Their Miracle Baby

by Caroline Anderson

  Instead of beating himself over the head with it, though, he concentrated on his patients. There was plenty to do. It was a busy practice, and as she’d predicted it wasn’t long before Jill Fraser, Anna’s neighbour, brought one of her children in.

  ‘This is Will,’ she said, sitting down with the screaming baby on her lap. ‘I think he’s got another ear infection.’

  ‘Oh, dear.’ Max slid his chair forward and felt the baby’s head, and it was hot. That might have been because he was crying, or because he had a fever. ‘Could I look in his ear?’ he asked, and directed Jill to turn his head to one side and hold it firmly against her front.

  She had obviously done it before, probably numerous times with her three children over the years. She had that resigned look of the long-suffering mother, and Max wondered if she was all right herself, or if she was suffering from stress.

  ‘Does it hurt?’ she asked.

  He shook his head. ‘No, it doesn’t hurt—it’s just a little probe that seals in the ear, attached to this thing like a gun.’

  ‘Oh, good,’ Jill said with a laugh. ‘Are you going to shoot him?’

  Max smiled. ‘Been a bit rough, has it, over the last few days?’

  ‘A bit?’ Her smile wobbled, and she turned away. ‘You could say that. It wouldn’t be so bad if I had someone to share it, but I don’t, not since Mick walked out yet again.’

  Definitely stressed, Max thought. ‘Was this recently?’ he asked, fitting the right-sized probe in the tympanometer and placing it in the child’s ear. Within a second he had his result—the sound returning to the machine was diminished, which meant the child’s ear was full of fluid.

  ‘Two months ago,’ Jill replied, mechanically stroking the baby’s head to soothe him. ‘That was the third time he left. I won’t have him back again. It’s when they come and go it’s so hard. You go through all the grieving for the relationship, and then they come back, and then they go, and you do the grieving again but this time there’s hope, and then they come back, and go—it’s hell. I wish he’d just go and stay gone.’

  Max sat back in the chair and studied her body language. She was dealing with the baby all right, but she

  ‘Let me see the little fellow,’ he said, reaching out for the child. The baby relaxed against him almost instantly, sensing his calm presence even though he was a total stranger, and Jill sighed as the noise diminished to a dull sniffle.

  ‘Do you want to make an appointment to come and see me on your own for a chat?’ he asked. ‘I think you’re very stressed, and maybe I can do something to help you.’

  ‘Put me on tranks, you mean?’ she said sceptically. ‘No, thanks.’

  ‘Not tranquillisers, necessarily. I don’t like them any more than you do, but there are other things. Have you tried St John’s wort? It’s a relation of rose of Sharon. It’s brilliant for TATT—tired all the time. It happens to so many people we’ve even given it a name! Unfortunately, I can’t prescribe it, because it’s not a recognised remedy, being herbal, and it’s not regulated in the same way, but if you can afford it, it may well help you.’

  ‘I’ll try it. It certainly sounds like me.’

  ‘Now, getting back to the baby for a minute, he’s definitely got fluid in his ear, and he might have a condition called glue ear, when they get sticky gunk in the ear all the time. If so, he might need to be referred to a specialist. I’ll give him something to take, and you need to give him paracetamol syrup, but I don’t want to give him antibiotics because these ear bugs get very resistant and most of the time the body can sort itself out if you give it long enough. OK?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Now, about you. Try the St John’s wort, and come

  ‘Thanks.’ She smiled, a fragile smile that he sensed would dissolve into tears at the slightest provocation, and took her baby off his lap while he printed out the prescription and handed it to her.

  ‘Take care,’ he said, and she nodded and left.

  ’I wish he’d just go and stay gone.’

  Max closed his eyes. Was he doing the same thing to Anna? And to himself?

  ‘Oh, hell’s teeth,’ he sighed, and pressed his buzzer for the next patient.

  He saw Anna later, and found a quiet moment to ask her about Jill. ‘Do you think she’s depressed and stressed out any more than normal? She brought the baby in with an ear infection and I thought she seemed very flat.’

  ‘I noticed that,’ Anna said thoughtfully. ‘I was going to keep an eye on her.’

  ‘Would you? I’d be grateful. What’s her financial situation like? I’ve recommended she takes St John’s wort, but, of course, I can’t prescribe it and it isn’t cheap.’

  ‘Oh, Mick’s more than generous,’ Anna said drily. ‘He just won’t give them his time. Too busy doing what he wants to do—which most of the time seems to be other women. But, no, she’s not that short of money, I don’t think.’

  Max nodded, and wondered why a man married to an attractive, pleasant woman like Jill Fraser would need to play the field. A flaw in himself, he thought, but the end result was the same, possibly, no matter why he left.

  ‘Penny for them,’ Anna murmured.

  He gave a short laugh. ‘Not a chance.’ He suddenly realised how much he’d missed her in the past few days and nights. ‘I don’t suppose you could find a babysitter, could you?’

  ‘Tonight?’

  He shrugged. ‘If possible, but if not then tomorrow?’

  She was silent for a moment, then she smiled sadly. ‘OK. I’ll ask my parents. Do you want him to stay overnight?’

  Their eyes met, and heat seared between them. ‘It’s up to you,’ he said, putting the ball back in her court. ‘I thought, as it’s so hot, we might go swimming in the sea tonight.’

  ‘At midnight?’ she asked, and he could see the anticipation in her eyes.

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  She swallowed. ‘I’ll ask. I’m just going round there for lunch. I’ll tell you later.’

  He watched her go, anticipation tightening his gut, and wondered if he was insane to stay, to make her memories, to indulge both of them in this lunatic folly.

  Probably, but it was beyond him to stop. He didn’t care how much it hurt later. He’d deal with it then. For now, he wanted to be with her every minute of every day.

  Making memories.

  It was a gorgeous night. They found a deserted stretch of beach, with sand at the waterline and pebbles at high water, and near the top of the sand Max built a little campfire with driftwood and they sat beside it, staring out over the moonlit sea.

  ‘Fancy a walk?’ Max asked, and she nodded.

  ‘Can do. Are we going far?’

  ‘I doubt it.’

  She stood up, brushing sand off her bottom, then took off her shoes and rolled up the hems of her jeans. Max did the same, and then, arm in arm, they strolled along the waterline, gasping with laughter every now and then as a more adventurous wave curled coldly around their ankles.

  Then one particularly big wave came and soaked them to the knees, and Anna screamed and ran up the beach, Max in hot pursuit.

  He chased her back past their little campfire, down towards a breakwater, and when she reached it she was too slow to climb over.

  ‘Got you,’ he said victoriously, and turned her, laughing, into his arms.

  ‘That’s cheating—I had to stop,’ she protested, but it was a token protest and she was happy to be caught—especially when he silenced her by the simple expedient of cutting off her air supply with a kiss.

  The resistance and laughter drained out of her, and she leant into his arms, slid her hands round and tucked them in the back pockets of his jeans and groaned softly with pleasure. It seemed like days since he’d kissed her, and with the sighing of the surf in the background, the utter peace and tranquillity of the night, the vast openness of the sea beside them, she couldn’t have designed a more perfect setting.

  He opened first one button, then the nex
t, his lips following his hands to kiss every inch of skin as it was revealed. She felt the cool salt air on her skin, the hot moisture of his tongue followed by the cooling breeze, and wondered how it was possible for sensation to be so heightened by the romance of the night.

  Because it was heightened, without question. Unbearably heightened, every sense alert, aware, more receptive than ever before.

  There was no sound apart from the soft rush of the sea and their breathy sighs, their bodies caressed by the cool fingers of night air whispering over their skin. They were utterly alone, wrapped in a private world, and they could have been a hundred miles from civilisation, not just a matter of minutes.

  He lifted his head and rested it against hers, his breathing ragged. His fingers fumbled to do up her buttons, and, regretfully, she moved to help him. It was common sense. They weren’t miles from anywhere, and anyone could have walked along the beach and found them.

  ‘Do you want your swim, or do you want to go home?’ he asked softly.

  ‘Swim,’ she said instantly. ‘Are we going to be daring?’

  He chuckled. ‘Why not? We can stay in the water if anyone comes along. Anything to help your fantasies along.’

  They looked around, then stripped off their clothes and ran headlong into the sea, gasping with shocked laughter as they hit the water. Once they were in it was wonderful,

  They kissed again, just affectionate, loving touches in the silvering moonlight, and then hand in hand they walked out of the sea, water streaming from their skin and leaving silver trails in the sand. They dressed, sandy legs and all, and limped and picked their way over the stones to the car park.

  Anna didn’t bother with her shoes. Instead, she brushed off the loose sand, swung her feet in and left them to dry while Max, properly shod again, drove them home.

  They arrived back at his cottage at after one, showered off the salt and sand and went to bed, their hair still damp, too impatient to dry it properly. It had been days since they’d been alone, and their hunger had been sharpened by anticipation.

  Anna took everything he had to offer, and in return she gave him everything she had to give, and later, lying quietly and drowsing in the still of the night, she thought back over the evening.

  It was a beautiful memory. She would file it away carefully, smoothed flat and placed with infinite care where she could view it on demand, and she would treasure it.

  CHAPTER SIX

  AS THE days turned to weeks, almost as many weeks as they’d had before, Anna grew to know and love Max even more. They seemed so in tune with each other that it was uncanny, and without the threat to his future, life would have been perfect.

  Oddly it wasn’t the threat of his death that troubled her. More that he would go, and that she would lose such time as he did have left. And the frustrating thing was that it could, and probably would, be years and years. It was entirely possible that he would outlive her, and yet she seemed unable to persuade him to stay longer than he had agreed, or to tell Harry who he was.

  ‘What about your parents?’ she said one day, as they were sitting in the garden of his cottage, staring out over the countryside and sipping wine. ‘Have you told them about Harry?’

  He looked at her as if she had lost her mind. ‘My parents? No, of course I haven’t told them! What would I tell them?’

  Anna laughed incredulously. ‘That you have a son? Max, Harry’s their grandson, a part of you that will live on.

  He looked away, his face drawn into troubled lines. ‘I don’t know. I don’t know what to do, Annie,’ he confessed wearily. ‘Part of me wants to pretend this isn’t happening, and just ignore it. Another part insists on staring it in the face.’ He turned to her, his eyes unshuttered for once, open and revealing. ‘I love you. Whatever happens, I want you to know that.’

  She sighed harshly round the lump in her throat. ‘This sounds like another of your “I’m doing for your own good” speeches, Max. Maybe I want to be the judge of what’s good for me and Harry. Especially Harry. He’s always talking about not having a father.’

  Max looked shocked. ‘What have you told him? I didn’t even think, but I suppose he must wonder because his friends have fathers. So what did you say?’

  She lifted her shoulders in a quick shrug. ‘I told him that I loved his father very much but he had to go away. He wants to know when he’s coming back, and I keep telling him never. He asked again the other day.’

  He froze, shock written on his face. ‘What did you tell him?’ he demanded hoarsely.

  ‘The same. What could I tell him?’ she asked bitterly. ‘That he was here—that he’d already met his father and liked him? That his father loved him but wasn’t man enough to deal with it?’

  ‘Isn’t it?’

  She stood up and brushed down her skirt. ‘I’m going home. Don’t bother to come. I’ll walk.’

  And she turned on her heel and left him.

  Max contemplated finishing the bottle of wine but thought better of it. Instead, he sat staring blankly out over the darkening countryside, considering what Anna had said and wrestling with his conscience. Finally coming to a conclusion, he stood up, carried his glass inside and dumped it in the sink, picked up his car keys and headed north, out along the A14 to Cambridge.

  He arrived at his parents’ house at something after ten, and let himself in through the back door. His parents were in the kitchen, feeding the cat, loading the dishwasher—doing all the usual family chores before bedtime—and they took one look at him and froze.

  ‘I’ve got something to tell you,’ he said, and the glass slid out of his mother’s fingers and shattered all over the floor.

  He dredged up a smile. ‘Not that. I’m still in remission. It’s something else—something I should have told you weeks ago.’ He looked around restlessly, unsure how to go on, but his parents were quicker.

  ‘Better get this glass cleared up while the kettle boils,’ his father said practically. ‘Max, hold the cat. Clare, mind your feet, darling. Just stand still.’ He whisked the broom around her, then ran a wet cloth over the floor to pick up any tiny bits. Max shut the cat out and made coffee while his mother posted the last of the dishes into the machine.

  ‘Right,’ Henry Carter said, dusting off his hands. ‘Let’s

  Bless him, Max thought. He’d been a tower of strength through his illness. Maybe he could see a way through this.

  They sat down, his parents watching him expectantly, and because there was no subtle way to do this, no easy way into the conversation, he said bluntly, ‘I’ve got a son. He’s called Harry, he’s four years old and he doesn’t know I’m his father.’

  Shock held them motionless for ages, and then the questions started. When? How? Why hadn’t he known? When did he find out?

  And then the one he was dreading.

  ‘When can we meet him?’ his mother asked, on the edge of her seat, her face expectant and excited.

  ‘You can’t,’ he said flatly. ‘I’m not going to tell him who I am. It’s not fair—in case anything happens.’

  Of course, they went through all the arguments Anna had been through, and he gave them all the same replies until he began to feel like a programmed robot. Press button A to start, he thought impatiently, and stood up.

  ‘Listen, I only told you because I thought you ought to know. If anything happens to me, I want you to contact Anna. I’ll make sure you always have her correct address, and I’ll keep you up to date with photos of Harry and so on, but I’m leaving Wenham Market as soon as my contract is up, and I won’t be back. All communication with her will be by letter, through solicitors. All right?’

  His mother burst into tears, his father stood up and gave her shoulder an agitated pat, before coming over to him and standing in front of him, toe to toe.

  Max looked down. The floor swam in front of his eyes, and he blinked. ‘It’s not the same.’

  ‘How is it not the same? Except that you already have four years to make up f
or?’

  ‘I want to meet him,’ his mother pleaded from the sofa. ‘Max, please—can’t you bring him over? You don’t have to tell him who you are—just invite them both here for lunch on Sunday, and we won’t say anything, I promise. Just let us meet him—’ She broke off, struggling with her composure again, and Max gave a short sigh.

  ‘Dammit, Mother, don’t cry,’ he said gruffly. ‘This is hard enough.’ His voice cracked, and he went out to the kitchen and put the kettle on again to give himself something to do. The cat attacked his shoelaces, and he picked her up and tickled her chin. ‘You’re just like Anna’s cat,’ he told her. ‘Wicked and into everything.’

  She purred and butted his chin, and he hugged her and wished he could settle down in one place and maybe have a cat of his own—something on which to lavish all the love and devotion in him that was going to waste.

  His mother came up behind him and slipped her arms round his waist. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said in a rather damp voice. ‘I didn’t mean to nag you. I know it has to be your decision,

  ‘That might be better,’ he conceded gruffly. ‘I’m not just trying to be awkward, Mum. I feel the future’s so uncertain I can’t bear to expose him to it. It seems cruel.’

  ‘And what does Anna think?’

  He sighed. ‘Anna agrees with you.’

  He felt his mother’s lips press lightly against his shoulder, and a lump formed in his throat.

  ‘You must do what you think is best. Just let us know. Now, are you going to stay the night and drive back in the morning, or do you want another drink before you go?’

  ‘I’ll stay—if I may? I’m feeling pretty tired.’ Too many nights with Annie, he thought sadly, filling up her memory banks…

  Anna felt guilty. She’d stormed out without giving Max a chance to discuss it, accused him of not being man enough to deal with what was after all an incredibly painful and sensitive issue, and now she felt guilty.

  Who was she to judge Max? She’d made mistakes with Harry. Every parent did. Maybe Max was no different. Whatever, she’d been unfair, and she couldn’t sleep.