‘Please, please be careful. If there’s even a tiny chance you can save it, please help me,’ she said as the consultant had taken her history and prepared to examine her.
She’d never been so vulnerable or felt so reliant on other people.
‘We will. The bleeding has settled, which is a positive sign, so try not to worry, Miss Samson. I know it’s a very anxious time for you but let’s do some more tests and we can find out what’s going on.’
Not again, she begged silently. Not again. Please not this little scrap too.
Chapter 41
Hazel stood opposite Patrick in the overheated waiting room outside the radiography suite. She’d barely exchanged a word with him since they’d left the community hall. Her focus had all been on Maisie, and Patrick didn’t blame her. Now they were alone and all any of them could do was wait. When Ray nipped to the gents, Hazel took her chance.
‘I knew you’d break her heart. From the moment you stepped into the pub, I knew. I saw her face. I saw yours. And I knew.’
This isn’t helping, Patrick thought, not me, not Maisie, not the baby – Jesus, their baby, his child.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. What else could he say?
‘You should be.’
‘I am. Believe me I am.’
Hazel curled her lip. ‘Why would I believe you? You’ve lied so much already. This stress can’t have been good for Maisie.’
‘And I’ve tried to put it right. It hasn’t been enough. It will never be enough, but I’ve tried.’
Hazel was out of her mind with worry like him, he told himself. This was her grandchild, her flesh and blood, and Maisie had waited so long and endured such heartbreak before. What he needed was to be with Maisie, to hold her hand, kiss her lovely face and beg her to forgive him and let him stay but he’d give up all of that and never see her again if only the baby would be OK. He already knew how much the baby would mean to her.
Ray pushed open the door into the waiting room. He looked bloody awful.
‘Any news?’ he asked Hazel, ignoring Patrick.
‘No. They’re still doing tests.’
‘Poor Maisie. Poor girl.’
Hazel’s face crumpled and she let out a sob. Ray pulled her into his arms. ‘I know. Try not to worry, she’ll be OK. I hope the baby will be too. She’s been through so much.’
Patrick closed his eyes as Hazel cried and Ray tried to soothe her. He knew they didn’t want him there and yet nothing was going to stop him from being near Maisie. Sweat broke out on his forehead and he felt sick. This was what happened when you let yourself care about other people. When you let someone into your heart, you asked for pain and suffering and fear. It was the fear of caring too much that both protected him and had led him into dark places as he grew up. He’d let that guard down with Judy and Greg, and later with Tania, and taken the consequences.
He didn’t think he could stand it again with Maisie, and yet he was – taking the punches again because he had to and he loved her.
Ray shot him a glance of despair over Hazel’s shoulder. It was a plea, a ‘what can we do?’
Patrick got up. ‘I need some air,’ he muttered, already on his way out of the door.
He had no answers. Every penny he had wouldn’t be enough to give Maisie what she wanted right now. Everything he had to offer was worth nothing to her.
Chapter 42
The radiographer guided the ultrasound probe over Maisie’s stomach, intent on the screen. Maisie had her fist up to her mouth, trying not to cry. The screen was turned away from her so her only clues as to whether her baby was still growing inside her or had ebbed away were from the radiographer’s face, but she was too professional to betray any sign of emotion.
The radiographer frowned and peered at the screen then glanced back at Maisie. No smile, no flicker of sympathy, just a look as if she wanted to check that Maisie was still there and hadn’t vanished miraculously.
‘I’m just going to call my senior colleague in to have a look,’ she said. ‘I won’t be a moment. Do you want us to call anyone in?’
Maisie felt as if she was ebbing away herself. What did that mean? Call in a senior colleague? And who should she call in to be with her when they broke the news? Her parents? Patrick? Both?
‘Shall I ask your partner to come in? Or your parents? They’re all outside,’ the radiographer said, this time with a small but encouraging smile.
‘Partner? Did Patrick tell you that?’
‘Mr McKinnon didn’t use that word. I apologise if I’m speaking out of turn. I should never have assumed, but you and he did say he was the father.’
‘He is. He is … but …’ Maisie herself didn’t know what Patrick was or would be so she certainly couldn’t explain to the consultant. Maisie nodded. No matter what she thought of him, this was his baby too. Had been his baby? Still was his baby?
‘Yes, he can come in.’
She smiled. ‘Are you sure? It might be a good idea because I’ve some rather mixed news to share, so Mr McKinnon may want to hear it too.’
Mixed news? What the hell did that mean? Positive or bad, or both? Whatever it was, Patrick deserved to hear the news about their baby. She owed him that much. ‘Yes. Ask him to join us. And it’s not Mr McKinnon,’ she murmured to herself as the consultant exited the room to find Patrick. ‘It’s Scorrier. Henry Patrick Aldous Scorrier McKinnon, a regular one-man bloody cricket team.’
The next few moments were the longest of her life. On her own in the tiny room, her stomach smeared in sticky gel, utterly alone.
Patrick walked in first, followed by the radiographer and her older colleague, also a woman. Patrick’s face was the colour of froth on a pint.
‘Have a seat, please, Mr McKinnon,’ the consultant said.
‘I’m Mrs Dixon,’ said the older woman, and smiled at Maisie then joined her younger colleague by the screen.
Patrick took the stool next to Maisie’s bed, never taking his eyes off her. He was too big for it; he looked like an adult on a child’s stool. That was the bizarre thought that struck her while the two radiologists examined the scan again. He covered her hand with his fingers. She didn’t move it away or make any attempt to hold his hand. She was lost in a no-man’s-land, too afraid of any kind of movement even to hold his hand. She didn’t know if she wanted to, but she didn’t want to push him away. Not now. They exchanged looks. He mouthed something; she didn’t know what, because the consultant was talking to her. She turned the screen towards Maisie and Patrick.
‘OK,’ said Mrs Dixon. Maisie’s heart thumped wildly. Patrick’s hand tightened around hers. ‘It looks like there might be a positive outcome.’
‘Thank God for that.’
Patrick gave her hand a squeeze as the consultant continued. ‘However, I’m afraid that it does seem as if you may have lost one of the embryos. See that tear in the side of the womb? I’m very sorry about that, but the other embryo is still in situ. See it here.’
‘One of the babies? What do you mean?’ Patrick asked. Maisie was still in shock, trying to take in what the consultant was saying.
‘You were having twins, Miss Samson. It’s not uncommon with Poly-cystic Ovary Syndrome but the other embryo is still intact. You’re still pregnant. Looks like you won the lottery twice.’
Maisie burst into tears.
She looked up at Patrick. He was crying too.
The younger radiologist smiled at Maisie.
‘The chances are that you’ll be fine but we can’t make any guarantees, of course. We’ll need to keep a close eye on you and you can carry on your life pretty much as normal but you’ll have to be extra careful, of course …’
The tears wouldn’t stop. Maisie tried to take in what the radiologist was saying but all she could focus on was that while she’d lost one baby, she still had a life growing inside her. Patrick held her tightly, shh-ing and soothing her and she clung to him and didn’t care who saw.
‘I n-need to tell Mum and
Dad. Can you fetch them?’ she asked.
‘I’ll ask your parents to come in,’ the younger radiologist said.
‘Do you have any more questions?’ the consultant asked.
‘I – I d-don’t know. Lots but I can’t think straight.’
‘That’s understandable. Have some time to take it all in and I’ll come and see you again in a little while when you’re on the ward. We’d like to keep you in overnight to keep an eye on you.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Thanks.’ Patrick still held her hand.
The consultant left and the younger medic followed to fetch Ray and Hazel.
‘Should I leave?’ he asked.
‘No. Stay for a while. No matter what’s gone on between us, we need to face them together.’
‘OK.’ Patrick kissed her head and whispered, ‘Will I need more body armour?’
Before Maisie could reply, the door opened and her mother rushed forward, tears pouring down her cheeks. ‘Oh, Maisie, I’m so sorry about the twin but I’m so relieved to hear about the other one.’
Patrick stood aside and her father joined in the embrace. His eyes were bright. ‘We’re just glad you’re OK, love,’ he said as her mother stroked her hair.
Once Maisie was settled in a room, Patrick came to see her again.
‘You’re still here,’ she said when he walked in. His colour was back again.
‘Of course I am. I’m not going to leave you like he did. Can you not get that into your head?’ he said gently.
‘I don’t want you staying out of pity or because you think it’s your duty.’
‘It’s not my duty, I love you. Will you not believe me? Just because that idiot you were with ran away at the prospect of fatherhood. Look, there’s something else I should tell you. Tania didn’t only leave me because I had no ambition; she also left me because I wanted kids. I wanted responsibility, a family, to settle down. She wasn’t ready, not then or maybe ever, and I can’t blame her for that, but the demon was out of the box after we’d told each other.’
‘I didn’t know that.’ There was a lot she didn’t know about him, she’d realised, and perhaps it was time to give him a chance and find out more.
‘I’ve never told anyone the real reason we split, not even Judy,’ he said. ‘I’d been honest with Tania about wanting a family. She was brutally honest in saying no and she was absolutely right to. I was angry and hurt at first. I blamed her; I said some things she didn’t deserve, but we’ve spoken while I’ve been here. We’re friends. I told her to be happy and I mean it because I’ve found something I can believe in. I want my future to be here with you, if you’ll have me.’
‘Don’t just stay because you want to be a father and you lost your own family …’
He groaned. ‘That isn’t fair.’
‘I’m sorry, but nothing’s fair … and the craziest thing about this is that I want you to stay. I want to be with you and bring the baby up together. I want it to have a father, but a father that I can trust and be happy with and I don’t know if I can trust you again. I don’t know if I can trust any man again or if I’ll be better bringing up this baby myself. If he or she makes it.’
‘He – or she – will.’ He squeezed her fingers.
‘You don’t know that.’
‘No, I don’t, but if I could do anything to make sure our baby does, I’ll do it. I’ll stay here at your side night and day or I’ll leave and never come back. Whatever it takes to make you and the little one feel safe and calm. Say the word.’
‘I don’t know, Patrick. I need time.’
‘I’ll sit here for now then. I won’t say anything but I’ll be here. Or I’ll go out for a while? Give you time to yourself. You must be tired?’
‘Yes. I am.’
‘I’ll be outside getting a drink. If you need me, ask one of the nurses to bring me in.’
Maisie sank back against the pillows. Tears trickled down her cheeks for the new and fragile life inside her, for past and recent betrayals and for a future that she couldn’t imagine without her baby and without Patrick – or with him.
She must have dozed because when she woke, the consultant was by her bed, checking her chart. Mrs Dixon was frowning at the notes and looking back at Maisie. Maisie glanced at her, waking in a sweat of terror.
‘Is the baby OK?’
‘It’s fine, Maisie. It will be an anxious time for you and I can’t tell you not to worry, though for both your sakes, I obviously advise it.’ She smiled. ‘You could talk to some parents who’ve been through miscarriage. There’s a group we can put you in touch with who’ve been through similar experiences. You and your partner might find meeting them a help, and meanwhile, we’ll keep a very close watch on you, I promise you that.’
Chapter 43
The following afternoon, Maisie was released with a list of dos and don’ts, and collected by her parents. She couldn’t help her heart soaring when she saw Patrick waiting for her on the jetty at Gull. He, Ray and Hazel walked with her to the pub and, after a cuppa, her parents made their excuses and left.
The room was filled with the scent of flowers. Bright narcissi and spring blooms filled half a dozen vases and a pile of unopened cards waited on the bar. She felt wrung out and knackered but the sight of the bright blossoms and her own home gave her energy. She still had a new life inside her, and Patrick was by her side.
He pulled out a chair for her and then sat down next to her.
‘The flowers are beautiful.’
‘They’re from Jess and your other friends and neighbours. You’re well loved,’ said Patrick.
Maisie gave a rueful smile, thinking of Hugo. ‘Not by everyone. Like Hugo.’
‘Everyone who matters, and actually I went to see Hugo this morning.’
She gasped. ‘And you’re both still alive?’
‘We both needed to talk about a few things.’
‘That’s an understatement!’
‘Yeah, well. There’s wrong on both sides. I didn’t tell him who I really was so no wonder he was narked. Now I need to build some bridges. It’s been tough for him with my uncle’s illness and, in future, I have to deal with him in a business sense.
‘Did you argue with Hugo on the hill? Did he have anything to do with you falling over?’ he asked.
‘Nothing,’ said Maisie, which wasn’t strictly true but probably wise to gloss over the full story. ‘And the doctor said the fall had nothing at all to do with losing the twin,’ she added, feeling tears well up again at her loss. ‘It would have probably happened anyway.’
‘Good, because if it had …’ He sighed. ‘Maisie, I’m sure Hugo’s always wanted you personally, as well as wanting Gull Island. From his point of view, I can see why he’s upset about me turning up here and taking over. His father’s deteriorated over the past few months and I feel for him, even though I think the bloke’s a prize prat. I’m going to see my uncle when I’ve made sure you’re OK. I need to face up to what I’ve ignored for the past thirty-odd years – and to the future.’
There was a pause as if neither of them knew how to begin before Patrick broke the ice. ‘Your mum and dad let me stay in the Piggery last night when we finally got home.’
She sucked in a breath. ‘Wow. Frankly, I’m amazed.’
‘Me too. They’re willing to give me a second chance, I think, but said it’s up to you what happens next. I hoped you wouldn’t be too pissed off that I waited for you to come home.’
‘I’m not pissed off. I’m just tired and I want my baby to be OK.’
‘I want that more than anything in the world too. Look, I know you must still hate me right now.’
Maisie thought back to her confrontation with Hugo. Maisie loved Patrick, but was love enough to overcome everything else?
‘I don’t hate you. But what’s happened between us has punched a hole in the trust we had. I appreciate you’re trying to put things right … and I admit I said some harsh things to you that I didn’
t really mean.’
He took her hand, stroking the veins gently. ‘They were things that had to be said for both our sakes, even if they were painful for us. Can we call today a fresh start, a blank page? We could try to move forward if we wind back from me walking into the Driftwood that first day …’
Maisie was inclined to believe him. She wanted to believe him so much. ‘Do it then,’ she said.
‘What? Now?’
‘Yes. Right now. Walk out of that door and come back in and start again as you should have done.’
‘Will it make a difference?’
She lifted her chin. ‘I don’t know. Why don’t you try me?’
He picked up his rucksack, and walked out of the front door into the dull January afternoon, leaving the door open as it had been on that sunny day in October. Maisie took her place behind the bar and picked up the menus, wiping the covers with a cloth. She glanced at the sign on the wall: The Landlady is Always Right.
Was she? Had she made a huge mistake in leaving the front door open and handing Patrick a second chance? Or the best decision of her life?
She closed her eyes and in the empty silence, imagined the buzz of chatter and laughter and clinking glasses. She imagined the distant ferry hoot and the sound of customers talking on the terrace.
The silence lengthened.
Her pulse raced. Perhaps it wasn’t possible to turn the clock back after all, or maybe Patrick had decided not to do it. Was her big mistake to let him walk out?
Footsteps rang out on the quarry tiles. She opened her eyes.
A tall, lean blond stood in the porch, hesitating over whether to come in or not. He pushed his tousled hair out of his eyes nervously and said in a broad Aussie accent, ‘Are you open?’
‘Just,’ said Maisie, her heart pounding.
He shrugged the heavy bag from his shoulders. ‘Good, because this bag weighs a ton.’
‘What are you having?’
Christmas on the Little Cornish Isles Page 30