Dr Mathieson's Daughter

by Maggie Kingsley

  ‘I don’t know what to do with her, Jane,’ he sighed the minute his daughter had gone to her room, pleading she wanted an early night. ‘No matter what I say, I just don’t seem to be getting through to her.’

  ‘It’s only been two weeks, Elliot—’

  ‘I try to make conversation with her—I really do try,’ he insisted, ‘but all I ever get is “Is it OK for me to do this?” and “Is it OK for me to do that?” It’s as though she’s a guest in my home.’

  ‘Which is probably how she feels right now,’ Jane said gently, as he got to his feet and refilled his wineglass. ‘She needs time to feel at home—’

  ‘But she gets on so well with you,’ he said, trying and failing to keep the envy out of his voice. ‘I’ve heard the two of you laughing, but with me…Somehow, I just never seem to hit the right note with her. I listen to myself talking to her sometimes, and I sound so false. So pompous, aloof—’

  ‘Could it be because you’re trying too hard?’ Jane suggested. ‘Maybe if you concentrate on simply being her father, on being there when she needs you, you might find it easier.’

  He gazed at her silently for a moment, then bit his lip. ‘The trouble is, I don’t think I can. This afternoon with Vic Imrie—when he went into cardiac arrest—that’s what I’m good at, Jane. Medicine. Mending broken limbs, damaged hearts. That’s what I can do.’

  She put down her glass, bewildered. ‘What are you trying to say?’

  How much was he prepared to tell her? he wondered, seeing the confusion in her eyes. Was he prepared to tell her the truth about his marriage to Donna? No, he couldn’t tell her that, he thought bitterly, could never tell anyone that. He could tell her of his doubts and fears about being able to be a father, but that was all he could tell her.

  ‘But every father feels that way,’ she insisted when he’d explained how he felt. ‘Nobody is born one. It’s something you have to learn, something that comes with practice.’

  ‘Jane…Jane, you don’t understand!’ he exclaimed, desperately thrusting his hands through his blond hair. ‘I’m a wash-out with all relationships. The only thing I can handle is a brief love affair with no hard feelings when it ends, but I can’t do that with Nicole. I can’t flirt with her, or hand her a line. She wants—needs—commitment, and I don’t think I can do it.’

  ‘Of course you can,’ she protested. ‘I’ve seen you with the kids in A and E—’

  ‘That’s medicine again, Jane. I’m treating their injuries, their pain. I’m not living with them, having to relate to them.’

  He hadn’t used the word ‘love’, she noticed, but she let that pass. Just as she didn’t ask the one question that had been niggling at her ever since Nicole had arrived. Why he’d looked so strange at the airport when he’d first seen his daughter. There was much more to this than a simple fear of not being able to cut it as a father, but for now she didn’t ask.

  ‘Look, you’re off duty tomorrow afternoon. Why don’t you take her somewhere?’ she suggested instead. ‘The park—the zoo—somewhere like that. I’m sure her teachers would understand if you wanted to pick her up from school early.’

  ‘What good would that do?’ he demanded.

  She didn’t know, but she did know he had to do something. ‘I simply wondered if perhaps you both got out of the house into neutral territory, did something different together…’

  ‘I might find it easier.’ He nodded, clearly warming to the idea. ‘We could make a whole afternoon of it. Go to a café for tea—’

  ‘We?’ she interrupted in dismay. That wasn’t what she’d intended at all. She’d wanted him to be alone with Nicole, to be forced into talking to her—really talking to her. ‘Elliot, the whole point of the exercise is to give you and Nicole a chance to get to know one another better.’

  ‘But you’d have to come with me,’ he said. ‘I couldn’t possibly do it on my own.’

  ‘Elliot—’

  ‘Please,’ he insisted, his eyes fixed on her. ‘Jane, I need your help.’

  How often had she heard that? For years, it seemed. Ever since she was small people had always turned to her for help, for her to get them out of a jam, and she was so tired of doing it, so tired of being taken for granted.

  But as his deep blue eyes stayed pleadingly on her, she knew she couldn’t refuse. It would be good old Jane to the rescue again, and with a deep sigh she said, ‘All right, then. I’ll come.’

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ‘WELL, you could have knocked me down with a feather when Gussie let slip in the canteen that she hadn’t been out with Elliot for two weeks.’ Floella chuckled, her large brown eyes sparkling as she and Jane stripped the paper sheet off the examination trolley in cubicle 5 and replaced it with a fresh one. ‘I mean, Elliot? I know he seems to be really keen on being a father to Nicole, but he’s the last guy in the world I’d ever have believed would turn celibate!’

  ‘Flo—’

  ‘I wish you’d heard her, Jane,’ Floella prattled on. ‘To hear Gussie talk, anyone would think you were keeping Elliot chained up in his flat or something!’

  ‘Me?’ Jane protested. ‘How has him not dating her got anything to do with me?’

  ‘Oh, I know it hasn’t, and you know it hasn’t, but you know what Gussie’s like. According to her, nobody does anything in this life unless it’s for sex or money, so naturally she thinks you’ve been using your presence in Elliot’s flat to roll your eyes at him, and give him that come-hither look.’

  Much good it would have done her if she’d tried, Jane thought ruefully. If she’d done any rolling of her eyes at Elliot he would simply have rushed her off to the hospital ophthalmology department to have her eyes tested.

  ‘So it’s working out OK, then—you helping Elliot to look after his daughter?’ Floella continued as she followed Jane out of the cubicle.

  ‘I think so,’ Jane replied. ‘We have our ups and downs, of course.’ That was putting it mildly. Last night they’d had a humdinger of a row over Charlie Gordon of all people. Elliot had declared he didn’t think the SHO was reliable when it came to personal relationships, she’d told him he was talking through his hat, and… ‘Nicole’s still having nightmares, but we’re hoping they’ll lessen once she starts to feel more secure.’

  ‘They should do,’ Floella said, ‘but these things take time and a lot of patience.’

  ‘I thought it might help if we got her out a bit more,’ Jane continued, ‘so we’re taking her to the zoo this afternoon after work.’

  ‘The zoo?’

  ‘Nicole’s never been to one and I thought she might enjoy it.’

  ‘You’re going to the zoo with Elliot and Nicole?’

  ‘Yes, I’m going to the zoo with Elliot and Nicole,’ Jane declared, beginning to laugh. ‘Honestly, Flo, are you taking in anything I’m saying?’

  ‘Oh, I’m taking it in all right,’ Floella said dryly. ‘I’m just wondering if you are.’

  ‘What on earth does that mean?’ Jane asked, bewildered.

  ‘Jane…’ Floella bit her lip. ‘Jane, has it ever occurred to you that you might be getting rather too fond of Elliot’s daughter?’

  ‘Of course I’m fond of her,’ Jane protested. ‘She’s a lovely little girl—’

  ‘And she’s not yours. Look, I guess what I’m trying to say is be careful,’ Floella continued, her large dark eyes concerned. ‘You’re only going to be taking care of her for a month. Don’t get too involved.’

  ‘I’m not getting involved, I’m just helping.’

  ‘Yeah, right, but just be careful, OK?’

  Careful about what? Jane thought angrily as the staff nurse walked away, and she saw Elliot beckoning to her from cubicle 2. She was only doing what any other half-decent person would have done in the circumstances. It didn’t mean she’d forgotten that taking care of Nicole was only a temporary arrangement. It didn’t.

  ‘Problems, Elliot?’ she asked, forcing a smile to her lips as she joined him.


  ‘Not a problem as such,’ he replied, his lips quirking. ‘What do you know about handcuffs?’

  ‘Handcuffs?’ she echoed. ‘Not a thing, apart from the fact that the chaps in blue will snap them on you if you get into trouble. Why?’

  ‘I’ve got one very embarrassed lady in 2. Apparently she and her boyfriend were making mad, passionate love—’

  ‘At eleven o’clock in the morning?’

  ‘Yeah, I know. Some people have all the luck, don’t they?’ He grinned. ‘Anyway, like I said, they were making love, but to add spice to the occasion she was all trussed up in handcuffs, and now she can’t get them off.’

  ‘Did she try rubbing butter over her hands and wrists?’

  ‘Is that the voice of experience talking, Sister Halden?’ he asked, his blue eyes dancing. ‘Because if it is—’

  ‘No, of course it’s not,’ she protested, blushing furiously to her annoyance. ‘I just wondered if perhaps something oily—’

  ‘She’s tried butter, Vaseline, hand cream and face cream, but nothing has worked. All that’s happened is she’s now got pretty deep abrasions to her wrists, abrasions I can’t treat until we get the cuffs off her.’

  ‘Looks like a job for the police department, then,’ she said, then frowned. ‘I wonder if one key fits every pair of handcuffs, or if each set has its own particular key?’

  ‘If they do we could be in for a very long morning,’ he said with a sigh. ‘OK. Could you phone the local police station for me?’

  ‘Will do.’

  ‘Oh, and, Jane,’ he called after her, laughter plain in his voice, ‘just remember the next time someone wants to make mad passionate love to you, tell them the handcuffs are out.’

  Yeah, right, she thought with a sigh. Considering she had nobody in her life right now to make any kind of love to her, she would have been more than happy to wear handcuffs if a bit of loving had been on offer.

  In fact, now she came to think about it, nobody had ever made mad, passionate love to her, with or without handcuffs. Frank’s idea of passion had been two minutes of foreplay, followed by a few hefty thrusts which had left her staring up at the ceiling wondering if this was all there was to it.

  She’d bet money that the women Elliot made love to didn’t think afterwards that they’d have had a lot more fun and considerably more satisfaction if they’d simply eaten an entire carton of ice cream. She’d bet…

  No, she wasn’t going to bet anything, she told herself firmly after she’d phoned the police station and endured their hoots of laughter and ribald comments. Thinking about sex and Elliot Mathieson at the same time was a bad idea. Thinking about sex with Elliot Mathieson was an even worse one, especially as he’d behaved like a perfect gentleman since she’d moved into his flat.

  Actually, it was even more demoralising than that, she thought as the doors of the treatment room opened and two paramedics appeared. She didn’t think Elliot even realised she was a woman. To him she was simply Jane. Helpful, sexless, good old Jane.

  ‘Gang fight, Sister!’ one of the paramedics called. ‘Twenty-three years old, no ID, multiple stab wounds to his face, arms and upper and lower torso!’

  And losing more and more blood by the second, Jane thought as she raced towards them, and Elliot did, too.

  ‘Boy, but somebody obviously meant business with this guy!’ Elliot exclaimed, grimacing as he stared down at the young man’s bloodstained face and body. ‘OK, we’ll need six units of O-negative for starters, an ECG reading and an IV to replace the blood he’s lost. Charlie—Where the hell’s Charlie?’

  ‘Here, boss,’ the SHO replied, arriving in time to help them to push the trolley into one of the cubicles.

  ‘Stick around until we find out what we’ve got, OK?’

  Charlie nodded, but it didn’t take them long to discover that what they had was a mess. The knife slashes on the young man’s arms and upper torso would heal, but two of the stab wounds had pierced his stomach, and if he managed to survive them he was still going to be left with a face his own mother wouldn’t recognise.

  ‘Do you want to retain the cervical collar?’ Charlie asked as Jane swiftly cut off the young man’s clothes, then attached him to the ECG machine to monitor his heart rhythm.

  Elliot shook his head. ‘I can’t see any sign of any spinal injury, but we need to tube him for sure and it will be easier with the collar off.’

  ‘BP 160 over 95, pulse 140,’ Jane declared. ‘Heart rate very erratic but no sign of any arrhythmia. Guiac test to check for blood in his stools and a urine analysis?’

  ‘Please,’ Elliot replied.

  ‘You should become a doctor, Jane,’ Charlie remarked admiringly as Elliot checked the young man’s airways to ensure there was nothing in his mouth then deftly inserted an endotracheal tube into his throat. ‘Talk about being on the ball. She’s terrific, isn’t she, Elliot?’

  She was, but that didn’t mean Elliot had to like Charlie Gordon saying it, or the way Jane’s cheeks became pink from the compliment. The SHO was getting too damn familiar, he decided. In fact, it seemed to him that every time he turned round lately Charlie was talking to Jane, making her laugh.

  He’d warned her about him already, but all he’d got back for his pains had been a flea in his ear. A very strident flea in his ear, he remembered ruefully, but that didn’t mean he was going to give up. Somebody had to make her see she was much too nice for her own good, too ready to always believe the best in people.

  And you’d better get a grip, he told himself as he placed his stethoscope on the young man’s chest to ensure the endotracheal tube was in the right place. Anyone would think you were getting interested in Jane yourself, the amount of time you seem to spend speculating on her private life.

  Of course he wasn’t getting interested, he thought with irritation. All he was trying to do was ensure that a nice girl like her didn’t end up being hurt. OK, he admitted that he liked her, admired her, respected her—And what about her breasts? his mind whispered. You noticed her breasts, remember.

  Yes, but only because I’m suffering from a massive attack of sexual deprivation right now, he argued back, trying very hard not to notice the breasts in question as Jane leant over to attach another IV line.

  ‘Blood in both urine and stools, Elliot,’ she announced. ‘Looks like both kidney and liver damage.’

  ‘This guy needs Theatre and fast,’ he replied. ‘Charlie, could you page them, let them know we’ve got an urgent one on the way if we can stabilise him?’

  ‘Sure thing,’ the SHO replied.

  ‘What do you want to do about his face?’ Jane asked as Charlie sped away. ‘Will we suture, or leave that to Plastics?’

  Elliot glanced critically down at the cut that ran the full length of the young man’s cheek from his eye down to his mouth. ‘It’s a job for Plastics, though not even they will be able to give him back the face he once had.’

  ‘I understand some gangs see scars as a badge of honour,’ Jane observed.

  ‘I wouldn’t be at all surprised,’ Elliot sighed. ‘How’s his BP doing?’

  ‘BP 120 over 80.’ It was still too high, but now that they were pumping in the O-negative blood at least it was coming down and the ECG monitor was showing no worrying irregularities. ‘Elliot—’

  She didn’t get the opportunity to say anything else. The curtains round the cubicle were suddenly thrown open, and to her horror a young man appeared, a knife in his hand, murder plain on his face.

  ‘I’m sorry, sir, but you really shouldn’t be in here,’ Elliot declared with a calmness that was amazing. ‘If you’d like to go through to Reception, fill in one of our forms—’

  ‘I ain’t here to fill in any bloody forms,’ the young man interrupted. ‘I’m here to finish what me and my mates started.’

  And he meant it, Jane thought. Without a shadow of a doubt, he meant it. Somehow she had to buy them some time. Time so that either she or Elliot could hit the panic button on the
wall behind them to summon the security guards.

  ‘I don’t think there’s any need for you to finish him off,’ she observed, noticing out of the corner of her eye that Elliot was edging slowly round the trolley towards her. ‘He’s dying as it is.’

  ‘Is that right?’ the young man sneered. ‘Well, maybe I should just hurry him along and save you a lot of hassle.’

  He took a step forward and Jane did, too. ‘I’d wear surgical gloves if you intend going anywhere near him,’ she said quickly. ‘He’s got Aids.’

  The young man whitened and stepped back. ‘Aids?’

  She nodded. Elliot was almost there. Almost close enough to reach the panic button. ‘Advanced Aids, according to our special registrar.’

  For a second the young man stared at her uncertainly, then his lip curled. ‘He ain’t got Aids. Me mates and I would have known about it weeks ago if he had.’

  ‘Not necessarily,’ she said desperately. ‘Do you think he’d want it known—would you, if it were you?’

  A mixture of conflicting emotions flashed across the man’s face, then he shook his head. ‘You’re lying to me, you bitch, trying to save that no-good, low-down—’

  He let out a strangled, high-pitched cry as a security guard suddenly came from nowhere and grabbed him round the neck, but he wasn’t finished yet. Furiously he lashed out with his fist, sending Jane spinning back against the cubicle wall, and with a cry of rage Elliot lunged forward and twisted the young man’s arm behind his back. The knife in his hand clattered to the floor, and when a second security guard arrived Elliot all but threw the young man into his arms.

  ‘Jane, Jane, are you all right?’ he exclaimed hoarsely, as the young man was dragged away.

  ‘Fine,’ she replied, already back in position by their patient. ‘His BP’s 110 over 80 now. I know it’s still a bit high, but could we risk sending him to Theatre with that?’

  ‘Jane—’

  ‘I don’t like his colour. I think if we wait too long we could be looking at renal failure here.’

  She was right, they could, and quickly he pulled himself together.