Baby Miracle for the ER Doc

by Kate Hardy

  And finally he felt the tears judder through her.

  He rested his chin on Florence’s shoulder and kept her wrapped in his arms until she’d managed to stop shaking. Then he settled her at the kitchen table and made her a mug of tea. ‘Talk,’ he said. ‘Was it Kelly?’

  She nodded. ‘Naz said we were right. It was a concealed abruption. Kelly was asleep when I called up.’

  ‘Rest—’ much as he hated it personally ‘—can do a lot.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  Why had this case got to her so much? Had something like this happened to her? He knew he’d be twitchy if they had someone in with a burst appendix or a transplant rejection; he’d be cool and calm in the department, but afterwards—when he was on his own and had had time for it to sink in—it would definitely get to him.

  ‘Forgive me for asking,’ he said softly. ‘I don’t mean to hurt you or bring back bad memories. But is that what happened to you? You had an abruption and lost a baby?’

  She swallowed hard and whispered, ‘I didn’t even get that far.’

  He remembered what else Kelly had said: she’d had IVF. ‘You had IVF that didn’t work?’ he guessed.

  Florence shook her head; when she looked up at him, her huge brown eyes were filled with pain.

  He didn’t understand. ‘What can I do to help?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  He couldn’t just sit here and watch her suffering.

  He scooped her out of the chair, sat her on his lap and held her close. He could feel her shaking with the effort of trying not to cry.

  ‘No judgement,’ he said softly, ‘and nothing you tell me will go anywhere. Just the same as you haven’t told anyone about me and my kidney.’

  ‘I told the head of the department I’d taken you to the renal team.’

  ‘That’s different. The head of the department already knew about my kidney, and it’s the kind of thing that managers need to know.’ He stroked her hair. ‘If you don’t want to talk, that’s fine. But sometimes getting the words out stops things hurting quite so much.’

  She was silent for so long that he thought she was going to close off on him.

  But then she sighed and rested her head on his shoulder. ‘Dan—my ex—we tried for a baby for three years. When we didn’t get anywhere, we saw our GP and went for tests. I was fine but Dan wasn’t. There was a problem with his sperm; he had a really low count and the motility was poor.’ She bit her lip. ‘Apparently he had mumps when he was about thirteen. Nobody paid any attention to it at the time, but clearly that affected his fertility.’

  ‘So IVF didn’t help?’

  ‘It might’ve done. But he absolutely refused to do ICSI, where they’d extract his sperm under a microscope and inject it into my egg, or IVF with donor sperm.’ She closed her eyes. ‘I desperately wanted a baby, Rob.’

  But her husband had been infertile; and he’d refused the medical treatment that could have helped. She’d said the divorce was because they’d wanted different things. Now he was beginning to understand.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, stroking her hair. ‘That’s tough.’

  ‘And that poor woman today... It could so easily have been me, if Dan had agreed to the IVF.’

  They were taught to maintain professional distance at work, but every so often a case resonated with you. Really hurt. Clearly this was one of those for Florence. ‘Just remember, you were there to help her. You got her admitted so she’s under close observation.’

  ‘There’s no guarantee the abruption won’t get worse and she could lose the baby.’

  ‘There’s no guarantee the abruption will get worse,’ he said gently, ‘and if it does she’s in the right place to get the help she needs immediately, and that’ll make all the difference. You did your bit, Florence, and you helped.’

  ‘It doesn’t feel enough,’ she whispered.

  Her misery felt bone-deep and he ached to comfort her. ‘It’s enough. You’re enough.’

  ‘It doesn’t feel it,’ she repeated.

  Had this affected her so personally that it made her doubt her own medical judgement?

  Before he could find a way of asking her and reassuring her, she said, ‘It’s not just that he refused IVF or adoption. He said they wouldn’t be his kids biologically.’

  ‘It takes more than biology to be a parent,’ he said, furious that the guy could’ve been so selfish and hurt her so much. ‘And I’m sorry he let you down.’

  She looked away. ‘It turned out that he did want kids, after all. Just not with me. He—he had an affair. And he didn’t have a problem with his mistress already having kids who weren’t biologically his. He just didn’t want kids with me.’

  Rob bit back the harsh words that rose to his lips. She didn’t need his anger. She needed comfort.

  ‘Because there’s obviously something wrong with me,’ she finished.

  ‘There’s absolutely nothing wrong with you, Florence Jacobs. You’re bright, and you’re kind, and you’d make a brilliant mother. Any man would be proud to love you.’ That included him. Though he’d never talked to her about love, and now absolutely wasn’t the time. How could he tell her that he was more than halfway to falling in love with her, and he didn’t have a clue what to do about it because he’d never felt like this about anyone before? ‘He didn’t value you the way he should’ve valued you, and that’s his fault, not yours. Never yours.’

  ‘Thank you.’ But she still didn’t look as if she believed him. He didn’t know what to do, what to say. He just held her close.

  And he meant to give her a reassuring kiss on the cheek; but somehow their mouths connected.

  Somehow his eyes were closed.

  Somehow he was really kissing her, as if they were both drowning and needed each other for air...

  And then she broke the kiss and slid off his lap. ‘My head’s not in the right place for this.’

  He’d stepped so far beyond the boundaries, it was untrue. ‘I’m sorry, Florence. That wasn’t... I shouldn’t have done that. I was trying to... I don’t know, show you how much I want you. That you’re enough for me. I got it wrong, and I apologise.’

  ‘It’s not you. It’s me.’ But she wouldn’t meet his gaze.

  ‘It’s not you,’ he said. He paused, feeling awkward. ‘Look, I understand if you want me to go. I’ll get my stuff together and call a taxi.’

  ‘No—it’s fine.’

  But it wasn’t. It wasn’t fine at all. ‘I...um—look, let me cook you that pasta.’

  ‘I’m not hungry,’ she said. ‘I just need an early night.’

  ‘I’m so sorry.’ It was very English, he thought: apologising, apologising for apologising, and both of you going round in circles while you stuck up a protective wall. And he didn’t know how to deal with this. How to make it better.

  ‘Not your fault.’

  ‘Can I—? Do you want a drink of anything?’

  ‘You already made me tea.’

  Which she hadn’t drunk and there was a skin forming on the top.

  Anything he said now would just make things worse. ‘If you need anything...’ Oh, and how did that sound? Of course she didn’t need him. Mr ‘I can’t commit, and I blame it on my itchy feet when it’s really just my own failings’.

  She just gave him a wan smile. ‘Nobody in the department knows—about...’

  The words were clearly sticking in her throat. ‘They won’t hear anything from me. It’s nobody else’s business,’ he reassured her. He rather wanted to pay her ex a visit, dangle him off a narrow ledge and make him admit what a worm he was. But that wouldn’t solve anything. ‘See you tomorrow,’ he said.

  But he sat up late, thinking.

  Now he knew the truth about her marriage break-up, it proved that, even though he was falling for her, he wasn’t the right one for
her. She wanted children, and he’d never been in a relationship to the point of wanting to settle down and have children. Florence Jacobs wasn’t like anyone he’d dated before; but he wasn’t dating her. She was his temporary colleague. Until tonight, he would’ve said they were becoming friends. But he’d made things awkward between them, responded in completely the wrong way.

  He was only staying with her until he recovered. And he should’ve left a couple of days ago, when he’d started feeling better. He shouldn’t have given in to the temptation to stay. Shouldn’t have responded to her warmth. Shouldn’t have kissed her again.

  Was she asleep? Probably not. But he could hardly knock on her bedroom door and ask to talk to her. Quietly, he packed his things. Tomorrow, he’d get a taxi to the hospital, pick up his car, and go...well, not home. Back to his flat.

  And he’d have to be bright and breezy with her in future. Treat her as nothing more than a colleague, not even a friend. It wasn’t want he wanted—he wanted her—but he couldn’t give her what she needed. She deserved a chance to find someone who’d love her, someone who’d give her the family she dreamed of.

  And how he wished it could’ve been him. That he was different. But if he stayed, he’d let her down, and she’d already been let down enough.

  * * *

  The next morning, she’d clearly decided on the same tactics, because she was bright and breezy with him. ‘Toast?’

  ‘Thanks, but I’m fine,’ he said. ‘And I wanted to say thank you for looking after me so well, this week.’

  ‘You’re very welcome. You look a lot better,’ she said.

  ‘I feel a lot better,’ he said. ‘So it’s time I got out from under your feet and went back to my own flat. I’ve stripped the bed and put everything in the laundry basket. I’ve got a taxi booked for—’ he glanced at his watch ‘—any minute now, so it makes sense for me to wait outside. I’ll see you at work on Monday.’

  ‘OK.’ She gave him a super-bright smile that didn’t fool him in the slightest. He knew she felt just as awkward as he did. But she’d been the one to call a halt, and he wasn’t going to push.

  Back at his flat, he contacted the local florist and arranged for a hand-tied bouquet to be delivered, with a message.

  Thank you for looking after me. You were a good friend and I appreciate it. Rob

  And then, with nothing better to do, he cleaned his flat. Twice.

  * * *

  The flowers were spectacular. Large roses, spray roses and stocks, all in delicate shades of pink, set off with pretty foliage.

  Florence knew who they were from before she opened the card.

  Pink. He’d chosen that deliberately. Like the flowers she’d taught him to stitch.

  But the message made her heart sink.

  Thank you for looking after me. You were a good friend and I appreciate it. Rob

  It was perfectly polite—and very distant.

  Which was her own fault. She’d been the one to call a halt when he’d kissed her, last night. He’d been comforting her when she was upset. That sweet, gentle kiss on the cheek had been comfort. And she’d kissed him back on the mouth. Instigated it. Stopped it. Given mixed messages.

  Of course he’d backed off.

  How could he possibly have stayed here after that?

  Never had flowers made her feel so miserable.

  And her flat felt so empty, without Rob. For the last week, she’d been sharing her space and she’d enjoyed not coming home to an empty flat. To sharing the cooking—well, in his case he’d organised a takeaway, made a very quick stir-fry and taken her out for pizza. But sharing her space. Sharing her time. Getting to know what made him tick. The sewing lessons. She’d loved every minute of it.

  Now he’d gone, it felt as if all the colours had dimmed.

  She blew out a breath. The flowers were lovely. And she needed to thank him.

  Quickly, she tapped a message into her phone.

  Thank you for the flowers. They’re stunning.

  Had they been just a polite thank-you? Or was he using them to try and connect with her again? Should she say something about the sewing, maybe even tease him a little? Would that get their connection back, or would it make him back away even more?

  Or perhaps she was overthinking it. In the end, she finished with a safe:

  See you Monday.

  He didn’t reply.

  Which told her the flowers had simply been polite. If he’d wanted to take their relationship further, then he would’ve used the excuse to keep the conversation going. Weeks ago, Lexy had advised her to ask him out. To tell him her dating skills were rusty and suggest maybe going for a drink after work.

  But she’d pushed him away. And she’d told him the whole story about Dan, about how she’d so desperately wanted a family. Rob had made it clear that he was only here for a few more weeks. He was leaving. And, even though Florence thought she might be halfway in love with him, she knew that wouldn’t be enough to make him want to stay. She hadn’t been enough for Dan and she wouldn’t be enough for Rob. So she’d stick to being colleagues and having professional boundaries.

  But her flat still felt empty. And she couldn’t even go and spend time with her sister, because Lexy would ask her about Transition Man and she’d have to explain what a mess she’d made of things.

  * * *

  Nothing felt right. Nothing distracted him. He couldn’t even lose himself in research.

  And that text Florence had sent him was so polite it set Rob’s teeth on edge. ‘See you Monday’ clearly meant ‘Please don’t contact me over the weekend’.

  If only he could go climbing.

  A walk on the beach didn’t help much, because he remembered she’d said she liked the sea when she was out of sorts. He liked water, too, but this time it didn’t help.

  Nothing helped.

  And he didn’t have a clue how to make things right with her.

  If only he’d kept his mouth to himself. If only he hadn’t given in to the impulse to kiss her. That was where it had all gone wrong. He should’ve just comforted her, moved out over the weekend so he was ready to go back to work, and then asked her out.

  But no.

  He’d kissed her.

  And she’d told him straight that she wasn’t interested.

  He managed to get himself in full charm mode for lunch with his parents, Oliver and Gemma on the Sunday. His twin insisted that they keep the tradition of the two of them doing the washing-up, though Rob knew it was an excuse for Oliver to grill him.

  ‘So did you talk to Florence?’

  He couldn’t admit, even to his twin, how badly he’d messed up. ‘No.’

  ‘That advice you gave me was sound,’ Oliver said.

  ‘Yeah.’ No, it wasn’t. ‘I’ll talk to her.’

  And if Oliver knew it was a big, fat fib, at least he also knew not to press it.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  IF THE WEATHER was meant to reflect your mood, Monday morning should’ve been filled with endless rain and fog. But of course it was sunny, with the sun sparkling on the frost. Rob scowled, and stamped through the corridors. Somehow he had to regain his equilibrium before he saw Florence again. Treat her as if she was just another colleague, when she was actually the first woman he’d ever wanted to settle down with.

  By the time he reached the double doors to the department, he’d managed to put a professional smile on his face.

  The bit he was longing for and dreading in equal measure was seeing Florence. How would she be with him? He’d take his cue from her, he decided. His conversation with Ollie had clarified things in his head: he wanted her to see him as someone safe. Someone who wouldn’t let her down. And he needed to find a way of doing that—once he was sure that was what she wanted, too.

  The roster showed that they were in Resus together.
Which meant they’d have to work closely, but at least they’d be busy and completely focused on their patients. At least that was one area where they were in tune.

  The red phone shrilled, and Florence’s face was grim when she put it down again. ‘Builder, forty, fallen ten feet off a ladder. The paramedics say his GCS was ten at the scene, dropped to eight, and he’s had a seizure and isn’t communicating. His partner’s on his way in.’

  With any fall from that height, Rob knew, there was a worry about head injuries; and the seizure hinted that there might be a possible bleed in his brain, which would need surgical intervention.

  They set up, ready to receive the patient. Once the paramedics had brought him in, between them they lifted the patient off the trolley and onto the bed, leaving his neck brace in place. There was blood trickling from his nose and his left ear; Rob caught Florence’s eye, seeing the slight worry in her face. Like him, she recognised it as a sign of potential problems.

  She shone a light in his eyes. ‘Pupils equal and reactive,’ she said.

  That was better news, Rob thought.

  He could hear the man whispering. ‘What’s happened? Where am I?’

  ‘You’re at the hospital,’ he said. ‘You fell off a ladder and we think you hit your head. I’m Dr Langley, and this is Dr Jacobs. We’ll be looking after you.’ He paused. ‘Can you remember your name?’

  ‘Tim,’ their patient said. ‘My head hurts.’

  Conscious, talking and lucid. That was a really good sign, even though the pain in his head might not be.

  ‘Tim, we’re going to send you for a scan and see what’s going on,’ Florence said, holding his hand. ‘Your partner’s on the way in.’

  A tear trickled down Tim’s face. ‘Can’t move my head.’

  ‘You’ve got a neck brace on to protect your spine,’ Rob said. ‘Once we’ve done the scan, we’ll know if we can take it off.’