to voice a few of her concerns about his speech delay with the doctor and he gave her a sort of blink when she spoke about Harry’s fixation with bricks and that he didn’t talk much.
‘Has he had his hearing checked?’
‘Er, no.’
‘He’s had a few ear infections, though,’ Dr Andrews said, peering through his
examination notes. ‘We’ll get his hearing tested and then he might need an ENT outpatient appointment.’
Later they were interviewed by a social worker, but by dinnertime Courtney had had enough. ‘I’m exhausted,’ she said. ‘I was up all night with him. I think I’ll go home and get some sleep.’
‘We can put a bed up beside his cot,’ a nurse offered.
‘I’d never sleep with all the noise,’ Courtney said, gave Harry a brief kiss and then she was gone, safe in the knowledge that Bridgette would stay the night. Dominic was on the ward when Bridgette’s parents arrived, talking with the charge nurse. She saw him glance up when her mother asked to be shown where Harry was.
‘Here, Mum,’ Bridgette said as they made their way over, all nervous smiles, slightly incredulous that their grandson was actually here.
‘Here’s the bits you wanted,’ her mum said, handing over a bag.
Bridgette peered into the bag and flinched. ‘Did you deliberately choose the ugliest pyjamas I own?’ She grinned. ‘I’d forgotten that I even had these!’ They were orange flannelette, emblazoned with yellow flowers, and had been sent by her granny about five years ago.
‘You’re lucky I could find anything in that room!’ Betty said. ‘I could barely see the bed.’
Yes, she really must get organised, Bridgette remembered. Somehow she had not got around to it last weekend. She had either been worrying about Harry or mooching over Dominic. Well, Dominic was gone or going and Harry would be sorted, so she would get organised soon.
‘So what is he in for?’ Maurice asked. ‘He looks fine.’
He certainly looked a whole lot better. He’d had a bath and hair wash and had a ton of cream on his bottom. There was just a very small bruise on his head.
‘He didn’t even need a stitch,’ Betty said.
‘You know why he’s in, Mum.’
‘For nappy rash!’ Betty wasn’t having it.
‘Mum… He’s getting his hearing tested tomorrow.’ They were less than impressed. ‘Aren’t you going to ask where Courtney is?’
‘Getting some well-deserved rest,’ Betty hissed. ‘She must have had the fright of her life last night.’
They didn’t stay very long. They fussed over Harry for half an hour or so and it was a very weary Bridgette who tried to get Harry off to sleep.
‘How’s he doing?’ Dominic asked as she stood and rubbed Harry’s back.
‘Fine,’ Bridgette said, and then conceded, as she really wasn’t angry with him, ‘he’s doing great. We’re going for a hearing test tomorrow. Dr Andrews said we should check out the basics.’ Of course he said nothing. He was his ‘at work’ Dominic and so he didn’t fill in the gaps. ‘I thought he was autistic or something.’ She gave a small shrug. ‘Well, he might be. I mean, if he is, he is…’
‘You nurses.’
‘You’d be the same,’ Bridgette said, ‘if he was…’ Except Harry wasn’t his and he wasn’t hers either and it was too hard to voice so she gave him the smile that said keep away.
She washed in the one shower available for parents, an ancient old thing at the edge of the parents’ room, and pulled on the awful pyjamas her parents had brought and climbed into the roller bed at seven-thirty p.m., grateful that the lights were already down. But she found out that Courtney was right—it was far too noisy to sleep. When she was woken again by a nurse doing obs around ten and by a baby coughing in the next cot, she wandered down to the parents’ room to get a drink and nearly jumped out of her skin to see Dominic sprawled out on a sofa.
He’d changed out of his suit, which was rare for him, and was wearing scrubs, and looked, for once, almost scruffy—unshaven and the hair that fell so neatly wasn’t falling at all neatly now.
‘Good God.’ He peeled open his eyes when she walked in.
‘Don’t you judge me by my pyjamas,’ Bridgette said, heading over to the kitchenette. ‘I was just thinking you weren’t looking so hot yourself—what happened to that smooth-looking man I met?’
‘You did.’ Dominic rolled his eyes and sort of heaved himself up. He sat there and she handed him a coffee without asking if he wanted one. ‘Thanks.’ He looked over at her. ‘Bridgette, why didn’t you say you were worried about Harry?’
Hers For One Night Only? Page 10