A Child To Call Her Own

by Gill Sanderson

  A CHILD TO CALL HER OWN

  Gill Anderson

  Dell Owen Maternity – Book 2

  Dr Tom Ramsey is enchanted by the clinic's new midwife. But midwife Maria is haunted by memories that come flooding back when she meets Tom's adorable son, James. Though she resists, Tom wants to hold Maria in his arms and prove to her that they are the family she has longed for.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Midwife Maria Wyatt was having a nightmare.

  It didn't happen so often now, perhaps once a month instead of two or three times a week. More than one doctor had told her that the dreams would pass, that time would heal everything. It hadn't healed her so far. The dreams were more rare, but still as bad.

  She woke sobbing, whimpering, her pillow wet with tears and her body damp with sweat. And the images disappeared. A pity really, some of them had brought her so much happiness. A baby in a cot, a child taking his first steps, the same child a year older, smiling at the camera. But then there had been the others.

  She looked at the red figures on her bedside clock. It was five in the morning, the room dark. No daylight for three hours yet, it was January. Maria lay there, her breathing slowly getting calmer, her pumping heart slowing.

  Today was the beginning of a new era in her career as a midwife. It was a pity to start it with a nightmare.

  There was no way she would get back to sleep. She climbed wearily out of bed, pulled on her dressing-gown and walked into the corridor of the nurses' home. Just a chance that there might be somebody to talk to. But there was no one. She'd have to get through this alone. This was usual, she'd done it before.

  Since she was in the kitchen, she made herself a mug of tea. Then she went back to her room to sit on the bed and try to think positive thoughts. The good thing was that she knew that in time the horror would pass. But first there was something she had to do.

  She slid open the bottom drawer of the built-in unit, felt under the layers of carefully stored summer clothes and took out a thick album. She had to keep it hidden. She didn't want it on view, where people might open it, ask her questions.

  For perhaps ten minutes she stared at just one photograph. It was of herself, and she was holding a baby. She looked at the picture of her own, younger face. Then she glanced into her dressing-table mirror. There was a world of difference between her features now and how they had been just six short years ago.

  Then, decisively, she snapped the album shut. Life had to go on. She had a new job to think of.

  She sat on her bed, opened the heavy midwifery textbook on her bedside table. As she flicked through it she saw pressed flowers. Pressing flowers was something she had done as a child—and had never quite got out of the habit. But these were not wild flowers. They were maroon and lemon roses. Maria had been a bridesmaid to her friend and tutor, Jenny Carson— now Jenny Donovan—and the flowers were from Jenny's bouquet. Maria smiled at the memory. Life wasn't all bad.

  She read in bed for an hour and then showered and dressed. She put on her new community midwife uniform, which she rather liked. On the ward in hospital she had worn either scrubs or the usual midwife's blue. This uniform was slightly more formal. More useful for home visits.

  Technically, she was still working for the hospital trust but she was on outreach. The hospital had opened a couple of clinics in distant parts of the city, dealing mostly with pregnancy and the welfare of younger children. Maria was to work at the Landmoss clinic.

  It had only been four months since Maria had qualified as a midwife so this job should have gone to someone more experienced. But the midwife originally appointed had broken her leg in a fall, she'd be off work for at least six months. So Jenny had suggested Maria. 'Good experience and you're a bit older than the other possibilities,' she had told Maria. 'I know you can do it.'

  'I'd like the job,' Maria had said after a minute's thought. 'I fancy working in a clinic for a while. But it's just O and G, isn't it? Just mums and babies. No small kids?'

  'No small kids,' Jenny had said, looking levelly at her charge, 'not unless you want to work with them.'

  'I don't. Well, not yet anyway. Perhaps in a year or two I'll change my mind...but for now I'm happy as a midwife.'

  'A year or two?' Jenny had said quietly. 'Don't leave it too late, will you?'

  Maria had shrugged. 'I'm improving,' she said. 'It doesn't hurt as much. Not quite as much.'

  'Good. There is another thing, though. The doctor in charge will want to see your CV. He'll learn about your son.'

  There had been silence between them. Then Maria had muttered, 'You'd better tell him, then. And about how I feel.'

  Jenny had reached over, clasped her friend's hand. Then her voice had altered, become efficient again. 'There's another thing I should warn you of. A lot of the time you'll be out on your own. Here in the hospital there's always help at hand. But out on the streets things can get unpleasant—violent even. Can you cope with that?'

  'I can cope. You know I'm tough.'

  Jenny had looked at her speculatively. 'You are in some ways. But any way... you'll be working with one of our O and G specialist registrars—a Dr Tom Ramsey. He's a good man. Just don't call him Blondie.'

  'What?' Maria hadn't quite been able to read Jenny's half-amused expression.

  'It's just that he's got blond hair,' Jenny had said. 'It's quite something. I think the two of you will get on together.' So it had been settled.

  Maria had one last glance in the mirror, smoothed down her super-short dark hair. Her midwife's bag was ready packed at the foot of the bed. From now on she'd never move without it.

  First day at a new job. It wouldn't hurt to arrive early.

  It was cold out, just getting light. Christmas was now over, she could look forward to the depths of winter. There was a little notebook on the dashboard of her car, from now on she could claim a mileage allowance. That was something new.

  Memories of the nightmare were now fading. She was setting off to start a new life.

  The Landmoss Clinic was a new building about six miles from the hospital. It was set in a vast estate of new houses, many of them occupied by first-time buyers—people proud of their new homes and tending to be starting families. But there were also three large tower blocks, many of the flats there occupied by what were tactfully called 'problem' families.

  'There'll be a lot of teenage pregnancies,' Jenny had told her. 'It'll be your job to make sure they get the care they'll need. You'll meet a lot of interesting people.'

  'All babies are interesting to me. And I love them.'

  It was an easy ride to the clinic as most of the traffic was heading into the city. She turned into the leafy avenue that led to the clinic, glancing sideways at a small shopping centre. And frowned.

  A crowd of people was gathered on the pavement, apparently looking down at something—or someone. There was something about their attitude that suggested there had been an accident. Someone was lying on the pavement. Maria was not a registered nurse, but she had some medical training and she might be able to help. And it wasn't in her character just to move on by.

  She stopped the car, took her midwife's bag. It held a few medical supplies that might be useful. She approached the group, saw that there was indeed someone lying on the ground. Firmly she said, 'Could you let me through, please? I might be able to help.' The people parted.

  A panicking voice said, 'He just walked in front of my car. There was nothing I could do. I knocked him into that lamppost.'

  Maria looked up, saw a young man and noticed that he had a mobile phone in a holder on his belt. 'Phone 999,' she said. 'Do it now. Ask for an ambulance.' Then she looked at the victim.

  He was an old man, apparently unconscio
us, lying on his back on the pavement, blood in his hair. Someone had thrown a coat over him, another man was kneeling and was about to lift up the old man's head. Sharply, Maria said, 'Don't lift his head! Let it down where it was, very carefully. We need to check for a broken neck.'

  Gently, the man lowered the head, and then stood back. He was obviously glad to hand over responsibility.

  Maria knelt by the old man, tried to remember her first aid. ABC. Check airways, breathing, circulation. Quickly done. The man might be unconscious but he was still alive. She lifted the coat but could see no signs of excessive bleeding—the head injury was the worst. She opened her bag, almost automatically pulled on a pair of latex gloves. Then she took out a sterile pad. Technically it was used to stop vaginal bleeding—but it would do.

  She didn't like the angle of the man's neck. But there was no hard collar in her midwife's bag.

  Behind her a voice asked, 'Are you a doctor?' It wasn't an anxious voice but firm and assured, a voice that gave confidence.

  Without looking round, she answered, 'No, I'm a midwife. Just doing what I can.'

  'Well, I'm a doctor. Would you like me to take over?'

  Taking her agreement as read, a man knelt by her side. Jenny glanced at him—and gasped.

  She remembered that Jenny had told her that the O and G doctor at the clinic would be a Dr Tom Ramsey—and that she was not to call him Blondie. Well, this had to be the man. But his hair wasn't blond, it was spun gold. He wore it fairly long and it was wavy. Even at that cold hour of the morning, even as they looked at an emergency together, she wanted to run her hands through it to feel if it was as soft as it looked.

  Then he turned to look at her and she gasped again. If anything, his face was more striking than his... Then she collected herself. He wasn't smiling. This wasn't a social meeting, he had a job to do—as did she.

  'I've sent for an ambulance, I've checked ABC,' she said. 'Now may I help you in any way?'

  He was feeling the back of the unconscious man's neck, his fingers delicate as they traced down the line of vertebrae. 'Look in my bag,' he said. 'There's a hard collar there. We'll get that on him and then just wait for the ambulance.'

  He had placed his bag by his side and it took her only a minute to find the collar. Then she slid it round the old man's neck as the doctor carefully raised his head.

  'At a guess, you'll be Midwife Maria Wyatt,' he said when they had finished. 'I'm Tom Ramsey and I've been looking forward to meeting you.'

  'Yes, I'm Maria Wyatt.'

  'Well, there's nothing much more we can do here until the ambulance arrives. But just to be certain, I'm going to stay with the man. You can do me a favour, though.'

  'Anything I can.'

  He nodded in the direction of a parked blue car. 'My four-year-old son James is in that car. He's upset, he's just seen a bit too much. Could you take him to the clinic for me? I'll come and pick him up later, he's in the crèche there.'

  Maria flinched. 'I'm a midwife, not an expert on small boys,' she said. 'Can't I help here? I'd rather do that.'

  He looked at her in surprise. 'There's nothing you can do here now,' he said. 'There is something you can do to help a small distressed boy, and that is take him to the clinic.' Then he seemed to think. 'Of course, I'm being silly. He'll be fine in the car. You stay here with me.'

  Maria stood and dusted the dirt off her skirt. 'You're right. It'd be better if I took him,' she said. 'We'll see you later. I'll take him in my car.'

  She told herself there was nothing to it, just babysit a small child for a few minutes. Anyone could do it easily. Anyone but her. She gritted her teeth, she would much rather have helped the doctor. But the job was hers now.

  She opened the back door of the doctor's car, looked at the boy who was securely strapped into his seat by his safety belt. It took an effort but she managed a smile. 'Hi, I'm Maria. What's your name? Your dad's a bit busy right now, he wants me to take you to the clinic in my car.'

  The boy was doubtful. 'I'm James,' he said. 'And . I'm not supposed to go away with strangers.'

  'Of course not. Which is why we're going to walk over together to see him and he can say it's OK.'

  She took James's hand, hoping he couldn't tell that hers was trembling. The doctor looked up as they approached and nodded to Maria. 'You go with the lady, James. I'll be with you in a few minutes.'

  Now he had permission, James was happier. He grinned up at Maria, squeezed her hand. 'Right, Dad. Is that man going to be all right?'

  'He'll be fine if he isn't bothered. Now, off you go.'

  Maria managed to unbuckle the child seat from the doctor's car, strapped it in her own car and then secured James in it. Most road accidents happened within five minutes of home.

  Then she set off. This was not the way she had anticipated starting her first day at the clinic and she felt anxious. She had specified that she was a midwife, would do ante-natal and post-natal work. As far as was possible, she would deal with the local home births. But she would not be asked to deal with the young children who came into the clinic. Twenty-eight days after babies had been discharged from hospital, they passed out of her care.

  All right, this was an emergency. But she'd had nothing to do with young children for over four years now. And that's the way it had to be.

  She parked in her slot in the clinic car park, looked around and smiled. It was a new, attractive, red-brick single-storey building. But then she sighed when she saw the ornamental but sturdy bars over the windows. There were drug addicts everywhere, who would thieve anything.

  Maria had set off early, hoping to look around her little empire and check on her stocks, work out some kind of programme for the day. But things had changed. She explained about Tom Ramsey to Molly Jowett, the receptionist. Molly, a calm and efficient, middle-aged woman nodded. She noted the troubled look on James's face.

  'There's no one in the crèche yet, but why don't you go down there and let James show you around? Here's the keys. I'll fetch you a coffee and some juice for James.'

  'Seems a good idea.' Maria had hoped to hand over James at once but... This time he took her hand and pulled her along the corridor.

  'You've been to the crèche before, James?'

  'For a few days now. Daddy's brought me.'

  'Doesn't your mummy ever bring you?'

  'I haven't got a mummy. She died.'

  Maria cringed. There had been a time when she wouldn't have made that mistake. She could like James, he had that reserve and dignity possessed by some young children. Now she had to be professional. And if this was not a bit of the profession that she wanted... Well, too bad. It would only be for a while.

  'I think you've been a little boy long enough,' she told James. 'How would you like to be a frog?'

  A green-faced James crouched in the corner of the room. 'I'm a hungry frog,' he shouted to Maria. 'I can see a fly. I'm going to do a frog jump and catch him with my tongue!'

  With a very able representation of a frog jump, he leapt into the centre of the room and stuck out his tongue. Then he shouted again. 'Daddy!'

  Maria put down the pot of green face paint and turned. There in the doorway was the tall figure she now knew to be Dr Tom Ramsey.

  He had taken off his coat and jacket and her first impression was of his white shirt contrasting with the gold of his hair. Now there was no emergency, now they weren't kneeling together on a cold road, she could look at him more carefully. Quite simply, her new boss was the most attractive man she had met in years. To her surprise she realised that her heart was beating a little faster. She didn't usually react this way.

  He was smiling, not at her but at his son. For a moment she wished that she had someone who would smile at her like that. But the moment passed. She was all right.

  'A frog?' he said to James. 'Well, then, I'm a bigger, better frog.'

  To Maria's surprise—and delight—he crouched down himself and in three giant bounds leapt towards his son. 'Not many fli
es around today, are there?' he asked. James collapsed in giggles.

  Tom walked back to speak to Maria. 'I think his face is wonderful,' he said, 'and so does he. You must be used to doing this.'

  Maria shook her head. 'I just followed a pattern,' she said. 'Anyone could do it.'

  'I doubt I could. But I'm sure I'll be asked to try. Has he been all right with you?'

  'I think so. We've enjoyed ourselves together.'

  Tom nodded. 'He's been a bit doubtful about coming to the crèche—I was a bit doubtful, too, about bringing him. But now I know you're here and he can have a good time with you, I'm sure he'll be happier.'

  Maria shook her head—this had to be discouraged.

  'I'll see him around, I suppose,' she said, 'but I'm primarily here as a midwife. I expect I'll have a lot to do.' She thought it a good idea to move on to some other topic. 'How was the man who was knocked down?'

  'I handed him over to the paramedics. I think you were right, by the way. I suspect there was damage to the spine. It was a good thing you stopped him being moved.'

  'I'm glad to have been of help. Now you're here, so if I can hand James over to you I'd like to look around my room, check the stocks and records and so on.'

  She looked around the crèche, saw the toys, the children's paintings on the wall. Too many memories. She needed to get out of the crèche.

  He looked at her searchingly then glanced at the pictures himself. There was silence for a moment and then he said, 'Of course. Mrs Roberts, who runs the crèche, will be here in a few minutes. I'll have James in my room till then. If you'd like to come to my office in, say, an hour, we could run over what you'll be doing here.'

  'Of course, Doctor,' she said. Now was the time for formality.

  Perhaps Maria had been lucky, but all the doctors she had worked with at the Dell Owen Hospital had been both competent and helpful. She had got on well with them all—even been out with a couple of the younger ones. Not that anything had come of it. She just didn't need any kind of intense relationship.