A Father Beyond Compare

by Alison Roberts

  Mickey came out of Theatre' his head swathed in bandages, looking tiny and fragile among all the hightech monitoring equipment attached to him with a spaghetti of wires and tubing.

  His surgeon was as satisfied as Simon had been with the procedure and he explained it all carefully to Emma as she stood beside her son's bed in Recovery, still holding Tom's hand like an anchor.

  'We'll make arrangements for you to stay with Mickey in the ICU.' The surgeon gave Tom a curious glance. 'Are there any other relatives you'd like me to talk to? His father, perhaps?'

  So Simon hadn't mentioned the connection. He had made his choice about the level of involvement he wanted in Mickey's life and apparently it was only going to be professional at this point in time.

  Emma shook her head in answer to the question but somewhere inside herself, she was nodding. They would be OK.

  Did she mean herself and Mickey? Herself and Tom? All three of them? Emma couldn't have said what she meant or even whether her statement held any degree of accuracy. She only knew that she didn't need Simon to be in her life long term. Neither did Mickey. In that sense, they would be OK.

  The past was well and truly dealt with.

  The present had become a blur.

  Night and day merged in the artificial environment of an intensive care unit that lacked any windows in the cubicle Mickey occupied. A comfortable armchair was provided for Emma and occasionally she dozed, overcome by exhaustion. And fear.

  Sometimes Tom wasn't there when she woke but a lot of the time he was. Conversation was minimal. Often he simply held her hand, sharing her vigil. As the friend he'd been from almost the first moment they'd met. It was a weird way to be together. Impersonal in some ways and intimate in others. They were never really alone and Tom gave no hint of wanting to be anything more than a friend and support. And that was precisely what Emma needed. She didn't have the emotional energy to think of anything other than Mickey.

  Her world shrank to the parameters defined by the monitoring equipment. The only news she was interested in were the numbers flashing on numerous displays recording the level of oxygen saturation, pressure levels within Mickey's skull, heart and respiration rates and much more.

  Other bulletins were brought by staff members when each new set of lab results came in.

  'Blood glucose is stable again.'

  'Renal function is looking good.'

  'No sign of any infection and his temperature had dropped so that's good.'

  The daily routine of caring for Mickey gave welcome bursts of gentle activity. It was Emma who washed her son, put artificial tears in his eyes and helped keep an accurate fluid balance of what went into his small body and what came out.

  Weaning him from the ventilator took up much of the second day but seeing him breathe for himself gave Emma real hope. As the levels of sedation decreased, she waited for her son to wake up.

  But he remained deeply unconscious and responsive only to painful stimuli.

  'He might be able to hear us,' Emma said to Tom, 'mightn't he?'

  'I reckon. Keep talking to him, Em. And I'll bring his books in. We can read his favourite stories.'

  And they did. They read to him. They talked to him. Emma even sang songs softly.

  A barrage of specialist tests was ordered the next day, including a repeat CT scan. The results all seemed good and Mickey's doctors looked puzzled.

  'There's no obvious reason for his continuing coma,' Emma was told. 'Everything we've checked is looking better than we could have hoped for at this stage. It might just be a matter of being a little more patient.'

  The next scheduled review by the whole team was the following morning. Tom was there again by the time the entourage of surgeons, their registrars and Mickey's nurses gathered. The cubicle was crowded. Silence fell as they finished discussing the latest improvements all the equipment and tests revealed.

  And then it happened.

  Mickey opened his eyes.

  His bewildered gaze found his mother first. Then Tom. It moved slowly, paused briefly at the sight of Simon and then Mickey closed his eyes again.

  Emma's fingers flew to touch his face gently.

  'Mickey? Are you awake, darling? Can you open your eyes again?'

  Eyelids flickered but didn't open.

  'Tired, Mummy,' Mickey mumbled. 'Want to sleep.'

  A collective sigh of relief was felt rather than heard around Emma. Mickey was not only regaining consciousness, he could speak intelligibly and he had recognised his mother.

  They couldn't ask for anything more right now.

  Everybody was smiling. Especially Emma, even as she reached for a handful of tissues to mop her tears.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Aspects of the world outside the hospital walls assumed increasing importance as Mickey improved steadily over the next few days and settled after his transfer from Intensive Care into a side room of the general paediatric ward.

  Some things were a worry. Like the realisation that Emma had completely forgotten her promise to Phoebe to care for her cat and pot plants.

  'It wasn't a problem,' Tom assured her. 'Mum took care of all that. She was glad there was something she could do to help. She'd love to come and visit Mickey when he's feeling a bit better, too.'

  He was feeling much better.

  'I want to go home,' he informed Emma.

  'Not just yet,' Emma responded. 'We need a few more days here so everybody can look after that poor head of yours.'

  Where was 'home' going to be, in any case?

  'You have to come back,' Emma's mother said firmly, when her parents caught up on the news of Mickey's recovery. 'I don't think New Zealand is a good place for either of you. Bad things come in threes, you know.'

  But Emma had already counted, thanks to growing up with her mother's superstitions. The accident with the van had been the first bad thing and that hadn't been entirely without a silver lining because that had been how they'd met Tom.

  Mickey's accident had been the third...and last, because the second bad thing had been the rift between Tom and herself.

  And she still hadn't found a way to mend it. Not that there was any negative tension between them now. How could there be when Tom had just spent virtually all of his four days off at the hospital with Mickey? He had shown that he cared in so many ways.

  It had been Tom who had made and fielded the numerous phone calls from Britain and Australia to keep all interested parties up to date with events and progress. He brought food and coffee and clean clothes for Emma and toys and books for Mickey. He never seemed to tire of reading stories but his most valued contribution as far as Mickey was concerned was the framed photograph of Mickey standing beside Max. It held pride of place on his bedside locker.

  Tom was back in the role of being a best friend. Emma was sure it wouldn't have been that hard for them to find a few minutes alone. She had even suggested it, her heart in her mouth, a couple of days ago.

  'I could do with a bit of fresh air,' she'd said—failing to keep her tone as casual as she'd intended. 'Fancy a walk down by the river, Tom?'

  The momentary hesitation had given Mickey a chance to answer on Tom's behalf.

  'No,' he said firmly. 'I want Tom to stay here.'

  'But you're tired, darling. You're going to have a sleep, remember?'

  'Tom can watch me.' There was a tiny waver in Mickey's voice. 'Like Max does.'

  Emma wouldn't have been able to resist that unspoken plea for security from her son and Tom had smiled as he'd caught her gaze. Maybe his expression had been a little resigned. Apologetic even. But he had hesitated long enough for Mickey to get in first and Emma had thought she'd detected a whiff of relief as he'd raised a hand in a gesture of acquiescence. Emma had decided to forgo the walk herself but Tom's smile had broadened.

  'You go,' he'd suggested. 'Enjoy. You could probably do with a bit of time to yourself in any case.'

  Was Tom waiting—as he had in the days before Emma had plan
ned that first meeting with Simon? Letting her have the space and time she might need to find out what the best course of action was for herself and therefore for Mickey? Or had he decided that the baggage she brought with her was too great a threat to a deeper and more permanent relationship?

  Emma was too tentative to try asking for time alone with Tom again. Instead, she tried to take advantage of any opportunities to reassure Tom that her baggage had been dealt with. Shaken out and repacked and put into storage. That she was absolutely clear about where she wanted her future to be.

  With Tom.

  Most of those opportunities were limited to dropping hints into conversation. Like the time Tom's visit coincided with Simon's exit from Mickey's room.

  'He was just here to check up on progress,' Emma told Tom. 'He may not have done the surgery himself but he's been keeping a very careful eye on everything.'

  'He's been great.' Tom sounded almost enthusiastic. 'I suspect I misjudged the man. You couldn't have had better support.'

  'But I have,' Emma's response was swift. 'Simon only comes in for a couple of minutes here and there, Tom. Purely on a professional basis. It's you that's been my rock.'

  'It's what friends are for,' he said lightly.

  He'd said that when he'd offered to share his house with Emma and Mickey. To share his life. Was that the level their relationship had returned to? Where it was doomed to stay?

  It wasn't nearly enough.

  But what if Tom wasn't as sure as she was? If he needed the time and space to decide what was best for himself? Emma might ruin things by seeming to put him under pressure. And what if he rejected her?

  That was what was really holding her back. Now that Emma didn't have to face the fear of losing her son, the fear of losing Tom was looming larger every day.

  And Emma needed time to gather the inner strength that this latest life crisis had exhausted. If Tom didn't want them in his life, Emma was nowhere near ready to find out yet.

  The final IV line was removed from Mickey's arm the following day and Simon was part of the team that came to subject Mickey to a very thorough reassessment.

  He had a bright light shone into his eyes. His ears were peered into for long enough to elicit impatience.

  'Ouch,' Mickey protested, even though it didn't hurt.

  He had as full a neurological check as was possible for a patient who would not be allowed on his feet for some time yet. He wiggled toes and fingers, squeezed hands, tracked objects with his eyes and responded with increasing firmness to a pinprick test.

  'Ouch!'

  The bandage was removed from his head and the surgical site carefully assessed. Emma was relieved to see that Mickey's soft black curls hadn't been shaved. Without the bandage, he suddenly looked far more like her little boy. Even the awful bruising that had come out around his eyes was fading now.

  The paediatric surgeon was clearly enjoying talking to Mickey as he made his examination. It wasn't just a test for speech clarity or memory.

  'Do you like being in New Zealand?' he asked towards the end.

  'Yes. I do.'

  'What's the best bit?'

  'Max.'

  'Who's Max?'

  'He's my friend.'

  'My dog,' Tom put in, from where he was quietly observing the examination along with Emma. 'That's a photo of him with Mickey on his locker.'

  'Wow! He's huge.'

  'He looks after me,' Mickey said. 'He even watches when I'm asleep.'

  Emma caught the look that Simon sent in Tom's direction. An assessing kind of glance. Was Simon wondering whether Tom was a suitable candidate as a father figure to his biological child?

  He caught Emma's gaze immediately afterwards. Yes, she tried to communicate.

  No one could make a better father than Tom.

  Eventually, the visit concluded with an almost clean bill of health for Mickey.

  'Miraculous the way some kids can bounce back from something like this,' the surgeon said cheerfully. 'We'll need to keep a careful eye on him for a while yet but I think in a few months' time you won't even know it ever happened.' He looked at his colleague. 'Did you want to see anyone else on our rounds this morning, Simon?'

  'You're happy if I discharge Paige today?'

  'Absolutely. Yesterday's scan didn't show any evidence of residual tumour, did it? And she's walking without her crutches now.'

  'I'll catch up with you in a few minutes and we'll see her then.'

  'Sure.'

  Mickey's surgeon left, and the registrars followed. They closed the door of the side room behind them and Mickey was left with only three adults in his room. Emma, Tom and.. .Simon.

  There was a moment's awkward silence and then Simon cleared his throat.

  'I'm heading overseas again tomorrow,' he said. 'I've got a couple of days in the States where I'm going to sign a contract on that position I've been offered. I'm only coming back here in order to work out my notice. Is there anything more you'd like me to do for you and Mickey before I go, Emma?'

  Emma smiled as she shook her head. 'You've been wonderful, Simon. I've felt much happier knowing that you were part of the care Mickey's been given. Thank you so much.'

  Simon shot a brief glance towards Tom and then shifted on his feet. He looked far less the confident consultant than he had just minutes ago.

  'It was a real surprise seeing you again, Emma. I'd like to wish you all the best for everything. It's been a pleasure to meet Mickey as well. He's.. .ah.. .a credit to you.'

  'Thanks.' Emma smiled again. 'He's a credit to himself, really. You're pretty special, aren't you, sweetheart?'

  Mickey ignored the question. He was watching Simon suspiciously.

  'I don't like you,' he informed the surgeon.

  'No?' Simon looked even more disconcerted. 'You might change your mind one day. I like you.'

  Emma was holding her breath, having closed her eyes at the wince Mickey's statement had evoked. She opened them to look cautiously at her son. Mickey had no memory of the fall from the climbing frame but did he remember the conversation about his real father? His name? The fact that Simon and Emma had been engrossed in talking to each other when he'd seen them together in the playground that day?

  Mickey transferred his gaze to Tom and the frown lines disappeared from his small face.

  'I like Tom,' he announced. 'I want him to be my daddy.'

  Emma's nerve endings seemed to catch alight with a sharp tingle of alarm. She would never have planned to bring things out into the open so blatantly. Especially not with both Tom and Simon in the same room.

  Her future was hanging in the balance here. The air was suddenly charged with unleashed energy. An emotional bomb that was ticking rather loudly.

  She tried, and failed, to take a deep, calming breath.

  'That's fine by me,' Simon was saying gravely to Mickey.

  Three pairs of eyes swivelled automatically to where Tom was standing, looking slightly dazed by the turn in the conversation. The fact that some input was clearly expected from him took a second or two to sink in. Then he mirrored the example set by Simon's earlier discomfort and he cleared his throat.

  'I...ah...it's fine by me, too,' he said finally to Mickey, 'but it rather depends on what Mummy thinks about it all, doesn't it?'

  It was Emma's turn to feel the intense scrutiny.

  The expectation.

  The hope.

  She held Tom's gaze for a long moment. Not that she was consciously hesitating in any way. She just wanted to revel in what she saw in those dark eyes.

  The love.

  The promise of a future together.

  A whole family.

  Her lips curved into a smile of pure joy.

  'It's fine by me, too,' Emma said softly. 'A whole lot better than fine, in fact.'

  Or was it?

  Tom seemed very quiet after Simon had left. He read Mickey a story but then said he needed a bit of fresh air.

  Emma followed him out of Micke
y's room.

  'Tom? What's wrong?'

  He turned and waited for Emma to catch up, standing calmly to one side of the corridor and seemingly oblivious to the normal traffic of a ward's central passageway at that time of the day. Nursing staff were bustling past, parents walked up and down, some carrying children or babies, children went past—in wheelchairs, on crutches, on foot and even crawling.

  It was noisy and busy and that, in fact, gave two people all they needed to hold a quietly private conversation.

  'I'm sorry you were put on the spot like that, Em.'

  Emma felt a chill at his words. Had Tom said what he had so as not to disappoint Mickey? Did he think she had simply been playing along? Had what she'd thought she'd seen in his eyes been the result of wishful thinking on her part?

  'I wasn't put on the spot,' she said firmly. 'Not like that. OK, it was a bit embarrassing to do it in front of Simon, but he already knew how I felt about you. I wasn't sure that you did and I was getting too nervous to say anything so I'm glad Mickey brought things to a head.' Emma caught her bottom lip between her teeth. 'I'm sorry if you felt pressured. I wouldn't hold you to anything you weren't comfortable with. Mickey will just have to...' The rest of her words were drowned out by the rattle of a meal trolley being wheeled past.

  Tom raised his voice. 'The only thing I wouldn't be comfortable with, Emma White,' he said, 'is the thought of the rest of my life without you and Mickey in it.'

  'Really?' Seeds of doubt vanished before they had even taken root. 'You really meant that you want to be Mickey's dad?'

  Tom shook his head and Emma's heart sank like a stone. But then Tom smiled. A real smile. One of those wonderful smiles like the one he'd given her that day in the van.

  'Actually, what I want more than anything is to be your husband,' he said. 'Being Mickey's dad is an unexpected bonus.'

  Emma gaped. It was one thing to be given the promise of a potential future together. It was quite another to find she might be receiving a proposal of marriage!

  'This is hardly the most romantic venue.' Tom eyed a child with a rather nasty rash who'd stopped to stare at them with great interest until his attention was taken by the approaching cleaner wielding a large mop. 'But I don't think I can wait any longer. I love you, Emma— more than I thought it was possible to love anyone. Will you marry me? Please?'