Their Double Baby Gift

by Louisa Heaton

  He was surprised. He’d thought there’d be more. All this time he’d spent fearing this job, and now that he’d done it he realised there had been nothing to worry about. He let out a breath and then he closed his wife’s locker reverently, slid her name tag from the front of it and slowly started to remove her Hollywood heroes.

  What to do with them? Throw them into the bin?

  ‘I’ll take them.’

  Dr Bailey closed her hand around his and, surprised again by how her brief touch made him feel, he released the pictures and stared hard at her as she opened her own locker and put them inside. It had been the weirdest thing. Not lightning, not fireworks. More a gentle warmth. And he’d felt...soothed. As if a balm had been applied to his soul.

  ‘Thank you. For doing this with me.’

  She turned to face him and smiled. ‘It was my pleasure.’

  No, he thought. It was mine.

  * * *

  By the end of the day Matt had already decided that Dr Brooke Bailey was a very good member of his team. She worked at a steady pace, and she didn’t order extraneous tests that would upset the department’s budget. She got on well with everyone, seemed very popular, and though she might chat a little too much with her patients, rather than discharge them quickly, he didn’t think he had too much to complain about.

  Before she’d come back he’d heard from everyone that she was a good doctor, but Matt lived by the axiom that he’d make up his own mind about people. He took them as he found them, and so far he liked what he’d found in Dr Bailey. Now the drama of the morning crèche drop-off was long gone he could see the woman and the professional that his wife had become friends with.

  As he headed towards the lift, so that he could get his daughter from the crèche, he saw that she was standing waiting for it to arrive, too. They’d spoken on numerous occasions throughout the day since emptying Jen’s locker, and already he could sense that a tentative friendship was beginning.

  ‘Enjoy your first day?’

  She smiled at him. ‘I did! Even though I was fretting about Morgan for most of it, it was nice to use my brain again and interact with adults. I think the most taxing thought I’ve had over the last few months has been whenever I’ve had to change a nappy, seen the contents and wondered, What colour is that?’

  He smiled, having gone through the poo initiation tests that all babies presented to their parents. A sticky black tar to start, which looked like something that ought to be in a horror movie, oozing from a monster, then a khaki green that would hide any soldier in a jungle, and now they were into a kind of peanut butter effect. It had been an interesting journey, and one quite different from the Bristol Stool Chart that all doctors knew so well.

  The lift doors pinged open and they both got inside.

  ‘At least I didn’t have to examine any grown-up’s stools today.’

  Matt smiled to himself. Life as an A&E doctor did have that unknown element to it. You never knew what kind of case was going to walk through those doors, from something as simple as a splinter in the finger right through to a dramatic cardiac arrest. That was why he liked it. There was so much variety.

  It had been the same in the army. One minute he might be dealing with a gunshot wound, the next dealing with an ingrowing toenail.

  But he liked the adrenaline of working in A&E. The cases that needed to be worked on fast and efficiently, with each member of the team knowing their job, all of them working as a finely tuned machine to save someone’s life. There was nothing quite like it.

  ‘All jobs have their perks. Who knows? Perhaps tomorrow you might get your chance?’

  She laughed, and the sound did strange things to his insides.

  ‘I hope not!’

  He glanced at her briefly, curious as to why this woman, above all others, somehow seemed to make him feel...what? Uneasy? No, that was wrong. It wasn’t a bad feeling as such, it was...an awareness. Like the feeling you might get before a static storm. The air pregnant with expectation, holding a heat to it, a humidity.

  Was it because of her connection to Jen? Was it simply because he’d been waiting for her return to work so that he could meet this woman his wife had loved?

  That’s it. It’s because I know she was special to Jen.

  He’d wanted to see just what it was about the enigmatic Dr Bailey that had made her so appealing to his wife. He could see that she liked to laugh, liked to enjoy herself and to make close connections with her patients. She liked others to feel listened to and cared for. But there was also a quiet assuredness about her. A silent strength that she didn’t seem aware she had. It was her solitude, perhaps, that did that. That shielded her from her own possibilities.

  ‘I’m sorry you caught me using my phone today. I don’t normally. Not at work. In fact I don’t normally carry my phone with me. But with it being Morgan’s first day...’

  He waved away her concerns with a swift movement of his hand, staring at the lift display, watching as they ascended to the floor they needed. ‘It’s fine. We all worry about our children—especially when we’re new parents.’

  She nodded. ‘Thank you. I appreciate that. I really do.’

  She was looking up at him, trying to convey her sincerity in her eyes. But it was hard for him to stand there, that close to her, and maintain eye contact, so he looked away. She had very pretty eyes. Bright and friendly. Welcoming. Open. Innocent.

  He cleared his throat. ‘It’s not a problem.’

  Was the lift much smaller today? There seemed to be less air. The walls seemed to be pressing them towards each other.

  To his relief, the doors pinged open again and he walked behind her towards the crèche, feeling somewhat awkward. He wasn’t sure what had caused it, or why thirty seconds in a lift with Dr Bailey had changed things when a whole ten hours with her in the same department had not.

  So he walked slightly behind her, allowing her to go first and press the buzzer for the crèche.

  Daisy let them in, beaming her ever-present smile at both of them, all white gleaming teeth and bright eyes, showing no signs of fatigue after spending an entire day with thirty-odd children under the age of five.

  Matt wasn’t sure he’d look as calm and collected as Daisy did if he’d spent that long with that many children. He loved kids, he really did, but he was finding it hard looking after even one baby on his own. There was no one to share the workload or the worries with and he missed that.

  In the army there’d always been someone to talk to—colleagues, friends and, on the occasions when he had come home, there’d always been Jen. Now his home was conspicuously quiet.

  ‘Lily’s been an absolute treasure today! She did a handprint painting for you!’

  Daisy unpegged a messy picture that was hanging from a string above their heads, like washing on a line. He looked at it, barely able to ascertain his daughter’s handprint in the smudge of red, purple and brown. But her name ‘Lily Galloway’ had been written in pencil at the bottom.

  ‘Her first work of art...’ He wasn’t sure whether to act pleased or show that to him it was just a mash-up of paint on a page.

  ‘Watch out, Michelangelo.’

  Dr Bailey smiled at him, mildly amused.

  ‘There’s one for you, too, Dr Bailey.’ Daisy unpegged another picture, this one in yellow and orange, and passed it over.

  They both stood there awkwardly, trying to work out whether the pictures were upside down or not.

  ‘I’ll get Lily for you.’

  ‘Thanks.’ He collected Lily’s buggy from the bay and folded his daughter’s painting into the basket underneath.

  Daisy came out of the Baby Room, carrying his daughter, who looked as if she’d just woken up, her blonde hair all mussed up and wafting around her head like a furry halo.

  ‘Hel
lo, Lily!’ He reached out for her and, as always, was happy to see her reach for him, too. ‘Hello, my darling, how are you today?’ He kissed her on the cheek, inhaling that sweet baby scent and enjoying the soft squishiness of her little body against his.

  Lily laid her head against his chest.

  ‘Wow! She looks just like her mum. She’s beautiful.’

  He looked at Dr Bailey over his daughter’s head, hearing the wistfulness in his colleague’s voice. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘I mean it. She really does.’

  Matt knew she was being sincere, but there was something else there, too. Loss. Grief. It reminded him that he wasn’t the only one who had lost someone special. She had too. Her best friend.

  As Daisy brought out Dr Bailey’s daughter, he was struck by the similarity between the two. Morgan also had a thick head of brown hair that was slightly curling and wispy around her shoulders, and they both had the same eyes. Morgan peered at him, as if uncertain of this tall stranger who stood next to her mother.

  He stooped over to put Lily into her buggy and then stood up again. ‘Well, I’ll see you in the morning. Goodnight, Dr Bailey.’

  ‘Goodnight, Major.’

  She smiled back and it so disarmed him, hitting him like a sucker punch to the gut, that he turned quickly and hurried away.

  Five months.

  It had been only five months since his wife had died. The wife he had loved and adored and had expected to be with right into old age. And yet he was already noticing another woman.

  It’s just loneliness. That’s what it is. Missing someone to talk to, that’s all. I don’t have to read anything else into it.

  He kept his head down as he headed back to his car. Trying to remain focused on his daughter’s chubby little legs in white tights, the cute pink trainers his mother had bought for her. He tried to think about what his daughter had done that day, the painting she had done, the way she’d reached for him earlier. He was all Lily had now. She’d never known the love of a mother. Nor would she. He would have to provide everything for her. Be both parents, if he could. Provide the dreams for both of them.

  Briefly, he cast his mind back in time to the day he and Jen had discussed moving to New Zealand. How amazing it would be. What a brilliant life it would provide for their future children. Jen had been in the back garden, swinging in the hammock, six months pregnant and eating an ice cream.

  ‘I’d really like to go back there, Matt. My gap year there was the most amazing time in the world. The people were great—really friendly—and there’d be no problem with either of us getting work out there. There’s a great little suburb in North Shore City, Auckland, that’s perfect for kids. We should do it. Really consider it, I mean.’

  At the time, he’d been busy planting some fruit trees in the back garden and Jen had been supervising.

  ‘Move that one to the left a bit. Bit more. Bit more. That’s it!’

  He’d been home on a week’s leave before he’d had to ship out to Costa Rica, and it had been one of the last times he’d seen her alive. He’d only been meant to be out there for ten weeks. He’d thought—they’d both thought—he would be home in time for the birth. But after he’d left, Jen had begun having problems with her blood pressure and they’d had to induce her early.

  It had still been too late. Jen had had a massive fit from which she hadn’t recovered. They’d put her on life support until he could get back from South America and then, holding his baby daughter in his arms, he had watched through a veil of tears as they had switched off the machines.

  Just five months ago.

  He’d had to adapt quickly, and he’d been thankful he had Lily to look after. His daughter had saved him from falling into a deep depression. She’d anchored him in the present when he’d been in danger of drowning in the past. He’d not had time to dwell on his loss the way he would have if she hadn’t been around.

  So, instead of never getting out of bed and living in the depths of despair under his duvet, he’d got out of bed. Got dressed. Taken his daughter out in her pram and walked. Sometimes for miles. Strangers had stopped him to admire his daughter, keeping his spirits lifted. They’d had no idea of the tragedy that had recently befallen him. They’d just seen a father out with his child. A beautiful baby girl. They’d wanted to admire her and cup her rosy cheeks and tell him how gorgeous she was, and each comment, each person, had unwittingly given him a reason to keep going.

  ‘You’re doing a good job.’

  ‘Lily’s okay.’

  ‘She’s thriving with just you.’

  Jen would not have wanted him to wallow. That wasn’t who she had been. She’d been a grab-hold-of-life person. A person who’d squeezed enjoyment into every second—as much as she could. And she’d told him once that when she died she didn’t want a funeral full of people in black clothes, sobbing quietly into tissues. She’d wanted a celebration of her life.

  Only that celebration had come too soon.

  And now he was noticing another woman.

  Guilt was a horrible sensation. He’d never really suffered from it before. Not like this. And, logically, he knew he shouldn’t really feel guilty. Jen would have been happy that he was getting to know her new best friend. And it wasn’t as if he were cheating on his wife. No. He might no longer be married, but he was determined that Dr Bailey was just going to be his friend, the way she had been Jen’s.

  He stopped for moment and looked down at his wedding band. He hadn’t removed it. It had never felt right. Its presence had somehow given him an extra layer of...protection.

  But from what?

  He decided he would wait to get home and then think about it some more. Right now he had to concentrate on his daughter. She was what was important.

  But as he drove them home, as he sat waiting at traffic lights, humming to the music playing on the radio, his mind kept teasing him with glimpses of the beautiful and enigmatic Dr Brooke Bailey.

  CHAPTER THREE

  OVER THE NEXT week Brooke settled into a nice routine. She only had to work day shifts whilst Morgan was so little, and so each day she would drop her daughter off at the crèche, work ten hours, pick Morgan up, go home, get something to eat and then attempt to shoehorn Morgan into a night-time routine of bath, bottle, story and sleep.

  It didn’t always work.

  Morgan seemed determined not to stick to anything as pre-planned as that. She was her own woman. Already! Sometimes she just wanted her mum to hold her and never put her down. Sometimes she wanted to be rocked. Other times she wanted to lie under her baby gym and bat at her toys, babbling away until the early hours of the morning. None of which helped Brooke get much sleep.

  Morgan had no set sleep pattern that she could decipher, which meant that neither did her mother, and Brooke was beginning to notice on her drive into work that she was getting less and less accepting of delays and idiots on the road. Her temper was quick, her fuse almost non-existent. Thankfully at work her love for her job was somehow able to put her bad mood to one side. At least until the commute home again.

  Then back at home her love for her daughter and her desire to spend quality time with her, after having left her at the crèche all day, ensured that she forgot about doing things for herself and instead concentrated on just being with Morgan, no matter how it happened. If it meant reading baby board books over and over again—fine. If it meant rocking her daughter in her arms all night—excellent. No problem.

  She would do what her daughter needed because she was all Morgan had in this world. Morgan’s dad, Eric, was not interested in her—thankfully—and Morgan’s grandfather, Brooke’s dad, was worse than useless and could not be depended upon. He’d met Morgan only once. In the hospital. He had not seen her since.

  Brooke was used to such desertions. It didn’t hurt her any more. Or at
least she could pretend that it didn’t. She just had to hope that when Morgan got older she didn’t feel that she’d missed out on a grandfather. Or a dad.

  Walking into work today, Brooke was mightily pleased with herself for not having to get changed into scrubs. She could wear her own clothes, having made it through breakfast without getting any baby food on her garments. It was a landmark day! Hopefully, she thought, the first of many.

  So she was humming a little tune to herself as she picked up her next chart and headed to the waiting room to call in her next patient.

  ‘Charlie Alcott?’

  A young man stood up and made his way over to her.

  ‘Hello, Charlie, I’m Dr Bailey. Follow me and I’ll take you through.’

  She led the way, still hearing a happy tune in her head, still feeling as if her whole body was smiling. It was good to be back at work and she was in her groove. As much as she adored and loved her daughter, she was happy to claim back her own body and use her brain to help people.

  She closed the curtain behind Charlie and asked him to take a seat. ‘So, what can I do for you today?’

  ‘I think I’ve got Addison’s disease.’

  She frowned. Okay... This sounded more as if it ought to be something a GP dealt with, but who knew? You got all sorts of people coming into A&E, thinking it meant Anything and Everything rather than Accident and Emergency.

  ‘Why do you think that?’

  ‘I don’t handle stress very well and I keep passing out. I looked online and a few websites mentioned Addison’s, and as that can sometimes be fatal I thought I ought to come in and be checked immediately.’

  Addison’s disease was actually quite a rare condition of the adrenal glands that produced cortisol, the stress hormone, and aldosterone. It could affect anyone, but mainly affected women between the ages of thirty and fifty. Charlie was obviously male, and it said on his chart that he’d just turned twenty.

  ‘You say you keep passing out?’

  ‘Yeah. If I stand up too quick I get that head rush thing and dizziness and I have to sit back down again.’