Village Midwife, Blushing Bride

by Gill Sanderson

  ‘You know,’ he said thoughtfully, ‘thinking of work again, ideally I’d like to have Barbara’s husband as a patient too.’

  Zoe was startled. ‘But he’s an awkward, argumentative so-and-so. No doctor wants a patient like that.’

  ‘It’s easier to treat the whole family rather than just one person in it. And I think I understand Roy a bit. Basically, he’s just an immature lad who needs help to grow up.’

  ‘You are a good doctor, Connor. I’ll try and get Barbara to persuade her husband to come back to us next time I see her. And we’ll add a list of local birth-through-teen activities to the pregnancy pack with an advisory note for people to use them. Anything else on your wish list?’

  He gave a short laugh. ‘Oh, just put a notice up on the surgery wall telling people to take a little extra care in knowing more about who they are going to marry. That should help too.’

  Zoe suddenly felt cold. And hurt. ‘Was that a dig at me?’ she demanded. ‘We all make mistakes, Connor.’

  He looked at her in consternation. ‘What? No! Oh, hell, Zoe—I would never dream of…I was talking about me.’

  At last. He’d been jolted into revealing something of himself. Zoe knew if she didn’t press him now, he’d slide away again. ‘You? What do you mean?’

  ‘Is Jamie heavy? You can’t manage to hold him and drink coffee at the same time. Would you like me to take him?’

  ‘No, I want you to stop hiding, Connor. I’ve told you my tragedy. I want you to tell me yours.’

  There was a long silence. ‘That magazine this morning,’ he began.

  This morning seemed like a hundred years ago to Zoe, but she nodded. ‘The mangled one?’

  ‘Quick, aren’t you? There was a photograph of a climbing team who are going to attempt a prestigious new route. It will be exciting, dangerous, challenging—all the things I used to revel in.’

  ‘I’m sorry you can’t climb that well any more,’ said Zoe.

  He looked at her in slight surprise. ‘I’m misleading you. That’s not why I threw it away. One of the team was my exgirlfriend. She’s a very bright doctor, fearless on a rock face…’ His voice tailed off.

  Zoe sipped her coffee and waited.

  ‘We seemed very suited. I assumed we’d eventually get married, bring up a little pack of rock climbers of our own, and live happily ever after. It turned out I was missing a couple of facts. One was that, for a doctor, she had a surprising amount of trouble coping with seriously ill people in her own life. And two…’

  He swallowed, his eyes stony and lost as he stared out over the reservoir. Zoe put down the Thermos cup and folded her hand over his clenched fist.

  ‘She left me when I was ill. She’d had the offer of a US-based job, but I think with hindsight she’d have left me anyway. A while later I got a letter from her. I guess she knew I wasn’t up to emails at the time. It said she hoped I was getting better, she was really enjoying her new post, and that the climbing in Yosemite was fabulous.’

  Zoe winced when she saw the expression on his face. She knew Connor was a self-controlled man; he didn’t like to let his emotions show. But they showed now. He was angry—but most of all he was hurting. She took his hand in both hers, but said nothing.

  It was a while before he spoke, and when he did his voice was clipped, monotonous. Though he was looking at her, she knew his eyes were unseeing.

  ‘She also said that perhaps I should know now that a few days after she had arrived in San Francisco she’d discovered that she was pregnant. But I didn’t need to worry. She’d organised things; the foetus was gone. She’d been pregnant with our child—my child! But, Zoe, she’d aborted it! How could she?’

  Zoe’s eyes filled with tears. ‘Oh, Connor,’ she whispered. She’d heard him talk of his nephews and nieces. She knew how he was with Jamie. The news that a child of his own had been disposed of so casually must have nearly killed him. ‘Oh, Connor, I’m so sorry.’

  ‘It…it didn’t help with my recovery.’

  ‘I should imagine not.’

  ‘I’d accepted that because I was…damaged…Francine no longer loved me enough to stick around. I could cope with that—just—by blocking all thoughts of her. But that she should care so little for our unborn child that she would…Well, that just about finished me off.’

  ‘Oh, Connor,’ said Zoe again. She lifted his hand to her mouth and kissed it without thinking.

  ‘So can you understand now why I tend not to trust people? Even worse, not to trust my own judgement?’

  Zoe stared at him. There was so much that she wanted to say, so much that she wanted to tell him about trust…but was she the right person to do so? His case was so similar to her own. She had to say something. ‘Connor, I know that…’

  But he’d had enough talking for a while. He turned away, started to pack up their bags. In a totally different voice, he said, ‘I’ll take these up to the car and then come back to give you a hand with Jamie.’

  He was away longer than the task would normally take and she thought she knew why. Connor didn’t like revealing himself. And for a while his feelings would be too strong to suppress.

  When he returned, Jamie was stirring. Connor lifted him into his arms. ‘Time to go home, young man. We’ll do it all another day.’

  Zoe stood up, looking at her son cradled against Connor’s chest and seeing the bleak pain hidden behind Connor’s now deliberately casual manner. She put her hand on his arm, feeling the warmth and the strength of the man. ‘She wasn’t right for you, Connor. I know what she did must have hurt unbearably, but…’

  But it was my child. Zoe heard it as clearly as if he’d said it aloud.

  She tried again. ‘You mustn’t think all people are the same. Life can be different; there are happy couples. Look at Jo and Sam.’

  His dark blue eyes rested on her for a moment. ‘I told you before about having had Lyme disease, didn’t I?’

  She nodded.

  ‘And you being you, knowing nothing about the disease, you looked it up?’

  Time for honesty. ‘Yes,’ she confessed. ‘I wanted to…know about you.’

  ‘Did you read all about the possible side effects, the possible consequences?’ His voice was harsh again.

  ‘Yes.’ Suddenly, Zoe had a terrible suspicion about what he was about to say next. ‘Connor, you’re not…?’

  ‘I am. I’m infertile. I’ve always loved children. And I’ve lost the only chance I ever had of having a child of my own. Maybe life can be different for some people, Zoe. But not for me.’

  Chapter Eight

  THE invitation arrived at the surgery the next morning. A stiff cream card, the wording in embossed silver.

  Mr and Mrs T Reynolds would like to invite Ms Z Hilton and partner to the Summer Ball at Cantwell House.

  In a fortnight’s time. A ball? She blinked, and went to see Jo.

  Jo grinned and waved a similar card at her. ‘Sam and I are invited too; we go every year. It’s a charity ball organised by the local solicitors’ association. It’s Buckley’s most prestigious social event. Pictures in the paper and everything. You’ll have a great time; we can share a table.’

  ‘But I haven’t been to a ball in years. My ball-going days are long over. And why would they invite me?’

  ‘You’re invited because Alice and Tim think you’ve been so helpful with the pregnancy. It’s never too late to restart. You used to love dancing.’

  Zoe felt a momentary touch of sadness. Yes, she used to love to dance. Before Neil started to…

  ‘There’s another thing,’ Jo went on. ‘There were three invitations. Connor got one too.’

  ‘Connor!’

  ‘Why not? Alice thinks he’s a wonderful doctor. She also thinks he’s kind and thoughtful—which he is. And his invitation will say Dr C Maitland and partner.’ Jo looked expectantly at her friend. ‘Why not go as a couple? Just for the ball, of course.’

  ‘No! I just don’t do dancing any more
, and I suspect neither does Connor. We get on all right at the moment; he’s very fond of Jamie and Jamie thinks he’s marvellous.’

  ‘I know; I’ve seen them together. Every child needs a father figure.’

  ‘Jo, don’t go there!’

  ‘I’m not going anywhere. Just re-telling a well known fact. Now, just supposing, just perhaps, Connor asks you to go to the ball as his partner. Would you go?’

  ‘He won’t ask!’

  ‘All I’m doing is asking you to suppose!’

  ‘Well, I’d think about it. Now I’ve got work to do.’ And Zoe fled from Jo’s office, her thoughts in turmoil.

  She had been climbing with Connor, canoeing with him, saw him with Jamie in his garden most evenings. They got on well and they were easier round each other since that day at the reservoir. But, despite the undoubted attraction between them, they both recognised that there was little they could do about it. Both had their demons still to fight.

  But she used to love dancing. And something, perhaps the way he was so light on his feet, told her that Connor would be a great dancer. It might be nice if, just for one night, they could forget the reasons keeping them apart and just enjoy being together.

  That evening Connor sat in his study, for the fifth time took the invitation from his pocket and read it. The message hadn’t changed. Dr C Maitland and partner… And partner?

  His first reaction had been to write a courteous note of regret. Since he’d been in Buckley he had received more than a few invitations to social gatherings and had refused them all. He was a doctor and was happy to meet and help people—professionally. In his own time he liked his own company. He didn’t have a partner, didn’t want one, didn’t intend to go to any function where he’d have to dance, chat or otherwise act like a social animal. He was happy the way he was.

  And yet…

  That morning he had been standing next to Jo when they picked up their mail. He’d seen that she had received the same invitation as he had; they’d opened them at the same time. ‘Party invitation,’ she’d said. ‘As usual, I guess you won’t be going, Connor?’

  ‘I doubt it. Not my style.’

  ‘Pity; it’s usually a good do. It looks as if there’s an invitation for Zoe too. I doubt she’ll go either. She used to love dancing, though she hasn’t done any for ages. Well, to work.’ And she had walked away.

  He had felt slightly aggrieved that she’d been so certain he’d refuse the invitation. Was he so predictable? So set in his ways? If he wanted to go to the ball, then he would. Wouldn’t he? And it would make sense if…

  ‘Uncle Connor?’ a small voice shouted from outside. He had left the French windows of his living room open, left his study door open—he realised he had done so in order to hear when Jamie came into his garden.

  ‘Coming,’ he shouted, stuffing the invitation into his pocket. There was Jamie, smiling proudly, a sheet of paper in his hand. Behind him was Zoe, a more hesitant smile on her face. It was a warm evening; she was dressed as so often in T-shirt and shorts. And she looked well.

  There was the flash of pleasure he always felt when he saw her. And another, almost foreign feeling. A memory, even. He wondered what it would be like to dance with her. To hold her in his arms, to feel her body touching, moving against his. To smell her perfume, perhaps to rest his cheek against hers. Jo had said that Zoe used to like dancing. So had he. But dancing with Francine, he reminded himself. And, to his surprise, for the first time in years he was able to think of what she’d done without a burst of bitterness.

  Francine was out of his life now. But, despite his words the other day, he was learning that he still had a life to lead. One that maybe included Zoe? He didn’t know.

  ‘Uncle Connor, I’ve drawed a picture of me and you and Miss Jones said it was very good and be sure to show you. It was when we were canoeing.’

  Connor knelt on the grass to study the drawing.

  ‘That’s you in the blue canoe and me in the red one. And I’m falling out because it’s an accident.’

  Zoe had been so furious with him. And he’d been furious with her for not seeing that he had Jamie’s best interests at heart. He looked up into the child’s expectant face. ‘That’s very good, Jamie. Know what I’m going to do? I’m going to take this to my computer and copy it. Then you’ll have this on your fridge and I’ll have a copy on mine.’

  ‘Fantastic! I’m going on the swings now.’ And Jamie rushed off, leaving him to face Zoe.

  ‘Come in while I copy this,’ he said. ‘Jamie will be fine for a moment on his own.’

  ‘All right. But not for long.’ She made a face at her own reluctance. ‘I’m getting used to leaving him—but it’s still hard.’

  ‘You’re a good mother.’

  She followed him into the study, was silent as he turned on the scanner and placed Jamie’s picture against the glass plate. Then, when it started humming, he took the invitation out of his pocket and showed it to her. ‘I gather you have one of these?’

  She hesitated, looked at him warily. ‘Yes, I have. Why?’

  ‘Are you thinking of going? Jo said you used to love dancing.’

  ‘I did. But that was then and this is now. I haven’t danced for years. I don’t like to upset Alice and Tim, but I think I’ll have to refuse.’

  ‘I quite liked dancing too. And for me it feels like a lifetime. I was going to refuse, but then I wondered…’ His voice trailed away.

  She bowed her head slightly; he could see a slight blush on her cheeks. Then she lifted her head, looked at him steadily, the pinkness in her cheeks still showing. ‘Connor, if you’re going to ask me to go to the ball as your partner, then do it. And, before you do, just to stop any potential embarrassment, let me tell you that, if you do, I’ll say yes.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes. I’d like to go to the ball with you. It’ll be one demon less for me, but only if I go with someone I trust.’ She gave a small smile. ‘I think it would be good for both of us, come to that. This can be one night apart. For a night I’ll be Cinderella.’

  ‘Will a taxi do instead of a golden coach?’

  ‘Well, only just.’

  ‘Then, Cinders, will you accompany a shop-worn prince to the ball?’

  ‘There’s nothing shop-worn about you, Connor. Did you know you should smile more often? When you do, the whole world seems to sparkle.’

  He took a step towards her, took her hands in his. They were friends now—and very nearly something more. He knew she wouldn’t move if he kissed her. In fact, he thought she might like it. So…

  From outside a voice called, ‘Uncle Connor, can we play football now?’

  And it was she who reached up to kiss him on his cheek. ‘We’re making progress,’ she said. ‘But I still don’t know where we’re going.’

  Zoe shooed her butterflies away and decided that she was really looking forward to the occasion. For the moment, worries about her relationship with Connor were shelved. What she was interested in was an evening of dressing up, dancing and having a good time. Just one evening. It was something she hadn’t done for quite a while. Towards the end of her marriage to Neil they had been to fewer and fewer events together. He always got drunk, wouldn’t listen to reason…She preferred to stay at home with Jamie.

  So what would she wear? She’d been living in either casual clothes or her uniform ever since she’d moved up here. She went through her wardrobe, thinking that the smart clothes she possessed seemed to belong in a different life. She was shocked when she came to the black dress she’d bought for Neil’s funeral. It was a good one, quite expensive. She’d felt she’d owed it to the memory of those early years when he’d swept her off her feet and made her feel as if she was the most exciting woman in the universe. How things had changed. She sat on her bed with the dress in her lap and remembered her feelings when she had worn it at the funeral. There had been a mixture of anger and sadness and guilt. Anger still at his immense irresponsibility, ang
er at his endangering their child. Sadness for the man he had been; the man who wouldn’t change. Guilt because of the shameful relief that one part of her life was over.

  She blotted her eyes, knowing she could never wear the dress again—the same feelings would rise up in her. She wasn’t even sure why she’d kept it. She reached for a large pair of scissors. Then she held back. It would be a pointless gesture to cut it up. Neil and life with him were now behind her. She had a new life, a different future. Somebody else would value this dress. She would ask Jo, who knew everybody, if she could find a discreet home for it.

  But what was she to wear?

  She gave the dress to Jo the next day, telling her briskly that she and Connor had discussed the ball and would go together.

  ‘Good heavens! I mean, how lovely.’

  ‘Just as friends, Jo.’

  ‘Absolutely. Just friends.’

  But there was a look in Jo’s eyes that told Zoe it was time to distract her. ‘I’ve not been to a posh do for ages and I’m at a bit of a loss. I don’t know the local shops very well and I…’

  ‘Oh, gosh, of course you don’t. First, book a hair appointment. You want either Mary or Jane at MaryJane’s in that little street behind the church. They’re the best in Buckley. Be sure to tell them that you work here. Sam helped Mary over a bad spell a couple of years ago and they’ve both been grateful ever since.’ She thought a minute. ‘Dress…Go to Top Two Toe at the bottom of the High Street. A bit expensive but well worth it. This might be a small town but people here appreciate good stuff. And tell them that…’

  ‘Tell them that I’m from Buckley Medical Centre,’ Zoe finished for her. ‘I will.’

  As the date came closer she found that she was really looking forward to it. She was looking forward to dressing up, to having a glass or two of champagne, to dancing again. She was glad Connor wasn’t one of those men who resolutely refused to dance. She would, of course, take the floor with whoever asked her, but dancing with Connor would be lovely. When the day of the ball came she realised she had been waiting for it like a child waited for Christmas. They were in luck; it was sunny all day and the night promised to be warm but not too hot. Connor had arranged a taxi. Jamie, his best teddy and his Big Red Tractor book had been installed in a corner of Jo’s daughters’ bedroom, with their favourite babysitter to look after them all. All was well.