Their baby.
As soon as she stepped inside the resuscitation area, as soon as she saw Daniel’s stricken face, Louise knew for sure that he knew.
The truth had been there for him to see, but Daniel hadn’t wanted to. The same long dark eyelashes, the same high cheekbones and the same long limbs, just so much smaller. He was his father’s son. And only now could Daniel see it.
‘Declan!’ Louise’s voice was a strangled sob as she saw her little boy.
How could it be him?
How could the beautiful, vibrant babe she had nursed just a few hours ago be lying there so lifeless and pale?
‘What happened?’
A voice she didn’t recognise began speaking. ‘Apparently he was a bit irritable this morning in the crèche. Oh, I’m Karl Baker, by the way, the emergency consultant.’ The man didn’t attempt to shake her hand, just introduced himself as Louise stood there, trying to take it all in. ‘He started to cry and a staff member was consoling him when he vomited—he vomited bile and in an infant that can be very serious. He collapsed and they raced him up to us. He picked up for a short while, but there’s been a further episode…’ Thankfully the consultant was explaining things slowly, talking to her not as a nurse but as a mum, gently walking her through the probable diagnosis. ‘We think that Declan has intussusception.’
‘No!’ Louise shook her head, because if that’s what was wrong then he was very sick indeed. If what they were saying was true, then her baby, her precious, tiny baby, was really sick, his bowel having telescoped in on itself and necrosing, cutting off vital circulation, rapidly causing his body to go into shock. And if Karl Baker was right, her perfect, beautiful baby was about to be taken to Theatre and cut open.
‘He can’t have that—not that! It’s just a bug he’s picked up. There’s loads around…’
‘He’s got redcurrant-jelly stool,’ Karl explained gently. And the diagnosis started to ram home, long-buried paediatric textbooks springing to mind, the redcurrant-jelly stool found on a PR examination practically enough to confirm the diagnosis, the blood and mucus telling the staff the damage that was being wreaked inside Declan’s body as his bowel twisted in on itself. ‘We’re resuscitating him with fluids and oxygen at the moment, but we’re going to have to get him up to Theatre very soon. Mr Ashwood is the surgeon on call—’
‘No!’ Daniel’s voice was hoarse but firm. ‘Mr Masterton is the best paediatric surgeon.’
‘He’s not on take today,’ Karl corrected in dismissive businesslike tones, rightfully turning his attention back to Louise. But something in Daniel’s voice must have alerted him. As an emergency consultant he was clearly used to the twists that developed in the lives he cared for, and in a delayed reaction he paused and turned again, professional courtesy, compassion and patience all offered in the brief words he uttered next.
‘Danny? Would you prefer it if I paged Mr Masterton’s team?’
‘Not his team.’ Daniel’s eyes never moved from Declan, but his hands raked through his black hair and despite her own pain, so visible was his that somehow it reached her. ‘John Masterton is to operate.’
Nursing was all Louise had ever done, all she professionally knew. She gave her best every day to the patients in her care, but only that day did she truly learn the true responsibility of her job, the utter trust that had to be placed in others sometimes, handing over the most precious piece of you to a face you didn’t know and yet believing them when they said they’d take care of him as if he were their own.
That he was in the best hands.
‘He’s too little.’ Her hand was trembling over the consent form, gagging at what she was being asked to agree to, that if it was deemed necessary a colostomy might be performed and any further measures the surgeons found necessary. ‘He was fine this morning.’
‘He needs this operation,’ the registrar explained again as again she stalled at the final hurdle. ‘Mr Masterton’s scrubbing now…’
‘Sign it, Louise.’ Daniel’s voice was sharp, and she turned to him, startled by the anger in his eyes. He stared defiantly back at her and, clearly not caring who the hell knew, he pulled a pen out of his pocket and clicked it on. ‘Either you sign it or I will.’
‘Only the next of kin can sign, Danny,’ the registrar flustered, clearly confused, but shutting up when Daniel’s grim voice overrode him.
‘I’m well aware of that, thanks. Sign it, Louise, or if you don’t want the responsibility, then hand it over here and I will.’
CHAPTER NINE
‘YOU should have told me!’
Over and over he kept saying it, like some sort of mantra, pacing in the waiting area like a restless animal as Louise sat there shivering, watching her knees bob up and down. Maggie was sitting next to her, the perfect psychiatric nurse, not intervening, not remotely fazed by the raw, unbridled emotion, just quietly observing and occasionally reeling it in. As the minutes ticked by into hours, as Declan’s operating time ominously increased, the tension that had simmered started to bubble to the boil. For the first couple of hours they had sat in relative silence, recriminations put on hold, all mental energy focussed on pulling their son through, catching each other’s eyes now and then, then tearing them away.
Shona had gone back to the ward, replaced now by Maggie, and never had Louise been so pleased to see her, infinitely grateful for the support she offered. She brought endless cups of coffee, peeled tissue after tissue out of the box and handed them to Louise. Letting her rant, letting her cry and sometimes letting her sit in silence. Louise’s swollen, bloodshot eyes stared from the clock to the door, willing someone to appear, someone to come and give her an update, to tell her that this nightmare was over, that her baby was going to be OK. But as they moved into the third hour, Daniel’s patience had long since snapped. The emotions he had struggled so hard to keep in check kept bubbling to the fore and all Louise could do was dodge the bullets he aimed at her, guilt impinging on guilt as she realised the utter depth of his despair, understood, perhaps for the first time, just what she had denied him.
‘I told you Declan was your son last night!’ She didn’t even look up. ‘And you walked out—remember?’
‘Last night!’ He gave a black laugh, utterly devoid of humour. ‘He’s nearly four months old, for heaven’s sake. This is like some warped before and after shot—and you’ve made me miss out on the bit in the middle! The Louise I knew, or the Louise I thought I knew, would have told me…’ He looked up at her, a fresh wave of anger mixing with the devastation she could see in his eyes. ‘For heaven’s sake, Louise, because of you I could have operated on my own son!’
‘No.’ Louise shook her head. ‘Daniel, I wouldn’t have let you operate on him. I’d have spoken up. And I didn’t tell you before because you dumped me, Daniel; you dumped me before I even knew that I was pregnant. If we couldn’t make it when it was just us, how the hell were we supposed to make it with a baby?’
‘I’d have supported him. I’d have—’
‘You’d have done your duty and hated us both for it!’ The venom in her voice shocked even her, and as Maggie pulled her back she slumped. She couldn’t deal with this, couldn’t take his accusations now, couldn’t fight back when her baby was lying on some sterile operating table. But the gloves were off now, the bell ringing again as Daniel, utterly enraged, literally beside himself with grief, summoned her to the ring for another round. ‘You wanted what I couldn’t give.’
‘Yes, I wanted you—and you always held back!’
‘Guys!’ One word from Maggie and they were back on their stools, catching their breath, but still the fight continued, the mental sparring going on and on.
‘You wanted children,’ Daniel attempted, but she wasn’t having it.
‘And you didn’t.’ Louise stared back at him, held his eyes for the first time since the previous night. ‘You said a baby was the last thing you wanted.’
‘Because I thought a baby was the last thing
I could have.’ Burying his face in his hands, he dragged in air. ‘I can’t have children, Louise.’ Oh, God, there was such a good retort there, and if Maggie hadn’t placed her hand on Louise’s arm she’d have delivered it, would have sneered it right across the room, but instead somehow she contained it long enough for him to elaborate. ‘I thought I couldn’t have children.’ He dragged his fingers through his hair again and gave an almost angry shake of his head. ‘It wasn’t till today, when you spoke to Harry Bennett, that I realised I’d just assumed.’
‘You had a vasectomy?’ Her voice was incredulous, the day getting worse and worse with each passing moment. Men had vasectomies when their families were complete. Was he really telling her there was an ex-Mrs Ashwood, a family with children that he hadn’t even told her about, that he’d left in England to pursue whatever it was he was chasing here? But his answer, when it came, hurt her more than her wild imagination ever could—the simple truth and simple honesty tearing through her, lacerating her with regret and shards of understanding.
‘I had cancer.’
Oh, God, oh, God.
Thankfully Maggie’s hand was still on her arm as his deep voice filled the tiny room. Her touch still offered quiet strength and support as Louise heard the man she loved tell her his painful truth, but because of her lie by omission, because of the mess they’d somehow found themselves in, there was nothing, nothing she could do to comfort him as he revealed just a little of his pain. ‘When I was studying I had…’ There was a long pause before he continued. ‘I had a lot of chemotherapy and was told at the start that it would affect my fertility…’ His voice trailed off and Louise waited for him to elaborate, to reveal just a bit more. But because it was Daniel, Louise realised it was all she was going to get—the blackest moment of his life, apart from this one, reduced to a couple of stilted sentences.
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘It was years ago,’ came his flat response. ‘It didn’t seem relevant.’
‘Not relevant?’ Louise shook her head in disbelief. ‘What on earth does that mean? We were together, Daniel. How on earth could you just skip over such a huge piece of you? Even now you’re not telling me anything. What type of cancer did you have?’
‘What on earth does that have to do with anything?’
And all she could do was stare, stare at a man who was prepared to give so little, her lips white when finally she spoke.
‘Everything and nothing, Daniel. Everything, because you kept back maybe the biggest piece of you from me, and nothing, because I finally realise that you’re never going to open up. You knew me, you knew about my family, my friends, my fears, and looking back I can see that I knew nothing about you—nothing at all. You’re just not prepared to share.’
‘Share?’ He gave a scornful, mirthless laugh. ‘God, Louise, things happen and we move on. We don’t all have to go over and over things to reach some sort of resolution. It happened, I dealt with it and I moved on—it’s that simple.’ And there was no answer, because Daniel didn’t even think there was a problem. Clearly he thought it really was that simple. ‘It never entered my head that Declan was my son, because I thought I couldn’t have children.’
‘Well, you can.’ There wasn’t a trace of irony in her voice, just wretched, wretched pain, because even if they had once adored one another, clearly they hadn’t known each other. Clearly he hadn’t trusted her enough to tell her the truth. ‘And you did.’
‘You should have told me, Louise.’ It was as if all the fight had left him, the anger gone, replaced now by the sheer overwhelming sadness and terror that Louise recognised because she was feeling it, too. Sadness for what he’d missed out on and terror for what he might now never have. ‘And nothing, nothing you can say will ever change that. You know that you should have told me.’
She opened her mouth to argue, to explain again how impossible he had made it for her, but even before the words were formed she choked them back, knowing in her heart of hearts that he was right, knowing that no matter how difficult it might have been, she should never have denied him the chance to be Declan’s father. That this proud, complicated man had deserved the chance to know.
‘I’m sorry.’ She whispered the two words, two barely audible words that were utterly heartfelt, but Daniel shook his head.
‘I’ll never forgive you for this, Louise.’ His face was utterly stricken but his eyes were unwavering as they stared back at her. ‘If I never get to hold my son, I swear I will never forgive you.’
Harsh words perhaps, but staring back at him all she could manage was a tiny nod. An acknowledgement that she understood because somehow, if the roles could be reversed, if somehow he could have denied her pregnancy, the gift of bringing a life into the world and those precious weeks of Declan’s short life—she’d be saying those very words, too.
CHAPTER TEN
‘A DIFFICULT procedure.’
‘A lot of gangrenous bowel. Fortunately, at this stage, we didn’t proceed to colostomy.’
‘Still in Recovery.’
‘Critical but stable.’
Words seemed to be coming at Louise like bullets, but she deflected each painful one and clung to the positive instead, just the fact he had made it through, that her tiny son had made it through something so massive and lay just a few metres away a miracle in itself.
‘Can I see him?’
‘Not yet.’ Mr Masterson shook his head. ‘He’s only just been wheeled out of the operating theatre. There are a lot of staff around him and tubes—’
‘I think Louise and I both know what a post-operative patient looks like,’ Daniel cut in, somehow managing to be authoritative even as his whole world spun out of control. ‘We won’t get in the way.’
‘Of course.’
It was definitely a professional courtesy to a fellow consultant surgeon, one that never in a million years would have been extended to a new bank nurse on the surgical ward, but Louise couldn’t have cared less. As Daniel nodded to her and led the way through to the recovery area, all she knew was that she would be seeing her son again, her shaking legs almost running the short distance. But as they walked through the doors, as she glimpsed Declan’s limp body on a paediatric warmer, for a second Louise decided that maybe Mr Masterson had been right—that no mother should ever have to see her child like this.
Hooked up to a ventilator, Declan was completely naked with not even a blanket to cover him, just overhead lights to bring up his body temperature. Monitors that were usually familiar only alarmed her now as she watched the green bleeps, the rapid tracing of his heartbeat, his breathing, his blood-pressure readings and oxygen saturations, relaying information that right now she was too confused to interpret. Instead, Louise forced herself to look at Declan, tried to fathom that this still little body had suckled from her breast just hours before, so warm and full of life in her arms.
And now look at him.
A large dressing covered the wound on his swollen abdomen with drain tubes coming out, a catheter to monitor his fragile fluid output and drips in each flaccid arm, Hartmann’s solution in one and blood going through the other. And somewhere in the middle was her tiny little son.
And Daniel’s, too.
Hospitals were not exactly renowned for keeping the lid on a good piece of gossip and clearly everyone had heard the rumours because the staff stepped back a touch as he stepped forward, his face absolutely unreadable as Daniel tentatively held out a hand and touched Declan’s waxy cheek. With infinite tenderness, he lowered his dark head and whispered something for his baby’s ears only.
‘We really need to get on.’ The theatre sister’s words were kind but firm, her eyes on Louise, who stood frozen to the spot. ‘If you want to give him a quick kiss now, that’s fine, then you can see him again once he’s in Intensive Care.’
Since Elaine had told her the news, all she had wanted had been to touch him, to feel him, but now that she could, now that the moment was there, Louise was
more terrified than she’d ever been in her life. She could feel the impatient eyes of the staff on her, knew that if she didn’t touch him now then she’d be denied it for hours, maybe for ever, and yet still she stood there, inexplicable perhaps to all but someone who had to see their baby so fragile and so very, very ill.
‘Just touch his cheek, Louise.’ Daniel’s low voice jerked her out of inaction, his strong arm around her shoulder, gently propelling her forward, holding her up, taking her hand and guiding it to Declan’s face. Then instinct took over, need overcame fear and she sank her face to his, felt the tiny dark curls tickling her cheeks, and somehow, despite the antiseptic, the scent of baby shampoo filled her nostrils. She recalled bathing him, her fingers working the lather in his little scalp. She inhaled that delicious baby smell and recognised her child all over again.
‘I’m so, so, sorry.’ She whispered it to him, not just because she hadn’t known that his cries had been more sinister than she’d realised, not just because of all the pain he must surely be in, but because Louise knew that this little boy had deserved to know his father.
Had deserved to be loved by the most wonderful, difficult man in the world.
‘Come on, Louise.’ his arm was still around her, guiding her out of the recovery area and back to the ghastly blandness of the waiting room. As they reached the door he let her glimpse luxury—held her in his arms for a second so small it was barely there, let her glimpse the bliss of sharing the love of a child with another—took over the reins in the moment she needed it most. ‘He’ll be OK.’ He said the words into her hair, strong, calm, solid words that for a slice of time reassured her. She leant on him, relished the moment that he carried the pain for both of them. Glimpsed what she’d missed through her pregnancy, through the long, lonely, painful hours of childbirth and the months that had followed—glimpsed being a mother with a partner by her side. But all too soon it was over and Daniel released her. She stepped back into the waiting room and sat on the seat, waiting for him to join her, but Daniel turned on his heel and walked away.
The Surgeon's Miracle Baby Page 11
