by Sue MacKay
She raced up the stairs, looking from behind like a child, not a surgeon with a serious workload ahead of her. He followed more slowly. Last night when he’d been trying to sleep Fiona had filled his head to the point where he’d thought he’d go crazy. Her sharp words about them making a mess of everything back then had crashed around in his skull, haunting him with her pain. What she didn’t understand was that he’d tried to do everything right for them both. He’d taken care of all the funeral arrangements to save her that agony. When she hadn’t had the energy to get out of bed he’d taken over the mundane chores around the house that she’d usually seen to. He’d watched out for her at the hospital when she’d returned to work and arranged that any very young patients were seen by another plastic surgeon. When she’d cried for hours on end he’d held her close. He’d listened to every word she’d said—day and night, even when he’d been so exhausted he couldn’t concentrate. He’d really, really tried. It hadn’t been enough.
But it wasn’t only his sleep she’d interrupted last night. She’d already permeated the hospital: popping up everywhere, chatting with the nurses, reassuring her patients. Even when she wasn’t present she might as well have been, the way the staff talked about her. He grunted. Talking about her relationship with him, most likely. Already he found himself straining to hear her laughter at unexpected moments.
‘So, the third floor. What goes on here?’ Fiona brought his attention back to the here and now.
He quickly showed her around. There wasn’t a lot to see, as this floor hadn’t been fully developed yet. ‘I haven’t got a need for it so far, but the time will come when I do require more space.’
At the top of the stairs, ready to head back down, Fiona threw a wild card at him.
‘Tom, where did we go wrong? Why couldn’t we communicate back then?’
And he’d thought she couldn’t shock him any more. ‘Because we were grief stricken. Because our marriage was running on empty.’
‘When I look around and see what you’ve achieved in a relatively short time I know you must have had to negotiate, wheedle, cajole, and occasionally demand all sorts of support from people. Then I think of the things I’ve done, the people I’ve worked with and for, and I can’t help but wonder why we couldn’t have applied those skills to sorting out our marriage.’ She leaned against the balustrade and crossed her ankles.
He stared at her, looking for trouble in her demeanour, finding only open frankness. She really wanted an answer. If only he had one.
‘I don’t know. I’ve spent untold hours thinking through those weeks before you left. I’ve tried to see what I could’ve done differently and I’ve never come up with an answer.’ Except to do as she’d demanded. But at the time words just wouldn’t have made the slightest bit of difference to all the pain and anger he’d been feeling. ‘I admit to being afraid that if I started talking then the rage I felt at the unfairness of what had happened would burst out and I’d never get control back.’
She nodded slowly, understanding filtering through her eyes. ‘I see.’
He waited for the fireworks. When they didn’t come, he lifted her hand and squeezed it gently. ‘Come on. We’ve got surgery to perform.’
She followed quietly. Too quietly for his liking. That only gave him more to worry about.
Chapter Five
AFTERNOON surgery lasted until a little after four. Fiona repaired the harelip on the ten-year-old boy who should have had the surgery when he was a baby and there were two patients for skin grafts.
Fiona went to see young Shaun Elliott and his parents in his room after she’d finished in Theatre.
‘How is he?’ his father asked. ‘I mean, did the operation go well, or will Shaun need more surgery in the future?’
‘I’m very confident we’ve done all we can for him. Unless something goes wrong over the next few weeks Shaun has had his last skin graft. I also tidied up that scar that runs across the back of his hand.’
‘By something going wrong, you mean infection, don’t you?’ Shaun’s mother asked, her worry causing a frown. ‘He had a problem with that last time and it took for ever to heal. It’s so hard to see him putting up with the pain and trying to keep his hand still.’
Fiona nodded. ‘Yes, I’m referring to infection, and because of his history I’m giving him a heavy dose of antibiotics right from the start.’ Fiona looked down at the tiny figure under the bedcovers. ‘He’s small for his age. Does he eat well?’
‘He’s always been a picky eater,’ his mother replied. ‘It doesn’t matter what I put before him, he doesn’t get excited about food.’
‘Maybe when Shaun’s got over this operation you should look into that. I know children can be fussy about food, but he needs to be eating well. The infections he gets might be explained by the fact he’s lacking in nutrients and vitamins.’
‘I’ll give him a check-up while he’s here.’ A familiar voice cut across the room.
Fiona spun around. She hadn’t heard Tom arrive. Her heart thumped at the sight of his tall frame filling the doorway.
‘If that’s all right with you both?’ Tom asked Shaun’s parents.
‘Absolutely. We’ve taken Shaun to our family doctor, but she tells us not to worry, that he’ll grow out of it in time. But we are worried. He turned seven last month, and at his party I couldn’t believe how much all his friends ate compared to him.’
Seven. Fiona looked at the boy, who had the body size of a small five-year-old. His cute face, despite being pale, made her itch to reach out and smooth back the fair curls lying on his forehead. Her heart squeezed. ‘Seven years old. It’s such an innocent time of life.’
Although not for Shaun. He’d had to deal with the results of an accident for more than a year now. But it wasn’t this particular seven-year-old she thought about. Liam would have been turning seven in two months time. Her fists clenched, and then she felt a hand on her shoulder, gentle fingers pressing through her clothes. Turning, she met Tom’s intense gaze, saw the understanding there.
Tears pricked her eyelids. A crazy, out-of-place reaction. She hadn’t been this bad for a long time. She dropped her head, stared blindly at the floor, striving for control. She didn’t need sympathy. Especially not from Tom. It would be her undoing.
With a quick toss of her head, she said vaguely in the direction of the boy’s parents, ‘I’ll call in again later tonight to check on Shaun.’
Then she left the room and walked rapidly along the ward, determined to get away from Tom for a while. A walk in the grounds would be just the thing. The fresh air would clear her head after a big day in Theatre. Fresh air and time alone.
But, wrapped in the thicker of the two jerseys she’d brought and her jacket, she couldn’t stop the images of Tom popping into her mind as she wandered around the expansive hospital grounds. All day he’d acted as her assistant, a highly competent one too, with an uncanny knack of predicting what she needed almost before she did. Then there was the way patients responded to him during ward rounds. He’d lightened up a lot over the intervening years, but his manner still remained firm and definitely more serious than hers.
Huh. She laughed mirthlessly. A clown in a circus would have been more serious than the old her. But not now. These days she didn’t find a lot to poke the finger at, nor did she laugh much. And she did not treat her life as cheaply as she once had.
A sigh slid through her chilled lips. One of Tom’s pet hates had been her flagrant disregard for rules and regulations, and her continuous need to test herself against the odds.
Tom had definitely been the sensible one in their relationship. The exhilaration of soaring across the sky in a two-seater aeroplane, deliberately stalling the engine to have the thrill of flinging it into a spin before pulling out five hundred feet above the ground had not been for him. But she’d been driven by a continuous need to prove how good she could be.
Tom, Tom, Tom. He filled her head. His scent in the air as he worked opp
osite her in theatre, his voice echoing in the corridors of the hospital. Damn, but this had become so hard, so fast.
‘Hey, lady, who are you?’ A young voice penetrated her bleak thoughts.
‘I’m Fiona. Who are you?’ She studied the muddy urchin before her. He oozed mischief, from his cheeky grin to his small fists balled against skinny hips.
‘Connor. My mum does the gardens around the hospital. Dr Tom says she’s very good.’ His chin jutted out, as though daring her to disagree.
‘She must be. The grounds are beautiful. Does she do them all on her own?’
‘Not quite. Someone helps her.’ The chin lost some of its severity, and the boy shrugged. ‘What do you do? Are you another doctor?’
Fiona grinned. ‘I’m afraid so. Don’t you like doctors?’
He shrugged. ‘They’re all right. I like Dr Tom cos he gives me jobs and pays me.’
‘What sort of jobs?’ Seemed like Tom looked out for everyone around here, not just his patients.
‘I have to collect the eggs. Do you want to see the hens?’
‘I’d love to.’ She fell into stride beside her new friend.
Connor rolled his eyes, clearly not impressed with her lack of knowledge. ‘They’ve got places outside where they lay the eggs.’
The gardening sheds were behind the hospital, and beside them stood the chicken coop. Connor led her inside the coop and picked up a gold and brown hen, cuddling her in his arms. ‘You can carry the egg basket if you like.’
‘Okay. How many eggs are we going to find?’
‘Lots and lots.’
Connor chattered non-stop for the next half-hour as he went from the bushes to the hedge to the vegetable garden, gathering up his bounty.
Fiona happily followed him, learning that he was ten, and his sister was four and a pain. School was fun, but his mum taught him better things, like how to grow pumpkins in summer and cauliflowers in winter.
‘I have to go now.’ Connor carefully took the basket from Fiona. ‘I have to clean the shed and take these eggs to the hospital kitchen.’
‘Okay. I might see you again during the week.’ Fiona watched Connor skip away, ever mindful of his precious load, before she turned and headed in the direction of the cottage. She suddenly felt very alone.
If only she had someone to share what was bothering her. It was Tom she really wanted to talk to, but so far he wasn’t very forthcoming. Back up. His revelation last night, about how his need to save other parents from what they had been through had driven him to create this specialist hospital, had been more than she’d got in months last time they were together.
Tom mightn’t have verbalised his thoughts, but this place showed how he truly felt. She’d always been the talkative one, he the quieter, steadier one. The rock in their relationship. But rocks cracked. Had she even given him a chance to explain how he was coping without going on at him, demanding he talk to her? Her heart squeezed painfully. She’d always thought she’d tried so hard to comfort him, but maybe she hadn’t seen what he’d really wanted.
Everyone dealt with grief differently. But had she considered that at the time they were both dealing with Liam’s death? If she could be frank with herself the answer would be no. She hadn’t. Instead she’d hounded Tom to be like her, act like her. As if he could have. What had she done to him? Hurt him even more by not giving him space to grieve. No wonder he didn’t want her back in his life for even a few days.
When she reached the front door to the cottage and heard the television blaring out the news bulletin, she found she couldn’t face Tom with these thoughts tripping around her head, so she turned and headed for the hospital. She’d take another look at today’s patients. Tomorrow’s would be in the dining hall, having dinner with their families by now, so she’d see them later.
And face Tom later still.
Sophie sat propped up with two pillows when Fiona entered her room.
‘Hey, how’s things?’ Fiona asked.
‘Very sore. And I look like I’ve been dragged behind a car on my face.’
‘That’s not how I’d have described my handiwork.’ Fiona sat on the edge of the bed.
‘I’m so swollen I don’t seem to have a face any more. Didn’t like it anyway, so maybe that’s a plus.’ Sophie was glum, and definitely feeling sorry for herself.
‘You’d prefer no face at all? Then people would really stare at you.’
‘They already do.’
Fiona reached for the teen’s hands that were scrunching up the pages of the magazine she’d been pretending to read.
‘Listen to me. Have you ever considered that people may be looking at you because you’re lovely, not because you’ve got a scar?’
When Sophie said nothing, she continued, ‘People will always look at you when they are with you, and, yes, sometimes it will be because of that scar. But most of the time it’ll be because that’s how people get to know you and how they hold a conversation with you. By looking at you. Think about when you meet someone. Do you stare at her feet to try to learn what sort of person she is? I don’t think so.’
The hands tightened their grip on Fiona’s, and Sophie looked up, hope in her eyes. ‘You believe that?’
Fiona nodded. ‘I do.’
‘What about the people who call me scar-face?’
‘Take no notice of them. They’re probably calling someone else fat or stupid or pimple-face. They’re bullies, and you don’t need their friendship anyway.’
‘That’s what Dad says.’
‘See? Both of us can’t be wrong.’
‘Make that three of us,’ growled Tom from behind her.
‘That’s the second time you’ve crept up on me.’ So much for avoiding him.
‘I don’t creep. You didn’t come back to the cottage.’
‘I thought I’d do another patient round.’ Twisting her head, she looked up at him, and immediately regretted her move.
His good looks caught at her, snagged her attention. His strong chin had a tiny X-shaped scar under his right jaw that she hadn’t seen before. His relaxed mouth made his bottom lip fuller, not stretched in annoyance as she’d seen so often since arriving. And suddenly she wanted to kiss those lips. Remembered kisses brought heady scents and tastes rushing back. She bit down on her bottom lip, trying to erase that thought. Tom’s steady eyes met hers, giving her no clue to his thoughts. Her cheeks burned.
Tom grimaced, tightening his mouth. ‘Sorry to interrupt you both, but, Fiona, you’re needed.’
She dragged her gaze away from his face, shocked to find Sophie sitting before her, their hands still gripped together. How easy it would be to lean back against Tom’s firm body and let go of all the tension eating away at her. To feel his arms go around her, holding her tight, would be like returning home.
‘Who needs me?’ Fiona croaked.
‘One of the nurses called the cottage, thinking you’d be there. Shaun’s getting fractious.’
Alarm brought Fiona straight back into focus. Fractious possibly meant an infection kicking in. Pushing off the bed, she said, ‘See you in the morning, Sophie. And say ten times before you go to sleep tonight, “I am beautiful”.’
Dashing along the corridor with Tom, she said, ‘It seems too soon for an infection to be getting a grip. I’ve loaded him with antibiotics.’
‘I read his chart. I’m not sure that’s the problem. His temperature is thirty-seven point four.’
‘Going up, then? The question is, why?’ It had to be an infection. What else would cause Shaun’s temperature to rise? ‘Unless he’s got an underlying illness.’
‘Nothing his parents mentioned when filling in his admission forms,’ Tom commented as he pushed open the door to Shaun’s room and stood back to let Fiona enter.
Fiona plastered a smile on her face as she looked at the feverish boy. ‘Hello, Shaun. How’s your hand feeling?’
‘It hurts.’
‘The nurse gave him some analgesics with h
is dinner,’ Shaun’s mother commented.
Fiona read Shaun’s latest observations. Why had his temperature risen? Not high enough for her to be too concerned yet, but rising body temperature in children was an early warning sign not to be ignored.
She checked his arm for reddened skin and found it normal, so there was no infection arising from the wound. But the lad was obviously feverish. His cheeks were a deep pink and his hair was damp on his forehead.
Fiona lifted Shaun’s pyjama top. ‘I’m going to check your tummy, Shaun. Have you got a tummy ache?’
‘No.’ Shaun’s wary eyes stared at her.
No tenderness, no distended area. But as Fiona slipped the top back over Shaun’s tummy, the boy rubbed his ear with his fist.
‘Does your ear hurt?’ Fiona asked, her mind quickly coming up with a list of causes.
Shaun nodded, and slid his thumb into his mouth.
Fiona examined Shaun’s ears, then felt the glands in his neck and armpits. ‘Open your mouth wide,’ she instructed, and checked his throat. ‘Have you had a sore throat lately?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why didn’t you tell the nurse when you arrived yesterday?’
Shaun’s worried gaze flicked across to his parents. ‘I don’t know.’
‘Tom, do you want to look?’ Fiona asked quietly, but in a tone that left him in no doubt that he should.
While Tom examined the boy, Fiona flipped through Shaun’s admission forms, clipped to the back of his medical notes hanging at the end of his bed.
Tom straightened and nodded to Fiona. ‘I’ll arrange bloods for a Paul Bunnell screen, and an EBV test.’
‘Yes, I think we should.’ Turning, Fiona asked, ‘Mr and Mrs Elliott, how long has Shaun been complaining of a sore throat?’
‘He said something about one last Monday, so I gave him cold mixture and he said it went away.’ Reluctantly Mrs Elliott answered Fiona’s question.
‘You should’ve informed us before he had surgery.’
‘Now, look here. What does it matter? It didn’t affect his operation.’ Mr Elliott’s cheeks reddened. ‘It’s taken months for us to get the money together to come here. We weren’t going to stay away for a bit of a cold.’
