Dr. Preston's Daughter

by Laura MacDonald

Hurrying back into the hall, she was just in time to see her mother, Jill, come through the front door.

  ‘Hi, Mum,’ said Gemma. ‘Was the traffic bad?’ Not waiting for an answer, she added, ‘I’ve got the kettle on.’ Crouching down, she opened her arms just as the blonde-haired little girl at her mother’s side ran forward.

  ‘Hello, darling.’ Lovingly, Gemma lifted the child up and buried her face in her hair. She smelled of baby shampoo, dolly mixtures and sun lotion.

  ‘Mummy, I got sweeties…’ said the little girl with a giggle.

  ‘Have you?’ For a long moment Gemma held her daughter close, as if she couldn’t bear to let her go, until at last the little girl began to squirm.

  ‘I bought her a few,’ admitted Jill. ‘I know it isn’t her day for sweets—I hope you don’t mind—but Beth said Daisy had been such a good girl at the crèche today…’

  ‘No.’ Gemma set her daughter down. ‘Of course I don’t mind.’ For some reason, today she felt she wouldn’t have minded, whatever it was. ‘I’ll make the tea,’ she added returning to the kitchen as her mother began sorting out her shopping and the bag that always accompanied Daisy to the crèche.

  ‘Had a good day?’ called Jill from the hall as Daisy followed Gemma into the kitchen.

  ‘Er…yes, not bad,’ Gemma replied wryly.

  ‘This heat doesn’t get any better, does it?’ Jill came into the kitchen. ‘I have to admit it nearly got the better of me at work this morning.’

  Gemma threw her mother an anxious glance. It continually worried her that it was all too much, helping to look after Daisy and doing her own job as a part-time librarian at a local school. ‘What happened?’ she asked tentatively.

  ‘I came over dizzy, that’s all. Nothing serious. It soon passed. Just the heat, I expect.’

  ‘It’s getting to everyone,’ Gemma agreed. ‘I had a funny turn at work today as well,’ she added, ‘but I don’t think that was anything to do with the heat.’

  ‘Oh?’ Jill frowned. ‘What was it, then?’

  ‘We have a new registrar.’ Gemma poured fresh orange juice into her daughter’s beaker.

  ‘Going to be trouble, is he?’ asked Jill sympathetically.

  ‘I don’t know.’ Gemma shook her head, at the same time watching as Daisy steadily drank her juice. ‘Let’s just say I think he could be.’

  Coming so soon after the death of her father, the realisation that she was pregnant had hit Gemma like a thunderbolt. She could remember the moment in minute detail as if it had happened yesterday instead of three years ago…She’d missed a period but had put that down to the trauma of her father’s death. Then she’d started to feel queasy and decidedly off colour.

  On an impulse, while shopping for her mother, she’d bought a pregnancy testing kit, not for one moment believing that to be a possibility, and on her return to the house had taken herself off to the bathroom. The positive result had shaken her rigid. She and Stephen had been so careful but, then, as a nurse she’d known only too well that no method of contraception was entirely without risk.

  For a moment she panicked. There was no way she could have a child. Stephen had gone and even if he’d been around she knew he wouldn’t have wanted to settle down and raise a family. He’d been quite clear about that and about the fact that his career was everything to him, that marriage and children didn’t feature on his agenda. She had her job at St Jerome’s to go back to and her flat. Having a baby really was quite out of the question.

  She decided not to tell her mother and that she would seek advice from her own doctor when she returned to the Midlands.

  It was the morning sickness that changed everything. She took time off to be with her mother after the funeral and it was during the second week that the sickness started. Not just once on one morning but up to half a dozen times every morning. It wasn’t long before her mother realised what had happened.

  ‘Do you want to tell me about it?’ Jill said on the fourth morning after Gemma had come downstairs white and shaking and looking like death.

  ‘I think perhaps I’d better,’ Gemma replied weakly. ‘I wasn’t going to—I was just going to go quietly back to the Midlands without bothering you.’

  ‘Why?’ Jill frowned.

  ‘I thought you had quite enough on your plate without this.’

  ‘This is my grandchild we’re talking about,’ Jill’s voice was firm. ‘Don’t you think that it could be just the thing we need at this time?’

  ‘I don’t know, Mum. I don’t know.’ Gemma put her arms on the table and buried her head in them in despair.

  Her mother stood up and came round the table to put her arms around Gemma. ‘You know, Gemma,’ she said softly, ‘there isn’t anything in this world that can’t be worked out.’

  ‘Maybe not.’ Gemma shook her head. ‘But I’m not sure how I shall work this out.’

  They did, though, in the end. They talked it through for hours and looked at it from every angle. Slowly Gemma came to realise that she wanted to keep the baby and that, really, termination had never been an option. When her mother asked about the father Gemma was deliberately vague, saying that the affair was over and that he was now living abroad.

  ‘But should he not be told that he’s fathered a child?’ Jill asked.

  ‘He wouldn’t want to know.’ Gemma was resolute, but what she didn’t add was that deep down she was afraid that if Stephen did know he might feel compelled to return simply for the baby’s sake and not because it was her he loved. Somehow, she didn’t think she could bear that. ‘The best thing I can do is forget him,’ she said. ‘I doubt whether I’ll ever set eyes on him again. This baby will be mine and I’ll bring it up to the best of my ability.’

  ‘In that case, if you’re absolutely sure that’s what you want, I have a suggestion to make.’ Jill went on to say that she’d contemplated getting a lodger to help her to pay the bills so how would Gemma feel about moving back home? ‘And after the baby is born I could help look after it when you go back to work,’ she added.

  So Gemma gave up her job at St Jerome’s and her flat and, although it almost broke her heart, she refrained from contacting Stephen.

  It wasn’t an easy pregnancy but when Daisy was born it made up for everything. A sunny-natured baby with her mother’s fair colouring and blue eyes, she quickly stole the hearts of Gemma and her mother and helped to alleviate the pain of the loss of Gemma’s father for them both. She also lessened Gemma’s heartache over Stephen.

  When Daisy was six months old Gemma applied for a job on the cardiac unit of Denby General Hospital, where her father had been a patient. When she was offered the job she insisted on enrolling Daisy in a local crèche so that Jill could continue with her own part-time job. Between them they coped. Sometimes Gemma took Daisy to the crèche and Jill collected her or, if Gemma’s shifts dictated otherwise, Jill would take her and Gemma would pick her up.

  And slowly, very slowly, both women got used to this new way of life. Daisy had brought love and laughter into their lives and Gemma gradually realised that she was getting over Stephen.

  That, of course, was until today when he had casually strolled back into her life and had, Gemma was almost convinced, been about to suggest they carry on where they’d left off three years ago.

  She was restless that evening, roaming from room to room. Jill had gone out to an art group she belonged to and in a way Gemma was glad she had the house to herself, was glad to be alone with her thoughts, troubled as they were. Daisy was asleep in the small bedroom they had turned into a nursery and as Gemma stood in the open doorway, looking down at the little girl in her pink cotton nightie with the mermaid motif, her blonde hair spread across the pillow and her thumb in her mouth, her heart suffused with love.

  Why, oh, why had Stephen come back? They had been happy before—herself, her mother and Daisy. Why couldn’t things have simply gone on that way?

  Maybe she should have told Stephen about Daisy then she wouldn
’t be in this predicament. Because wasn’t that what this was all about—this feeling of dread—that Stephen would find out about Daisy and that their lives might be threatened in some way?

  She found herself going back in her mind again to that time when she’d first discovered her pregnancy and her reasons then for not telling Stephen. At the time she’d questioned that his love for her hadn’t been as strong as hers for him and she’d known he would have been horrified—that settling down and having a family had been the last things on his mind at that time when he’d been at such a crucial point in the building of his career. But what about now? Things could be very different now. He was more established and he had just secured himself a position on Bjorn Van Haelfen’s team so maybe his attitude to settling down would be different?

  But what would his reaction be if he found out about Daisy? What would he say if he was to find out that he had a two-year-old daughter whose existence had been kept a secret from him? Could he fight her for custody? You heard such heart-rending stories in the press about such things. Gemma felt a shiver travel the length of her spine. The thought of losing Daisy was more than she could bear, and as she stared down at her small daughter she came to the conclusion that the best thing she could do was to keep up the pretence and hope against hope that Stephen didn’t find out.

  On the other hand, seeing Stephen again after so long had upset Gemma, probably more than she was willing to admit. There had been a time when she’d really loved him and even though she’d doubted that he’d felt as much for her, seeing him had stirred up the memories and unsettled her to such an extent that she wondered quite how she would cope in the days to come, having him working on the same unit as herself.

  In the end she consoled herself with the thought that maybe she wouldn’t need to have too many dealings with the new registrar. She had already indicated to him that there was no way there was likely to be a revival of their relationship, and in the ordinary course of events there was little enough reason for the path of a staff nurse to cross that of a registrar.

  It was, however, still with a fair amount of apprehension that Gemma arrived for work the following morning after dropping Daisy off at her crèche. It threatened to be another hot day with no let-up in the relentless sun that streamed down from a white-hot sky. She was a little late because of the build-up of traffic in the area around the hospital and she only just made it in time for report.

  ‘Tristan Margham is on his way in.’ Sister Miles peered over the top of her glasses as Gemma tried to slip unobtrusively into the office. ‘There’s been a marked deterioration in his condition, as you all know, but there’s the possibility that a suitable donor has been found. Mr Van Haelfen is hoping to carry out a heart and lung transplant later today. Mr Tobin is progressing nicely; Mrs McCleary is for Theatre. There will be three new admissions today…’

  The list went on with details of every patient on the unit, and although Gemma did her best to concentrate already she was dreading the consultant’s round and wondering if she could find something to do when they arrived in order to keep out of their way.

  ‘Poor Tristan,’ said Kim as they left the office together, ‘I do hope his transplant will go ahead this time. He’s been disappointed so many times in the past for one reason or another and he’s such a brave lad.’

  As Gemma turned to collect some patient folders from the nurses’ station, Kim called her back. ‘Oh, Gemma,’ she said, ‘I nearly forgot. There’s a party at the weekend—do you fancy it?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know…’ Gemma’s first reaction was to refuse. The last thing she felt like at the moment was a staff party.

  ‘Oh, go on. It’ll do you good and, you never know, it might be fun.’

  ‘Where is it?’ asked Gemma doubtfully. If it was a doctor’s party she had already made up her mind she would refuse—the last thing she wanted at the moment was to come across Stephen at a party.

  ‘At Alex Ross’s place,’ Kim replied. ‘Or rather at her parents’ house. They’re away apparently and in their innocence have allowed Alex to hold a party. Would your mum look after Daisy?’

  ‘Yes, I dare say she would,’ said Gemma dubiously.

  ‘Good, so in that case you’ll come?’

  ‘I suppose so.’ Gemma nodded then she smiled. Maybe a party would be fun. She would just have to hope that Stephen would now consider that his position as registrar to Mr Van Haelfen would exclude him from staff parties.

  CHAPTER THREE

  ‘SO THIS could be the big day, Tristan.’ Gemma smiled as she removed the young man’s oxygen mask given to him on his journey into Denby to assist with his breathing.

  ‘I’ll believe it when it happens,’ Tristan Margham replied weakly.

  ‘We’ve been at this point so many times before,’ said his mother, Janice, who had accompanied him in the ambulance. ‘We try not to get too excited now.’

  ‘Who…who will be operating?’ asked Tristan. The boy’s shock of red hair and smattering of freckles were in marked contrast to the pallor of his skin and the stark whiteness of the pillows that surrounded him.

  ‘Mr Van Haelfen is on duty,’ Gemma replied as she began applying the leads to connect Tristan to a heart monitor. She had already set up a blood-pressure machine and had checked his pulse and temperature.

  ‘Good,’ said Tristan with a little nod of satisfaction, then added anxiously, ‘Is my temperature OK?’

  ‘Yes, fine.’ Gemma nodded.

  ‘Last time this happened I had a chest infection and it all had to be cancelled at the eleventh hour.’

  ‘Well, hopefully nothing like that is going to happen this time,’ said Gemma reassuringly.

  ‘So, this person,’ said Tristan slowly, ‘the one whose heart I’m going to have—will they have actually died by now?’

  ‘I don’t know for sure,’ Gemma admitted. ‘But I would think so.’

  ‘They could still be on a life-support machine, though, couldn’t they?’ persisted Tristan.

  ‘Yes, that could be the case,’ Gemma agreed. As she straightened up she realised someone had come into the side bay where Tristan had been admitted and was standing at the foot of the bed. With a little jolt she saw it was Stephen, and as her eyes met his, for the first time she saw a resemblance between him and Daisy. It wasn’t in the colouring, for Stephen was dark and Daisy had inherited her own fair colouring, but more in his expression. Momentarily it shook her, reinforcing the fact that this man was Daisy’s father. While he’d been away and out of their lives it had been easier, if not exactly to forget the fact, to at least put it right to the back of her mind, but now that he was here it was evident it was going to be more difficult.

  ‘Staff Nurse Langford.’ Stephen nodded. ‘Please, don’t let me interrupt.’

  ‘That’s all right, Dr Preston,’ Gemma replied coolly, surprised at how coolly in view of the way her heart was thumping. ‘I’ve almost finished here.’

  ‘I thought it high time I came to meet the young man who’s at the centre of so much drama,’ said Stephen with a smile at Tristan. ‘Especially as I understand I’m to be assisting Mr Van Haelfen later today. Perhaps you would do the honours, Nurse.’

  ‘Of course.’ Gemma rapidly pulled herself together. ‘Tristan, this is Dr Stephen Preston. He’s just joined Mr Van Haelfen’s team. He’s come to Denby from a hospital in Dubai.’ She paused and turned to Stephen. ‘Dr Preston, this is Tristan Margham and his mother, Janice. Tristan is fifteen years old and very well known to us here at Denby. He was born with a hole in his heart and all attempts at surgery have only proved to be of a temporary nature. Mr Van Haelfen took the decision a year ago that a transplant would be the next step. Unfortunately there have been a series of setbacks in finding a suitable donor, resulting in a couple of cancellations. On the last occasion Tristan was found to have a severe chest infection which made surgery impossible.’

  ‘Hopefully this time there won’t be any such setbacks.’ Stephen picked u
p Tristan’s medical notes and began studying them.

  ‘I hope not,’ said Tristan. ‘I want to be able to see the match at the weekend.’

  ‘Are you a Man. United supporter?’ asked Stephen, looking up from the notes.

  ‘Too right.’ Tristan nodded.

  ‘Me, too.’ Stephen grinned. ‘They’re bound to win,’ he added. ‘The other lot don’t stand a chance.’

  ‘You can’t say that about a London team when you’re working in a London hospital,’ protested Gemma.

  ‘Just watch me.’ Stephen grinned and winked at Tristan, who gave him a delighted thumbs-up sign before sinking back onto his pillows, exhausted with the effort.

  ‘Do you know what to expect after the op?’ asked Stephen after a moment.

  It was Janice who answered. ‘Well, I’m sure we’ve been told,’ she said, ‘probably many times—but it won’t hurt to hear it again.’

  ‘I want to know more about what happens before and during the op,’ said Tristan.

  ‘In that case, let’s take it from the top.’ Stephen pulled up a chair.

  ‘Would you like me to go?’ asked Gemma quickly. Quite suddenly the sight of Stephen in his white coat—the buttons casually undone, stethoscope draped around his neck as he straddled the chair—was disconcerting, to say the least, and she would have liked nothing better than to beat a hasty retreat to the comparative safety of the nurses’ station.

  ‘No, please, stay,’ said Stephen swiftly, and Gemma had to resign herself to being in close proximity to Stephen for however long it took to explain things to Tristan.

  ‘Now, Tristan,’ Stephen went on, ‘back to basics. You’ll take nothing by mouth apart from sips of water between now and the operation. Later on, to help you relax, you’ll be given pre-medication, and following that you’ll be taken down to the Theatre where you’ll be given a general anaesthetic. Has the anaesthetist been up to see you yet?’ He glanced at Gemma who shook her head. ‘Well, he’ll be along to talk to you shortly. Mr Van Haelfen will as well. When you’re fully anaesthetised,’ he continued, ‘we’ll put you on a ventilator, which will breathe for you. Then we open your chest and put you on a heart and lung bypass machine. This enables us to move your blood around the heart and lungs, to keep it circulating and full of oxygen.’