‘I need you!’ he exclaimed. ‘I’m here, and I need you.’
‘But when I needed you, you weren’t there for me,’ she blurted out, and saw his face contort with disbelief.
‘How can you say that?’ he demanded. ‘I was always there for you, and our son. Always!’
‘Not enough to let me cry for him after he died,’ she threw back at him. ‘Whenever I cried you’d say, “Don’t cry, Brianna. You mustn’t cry.”’
‘You were making yourself ill—’
‘And whenever I tried to talk about him you changed the subject. My parents—my friends—because Harry died twelve hours after he was born—they never saw him, so he wasn’t…’ She swallowed hard. ‘He wasn’t real to them. They had no memories of him, only you and I did, but you…You just seemed to want to airbrush him out of our lives.’
‘That is an unforgivable thing to say,’ he replied, his voice raw. ‘He was my son, too.’
‘A son you would never talk about—a son you never cried over!’
‘Brianna, if talking would have brought Harry back, I would have talked myself hoarse,’ he protested, ‘but talking wouldn’t have changed anything, you know it wouldn’t.’
‘It would have kept him alive for me,’ she said, tears thickening her voice. ‘It would have kept him alive, and with us, but you…It was like you’d decided it was better to pretend he’d never lived, had never been.’
‘Brianna—’
‘All through the funeral you just sat there as though what was happening…what the priest was saying…was nothing to do with you while I. I kept thinking he’ll wake up, Harry’s going to wake up, and cry, and they’ll realise they’ve made a mistake, and then I can take him home, and I so…’ She let out a small sob. ‘I so wanted to take him home.’
‘Brianna, please—’
‘You want to know how I really felt before I left you?’ she continued, dashing a hand across her eyes. ‘I wanted to die, Connor. All I wanted was to die, so I could be with Harry, and then he…’ Her voice broke. ‘He wouldn’t be alone, and I couldn’t bear the thought of him being alone, in the dark, with no one to hold him.’
‘Brianna, don’t’ he said, his voice cracking. ‘Please, don’t.’
‘See—you’re doing it again,’ she cried. ‘You say you want us to talk, but every time I try, you cut me off.’
‘Because I can’t bear to see you upset,’ he said hoarsely. ‘I can’t bear to see you suffer like this.’
‘Connor—’
‘You’re right,’ he said, abruptly getting to his feet. ‘It’s been a long day, and we’re both tired, and I still need to unpack.’
His face was closed and tight. It was the expression she’d grown used to seeing before she’d left him. The one that told her he didn’t want to listen to her, didn’t want to hear what she was saying, and she stood up, too, in defeat.
‘What about the dishes? ‘ he continued as she walked past him towards the kitchen door. ‘You could wash, and I could dry, just like we used to.’
‘Leave them,’ she muttered. ‘I’ll do them later.’
‘But—’
But nothing, she thought, walking determinedly into the sitting room, then up the narrow staircase to the first floor, leaving him with nothing to do but follow her. She didn’t want to play happy couples with him in the kitchen, pretending that everything was all right over the washing-up. They weren’t a happy couple. They hadn’t been one for a very long time.
‘The bathroom’s in here,’ she said as she opened the first door on the landing. ‘It has both a bath and a shower so you can have whichever you want.’
‘Looks good,’ he replied with a smile, which she didn’t return.
‘I hope you’ll be comfortable in here,’ she said, walking into the next room. ‘There’s a double bed so you shouldn’t feel cramped, and plenty of hanging space for your clothes—’
‘But it’s not your room.’
It was a statement, not a question, and she smoothed down the duvet, which didn’t need smoothing, and deliberately avoided his eyes.
‘The room faces south so you’ll get the sun in the morning,’ she continued, ‘and there’s a lovely view of Penhally bay and the harbour—’
‘Brianna, when I said I needed you, I meant every word.’
His voice was soft, entreating, and she forced herself to look up at him. He was the man she had married, the man she’d fallen in love with all those years ago, and yet now…She knew she should feel something, ought to feel something, but it was as though her heart was frozen, and where there should have been love for him there was nothing but pain.
‘Connor, I can’t just go back to the way we were before Harry died,’ she said haltingly. ‘I can’t pretend everything’s all right between us, or forget, or—’
‘Share my bed.’
She shook her head, unable to speak.
‘Would…?’ He took a deep breath. ‘Would you rather I just left?’
‘Yes’ would have been her honest answer, but she knew she couldn’t say that. She’d accused him of never talking, of never telling her what he was thinking and maybe, if he stayed, maybe he might talk, maybe he might listen, and she had to at least give him that opportunity.
‘You have every right to be here,’ she said.
Which wasn’t what he wanted to hear, he thought as she left the room. He didn’t want to hear he had a ‘right’ to be there by virtue of being her husband. He wanted her to say she wanted him there, but she hadn’t.
Why had he come? he wondered as he sat down heavily on the bed. He should never have come, except.
He’d told himself he wanted answers. He still wanted them, but he wanted more than that. He didn’t want to lose her, not again. He didn’t want her to just slip away from him, and she was slipping away, he knew she was.
With a sigh he stood up and walked over to the window and gazed out. It was too cloudy tonight for stars, but he could see a light in the distance. A light that went on and off rhythmically. A lighthouse, his brain registered. A lighthouse, which gave hope to sailors lost at sea, and hope was all he had right now. A hope that was much fainter than the lighthouse’s bright beam, but he would hold onto it because there was nothing else he could do.
CHAPTER THREE
‘I JUST wish I could have been more help to the police yesterday,’ Brianna said as she checked the cardio monitor above Amy Renwick’s incubator. ‘They were so kind, so patient—even offered to bring in their face-imaging expert, to see if I could re-create an image of Harry’s mother—but I honestly and truly don’t remember seeing anyone in the car park.’
‘Neither did Sid, or Jess, so you’re not the only one,’ Megan said soothingly. ‘Have the police had any luck identifying where Harry’s shawl might have been bought? ‘
Brianna shook her head.
‘Apparently it can be bought in lots of high-street shops, which means the mother could have come from anywhere.’
‘She’ll be some local, unmarried teenager.’ Rita sniffed as she appeared, clutching a sheaf of forms. ‘You know the sort—the airhead kind who think having a baby will be fun until they’re presented with the reality. I’d wager my next pay cheque we’ll never see her again.’
‘Of course we’ll see her,’ Brianna said, hearing Megan’s sharp intake of breath. ‘She’ll realise she’s made a mistake, and come forward to claim her son. What mother wouldn’t?’
‘The irresponsible sort,’ Rita declared. ‘The sort whose families have never given them any proper values, or a decent upbringing. My daughters waited until they had a wedding ring on their finger before they hopped into bed with the first man who paid them any attention.’
‘Girls—women—become pregnant for all sorts of reasons,’ Brianna said stiffly, ‘and I don’t think we—as medical staff—should set ourselves up as either judge or jury.’
‘Too right,’ Megan said, her voice ice-cold. ‘Are those forms for me?’ she continued
, gazing pointedly at the papers in Rita’s hand.
‘They’re admission slips for the babies who came in last night,’ the ward clerk replied. ‘You have to sign them in triplicate.’
‘Bureaucracy gone mad,’ Megan muttered. ‘What’s the stats for the new admissions?’
‘Both full term,’ Brianna replied. ‘One has severe jaundice, the other congenital hypothyroidism. Mr Brooke started the jaundiced baby on phototherapy last night, and the CH baby is being given oral thyroid hormone.’
‘Good.’ Megan nodded, then frowned as she gazed out over the ward. ‘Unfortunately that means we’re now at full capacity, so let’s hope we don’t get hit by another emergency admission.’
‘And that would be a problem? ‘
Connor had joined them, his phone poised and ready in his hand, and Brianna gritted her teeth at the sight of it, and him.
‘We have six incubators, which now have six babies in them,’ she replied. ‘Do the maths, Connor.’
‘I can count as well as you can,’ he replied mildly, ‘but I understood you had an arrangement with the hospital in Plymouth to take any babies you were unable to admit?’
Out of the corner of her eye, Brianna could see Megan determinedly shepherding Rita towards the ward door, but she didn’t give a damn whether Rita stayed and eavesdropped or not.
‘We do,’ she declared, ‘but, as I explained to you yesterday—though you clearly weren’t listening—sending babies so far from their homes is upsetting for everyone.’
‘I hardly think a thirty—or thirty-five—minute drive could be considered particularly stressful,’ Connor observed, and Brianna gritted her teeth until they hurt.
‘I wonder how stress-free you’d find that journey if you received a phone call in the middle of the night telling you your baby’s condition had deteriorated?’ she demanded. ‘Or how stress-free you’d be if you arrived to discover your son, or daughter, had died? Not all babies leave NICU alive, Connor.’ She met his gaze. ‘You should know that.’
It had been a low blow, and she knew it, as she saw all colour drain from his face, but she’d had enough of him today. If she was going to be honest, she’d had more than enough of him by the time they’d shared an excruciatingly awkward breakfast in her home this morning, and the last thing she needed was him dogging her every step, making stupid comments.
‘Sister Flannigan?’
Brianna glanced over her shoulder to see Naomi Renwick hovering uncertainly by the ward door, clearly unsure as to whether she should approach or not, and hitched a smile to her lips.
‘What can I do for you, Naomi?’
‘Nothing, really. It’s just…’ Amy’s mother flushed. ‘Experience has taught me that if more than one person is clustered round my daughter’s incubator, something’s wrong.’
‘Far from it,’ Brianna insisted. ‘I completed Amy’s obs about half an hour ago, and there was no sign of any post-op infection, and her sats are perfect. Of course, we’re going to have to wait and see what happens when we start feeding her orally instead of through an IV line, but at the moment I’d say everything’s looking pretty good.’
‘Thank you, Sister, thank you so much,’ Naomi said, letting out the breath Brianna knew she’d been holding. ‘I know it’s silly to always suspect the worst, but sometimes—’
‘It seems as though all you’ve done, since Amy was born, is take one step forward and two steps back,’ Brianna finished for her. ‘I do understand, but try not to worry, OK?’
‘I’ll try,’ Naomi promised, and, when Brianna hurried across the ward in answer to Megan’s beckoning wave, she smiled up at Connor. ‘Sister Flannigan is always so encouraging, isn’t she?’
‘She would appear to be,’ he replied noncommittally.
‘Are you a doctor, Mr…Mr…?’
‘Monahan. Connor Monahan,’ he said, ‘and, no, I’m not a doctor. I’m…’ His lips curved a little ruefully. ‘I guess you could call me a glorified accountant.’
‘Right.’ Naomi nodded, clearly none the wiser. ‘This is my daughter, Amy,’ she continued, gently touching the incubator. ‘She was born two months premature.’
And I don’t want to know this, Connor thought, half turning to go, but Mrs Renwick wasn’t finished.
‘All the nursing staff here are really wonderful,’ she continued, ‘but Sister Flannigan. She’s something special, you know?’
He did know, he thought as he noticed Brianna’s brow begin to furrow at whatever Megan was saying. He’d known it from the very first moment they’d met, when he’d been twenty-two, and Brianna had been twenty-one. All it had taken was one shy smile from her, across the dance floor in her home town of Killarney, and he’d fallen for her completely.
‘It’s like she somehow knows how all we parents feel,’ Naomi observed. ‘That she’s not simply mouthing words of sympathy, but really understands what it’s like to worry, and to fear.’
They had both known worry, and fear, Connor thought, feeling his stomach clench as memories surfaced in his mind, memories which were as bitter as they were unwanted. When Harry had been born, one month early, he’d known so little, been so naive. What’s a month? he had asked himself. Babies of less than twenty-eight weeks survived, so a one-month-early baby was nothing, but then the hospital consultant had dropped his bombshell.
‘Everyone says Mr Brooke is an excellent surgeon,’ Naomi continued, ‘and I’m sure he is, but he is a little…a little…’
‘Brusque?’ Connor suggested, and Naomi chuckled.
‘Downright depressing would be closer to the truth. I know he has to be honest, but…’
‘You’d prefer a little less honesty, and a bit more hope? ‘
Naomi nodded. ‘Dr Phillips is always very upbeat—she’s nice, too. In fact, I’m surprised a pretty woman like her isn’t married, but then neither is Sister Flannigan, and I think she’s just lovely.’
She was, Connor thought, glancing across the ward at Brianna. With hair the colour of burnished autumn leaves, large brown eyes and a smile that had always made his heart beat faster, she looked again like the girl he had married ten years ago rather than the skeletally thin woman who had left him. Over and over again he had begged and pleaded with her to eat, but she’d simply stared back at him with eyes that seemed to have grown too big for her small face. Now she’d regained some of the weight she’d lost, and he could not help but wonder what—or who—had finally persuaded her to eat.
‘I understand…Sister Flannigan…I believe she’s quite close to that A and E doctor—Josh O’Hara?’ Connor commented, despising himself for asking, but needing to know nevertheless.
‘Oh, no,’ Naomi replied. ‘He does come into the unit occasionally, and he certainly makes her laugh, but he’s married, and, even if he wasn’t, I wouldn’t say he was Sister Flannigan’s type.’
‘You wouldn’t?’ Connor said hopefully, and Naomi shook her head.
‘If you want my opinion, I’d say Dr O’Hara and Dr Phillips would be better suited. They just sort of look right together, if you know what I mean, though, of course, people do say it’s often opposites who attract.’
Everyone in Killarney had wondered what Brianna had seen in him, Connor recalled wryly—she with her gift of always being able to talk to anyone, and he so very reserved unless he was discussing a balance sheet—but they’d been happy, they’d loved one another, and then Harry had been born.
‘It’s so sad about Harry.’
Connor’s eyes shot to Mrs Renwick, wondering for one awful moment if she could possibly have read his mind, but she wasn’t talking about his son. She was gazing at the incubator nearest the wall, and his forehead creased with foreboding.
‘His condition has worsened?’
‘Oh, no—at least, I don’t think it has,’ Mrs Renwick said quickly. ‘I meant it’s very sad that his mother abandoned him like that, but at least he’s got Sister Flannigan.’
And Connor wished the child hadn’t as he
watched Brianna walk away from Megan to the little boy’s incubator. God knows, he meant the child no harm but, after just one day of looking after him, he knew Brianna was getting too close, and if this child died…
He closed his eyes tightly, but it didn’t help. Nothing would ever erase the memory of that day when they’d come home from the hospital, after it was all over. Never had he heard anyone cry the way Brianna had cried, like an animal racked with pain, and he never wanted to hear that sound again, but the longer this baby’s mother didn’t come forward the more involved Brianna would become, and all he could see was heartbreak ahead for her no matter what happened.
‘Are you all right, Mr Monahan?’
He opened his eyes to see Naomi gazing up at him with concern, and manufactured a smile.
‘I’m fine. It’s just…wards like this…You never know what’s going to happen next, and I find that…unsettling.’
‘My husband’s the same.’ Naomi nodded. ‘He likes certainty, too, but I keep telling him, think positive, it’s the only thing you can do.’
And Connor was positive something had just gone very wrong as he saw Megan join Brianna at Harry’s incubator, and his wife begin to shake her head angrily.
‘I’m afraid you’ll have to excuse me, Mrs Renwick…’
He was vaguely aware that Amy’s mother said something in reply, but he couldn’t have said what. His eyes were fixed on Brianna. She looked upset now as well as angry, and whether she wanted him at her side was immaterial. He was going to be there.
‘Problem?’ he said as he approached her, and saw Megan bite her lip.
‘There’s a reporter outside in the corridor from the Penhally Gazette,” the paediatric specialist registrar replied. ‘He wants to interview Brianna for his newspaper, and Admin think it would be an excellent way to give Harry more exposure, and perhaps encourage his mother to come forward.’
‘And Admin can whistle Dixie as far as I’m concerned because I know damn fine that the only exposure Vermin would give Harry is the muckraking kind,’ Brianna said tartly.
‘Vermin?’ Connor echoed, his eyebrows rising.
St Piran's: Tiny Miracle Twins Page 5