Doctor and Son

by Maggie Kingsley

  But it felt good when you were holding her, didn’t it? his mind whispered. Every time she’s tumbled into your arms it’s felt right, almost as though she somehow—oddly—belonged there. And what about the feel of her slender waist beneath your fingers, the soft curve of her breasts—so high and surprisingly full—and—

  He swore under his breath as his body suddenly reacted with unbridled enthusiasm to the picture his mind had just created. How long had it been since he’d been out with a woman—two, maybe three years? It had obviously been far too long, but he’d been so busy since Susan had died with all the interminable meetings that were part and parcel of his job. The clinics, the operations, the ward rounds…

  Excuses, Gideon, his mind whispered as he strode out of his room, and not very good ones at that. You haven’t dated anyone since Susan died because you’re scared to get close to anyone again in case you lose them, too. It’s fear that’s kept you celibate, not work.

  ‘Oh, shut up,’ he muttered just as Tom Brooke came out of his room. ‘No, not you, Tom,’ he continued when the specialist registrar looked startled. ‘I’m just having a bad day, that’s all.’

  ‘Join the club,’ Tom sighed. ‘Are you coming down to the canteen for lunch?’

  Gideon shook his head. ‘I think I might just do a quick ward round, then get off home.’

  ‘Good idea.’ Tom nodded. ‘You look as though you could do with some rest.’

  He sure as heck needed something, Gideon decided after he’d toured the ward then made his way down to the car park. And it wasn’t Helen sticking her oar in. OK, so his long-dormant hormones seemed to have unexpectedly kicked into life, but that didn’t mean he had to act on them. It didn’t mean he was interested—in the sense of being interested—in Annie Hart.

  He had a lot more important things to think about anyway, he told himself as he drove down Rottenrow, then along Richmond Road and into Duke Street. Like getting home, for a start. He should have left the hospital earlier, of course. The traffic was always murder on a Friday afternoon, and today it was even slower because of the icy roads and driving sleet.

  At least he was warm and cosy in his car, he thought as he drummed his fingers absently on the steering-wheel, waiting for the van ahead of him to move. Not like the poor people out on the street. People like…

  Annie. He’d have recognised her anywhere, and she hadn’t been lying about the shopping. She was lugging four obviously very heavy carrier bags up the road, and she looked wet, and cold, and miserable.

  Without a second’s thought he cut in towards the pavement, ignoring the cacophony of car horns that greeted his manoeuvre, and parked beside her.

  ‘M-Mr Caldwell,’ she stammered as he got out of his car. ‘Is there something wrong—at the hospital—?’

  ‘The name’s Gideon, and nothing’s wrong at the hospital, but you look in serious need of a lift home.’

  She shook her head. ‘It’s kind of you to offer, but I just live round the corner in Thornton Street.’

  Which was a good half a mile away if he remembered rightly, and all of it uphill. He opened his passenger door. ‘Get in, Annie.’

  ‘No, honestly, there’s no need—’

  ‘Annie, I’m illegally parked on double yellow lines, so unless you want me to get a ticket from that traffic warden who’s bearing down on us, please, get in the car.’

  She did so with obvious reluctance, and when they arrived in Thornton Street she even more reluctantly allowed him to carry her groceries up to her top-floor flat.

  He wasn’t surprised. Given how edgy she always was in his company, he’d have been amazed if she’d welcomed his offer of help, but what did surprise him—horrified him, if he was honest—was her flat.

  ‘It has a lovely view of the cathedral,’ she said defensively, clearly sensing his dismay as he carried her groceries through to the tiny kitchen. ‘And it’s near to the hospital.’

  Yes, but it’s the most depressing place I’ve ever seen, he wanted to reply. OK, so it was clean and tidy, and the few pieces of furniture gleamed with much polishing, but its dark green wallpaper would have given him nightmares, and as for the chipped and peeling paintwork…

  ‘How long have you lived here?’ he asked.

  ‘Two months.’

  Two minutes would have been more than enough for him. ‘Annie—’

  ‘Would you like a cup of coffee before you go?’

  Subtle she wasn’t, but he had no intention of leaving. Not yet, at any rate. Junior doctor’s salaries weren’t exactly lavish, but surely a single woman could have afforded something better than this?

  ‘I’ll help you unpack first,’ he said firmly. ‘And, yes, I know you don’t need any help,’ he continued when she opened her mouth, patently intending to protest, ‘but just humour me, please, hmm?’

  Gideon didn’t wait for her reply. Instead, he determinedly began emptying her grocery bags, but the more packets and tins he placed on the kitchen table, the more confused he became. Spaghetti hoops, Twinkie bars, lollipops. What kind of weird diet was she on?

  ‘Far be it for me to criticise,’ he observed, reaching down into one of the bags to retrieve what looked like Beanie biscuits, ‘but if this is a sample of your eating habits, I think you badly need some nutritional advice.’

  She opened her mouth, closed it again, then seemed to come to a decision. ‘They’re not for me. They’re…they’re for my son.’

  His hand stilled. ‘I didn’t realise you were married.’

  ‘I’m not. And I’m not divorced either,’ she continued as his eyebrows rose. ‘I’m a single parent.’

  He stared at her silently. It explained so much. Answered so many questions, and yet raised a whole lot more.

  ‘Your son—he’s four, isn’t he?’

  ‘Yes, but how—?’

  ‘It didn’t require much genius to figure it out,’ he declared as she stared at him in astonishment. ‘You took four years out between finishing med school and applying for the post at the Belfield, so…’ He shrugged. ‘Was that why you were late this morning—because of your son?’

  ‘It won’t happen again,’ she said quickly. ‘He didn’t want to go to the day-care centre, you see, but I promise it won’t happen again.’

  ‘Hell’s bells, Annie, your son is your first priority, not the bloody hospital,’ he snapped, then bit his lip when she flinched. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to yell, but I do understand. I know the kind of pressure Helen faces with her two kids—’

  ‘I don’t want—or need—any allowances made for me.’

  But she did, he thought. Every working mother needed help sometimes. ‘Annie—’

  He came to a halt as her front doorbell rang, and when she went to answer it he stayed in the kitchen. He would have remained there, too, if the increasingly strident sound of a female voice hadn’t aroused his curiosity.

  ‘Is there something wrong?’ he asked, emerging from the kitchen in time to see a dumpy, middle-aged woman brandishing a toy truck under Annie’s nose.

  ‘It’s nothing,’ Annie said quickly. ‘Please, go back in the kitchen.’

  Not on your life, he thought, seeing the woman glance from him to Annie with a look he didn’t care for.

  ‘I’m Gideon Caldwell—a friend of Annie’s,’ he said, holding out his hand. ‘And you are…?’

  The woman didn’t unbend an inch. In fact, she bristled even more.

  ‘Mrs Patterson, the landlady, and as I’ve just been telling Ms Hart, this is the fourth time I’ve found this toy lying outside my door.’

  ‘And you brought it back for her—how very kind of you,’ he said smoothly.

  ‘Kindness had nothing to do it,’ she snapped. ‘It shouldn’t have been there in the first place.’

  ‘I’ll speak to Jamie,’ Annie said hurriedly. ‘Make sure it doesn’t happen again.’

  ‘You keep saying that, and it’s not good enough,’ Mrs Patterson retorted. ‘He’s always leaving his toy
s lying about, and he was running up and down again this morning. Thump, thump, thump, from seven o’clock onwards. I could rent this flat to anyone, Ms Hart—’

  ‘Did you advertise this flat as being unsuitable for children?’ Gideon interrupted.

  Mrs Patterson stared at him. ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘When you advertised this flat, did you specifically stipulate it was unsuitable for young children?’ he asked, his voice hard, cold.

  ‘No, but—’

  ‘Then so long as Dr Hart pays her rent, I think you should take yourself, and your veiled threats, elsewhere, don’t you?’

  Mrs Patterson’s mouth fell open. She turned a quite amazing shade of red, then with a fulminating look at Annie she banged out the door, leaving Annie gazing after her.

  ‘Well, I think I sorted that out, don’t you?’ Gideon smiled, but to his surprise Annie didn’t look pleased. She looked furious.

  ‘Sorted it out?’ she repeated. ‘All you’ve done is made things ten times worse!’

  ‘But—’

  ‘She’s already on my back twice a day.’

  ‘Then move out—get somewhere else.’

  Her colour changed from fiery red to white, then back to red again. ‘Do you have any idea how difficult it is for a woman with a young child to get affordable rented accommodation in Glasgow?’

  ‘No, but—’

  ‘It took me almost six months to find this place—’

  ‘You should have kept looking.’

  She clenched her hands together until her knuckles showed white. ‘OK, that does it. You waltz in here uninvited, sneer at my home—oh, yes, you did,’ she continued as he tried to protest, ‘and then you antagonise my landlady. I think you’ve more than outstayed your welcome, don’t you?’

  ‘Annie—’

  ‘Goodbye, Mr Caldwell.’

  ‘The name’s Gideon,’ he said in exasperation. ‘G-I-D-E-O-N. Good grief, it’s not that hard to pronounce.’

  ‘And the door is right behind you,’ she said pointedly.

  He wondered if he should remind her that he hadn’t had his coffee yet, but one look at her furious face told him it would be a mistake. She’d undoubtedly give it to him all right. Right over his head.

  Well, fine, he thought as he strode out the door. If she didn’t want his help, then fine. If she wanted to be intimidated by a harridan landlady, and live with her son in a depressing flat, then that was fine, too. He washed his hands of her.

  He had better things to do than worry about a girl with corn-coloured curls and large blue eyes who probably had to lug heavy shopping bags up that steep hill every week. Much better things. And if he couldn’t think of a single thing at the moment, he sure as heck soon would.

  CHAPTER THREE

  SYLVIA RENTON stirred uncomfortably in her bed and sighed as Annie took her blood pressure.

  ‘You know, doctor, the ironic thing is I always wanted a baby. Even when I was a child, I pictured myself married with a baby of my own, but I never thought it would be like this. I expected to have a little morning sickness—all pregnant women do—but I never thought I’d still be throwing up at seven months.’

  ‘Most women aren’t,’ Annie said sympathetically. ‘Morning sickness—or Hyperemesis gravidarum to give it its proper medical name—normally stops after twelve to fourteen weeks.’

  ‘Then why hasn’t it stopped for me?’ the patient protested. ‘I’ve been doing all the right things—eating dry crackers, making sure my meals were small and regular—but still nothing stays down.’

  And it showed, Annie thought as she sat down on the edge of Sylvia’s bed. Not only was the woman’s weight gain far too low for a seven-month pregnancy, she was in real danger of becoming dehydrated, which was why Gideon had hospitalised her.

  ‘I’m afraid I don’t know why you’ve been affected like this,’ Annie said. ‘Some experts think it’s because the placenta is producing very high levels of a hormone called chorionic gonadotrophin. Others believe the baby itself could be raising your oestrogen levels. The only thing we know for certain is that it tends to be more common in women carrying twins or triplets.’

  ‘Mr Caldwell’s done all the tests, and I’m only carrying one.’

  ‘I know.’ Annie nodded. ‘Which seems to suggest you’re just one of nature’s unlucky ones.’

  Tears welled in Sylvia’s eyes. ‘I don’t want to be one of nature’s unlucky ones. I want you to do something—give me something—to make me feel better. I’m only twenty-four, but I feel a hundred and four.’

  ‘Sylvia—’

  ‘My husband said that if you give me drugs it might be harmful to the baby, but do you know something, Dr Hart? Right now I don’t give a damn about side-effects. Right now I don’t give a damn about anything—including this baby. All I want is for you to stop me feeling so awful all the time.’

  It was an understandable request, Annie thought as she walked slowly back down the ward. OK, so the actuality of being pregnant rarely mirrored the glossy pictures in the mums-and-babies magazines, but to be constantly sick for seven months, then hospitalised, and having to exist solely on electrolyte replacement and enriched fluids through an IV line couldn’t be much fun.

  ‘Any word of when I’m going to get something to eat, Doctor?’ Kay Wilson shouted from her bed by the window. ‘Giving birth is hard work, you know.’

  Annie smiled back. ‘Sorry, but it’s nil by mouth for you for the rest of the day. We want to find out if the high levels of sugar which appeared in your urine when you were pregnant have disappeared now you’ve given birth, or whether they’re still there.’

  ‘You mean I’m not even going to get a cup of tea?’ Kay protested. ‘Doctor, I’ll fade away.’

  It was highly unlikely, Annie thought with a wry, inward chuckle. By any definition Kay was a seriously big girl.

  ‘Hey, look on the bright side,’ she said encouragingly. ‘Think how wonderful food is going to taste when you finally get it.’

  ‘I’d far rather taste it now than think about it,’ Kay complained, and Annie laughed, but her laughter died as she glanced back down the ward at Sylvia.

  She hadn’t heard the girl laugh once since she’d been admitted, but what was even more worrying was that she was clearly starting to resent her baby. If the resentment continued after the child was born…

  ‘Problems?’ Helen asked, seeing her lost in thought.

  ‘It’s Mrs Renton,’ Annie replied. ‘She’s feeling really wretched, and I can’t say I blame her. Seven months of morning sickness would depress anyone.’

  ‘The trouble is, we’ve got to balance the benefits of giving her drugs to stop the sickness against the possible damaging side-effects to the baby,’ Helen replied. ‘The last thing we want is a repetition of the thalidomide disaster.’

  Annie nodded. There wasn’t a doctor in the UK who didn’t know about that particular catastrophe, when pregnant women had given birth to babies with stunted and deformed limbs after they’d been treated for hyperemesis gravidarum.

  ‘Something wrong?’ Gideon asked, glancing from Helen’s pensive face to Annie’s worried one as he joined them.

  ‘It’s Sylvia Renton,’ Helen replied. ‘Annie thinks she’s getting very low psychologically.’

  Gideon bit his lip and frowned. ‘I’ve been half expecting this, but…How often does her husband visit?’

  ‘Every day,’ Annie answered, ‘but she scarcely says more than two words to him.’

  Gideon’s frown deepened. ‘How do you get on with her?’

  ‘Me? OK, I guess,’ she said uncertainly. ‘I mean, we talk a bit, and I think she likes me—’

  ‘Good. Keep on talking to her. Give her as much emotional support as you can. It looks as though I’ll have to perform a Caesarean eventually but I’d like to wait as long as possible to give the baby the best chance of survival.’

  ‘Do you want me to report to you if I think there’s any further deterioration in her
mental condition?’ she asked, and Gideon shook his head.

  ‘If you tell either Helen or Tom, that will be fine.’

  Well, what had she expected? Annie thought as he walked away. Considering she’d all but thrown him out of her flat last week, she could hardly expect him to want to spend any time in her company now.

  Which was just fine. After all, it wasn’t as though she wanted to spend time with him. A simple boss and junior doctor relationship suited her just perfectly. It did. And if she found herself missing the smiles he’d greeted her with before, well, that was just plain stupid.

  ‘Gideon’s a very decent bloke, you know.’

  Helen was gazing at her thoughtfully, and Annie said nothing. She thought plenty. She thought of telling the SHO that decent blokes didn’t waltz into people’s houses uninvited. Decent blokes didn’t interfere where they had no business to interfere. But she said nothing.

  ‘He met his wife at the Belfield,’ Helen continued, as she led the way into the staffroom and switched on the kettle. ‘Susan was an SHO in Paediatrics, and he was a specialist registrar in Obs and Gynae. He was absolutely devastated when she died. In fact, there was a time when Tom and I really thought he might not make it through.’

  ‘Did you?’ Annie murmured noncommittally, wondering why on earth the SHO was telling her all this.

  ‘He desperately needs someone in his life again,’ Helen commented, spooning some coffee into two mugs, ‘but the trouble is, he’s got right out of the habit of talking to women. Oh, he’s great with our female patients, but in a personal situation…’ She shook her head. ‘He puts himself down too much, and I don’t think he realises how attractive he is.’

  And I still don’t know why you’re telling me this, Annie thought, accepting the mug Helen was holding out to her. It’s none of my business. If Gideon can’t string more than two words together when he’s alone with a woman, it would still be none of my business.

  Neither was he attractive. OK, so he had a nice face and a nice smile, but he wasn’t attractive. Nick had been attractive. Actually, Nick had been totally gorgeous. And fickle, and disloyal, and a louse.