A Wife and Child to Cherish (Audley Memorial Hospital)

by Caroline Anderson

  He frowned, then with a ragged sigh he drew her into his arms. ‘I’d be better with a hug,’ he mumbled, and her arms wrapped around him and held him close.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ she asked softly.

  ‘Ellie,’ he said, easing away. ‘I used to read to her. I didn’t think it would get to me.’

  Annie sighed and touched his cheek again, running her fingers over the rough, emerging stubble. ‘Come and sit down and tell me about her. I’ll bring some tea—or would you rather have the rest of the wine?’

  ‘No, keep it for another day. I’ll have tea.’

  So she made their tea and they went and sat on the sofa, side by side, and he put his arm round her shoulder and tucked her into his side. Then he started talking, his voice soft with a gentle and accepting grief.

  ‘Ellie was pregnant when we got married. I didn’t know. I don’t know if she did. But we resuscitated her when she had the stroke. I got her back the first time before the ambulance arrived, and then they had to give her CPR on the way in because she arrested, and then she went into VF in Resus and they shocked her three times to get her back. And, of course, it was too much for the baby. It was only a tiny foetus, just a few weeks gestation, and we realised what had happened when she started bleeding heavily in ITU. But it was too late, and it wouldn’t have made any difference to her management if we’d known, because without the defibrillator she would have died anyway. Our baby would have been about the same age as Katie—perhaps a little older. I was wondering—it could have been a girl. I could have been doing that every night for the last nine years, reading to my daughter instead of my wife.’

  Annie blinked hard, cleared her throat, tried to speak and couldn’t. She buried her nose in her mug and sipped her tea, as much for something to do as because she wanted it. But then he took the mug away from her and turned her into his arms, and she hugged him hard and tried not to cry all over him again, but it was futile.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ she whispered, and his arms tightened.

  ‘It was so weird, doing homework with Katie and brushing her hair dry and reading to her. I don’t think I realised what we’d lost until tonight. I’ve grieved for Ellie, endlessly, but not for the baby. It just didn’t seem to matter, but I realised tonight that it did. I just hadn’t known how much.’

  She lifted her head and touched her fingers to his face again, tracing the path his tears had taken, and when she reached the corner of his mouth he turned his head and pressed his lips to her fingertips.

  She outlined the firm contour of his upper lip, feeling the slight scrape of stubble, then brushed her thumb over the soft fullness of his lower lip. It caught on the moisture, dragging gently, and with a ragged groan he bent his head and lowered his mouth to hers.

  Heat shot through her. Heat and a desperate need to hold him, to soothe the pain he was feeling and take him to her heart. She eased closer, opening her mouth to his kiss, and he dragged her down beside him, his lips locked with hers, his body hard and hot and urgent against hers.

  His hand closed over her breast, his touch firm but gentle, and his breath caught as he lifted his head and stared down at her.

  ‘Annie?’

  His chest was heaving, her heart was pounding so loud she could hardly hear herself think. There was only one way this was going to end unless she stopped it now.

  ‘Katie,’ she whispered, the only logical thing that came to her, but it was enough.

  He lowered his forehead to hers, holding her gently until his breathing had returned to normal and her heart had slowed, then he touched his lips to hers and sighed.

  ‘I’d better go while I still can.’

  ‘I think so,’ she said with a shaky laugh.

  But she didn’t want him to go any more than he wanted to, and his final kiss at the door before he opened it and went was lingering and full of promise.

  One day soon...

  CHAPTER SIX

  ‘Mrs Dickinson’s straggling.’

  Annie wasn’t surprised by Sue’s remark. A knee replacement was always a more painful procedure than a hip, and her pain relief should have been adequate, but if she was feeling depressed or anxious she would feel the pain more acutely, and with rheumatoid arthritis that was highly likely.

  And if she herself hadn’t been so busy daydreaming about Patrick, she might have been more on top of it.

  ‘I’ll go and talk to her,’ she told Sue. ‘We haven’t got a free PCA pump at the moment—I’ll see if I can get anyone off theirs, but in the meantime is she written up for any more pain relief? I take it she’s had all she can?’

  ‘She has, and she can’t have any more yet. Not for a while.’

  ‘I’ll contact Raj, get him to give her a bit more. I think Patrick’s in Theatre—he’s taken that motorcyclist in to do something else to his pelvis and fix his ankle. Daniel Taylor. I think we’re getting him later. Can you prep a side room for him while I think about it?’

  ‘Is he still in a coma?’

  She shook her head. ‘Don’t think so. He’d come round, I’d heard.’

  Not from Patrick, though. She hadn’t seen him since last night, and to be honest she wasn’t sure how she’d cope when she did. She was sure her feelings would show on her face, because she was dreadful at hiding them, and there was no way she wanted anyone to know about this!

  It had been Raj, his specialist registrar, who’d told her about the motorcyclist coming round and being stable enough for further surgery. She wondered how Patrick was coping with the case. It was different to Ellie’s, but close enough, perhaps?

  No. How silly. He was coping fine. Of course he was. He must have lots of patients like that with concomitant head injuries. He couldn’t fall apart over every one because of Ellie. And it had been Katie that had upset him last night, or at least the child they’d lost, not Ellie. He wouldn’t have kissed her like that if he wasn’t over his wife.

  Would he?

  She went and saw Mrs Dickinson and had a look at her knee. ‘Sue tells me you’re finding it very painful,’ she said, and Susanne nodded.

  ‘It’s awful. It feels so tight, as if everything’s going to burst, and the physio came a little while ago and wants me to start moving it, but I can’t.’

  ‘Give me a minute. I’ve got something that might help.’ She went and found the icepack knee brace, filled it with ice and water, put it on and pumped it up until the pressure indicator popped out and turned red.

  ‘How does that feel?’

  ‘Oh, much better,’ Susanne said, sighing with relief. ‘Really soothing. Thank you. I had no idea it would be so painful. I’ve had so many things done—a hip replacement, operations on my wrists and hands, one on my foot—but nothing like this. It’s just awful, and the swelling’s going to get worse if past experience is anything to go by.’

  ‘You need to keep it moving and keep putting ice on it. Ideally you need a gadget like this, but we don’t supply them, you have to buy your own to take home. They’re expensive but really worth it, and it’ll be useful for years for any knee problems.’

  ‘It might be nice for the other one as well. That’s beginning to twinge from time to time.’

  ‘I’ll get you the information on it,’ Annie promised, and left Susanne with the pack on for a few minutes while she checked on Sue, who was preparing the side room.

  ‘How are you doing? Any idea when Daniel’s coming down?’

  ‘I’m done, just about, but I haven’t heard. Oh, look, there’s Patrick. Ask him.’

  Annie’s heart skittered, but she went out and tried to keep her smile under control.

  ‘How’s your motorcyclist?’ she asked.

  ‘Daniel? OK,’ he replied, and she wasn’t sure if she imagined it or if he looked relieved that she was keeping things professional. ‘He’s in Recovery. I’ve plated his ankle, had another go at his pelvis to straighten it up and it’s looking better, but neurologically it’s not good. He’s awake, but he’s not responding.
’

  ‘You think it might be permanent?’ she said, and he nodded.

  ‘Possibly,’ he agreed, and she looked more closely and saw the lines of strain etched into his face.

  So, not really coping, then. Too close to home. Was that why he was being a little distant?

  ‘We’ll look after him,’ she promised, and he nodded.

  ‘How’s Mrs Dickinson? I gather she’s having trouble with pain.’

  ‘I’ve given her a cold knee brace. It seems to be helping. I’m hoping to get her on a PCA pump if I can find one. f should be able to.’

  ‘Sure? Otherwise I'll write her up for more now, if you like.’

  ‘Could you? Just to tide her over. And also, if you could write her up for the PCA so it’s all set up for when one’s free?’

  ‘Of course,’ he said, and headed towards Mrs Dickinson’s bed, leaving Annie with a curiously hollow feeling.

  Was he regretting it? Had the kiss just been impulse? He hadn’t smiled or teased her, and there was a tension between them that hadn’t been there before last night. Maybe he wasn’t over Ellie after all. It had only been six months since she’d died. That wasn’t long, even under the circumstances.

  Still, she couldn’t worry about it now, she’d got far too much work to do. She’d think about it later, she told herself, but for the rest of the day she felt as if the sun had gone out.

  As if, she thought sadly, she’d lost her best friend.

  She detailed Sue to special Daniel. He was on a bewildering array of monitoring equipment, but because he was breathing unaided and was essentially stable, he no longer needed to be on ICU. Post-op, though, he needed monitoring closely, and so Sue would remain with him until the end of her shift, and then another suitably qualified member of the nursing staff would take over.

  Annie would have liked to have done it herself, but her day was full of admin and chasing about supervising everyone and making sure things were done right—starting with getting hold of a PCA pump no longer needed by another patient and linking Mrs Dickinson up to it to give her control over her own analgesia. Then it was back to the endless round of paperwork and admin.

  That was the good thing about agency work, she really got back to the nitty-gritty and did proper nursing, the truly hands-on stuff that she no longer had time to involve herself in.

  Instead, she spent her day playing chess with beds and patients and nurses, trying to ensure that everything worked smoothly.

  And today, with that kiss lingering only a fraction back from the forefront of her mind, she was finding it hard.

  Apparently she wasn’t alone.

  ‘Got a minute?’

  She looked up from her paperwork and her heart kicked against her ribs. ‘Sure. Come in.’

  He pushed the door shut and stood there leaning on it in his scrubs, looking slightly rumpled and much too sexy for her peace of mind. His eyes were fixed on her broodingly.

  ‘What is it?’ she asked, suddenly worried. ‘It’s not Katie? There’s nothing wrong?’

  ‘No, there’s nothing wrong with Katie. I was just wondering how I was going to keep my hands off you till the end of the day.’

  His words robbed her of breath. She opened her mouth, shut it, reminded herself how to breathe and sucked in a lungful of air. ‘Um... ’

  ‘Sorry. That was out of line—’

  ‘No! No, it’s fine. I was thinking the same thing,’ she confessed softly, and felt the colour rise slowly like a tide up her throat and into her cheeks.

  ‘Oh, Annie, don’t,’ he groaned, and shut his eyes, dropping his head forwards. ‘I daren’t touch you. These scrubs are far too revealing as it is. But last night... ’ He met her eyes again, his burning with a fierce glitter that made her heart bump against her ribs. ‘Last night—I just didn’t sleep. All I could think about was that kiss, and how good it felt, and how on’ earth we can find some time alone together before I go crazy.’

  She shut her eyes, shook her head to clear it. ‘Um.. .Patrick, we can’t, I’ve got Katie there.’

  ‘I know. Forget it. Forget I said anything.’ His voice was heavy, and he was reaching for the doorhandle, shutting down on her again, and she couldn’t let him do that...

  ‘But she’s not there on Thursday,’ she said hastily. ‘She’ll stay over at Lynn’s. I’m on a late followed by an early again. And tonight she’s swimming until six-thirty.’

  He let go of the handle, studied her with those brooding, sexy eyes, then shook his head. ‘Not tonight. It’s not long enough. Thursday, though. Come to my house after work, so your neighbours don’t have anything to talk about. And stay the night. Please?’ he added as an afterthought, and the last little vestige of her self-control fizzled and died.

  ‘That would be lovely,’ she said softly, and he nodded and opened the door, a muscle in his jaw jumping.

  ‘Good. I’ll see you later.’

  ‘You could come round for supper after I get Katie,’ she added, and then wondered if she sounded like a desperate, love-starved widow. Which, of course, she was.

  But his features softened, his mouth relaxing into a smile. ‘Thanks. I’ll do that. I tell you what, I’ll bring pudding.’

  ‘That would be lovely.’

  ‘Chocolate, I suppose?’

  She laughed. ‘She likes apple crumble as well.’

  ‘I’ll see what I can find. I’ll see you later, I’ve got a clinic. Don’t work too hard.’

  She just laughed again, wryly this time, and he went out grinning and left her feeling torn between euphoria and sheer blind fright.

  Thursday, she thought. Oh, help. That was two days. Not soon enough and far, far too soon. It had been years. Would she even remember what to do?

  Patrick thought he was going to die of frustration waiting for Thursday night to come, and when it did he wasn’t sure he could cope with it. He so badly wanted it to be good for them, but he wasn’t sure he could find the self-control to ensure it.

  He went home at six-thirty, cleaned the house and changed the sheets, then showered before he scrubbed the bathroom and lit candles in the sitting room. Annie would have eaten already in her break, but he had a bottle of wine chilling in the fridge and a few nibbles—crisps and dips and finger-food, things he could feed her—

  No, don’t think about it. Don’t think about her lips taking the food from your hand. Don’t think about her drawing your fingers into her mouth and sucking them, one by one.

  Oh, help, he couldn’t do this!

  He went out into the garden, drawing in the cold, crisp air in great gasps, trying to calm his fevered body and mind. What if it was a disaster? What if he couldn’t hold back? What if he couldn’t satisfy her? What if he really didn’t turn her on?

  He rested back against the cool glass of the French doors and shut his eyes. He was going to go insane...

  ‘Patrick?’

  He tensed, straightening away from the window and turning. She must have let herself in because she was standing there in his dining room, her hands knotting and unknotting, and she looked just like he felt.

  ‘I rang the doorbell but there was no answer, and the door wasn’t locked. I hope you don’t mind.’

  He gave a tiny, hollow laugh and went back inside, drawing her into his arms and hugging her close. ‘Of course I don’t’ mind,’ he said softly. Her hair was wet—she must have gone home and showered on her way here, and he caught the fragrance of apples. He touched it, fingering the damp strands thoughtfully. ‘You OK?’

  ‘Scared,’ she confessed in a low voice.

  ‘Me, too. Let’s have a drink.’

  ‘Or we could just go to bed.’

  He let her go and stood back, looking at her closely. Dear God, she really was scared.

  And suddenly he felt better.

  ‘No,’ he said gently. ‘Come on, let’s have a drink and something to eat and chill out for a while. You’ve been working hard, you need time to relax.’

  So he took
her into the sitting room, turned on a slow, quiet romantic CD and poured the wine, handing her a glass.

  ‘To us,’ he said softly. She lifted her glass to him and said, ‘To us.’

  He let her sip, then took her by the hand and led her to the sofa and pulled her down beside him, keeping hold of her hand. ‘You know,’ he said conversationally, ‘we don’t have to do this.’

  She stared at him. ‘We don’t?’

  ‘Not if we don’t want to.’

  ‘You don’t want to?’

  The expression on her face was almost comical, and he gave a cracked laugh. ‘Oh, I want to,’ he vowed. ‘Believe me, I want to. But if you don’t, if you want to wait—’

  ‘I don’t want to wait.’

  ‘Good. Then lie down with your head at that end and let me give you a foot massage.’

  So she lay down obediently, with her head on the arm and her feet in his lap, and she sipped her wine and watched him and gradually relaxed.

  ‘Oh, that’s so-o-o good,’ she groaned as he dug his thumbs deeply into the hollow of her insteps and worked the strained, exhausted muscles and ligaments. ‘You’re far too clever at this.’

  ‘I’m an orthopaedic surgeon. I know all about the structure of the foot. I should be good at it.’

  ‘It’s nothing to do with orthopaedics,’ she said lazily, her eyelids drooping, and moaned again as he worked on the insides of her ankles. ‘Just clever fingers.’

  ‘Stop analysing,’ he told her, reaching for his glass, and then one-handed he massaged the backs of her calves, cupping them in his hand and working slowly up and down while she made sleepy cat-noises. Good. She was unwinding. Fantastic. Pity it wasn’t working for him, because touching her legs was doing nothing for his self-control.

  He stole a glance at her face, and nearly laughed out loud.

  She was asleep! For heaven’s sake, he was dying of frustration here and she was asleep!