St Piran's: The Wedding of The Year / St Piran's: Rescuing Pregnant Cinderella

by Caroline Anderson / Carol Marinelli

  ‘I’m not that precious.’ Izzy squeezed his hand.

  ‘He died at ten days old. It was tough. In those ten days I really did love him and even now sometimes my sister asks for details about him and I am glad that I can give them to her.’

  ‘What sort of details?’

  ‘He loved to have his feet stroked and he loved to be sing to.’ He gave a slight frown and Izzy just sat silent rather than correct his grammar. ‘My sister had always sung to him while she was pregnant and I taped her singing and played the songs.’

  ‘It must be hard,’ Izzy said. ‘Your work must bring it all back…’

  ‘No.’ His response surprised her. ‘It has certainly made me a better nurse. I know, as much as I can know, how helpless and scared the parents feel. How you constantly watch the monitors and become an armchair expert, but never, not even once, have I come close to the feelings I had for Fernando with a patient. I suppose I detach, of course there are stories and babies that touch you more than others, but you could not do this job and care so deeply at that level.’

  And she looked at him and couldn’t see how his parents could be anything but proud. She had seen his work at first hand, the way his colleagues and all the parents respected him. There had been an almost audible sigh of relief that Diego had been around when Toby had been born and she told him that.

  ‘There is a managerial position at my father’s hospital—I am thinking of applying for it. Of course, it has not gone down well. He says it would be an embarrassment to the Ramirez name if I take it.’

  They were only just getting to know each other, but still her breath caught at the impossibility of it all, of anything happening between them, and she tried to keep the needy note from her voice when she asked a question.

  ‘Why would you go back?’ Izzy asked, ‘After all that, if they don’t respect what you do…’

  ‘I respect what I do now,’ Diego said. ‘That is the difference. I would like to go back and be proud.’

  He would go back.

  They were sitting in the sand at the water’s edge. Izzy’s shorts were soaking, the water rushing in then dragging back out, as if taking all the debris of the past away. But the tide returned and bought with it fresh problems and Izzy told herself to slow down, to not even think about it, that his decisions didn’t affect her. They were friends, that was all—they hadn’t so much as kissed.

  Except Diego discounted that theory before it had even properly formed.

  She could feel his face near her cheek and knew if she turned her head their lips would meet.

  It was six a.m. and the clearest her head would be all day, but she turned to him, to the sweet, confusing relief of his mouth. He tasted like a blast of morning, with the promise of night. It was a kiss that was tender on the outside—a mesh of lips, a slow, measured greeting, but there was raw promise beneath the surface, his tongue sliding in, offering a heady taste of more, and Izzy wanted more. She liked the press of him, the weight of him that pressed her body back to the sand. There was the tranquillity of escape she found as his kiss deepened and his hand moved naturally, sliding around her waist to caress her, and then even before Diego paused, Izzy’s lips were still.

  She rested her head on his shoulder a moment to steady herself, the weight of her baby between them.

  ‘I think…’ Izzy pulled her head up and made herself look at him ‘…we should pretend that just didn’t happen.’

  ‘It did, though,’ Diego pointed out.

  ‘Well, it can’t again,’ Izzy said, and she hoisted herself to standing. ‘Let’s just keep it as friends,’ Izzy insisted, because that was surely all they could be for now, except her lips were tender from the claim of his kiss as she tried to talk about other things, and as they walked back her hand bunched in a fist so she didn’t reach out and take his.

  They were back at her car, his apartment just a short walk away, and how he wanted to take her up there, to peel off her wet clothes and call in sick, spend the day getting to know her in the way he so badly wanted to.

  And friends could kiss goodbye on the cheek, except they had passed that now and any contact between them was dangerous.

  He faced her, but that only made him want to kiss her again so Diego looked down and saw the swell of her stomach, her belly button just starting to protrude, and his hand ached to capture it, only his mind wasn’t so sure.

  ‘We have a lot to think about,’ Diego said, ‘or maybe it’s better not to think about it, just…’ He looked up at her and his face was honest and it scared her, but somehow it made her smile as he offered her a very grown-up slant on words said in playgrounds the world over. ‘I don’t want to be your friend any more.’

  Chapter Seven

  ‘YOU’RE expected to go, Diego!’ Rita was adamant. ‘You can’t not go to the Penhally Ball.’

  They’d been having this conversation all morning. Rita had found out that he wasn’t going and it seemed every time he passed her work station, she thought of another reason why he must go.

  He’d just come from a family meeting with the parents of Toby Geller, which had been difficult at best, and, really, the last thing Diego cared about was if he was expected to attend some charity ball that was being held on Saturday.

  ‘You’re going, aren’t you, Megan?’ Rita looked up and Diego rolled his eyes as Megan gave a thin smile.

  ‘It is expected,’ Megan agreed, but from her resigned voice it was clear she wasn’t looking forward to it.

  ‘All the units send their senior staff,’ Rita said, still talking as she answered the phone.

  ‘Spare me,’ Diego said. ‘Is it awful?’

  ‘No.’ Megan shook her head. ‘It’s actually a great night…’

  ‘So why the long face?’ He was friends with Megan. Well, not ‘ring each other up every night and why don’t we go for coffee type friends’, but certainly they were friendly and Diego couldn’t help but notice she was unusually low.

  ‘Just one of those days!’ Megan said, which given they had just been in with Toby’s parents, could have explained it, except Megan hadn’t been her usual self lately. Diego suddenly wondered if it had anything to do with the rumours that were flying around the hospital about Izzy and himself.

  Diego hadn’t realised just how many people he knew. And Izzy too.

  It seemed that everywhere they went, be it a walk on the beach or to a café near his flat, they would bump into someone from work. But it wasn’t just the rumour mill causing problems. Izzy was almost nine weeks from her due date now, and despite them both trying to be nothing more than just friends, that kiss had unleashed the attraction between them. It was so palpable, so present, it was killing Diego not to whisk her away from the home she was selling and bring her back to his flat, feed her, nurture her and make love to her. Except in a few weeks’ time, Izzy would be a mother, which meant there would be a baby, and that was something way down on his list.

  So far down, he hadn’t actually thought whether one day he might want one of his own—let alone someone else’s.

  But he wanted her.

  ‘It’s a lovely night.’ Rita just wouldn’t let up; she was off the phone and back to one of her favourite subjects—prying about Megan. ‘All the money raised goes to the Penhally Rape Crisis Centre. Will you be taking anyone, Doctor?’

  Ah, but Megan was always one step ahead. ‘You heard the man.’ Megan flashed Rita a smile that was false. ‘He doesn’t want to go.’

  ‘Oh!’

  Diego couldn’t help but grin as a Rita’s eyes momentarily widened as she wondered if she’d stumbled on the news of year, but then she remembered the latest information from her sources. She turned back to the computer and resumed typing. Attempting nonchalance, she tested the seemingly gentle waters. ‘It’s good to support these things.’ Rita tap tapped away, ‘Look what happened to our own lovely Izzy. I’d have thought you, Diego, more than anyone, would…’ And she stopped, just stopped in mid-sentence, because even
if she wasn’t looking at him, even if Diego hadn’t spoken, the atmosphere was so tense, she just knew he wasn’t smiling now. ‘We should all do our bit,’ Rita attempted, typing faster now, hoping she’d rectified it, and hoping Diego hadn’t understood what she had implied.

  She was wrong on both counts.

  ‘Me? More? Than? Anyone?’ Diego’s voice was pure ice as he challenged her—each word separate, each word a question, and Diego looked at Megan, who shook her head in disbelief at Rita’s insensitivity. ‘What do you mean by that, Rita?’

  Still she typed on. ‘Well, you’re a nice young man, I thought you of all people…’ Her face was pink and she licked her lips before carrying on. ‘Well, that you’d support such a thing.’

  ‘Do you know why I hate gossip, Megan?’ Diego looked at his friend.

  ‘Why?’ Megan answered.

  ‘Because the fools that spread it get it wrong. Because the fools that spread it are so miserable in their own lives they have to find that part in others…’ Rita stood up.

  ‘I have to get on.’ She picked up some papers, any papers, and walked off, but Diego’s voice chased her.

  ‘Because though they insist their lives are perfect, gossiping about others ensures that for that moment no one is gossiping about them.’

  Rita spun on her heel. ‘You can’t stop people talking.’

  ‘Ah, but you can,’ Diego said, and pointedly turned to Megan, ignoring Rita completely. ‘Before you go, I’ve got two in the nursery that need their drug charts re-written and Genevieve is ready to go home. Her mum wants to thank you.’

  It was a relief to talk about work.

  For Megan to fill in the drug charts and then to head to the nursery where Genevieve was wearing a hot pink all-in-one with a hot pink hat, and a car seat was waiting to finally, against all the odds, take her home. Diego smiled as Megan picked up the little lady and gave her a cuddle, and he could see the tears in her eyes too because, unlike Diego, Megan did get attached. She gave her heart and soul to her patients, took it personally when a battle was lost. Diego wasn’t sure it was a healthy thing for her to do, but today was a good day and those, Diego suddenly realised, were the ones Megan struggled with most.

  ‘We can’t thank you enough.’ Genevieve’s mum was effusive in her gratitude. ‘It’s because of you that we get to take her home.’

  Yes, today was a good day.

  ‘Good job,’ Diego said before he headed back to his charges. ‘For a while there I didn’t think we’d get to this day with Genevieve. You never gave in, though.’

  ‘I never would,’ Megan said, and then she paused and her voice was more pensive than jubilant. ‘Be careful, Diego.’

  He knew exactly what they were talking about.

  ‘We’re just friends,’ he said, but he could hear the protest in his heart and Megan could hear it in his voice.

  ‘She’s fragile…’

  ‘She’s getting stronger,’ Diego countered, because he would not label Izzy, because he could feel in his soul all she was going to be.

  ‘Just, please,’ Megan said, and it was the most she would say to him, ‘handle with care.’

  ‘You’re looking well.’ Gus smiled as he called Izzy into his surgery.

  He was a wonderful GP. He read through her charts and checked her blood pressure, even though the midwife had done the same and told Izzy it was fine.

  ‘How is it?’

  ‘Perfect,’ Gus said. ‘How have you been feeling?’

  ‘Very well,’ Izzy said, and it was the truth. For the first time in her pregnancy it wasn’t Henry and the nightmare of her past that consumed her, it was something far nicer.

  There had been no repeat of that kiss, but there was an energy and promise in her days now and Izzy knew it was just a matter of time.

  ‘You’re eating well?’ Gus checked, and though his face never flickered, Izzy was a doctor too and could hear the slight probing nature of his question. Often her antenatal visits seemed more like a friendly catch-up, but today Gus was going through her notes, double-checking everything.

  ‘I’m eating really well.’ Which was true. In the very dark weeks after Henry’s death, even though eating had been the last thing on her mind, Izzy had made herself eat, for the baby’s sake. She had even gone as far as to set a reminder on her mobile, forcing down smoothies or even just a piece of toast. But since she’d been back at work, and of course since she’d met Diego, her appetite had returned—for food, for life. She was laughing, she was happy, she was eating—except her weight, Gus said, was down.

  It seemed ironic that when she was eating the most, when she was happiest, she hadn’t put on any weight. Gus asked her to lie on the examination bed, and though he was always thorough, today his examination took a little longer than usual.

  ‘You’re a bit small,’ Gus said, and Izzy lay there staring at the ceiling, because if Gus said she was a bit small, then she was small. He ran a Doppler over her stomach and listened for a couple of moments to the baby’s heartbeat, which was strong and regular. ‘How’s the baby’s movement?’

  ‘There’s lots,’ Izzy said, trying to keep her voice light and even.

  ‘That’s good.’ He was very calm, very unruffled and he helped her sit up and then she joined him at his desk.

  ‘Are you worried?’ Izzy asked.

  ‘Not unduly,’ Gus said. ‘Izzy, you’ve had unbelievable stress throughout this pregnancy—but you’re thirty-one weeks now and this is the time that the baby starts to put on weight, so we really do need to keep a slightly closer eye on you. I was going to schedule an ultrasound for a couple of weeks, but let’s bring that forward.’ He glanced at his watch. It was six on Friday evening. ‘Let’s get this done early next week and then…’ She was due to start coming to fortnightly visits now, but Gus was nothing if not thorough. ‘Let’s get the scan and I’ll see you again next week.’

  ‘You know that I’m working?’ Izzy felt incredibly guilty, but Gus moved to reassure her.

  ‘Lots of my mums work right up till their due date, Izzy. You’re doing nothing wrong—for now. I just want you to try and reduce your stress and really make sure you’re eating well. You need some extra calories. I’d suggest you add a protein shake to your breakfast.’

  ‘I’m supposed to be going to the Penhally Ball tomorrow…’

  Out of the blue Diego had suggested they go together—face the gossip and just get it over and done with, and what better way than at the Penhally Ball, when everyone would be there. They had, Diego had pointed out, absolutely nothing to be ashamed of. To the world they were friends and friends went out! Except Izzy still cared what others might think and almost hoped Gus would shake his head and tell her that the weekend might be better spent resting on the couch with her feet up, thus give her a reason not to go, but Gus seemed delighted. ‘That’s good—I’m glad you’re starting to go out.’

  ‘Shouldn’t I be resting?’

  ‘Izzy, I’m not prescribing bed rest—I want you to relax and a social life is a part of that. I just want to keep a closer eye on you.’

  ‘The thing is…’ She was testing the water, just dipping in her toe. She respected Gus, and his reaction mattered. ‘Things have been awful, but for the last few weeks, for the first time since I’ve been pregnant, I haven’t had any stress or, rather, much less, and I have been eating better…’

  ‘Well, whatever it is you’re doing, keep it up,’ Gus said, and Izzy gave a small swallow.

  ‘I’m going to the ball with a friend, Diego.’

  ‘Ramirez.’ Izzy frowned as Gus said his surname.

  ‘You know him?’

  ‘There aren’t too many Diegos around here. The neonatal nurse?’

  And she waited for his shock-horror reaction, for him to tell her she should be concentrating on the baby now, not out dancing with male friends, but instead Gus smiled.

  ‘He seems a nice man.’

  When Izzy just sat there Gus smiled. ‘You dese
rve nice, Izzy.’

  She still didn’t know it.

  Chapter Eight

  SHE’D cancel.

  Izzy could hardly hear the hairdresser’s comments as she sat with a black cape around her shoulders, pretending to look as a mirror was flashed behind her head.

  ‘It looks fantastic!’

  Well, she would say that, Izzy thought to herself. The hairdresser was hardly going to say, ‘It looks awful and what on earth were you thinking, taking a pair of scissors to your locks, you stupid tart?’ But as the mirror hovered behind her Izzy actually did look, and for once she agreed with the woman who wielded the scissors.

  Okay, maybe fantastic was stretching things a touch, but it had been three months and three trips to this chair since that moment of self-loathing and finally, finally, she didn’t look like a five-year-old who had taken the kitchen scissors to the bathroom. The last of her homemade crop had been harvested, the once jagged spikes now softened, shades of blonde and caramel moving when her head did, which it did as Izzy craned her neck for a proper look.

  ‘I’ve hardly taken anything off at the front or sides, just softened it a touch, but I’ve taken a fair bit off the back…’

  Izzy could have kissed her but instead she left a massive tip, booked in for six weeks’ time, skipped out to her car and somehow made it home without incident, despite the constant peeks in the rear-view mirror at her very new ‘side fringe’.

  And then she remembered.

  She was cancelling.

  So why was she running a bath and getting undressed?

  A tepid bath so it didn’t fluff up her hair.

  She couldn’t do it, couldn’t go, just couldn’t face it.

  So instead of climbing in to the water she wrapped herself in a towel and padded out to the living room.