‘That’s called a head box,’ Luke said calmly. ‘It’s to give your son a higher concentration of oxygen and we’re just taking some blood gases. I’m Dr Williams. I was just about to talk to your wife, if you’d like to come down to the—’
‘I’m staying here!’ Mr Edwards barked. ‘You can tell me what’s going on here.’
‘No, I can’t,’ Luke answered easily. ‘Declan needs rest and to be kept quiet and I don’t want any tension around him.’
‘I’m fine! I just want to know what’s going on.’
‘Well, come down to the parents’ room and I’ll tell you, along with your wife.’ And without further word he turned and walked out, politely, calmly, but making it absolutely clear he wasn’t going to change his mind. And after a very short time, Mr Edwards followed.
‘Wow!’ Anne Marie gawked in admiration. ‘I’m going to like working with Luke Williams. Off you go!’
‘Press the bell if you need me.’
‘Sure.’
Lucy Edwards was very different in nature from her husband—a calm woman, she actually seemed relieved when Luke explained that their son was going to be transferred to the intensive care unit.
‘But he was fine when I left.’ Mr Edwards looked appalled. ‘I want to know what the hell happened.’
‘He just suddenly got worse, Mike.’
‘Why?’ Mike said accusingly. ‘You’re supposed to get better in hospital.’
‘And he will,’ Luke said firmly. ‘But bronchiolitis, especially in such a small baby, often gets worse before it gets better—and your son needs more monitoring and support than we can adequately give him down here on the ward. He needs one-on-one nursing, and if he does deteriorate further I’d far rather he was already in Intensive Care, with doctors and an anaesthetist to hand, than have us putting out an emergency call at two in the morning.’
‘But he’ll be OK…?’
‘With the right treatment and the right care,’ Luke said calmly, ‘which is what he’ll get in Intensive Care, where he should do well.’
‘He will be OK?’ It was Lucy asking now, tears and fear starting to catch up with her, and though no one could guarantee anything, Luke’s quiet assurance was what was needed. ‘He just seems so tiny…’
‘He’s struggling right now,’ Luke agreed, ‘and the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours are going to be difficult, but I fully expect him back on the ward with us in a couple of days. The best thing we can do now is get him moved up there, get him settled.’
He made it all so straightforward—he always had, Molly realised as within half an hour she had resumed the drug round as a little entourage trooped to ICU with their precious cargo. Utterly confident in his own decisions, and utterly willing to admit when he couldn’t work miracles, he’d never been one to waste time calling in help or transferring a sick child.
But that was Luke, Molly thought with a mental sigh as she added some antibiotics to Bernadette’s flask and upped the rate—decisive, straight to the point.
And when he decided he didn’t want you any more, he wasted no time in getting to the point, no time beating around the bush—just scheduled a transfer and breezed out of your life.
‘How are you feeling?’ Molly smiled down at the girl, noticing her red eyes and pinched face. ‘Not too good, huh?’
‘I’m just…’ Bernadette gave a frustrated shrug ‘…fed up.’
‘I don’t blame you.’
‘Stupid leg….’ Bernadette sniffed. ‘It’s never going to get better.’
‘It will,’ Molly said. ‘It’s just taking a long time.’
‘What’s idio—idiom—?’
‘Idiopathic?’ Molly said, and Bernadette nodded.
‘I heard the doctor saying it to my mum. What does it mean? Have I got cancer?’
‘No, you don’t,’ Molly said firmly, wishing that grownups would think about little ears before they bandied big words about. ‘It’s nothing to be scared of. Idiopathic means “no known cause”. Osteomyelitis can be caused by injury or trauma, or by an infection that spreads—only in your case they haven’t been able to pinpoint any reason or find out why it happened.’
‘And that’s all that it means?’ Bernadette checked.
‘That’s it.’ Molly nodded.
‘Well, I hate idiopathic…’ Bernadette kicked her good leg in frustration and Molly knew exactly what she meant.
Knew because she hated the word too.
Hated it that there was no reason the doctors could find that she couldn’t have babies—hated it that there was nothing wrong, which meant there was nothing that could be fixed.
‘Is there anything else worrying you, Bernadette?’
‘No.’ Bernadette took a breath and for a second Molly thought she was about to tell her whatever else it was that was troubling her, but Bernadette changed her mind and shook her head. ‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘It does to me.’
‘You wouldn’t understand.’ Bernadette turned her face away, crossed her arms over her chest and promptly set off the IV alarm. ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’
‘You’re getting all tangled,’ Molly said, straightening out the tubes and resetting the IVAC. ‘We’ve got a new patient coming in—a six-year-old with a head injury. I’ve put her next to you.’ Normally Bernadette would have a million and one questions—what had happened, what was her name, did Molly need her to look out for the new patient, to press the bell? Only not tonight. Tonight Bernadette just shrugged one tight shoulder and carried on staring at the wall.
‘Even if I might not understand,’ Molly said to the back of Bernadette’s head, ‘if you decide that you do want to talk about it, press the bell.’
‘Talking’s not going to help.’ Bernadette sniffed. ‘It doesn’t change things.’
‘I don’t agree. Sometimes talking to your friends can change things.’
‘You’re just a nurse, though.’
‘I’m your friend while you’re here,’ Molly offered. ‘If you want me to be. Mind you, I should warn you that I’m not very good at sharing, and I’m not really in with the in crowd…’ Pleased to see a near smile on Bernadette’s pale lips, Molly chose not to push it. ‘Up to you.’
‘So you used to work here?’ Anne Marie had made coffee, opened a packet of chocolate biscuits and was interrogating Luke by the time Molly finished her round and sat down. ‘How long ago?’
‘Five years.’ Luke didn’t look up from the notes he was writing, but he did take a biscuit or three. ‘Then I moved to Sydney.’
‘Why?’
‘My wife’s family lives there.’
‘Oh!’ Deflated, Anne Marie looked as if she was about to snatch back the biscuit he was holding as Molly gave frantic eye signals to tell her to stop. ‘So you’re married?’
‘Widowed.’
‘Oh!’ It was a very different ‘oh’ this time as she pushed the whole biscuit packet in his direction. ‘Do you have children?’
‘Twins!’ Luke said abruptly. ‘Angus and Amelia—they’re four.’
‘How?’ Anne Marie asked, as only Anne Marie could. ‘What happened?’
‘She was run over.’ His lips were tight, his face grim as he wrote, but Molly knew that if he hadn’t wanted to answer then he wouldn’t have, knew that he was probably grateful in some way for Anne Marie’s rather oddball directness, that he probably just wanted to get it over with. ‘It happened six months ago. She was a doctor here too.’ He looked up from the notes and to Anne Marie, ‘You might remember her. Amanda Metcalfe.’
‘Anne Marie’s only been here a couple of years,’ Molly said quickly.
‘I arrived just in time for all this madam’s dramas!’
‘Dramas?’ Grateful for the change of subject, Luke actually smiled. ‘Oh, your divorce.’
‘It’s nothing to grin about!’ Molly scolded, but she was smiling too.
‘What a sad lot we are…’ Anne Marie dunked her biscuit in her coffee.
‘You too, then?’ Luke asked, because—well, Anne Marie was waiting for him to! ‘What’s your tale of woe?’
‘I haven’t got one.’ Anne Marie pouted, standing up as a patient bell went. ‘Dead boring, me!’
‘I don’t think so somehow.’ Luke grinned as she wandered off. ‘Is she always that direct?’
‘Always.’
‘Well, at least it saves me from telling everyone. I’m sure Anne Marie will take care of that for me.’
‘She won’t—believe it or not, she’s actually really discreet. She is,’ Molly insisted as he gave a rather disbelieving frown. ‘So, how does it feel to be back?’
‘Weird!’ Luke said. ‘Familiar but different. Hard to explain, I guess.’
He’d done a very good job. It was so, so familiar, sitting at the nurses’station, gossiping, smiling. It unsettled Molly how easily they’d slipped back into ways of old, chatting easily, sort of friends again, yet it was so, so different.
Sipping her coffee, every now and then she looked over to where he was working, his blond hair falling forward as he wrote his notes.
Five years ago she’d loved him.
Absolutely, with all her heart loved him.
Had longed to get to work in the morning just to see him.
Had held her breath when she’d heard he’d broken up with the gorgeous Amanda.
Had almost fainted when he’d asked her out.
Had then longed to finish work just to be alone with him.
‘Hey, I was just thinking…’ He looked up, with green eyes that had once adored her, and Molly burnt the roof of her mouth taking too big a gulp of her coffee. ‘Do you want to get breakfast after work in the canteen? We’ve got a bit of catching up to do.’
There was no right answer, Molly realised as she replaced her mug on the bench. If she said no, then he’d know how much he’d hurt her, might guess that as of three hours ago she’d realised that she wasn’t actually over him. But if she said yes—well, sitting across the table from him, just the two of them, he was probably going to work it out anyway!
‘I can’t,’ Molly settled for instead, grateful that she actually had an excuse. ‘I’m meeting Richard for breakfast tomorrow.’
‘Richard?’
‘My ex,’ Molly explained.
‘That’s very civil.’
‘We are,’ Molly said, squealing inwardly in delight at how well she’d handled that one. OK, she wasn’t thin and in her cocktail dress, but somehow, for the first time in her entire life, she’d managed to play it cool!
‘Another time, then,’ Luke said.
‘Sure.’ Brimming with new-found confidence, she even managed a smile as she casually stood up and slowly walked off, only letting out her breath and breaking into a burning blush when she finally made it the restroom.
Contained—the elusive word she’d been looking for to describe Luke popped into her head.
He looked more contained than the laughing, carefree doctor she’d fallen head over heels in love with.
Tireder, sadder, older…a little more contained. And why wouldn’t he be, given all that had happened? Molly thought, staring into the mirror at her own reflection. With a jolt she recognised that the sparkle that had been absent for so long was back in her eyes, her heart was fluttering that little dance that it hadn’t for the longest time, and she had a slight smile on her full mouth and that lovely, euphoric feeling that came when you either drank champagne or…
Oh, no!
She really didn’t have time for this.
Didn’t have time to be flirting and blushing and wondering where, how, or if it was going anywhere. And she really, really wasn’t ready for this.
CHAPTER TWO
‘OFF for your breakfast?’ He was walking along the corridor beside her.
‘I’ve got to drop the car at the mechanic first for its service. Yes, then breakfast. What about you?’
‘Race home, get the twins dressed and then take them to kindergarten, then bed.’
‘So what are they like?’ Molly asked because she was interested. ‘The twins.’
‘Different as chalk and cheese.’ Luke grinned. ‘Angus is practical, serious. Oh, he has fun and everything, but he’s just straight down the line…’
‘And Amelia?’
‘Dramatic!’ Luke rolled his eyes. ‘A right little minx, actually. She’s got me completely wrapped around her little finger—and she knows it.’
‘Sounds like fun.’
‘Not lately.’
And they stopped.
Stopped in a corridor, and for the first time really looked at each other.
‘I’m sorry.’
‘We’re not saying that—remember?’
‘Even so.’ She couldn’t look at him now and scuffed the floor with one of her feet. ‘I know it’s hard sometimes, hard pretending that you’re OK…’
‘It is,’ Luke agreed.
‘Telling everyone that you’re OK,’ Molly ventured.
‘Just because they want to hear it,’ Luke finished.
And even if they weren’t, as they started walking Molly felt as if they were holding hands.
Holding hands through turbulent times.
Not that she’d been alone.
Friends had rallied round and family had gathered when Richard had walked out, walking out on them. On her.
There had been life rafts aplenty as she’d drifted for a while.
And, yes, they’d steered her to a place that was calmer—a place that was safe, where she’d hidden for a while—only now came the hard bit.
And only the lost could understand.
Trying to survive on an island that was empty.
Trying to keep warm with a fire that kept going out.
And trying to fathom if you could ever risk the journey again.
‘I miss the casseroles.’ Luke nudged her into a smile as they walked on. ‘The mums at kinder set up this roster.’
‘I miss the cakes.’ Molly smiled. ‘And the take-aways. I don’t think I cooked for a month!’
‘So do you two do that often, then?’ They were stepping out into the ambulance bay, blinking as if they’d just come out of the movies at the bright morning sun—both talking fast, both on that slightly euphoric high that came at the end of a night shift when you should be tired, but you’re not. ‘Richard and you, do you meet up often?’
‘No…’ Molly thought about it for a moment. ‘Just when we’ve got something to discuss, but that’s getting less and less often now.’
‘It’s good that you can still be friends.’
‘Oh, I wouldn’t call it that.’ Molly grimaced. ‘To tell you the truth, I’m not looking forward to it all.’
‘Text him, then,’ Luke half joked and half dared. ‘Give him some lame excuse and come and have breakfast with me instead.’
‘Why would I even bother to text him?’ Molly joked back, but she was walking to her car. ‘Surely if there’s one person you can stand up without guilt or lame excuses, it’s your ex.’
‘Well?’
They were at her car and she was surprisingly tempted to do just that. Funny…a night of gentle flirting with Luke and she’d forgotten to be nervous about meeting Richard, but she was wanting to get there now, wondering what it was that he wanted to discuss and sort of knowing what it was too.
Torn between convincing herself she was just being paranoid and bracing herself to face up to the truth.
‘I’d better go.’ There was more than a hint of regret in her voice. Luke this morning was an infinitely preferable option to hearing whatever it was Richard wanted to discuss. Luke’s green eyes were tired but smiling, and he needed a good shave, and he looked like he’d looked in the mornings. Apart from the clothes and the packed car park, she could almost imagine his face on the pillow beside her.
‘Ooh, is that the time?’ Molly pretended to look at her watch. ‘I’d better get a move on.’
‘You know, it’s
actually nice, being back.’ Luke smiled down at her. ‘And it’s been really nice to see you. I wasn’t sure how you’d be, after what happened and everything.’
‘It was a long time ago,’ Molly pointed out, ‘and given all that’s happened to you, well…’
‘I don’t need your sympathy, Molly.’ He said tightly. ‘It’s just good that we seem friends again—which we were. I mean, we were good friends…before.’
Before.
One little word that didn’t quite match the passion and the pain it stood for—but it was far safer and far easier to relegate it to that. Far easier to just call it before than to actually discuss it.
‘It’s good to have you back,’ Molly agreed. ‘And you’re right—it’s good that we’re friends.’
‘Thanks for coming.’
‘No problem!’ Molly lied, slipping into the chair opposite Richard. ‘It’s good to see you.’
There were a million and one self-help books and Molly had surely read them all, but not one of them could actually do it for you.
Not one of them could actually tell you how to walk into a café and face your ex, whether you should kiss him on the cheek, or not, shake hands, or…just do as Molly did and pick up the menu and pretend to read it.
Not one of them could actually be there for you when, despite appearances, despite the bright smile, despite the brave face, Molly knew this was going to be another of the blackest days of her life.
‘There was something you wanted to tell me?’ Ordering her latte, Molly scanned the menu, trying to decide whether to get honey on muffins, or the cinnamon toast, perhaps, which was always nice.
‘It’s a bit awkward.’ Richard took a deep breath as Molly read on.
‘I might get the scrambled eggs. Ooh, or maybe mushrooms on toast.’
‘You see, I didn’t want you to hear from anyone else. I thought it was right that I be the one to tell you—’
‘I might just go the whole hog and get—the full breakfast, please.’ She beamed at the waitress. She’d sworn she’d be cool for this moment, had prayed, had pleaded to any god that might be listening that she’d somehow manage a smile and congratulations when she heard that Jessica was pregnant, but she couldn’t do it, couldn’t sit there and smile, so instead she cried, just promptly burst into loud tears as Richard peeled off napkins and handed them to her. It made her feel worse, not better, that he was blowing his nose too, that his eyes were glassy and he was taking her hands and holding them.
A Doctor, a Nurse Page 2
