She would also need to answer the questions and give information that Marcella would demand to know even if she couldn’t understand it. Amy rehearsed how she might explain the procedure in simple terms as she hurried home through the icy, dark evening, her mobile phone clutched in her hand in case her friend who worked in Recovery texted her with any news of progress in Theatre 3. Summer’s theatre.
She took the time to reassure all the children and admire the newly decorated tree. Chantelle was beaming.
‘Robert said we’d keep my paper streamers, as well, ’cos they’re really cool.’
The look Robert exchanged with Amy was so full of adult comprehension and caring that she had to give him a hug. He stood there a bit stiffly and didn’t return the affectionate gesture, but she could tell he liked it by how gruff his voice was.
‘I’ll get the twins to bed,’ he said. ‘Come on, you lot. It’s getting late and it’s Christmas Eve tomorrow. If you’re not good, you won’t get presents.’
‘We’re good,’ Angelo insisted, chasing Marco to catch up with Robert. ‘Aren’t we, Roberto?’
‘Sometimes,’ he conceded. ‘Come on. Scoot!’
The twins scooted. Amy put some fuel onto the drawing-room fire near the tree and tucked the guard securely into place. She patted Monty, who was lying on the hearth rug with Kyra, Chantelle and Andrew, and then she took another moment to admire the tree. She would have to remember to bank the fire again tomorrow night when she tiptoed in with the gifts currently in hiding under Uncle Vanni’s bed. With the room warm and the tree looking so festive, Christmas morning was going to be something to look forward to.
Especially if they had good news about Summer to celebrate.
It was more than time to let Summer’s official foster-mother know what was going on.
‘How do they do it?’ Marcella fretted. ‘How can they do it in time? What happens when they take the old heart out? Is there just nothing there? An empty chest? Dio mio, but what happens to all the blood?’
‘There’s no blood,’ Amy assured her. ‘There’s a special machine and all the blood goes through that. It gets oxygenated and goes to and from the rest of the body but leaves the heart out of the loop. There’s special tubes—like a roadworks diversion.’
‘So there is just an empty chest? Oh…Oh, my poor little angel! How do they do it, Amy? How do they put the new heart in exactly the right place?’
‘It’s actually quite straightforward,’ Amy told her. ‘Honestly! It takes ages because they have to stitch everything into place very carefully but it’s a matter of joining up all the arteries and veins.’
It was too much information for Marcella. She needed to go and call on every saint she could think of to look after her ‘angel’. Rosa wanted to know, however.
‘So how do they join them? Like darning them on from the outside?’
‘No. They cut the donor heart open and the first thing they do is stitch the pulmonary vein and arteries into place. They’re the ones that take blood from the heart to the lungs and then back to the heart again. They have to join in the aorta which is the big vessel that takes blood to the rest of the body, and the big veins that bring the blood back to the heart again.’
‘Isn’t there a danger of things leaking?’
‘The stitches are microscopic—that’s why it takes so long. And they use a special glue stuff on the suture lines, as well. It’s not likely that there’ll be a leak but they have all sorts of special catheters in place afterwards and can measure exact pressures in the heart so they know if there is a problem and it’s easy enough to go back in and fix it.’
‘Does the new heart just start by itself? When it gets blood inside it?’
‘Sometimes.’
‘What do they do if it doesn’t start by itself?’
‘They have a special defibrillator that can be used right on the heart. Tiny little paddles that only give a very small shock.’
‘How long will it take?’
‘Hours. I’ll call or text any news I get.’
‘OK. You take care of yourself, too, Amy. Make sure you get some rest. Oh, Mamma wants to talk to you ag—’
The phone seemed to have been wrenched from her sister’s hand. ‘Amy? Will it work?’ Marcella demanded tearfully. ‘Will my little angelo get through this? I can’t believe I’m not there to be beside her bed. To pray for her.’
‘I know. I’m sorry, Mamma. I want you to be here, too, but this was a gift that couldn’t wait and it might not happen again.’
‘Why aren’t you there?’
‘I came home for a bit just to check everything was all right. And it is. Zoe’s being a star and you won’t believe how much Robert’s grown up while you’ve been away. He really is the man of the house at the moment, Mamma. You’ll be so proud of him.’
She could hear Rosa making soothing noises and then her sister took the phone back.
‘It’s OK, I’ll look after her. Are you going back to the hospital now?’
‘Very soon. I’ll be there for her when she comes out of Theatre.’
‘Will she wake up then?’
‘No. I think they keep them well sedated for a day or two. On life support. Tell Mamma it’s quite possible she’ll be able to be with Summer when she does wake up.’
It was nearly dawn on Christmas Eve when Summer left the recovery area and was taken back to isolation in the intensive care unit, almost invisible in the midst of the bank of life-support machinery. She was on a ventilator, calibrated bottles hung from her bed for chest and urine drainage and tubes snaked into her skin in various places, allowing administration of drugs and monitoring of her blood pressures and oxygen levels. Electrodes were in place for continuous monitoring of the rhythm of her new heart.
Emergency gear cluttered trolleys. Equipment for suction, dressings, a pacemaker if it was needed and a defibrillator for a worst-case scenario of cardiac arrest. There were people everywhere. Gowned and masked in accordance with isolation protocols that would protect Summer from infection. Her cardiologist and her surgeon and his registrar. The ICU consultant and her registrars. Nurses and technicians.
And Amy, though not for long.
It was overwhelming. Both the level of care Summer would need for the next twenty-four hours or so and the fact that the procedure had been pronounced successful. Textbook perfect, in fact.
Summer had a new heart. It was quite possible she was going to live for a long time. Long enough to experience all the joys life could offer because she would be able to do all the things that normal, healthy children took for granted. To run and play. To go to school. To look forward to her birthdays and Christmases to come.
On top of the anxiety for the period of recovery, gratitude that a donor organ had become available and relief that the surgery had gone so well, Amy hadn’t slept for more than twenty-four hours and had only had a restless few hours before that.
And, just to top that off, she had experienced the most emotional, intense love-making she had ever known, because she had been with the man she loved.
And would love, for the rest of her life.
It was all too much and if Amy didn’t get home and sleep for a few hours, she would simply collapse. She had already rung Marcella and Rosa and given them the good news. She would tell the other children when they woke up, which hopefully wouldn’t be for a little while. If she let Marco and Angelo climb into bed with her for a cuddle, she might get an extra hour’s rest.
There would be time after that to thank Luke. It was far too soon to contemplate saying anything more. Hinting about how she felt, for example. She had done that with her body, in any case. Now she had to wait to see if the message was one that would be welcomed.
Until then, she couldn’t afford to think any further ahead. She wouldn’t begin to worry about the disparity of their backgrounds or the way they viewed life or the huge obstacle Luke’s grandmother represented.
Thanking him was enough for now.
<
br /> For what he’d done for Summer…and for her.
For simply being him.
Luke saw Amy leave.
He was deep in conversation with the other consultants, talking about ventricular function and wedge pressures and when they could start thinking about weaning Summer from the ventilation, but he had sensed Amy’s departure.
He tried to catch her gaze, to signal that he wanted to talk to her, but her focus was still on Summer as she slipped from the unit.
Things were well under control here. Luke had done his part and it had all gone extremely well. As close to a perfect procedure as anyone could have wished. Amy knew that. He’d seen the relief on her face when he’d pushed open the doors of the theatre, accompanying Summer to the recovery area, and had paused to tell Amy how happy he was with the way it had gone. He’d seen tears on her cheeks and had had to resist the strongest urge to brush them away himself. He couldn’t, of course, not with a dozen colleagues so close and a child that needed intensive monitoring for hours yet.
The chance to share more than those few words hadn’t come again but Luke hadn’t pushed it. He wanted their next conversation to be private. No distractions, so he could see the effect of what he had to tell her.
That her Christmas gift would be the house. He would instruct Reginald Battersby to do whatever necessary to overrule his father’s will and put the house into the ownership of the Phillips family.
He could catch her now, couldn’t he? There was nothing more he could do here than watch and wait, to keep in close touch with the consultants now responsible for Summer and to keep himself available in the unlikely event of a complication that needed surgical intervention.
If he hurried, he could catch up with Amy. He’d have to grab his coat, which would look a little odd over his scrubs and white gumboots, but if he ran, he could probably close the distance before Amy reached the park. And how many people would be out and about this early on Christmas Eve?
Way too many people, it seemed. The traffic was heavy and everybody stared at the white gumboots beneath Luke’s long, black coat. He hadn’t bothered to grab his scarf or gloves and the first flurry of snow was finally starting to fall. His hands were frozen by the time he was striding rapidly though Regent’s Park. Just short of running, so he didn’t alarm too many people. He stuck his hands in his pockets and he could feel something he’d forgotten for the moment.
The photograph.
He pulled it out as he walked, shaking his head at how uncharacteristic a thing it had been to do—to steal this item.
Except, it was his, wasn’t it—from a moral point of view?
The first, and only, inkling he’d had that he had been conceived and born with love. Surrounded by it when he had been too young to remember.
Possibly not too young. Did his soul remember? Was that why it recognised that what he’d found with Amy was so precious?
Something he couldn’t afford to lose?
Luke increased his pace, which had unconsciously slowed as he’d looked at the photograph, but he’d been further behind Amy than he’d realised. She was about to leave the park and start down Sullivan Ave. She would be at her house in less than a minute.
The house she didn’t know was really going to be hers.
‘Amy!’
She turned, saw Luke and stopped dead in her tracks. Took in the white gumboots and the flash of pale blue scrubs that were showing with his coat flapping. He could see the way her face paled and her gloved hand touched her chest over her heart.
She thought he was chasing her to tell her something dreadful.
That Summer had died?
‘It’s all right,’ Luke called. ‘I just need to talk to you.’
She was still afraid and Luke wanted to take her into his arms. As he closed the distance between them, he became aware of a loud sound behind him. A siren that was coming rapidly closer.
Just as he reached Amy, the fire engine passed them. So close it was automatic to grab Amy and pull her further onto the safety of the footpath. The siren was switched off but the beacons were still flashing. Snow was falling more thickly now and the dense grey white of the sky and snowflakes reflected the bright colours of the beacons, making them seem twice as bright. Twice as urgent.
The huge vehicle had stopped just down the street and another came around the corner, also silencing its siren the way they did when they reached their destination and no longer had to warn traffic to move. Both Luke and Amy watched as firemen in boots and helmets and fire-retardant clothing jumped from the vehicles. Luke let go of Amy’s shoulders and somehow her hand slipped into his.
A fire hydrant was being opened and hoses unrolled—all in the space of seconds. Some of the firemen were wearing breathing apparatus, with masks on their faces and oxygen cylinders in packs on their backs.
‘Oh, my God,’ Amy said. ‘Something must actually be on fire.’
They started moving, drawn towards the vehicles, as were other people who had started to gather on the footpath.
‘It’s close to our house,’ Amy noted. A heartbeat later, she gasped. ‘It is our house! Oh…Luca!’
He still had hold of her hand.
They both began to run.
CHAPTER NINE
‘STAY out,’ a fireman ordered. ‘You can’t go in there.’
‘It’s my house,’ Amy shouted. ‘There are children in there!’
‘We’ll get them out. Stay back!’
There was smoke pouring through a broken window in the drawing room but there was no sign of any flames or smoke from upstairs. A fireman lifted an axe to break open the front door.
‘No!’ The cry was one of despair. This looked like an execution. Her house was being sacrificed, which wouldn’t have mattered a damn if it affected the safety of her children, but it wasn’t necessary. ‘Don’t do that! Please. I’ve got a key.’
‘Hurry up, then.’
Amy fumbled with the key. Luke was right beside her and he took it from her hand, slid it into the lock and pushed the door open.
Heat and smoke billowed out and Amy felt it scorch her throat. Her eyes stung and watered and she started coughing.
‘Oi!’ Someone sounded furious but she couldn’t see through the smoke. Rough hands grabbed her arms and she was pulled backwards and then turned towards where an ambulance was backing towards the scene, its beacons flashing.
Amy craned her neck, blinking. The first rush of smoke through the front door had lessened and it didn’t look nearly as bad as it had. Hoses were being unrolled and carried into her house.
Where was Luke?
‘Mad bastard,’ she heard someone shout. ‘We couldn’t stop him.’
Amy’s heart did a peculiar kind of somersault. Had Luke gone in there himself? Why? There were firemen here with safety equipment. Luke had to be risking his life to go inside the house. Had instinct overridden common sense? Was he doing it for her family?
For her?
‘What?’ Another man was wearing a fluorescent jerkin with the words ‘Scene Commander’ in bold, black letters. ‘Get him out.’
The back doors of the ambulance were flung open. A paramedic urged Amy to climb the steps.
‘Let’s give you a bit of oxygen,’ the young woman said. ‘You’ve inhaled a good dose of smoke.’
But Amy shook her head. She just had an irritated throat, which was making her cough if she tried to take a deep breath. No big deal, and she wasn’t going anywhere she couldn’t see her front door. She didn’t need to breathe deeply at the moment. She couldn’t. Not until she saw everyone she loved coming out of that door safely.
Including Luca.
Especially Luca.
The first figures came through the smoke and then into the now thickly swirling snow. Bare feet and pyjamas. Robert was holding Kyra’s hand and right behind him came a fireman with a twin under each arm. Marco and Angelo were shrieking with fright.
They all came towards Amy. A second ambulance was
pulling up and there seemed to be people everywhere, holding blankets and oxygen cylinders.
‘Zietta…Amy…’ Marco was coughing and sobbing, holding his arms out.
‘Mi! Me, too!’ Angelo made an identical picture and already the distressed boys were shivering uncontrollably.
Amy found herself sitting on the back steps of the ambulance with a child clinging on each side. Blankets were wrapped over them all and paramedics fussed with oxygen masks and stethoscopes.
Robert was right beside the steps, refusing to climb into the second ambulance. Kyra was clinging to him, sharing his bright red woollen blanket, and they both needed to be close to Amy.
There was still no sign of Luke. Or Zoe or Andrew or Chantelle. Amy’s heart pounded and then stopped for a beat as a new figure emerged. Another fireman, with Andrew in his arms. Andrew was also crying and held his arms out to Amy. Robert and Kyra wriggled closer and her view of the front door was completely obscured.
‘Robert?’ Amy tried to disentangle herself. ‘Can you sit here? I need to find Chantelle and Zoe.’
And Luke.
‘No!’ the twins wailed. ‘Don’t go away, Zietta Amy!’
‘I’ll be right back,’ Amy promised. ‘You’re safe now. Be brave for just a minute or two. Can you do that for me, darlings?’
Robert towered over the younger children. ‘We can do that.’ He coughed harshly. ‘Can’t we, guys?’
A chorus of assents, coughs and stifled sobs was what Amy left as she ran towards the people now coming out of the house.
Four people. Two firemen. One was carrying Chantelle and the other had his arm supporting Zoe. He peeled his mask from his face.
‘The kid had locked herself in the bathroom,’ he said. ‘That bloke got her out.’
‘She was…too scared…to open it.’ Zoe had runnels of black eyeliner on her cheeks and looked a lot younger than her sixteen years. ‘Amy…I’m so sorry.’
The Italian Surgeon's Christmas Miracle Page 12