The Surgeon's Marriage

by Maggie Kingsley

  ‘Annie was saying?’ Tom repeated blankly as the consultant came to an obviously embarrassed halt.

  ‘Well, you know what women are like, Tom,’ Gideon said in a rush, ‘and she’s probably got it all wrong, but she was saying to me the other day that she thought Helen looked a bit down, a bit depressed.’

  Annie had noticed? Annie, who had been at the Belfield for less than four months, had noticed? Tom bit his lip. Dammit, he should have been the first one to see there was a problem, and yet he hadn’t. Maybe women were better attuned to picking up on that sort of thing than men, or maybe he was just insensitive. It wasn’t a comforting thought.

  ‘Helen’s fine,’ he murmured. ‘Just tired, like the rest of us.’

  Probably more so since he’d been helping out at home, he thought ruefully, but how was he supposed to know that the little round symbol with the cross through it meant, Do not tumble-dry?

  ‘Hell, I should have been in Theatre ten minutes ago,’ Gideon exclaimed, quickly getting to his feet only to pause, his eyebrows raised. ‘Unless there’s something else you want to discuss with me?’

  For a moment Tom hesitated, then shook his head. The consultant might be his friend as well as his boss, but some things were private, and revealing that Helen had accused him of not pulling his weight definitely came under the heading of private.

  He was running late, too. Rhona Scott was booked in for an outpatient hysterosalpingogram this morning, and though he’d asked Helen to prepare her for him it wasn’t fair to keep either of them waiting. Rhona was a natural born worrier, and as for Helen…the last thing he wanted was to give her another opportunity to accuse him of taking advantage of her.

  No, that wasn’t fair, he thought with a deep sigh as he strode down the corridor towards his consulting room. It had clearly taken a lot to make her say what she had, but why on earth hadn’t she said something before? OK, so maybe he’d never been much of a New Age man, but neither was he a mind-reader.

  ‘Problems?’ Helen said, seeing his frown when he opened the door of his consulting room to find Rhona Scott already prepared and waiting.

  ‘No more than usual,’ he replied irritably, only to groan when he saw Helen stiffen. Why the hell had he said that? He hadn’t meant to sound so snippy, but there was nothing he could do about it—not with Mrs Scott staring curiously at him. ‘All set for your hysterosalpingogram, Rhona?’ he said instead.

  ‘To be honest, no,’ she said. ‘Call me chicken, but the thought of you putting some dye up into me…’ She shuddered. ‘Are you absolutely sure I can’t have an anaesthetic?’

  He shook his head. ‘I’m afraid the only way we can get really good X-ray pictures of the insides of your Fallopian tubes, and find out why you’re having such difficulty getting pregnant, is to carry out the procedure while you’re wide awake. It won’t hurt,’ he added, seeing her flinch when he picked up the small tube. ‘You may feel a momentary discomfort when I insert the dye into your uterus, but I promise that’s all you’re going to feel.’

  Rhona didn’t look convinced and out of the corner of his eye he saw Helen reach out and catch hold of her hand.

  She’d always been much better at dealing with patients—people—than he was. Maybe it was another female thing, but he’d always found it a lot harder to get the right blend of sympathy and understanding, and he could still get it wrong.

  Very badly wrong, he thought, remembering how angry Helen had been when he’d suggested she might be going through an early menopause. Well, OK, so his diagnosis might not have been the right one but, dammit, he’d been worried about her. He still was.

  It was all very well for her to keep on saying she was simply tired, and if she had more help at home everything would be fine, but he couldn’t rid himself of the nagging feeling that there was more to it than that. Something he was missing, but what the ‘something’ might be was beyond him.

  ‘Dr Brooke?’

  Helen’s eyes were on him, clearly wondering why he hadn’t started the procedure, and he flushed slightly.

  ‘Just checking the dosage,’ he lied, but she didn’t buy it. He hadn’t really expected her to. After ten years of marriage, she could read him like a book. He’d once thought he could do the same with her, but recently… ‘Ready, Rhona?’ he said, forcing his mind back to the present with difficulty.

  She nodded nervously, and as carefully and gently as he could he began inserting the tube into her cervix through her vagina.

  ‘It’ll all be over in a second.’ Helen smiled reassuringly down at the woman. ‘Once the dye is in your uterus it will show up white on a special screen we have, and after we’ve taken a few X-rays you can go home.’

  ‘Will I get the results today?’

  ‘I’m afraid not,’ Tom replied. ‘We have to process and examine them first, you see.’ Not to mention being so damn swamped with patients that we just don’t have the time, he added mentally. ‘But I’ll get our secretary to make an appointment for you to come in and see me on Friday, if that’s OK?’

  Rhona nodded.

  ‘Not much more to go now,’ Helen declared. ‘Just keep on relaxing. Good, Rhona…Well done…That’s it.’

  ‘The dye’s in?’ the woman exclaimed. ‘But I didn’t feel anything.’

  ‘I’d have hung up my stethoscope if you had.’ Tom smiled. ‘OK, all I want you to do now is to lie as still as you can while our technician takes the pictures.’

  ‘I should have got my hair done for the occasion, shouldn’t I?’ Rhona said with a shaky laugh, and he chuckled and patted her shoulder.

  ‘You look fine.’

  Her X-rays, unfortunately, didn’t.

  ‘No wonder she hasn’t been able to conceive,’ Helen observed. ‘That swelling where her right Fallopian tube joins her uterus—it means the tube is completely blocked, doesn’t it?’

  ‘It looks like it,’ Tom replied. ‘If the blockage hasn’t extended right through the uterine wall I could certainly perform a cornual anastomosis—cutting out the blocked section of the Fallopian tube and rejoining it—but…’

  ‘Our theatre schedule’s so full it’s anybody’s guess as to when Rhona could have the operation,’ she finished for him.

  Tom nodded, then frowned. ‘I’m going to pull strings on this one. It’s crazy for her to have to wait when we’ve got somebody of Mark’s calibre on the team.’

  ‘Mark has experience of tubal surgery?’ she exclaimed. ‘I didn’t know that.’

  ‘Oh, there’s lots of things you don’t know about me.’ A deep male voice chuckled, and Tom saw his wife jump as though somebody had lit a firecracker behind her.

  ‘Haven’t you ever heard of knocking?’ she said. ‘Creeping up on people like that. Is there something wrong on the ward?’

  ‘Apart from the fact that you’re not there?’ Mark grinned. ‘Not a thing.’

  Tom wryly shook his head as he saw a deep flush of colour cross his wife’s cheeks. Same old Mark. Still couldn’t resist turning on the charm, flirting with every woman he met. Helen didn’t appear to appreciate it, though. In fact, she looked angry, tense, and deftly he steered Mark towards the X-rays.

  ‘OK, earn your salary. Take a look at this.’

  Mark stared at the screen. ‘Somebody’s uterus, right?’

  ‘No, somebody’s left foot,’ Tom responded. ‘Cut the jokes, Mark—tell me what you think.’

  ‘That right Fallopian tube—it could simply be scarred, but…’ He shook his head. ‘Blocked, I’d say, but the clarity’s not very good. What did you take the pictures with—an old box Brownie camera?’

  ‘Mark.’

  He grinned. ‘OK—OK. Probably blocked, perhaps due to an infection caused by a coil. How old is your patient?’

  ‘Thirty-six. Married for eight years, and been trying for a baby for the last six.’

  ‘And she’s only just having an exploratory hysterosalpingogram now?’ Mark gasped. ‘Jeez, what the hell have you guys been doing for
the past five years?’

  ‘Working our way through a very long waiting list,’ Helen snapped before Tom could say anything. ‘The Belfield doesn’t have a separate infertility clinic, so we treat people as and when we can. Rhona only got onto our list last year—’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Look, we do the best we can, OK?’ Helen said impatiently, and Mark sighed.

  ‘Well, all I can say is things are very different in Australia.’

  Helen muttered something which sounded suspiciously like, ‘So how come you didn’t stay there?’ and Tom shot her a puzzled glance.

  He was the one who usually got angry and frustrated, dealing with the limitations of the service they could offer, but Helen hadn’t sounded simply angry, she’d sounded positively antagonistic.

  Awkwardly he cleared his throat. ‘I don’t know what happens in Australia, but under the NHS there’s a nine-month to a year waiting list for non-urgent surgery, and a cornual anastomosis is considered non-urgent. I know,’ he said as Mark’s eyebrows shot up, ‘but that’s how it is.’

  ‘Then why the hell do you put up with it?’ Mark demanded. ‘Dammit, Tom, you’re a first-rate surgeon. If you went to Oz, or to the States, you could be head of your own department, and not have to put up with this sort of crap.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ Tom said, ‘but Helen and I like the Belfield. It’s where we met, and we’ve a fondness for the old place.’

  ‘Which doesn’t mean we’re always going to stay here,’ Helen said swiftly. ‘I mean, who’s to say what’s round the corner for any of us—what changes we might make?’

  Mark glanced from her to Tom thoughtfully. ‘So it’s only old Tom who’s reluctant to move, is it? You always did play it too safe, mate.’

  ‘Whether I do or whether I don’t is immaterial,’ Tom replied, wondering what on earth had made Helen say what she had, and not liking the reference to himself as ‘old’ either. ‘Mrs Scott is certainly not going to have to wait nine months when we’ve got someone with your experience on the team. I’ll have a word with Gideon, insist we get her in while you’re here to help me.’

  ‘In that case, I’d better take a closer look at these X-rays,’ Mark said. ‘If we’re going to be operating on this lady, I want as much information as I can get.’

  Tom nodded but he couldn’t help but notice that when Mark moved closer to the screen, Helen instantly stepped back.

  ‘If you don’t need me any longer I have a mass of paperwork to catch up on,’ she said. ‘Not to mention my antenatal clinic in an hour.’

  She was already heading for the door, and Tom quickly followed her. ‘Thanks for holding the fort for me, love. I really appreciate it.’

  She smiled up at him, but she didn’t even so much as glance in Mark’s direction as she left, and Mark’s eyebrows rose.

  ‘Whoa, but did it suddenly get distinctly chilly in here, or what?’

  ‘I’m not surprised,’ Tom observed tightly. ‘Criticising our department and its equipment wasn’t exactly the smartest thing in the world to do.’

  ‘Just telling it like it is,’ Mark replied. ‘It’s not my fault if Helen is hypersensitive to criticism. In fact…’ He came to a halt as he encountered a look in Tom’s eyes. A look he’d never seen before. A look that held neither warmth nor amusement, and he held up his hands defensively. ‘Hey, no offence meant, mate. Look, I’ll apologise to her, OK?’

  ‘Do that,’ Tom declared, his grey eyes hard, cold. ‘I don’t like my wife upset, and I won’t have her upset. Not by you, not by anyone.’

  Mark stared at him for a second. ‘Tom the protector. Tom the defender. You’ve changed since our med days, haven’t you?’

  ‘If you mean I’ve grown up—realised what and who is important in my life—then, yes, I’ve changed,’ Tom replied. ‘Helen is more important to me than my job, this hospital and our friendship, and you’d be well advised never to forget that.’

  Mark grinned. ‘Whoops, but I’ve suddenly got that chilly feeling again. Look, I’ve said I’ll apologise,’ he continued as Tom’s eyebrows snapped together. ‘I’ll even grovel if I have to. Satisfied now?’

  Tom nodded. ‘Mark, listen—’

  ‘Helen doesn’t seem to like me very much, does she?’

  Helen didn’t appear to, but there was no way Tom was going to agree. ‘Helen likes everyone,’ he said evasively.

  ‘OK, let’s just say I’m not feeling the love,’ Mark observed, and Tom couldn’t help but laugh.

  ‘The trouble with you, my friend, is that far too many women have been bowled over by your charm over the years, and it’s a blow to your ego when one isn’t.’

  ‘You reckon?’

  ‘I reckon,’ Tom confirmed. ‘In fact, I think it’s high time you settled down.’

  ‘And deny all the lovely women out there the pleasure of my company? No way.’

  ‘Maybe that kind of attitude is OK when you’re in your twenties,’ Tom said, horribly aware that he suddenly felt very old, ‘but you’re thirty-four—’

  ‘So I should be looking for a woman to settle down with,’ Mark completed for him in a mock-sonorous tone. ‘Perhaps I would if all the best ones weren’t already taken.’ One corner of his mouth turned up. ‘Women like your Helen. Now, if I’d met her before I went to Oz—’

  ‘You wouldn’t have stood a chance.’ Tom laughed. ‘It was love at first sight for Helen and me.’

  It had been, and the love was still there, he thought as he began labelling the X-rays and putting them into Rhona Scott’s file. Even now she could still make his pulses race simply by smiling at him. Even now he felt a tightness round his heart when he saw her coming out of the shower, her hair all tousled, her skin pink and glowing.

  He glanced thoughtfully across at Mark. When they’d been students he’d always envied Mark his good looks and easy charm, but he didn’t envy him now. Flitting from woman to woman, moving on when he got bored or if some other female caught his eye. It was an empty sort of a life, rootless and ultimately unsatisfying.

  No, he didn’t envy Mark. He had a wife who loved him, two wonderful children, whereas Mark…Mark had absolutely nothing that he wanted any more.

  ‘He’s gorgeous, isn’t he?’ Liz Baker said dreamily as she switched on the staffroom kettle. ‘His thick black hair, his tan, those eyes…’

  ‘Looks aren’t everything,’ Helen interrupted tersely. ‘In fact, give me an honest, ordinary-looking man any day of the week.’

  ‘Hear! hear!’ Annie agreed.

  ‘Mark Lorimer,’ Liz continued, as though neither of them had spoken. ‘Even his name sounds romantic, don’t you think? Like something out of a story book.’

  ‘Grimm’s Fairy Tales, perhaps?’ Helen suggested, and Liz looked momentarily startled, then laughed.

  ‘Oh, come on, Helen, you’re not telling me you don’t think he’s seriously attractive?’

  He was, but that didn’t give him the right to waltz into the Belfield and criticise the way they worked, Helen thought, unwrapping her sandwiches with more vigour than was strictly necessary. Neither did it give him the right to imply that she and Tom were a pair of old stick-in-the-muds with no ambition because they’d never worked anywhere else. They had children, for heaven’s sake—obligations. Something that Mark Lorimer clearly knew nothing about.

  ‘Madge in Paediatrics thinks he’s handsome,’ Liz continued. ‘So does Phyllis in Radiography—’

  ‘Madge and Phyllis should stop behaving like a pair of silly moon-struck schoolgirls,’ Helen retorted, then bit her lip when Liz’s mouth fell open.

  Oh, Lord, but that had been an incredibly bitchy thing to say. Even Annie clearly thought it was, judging by the way she was staring at her, but she was sick to death of everybody giggling over Mark Lorimer like he was a film star or something.

  Yes, he was quite unbelievably good-looking. Yes, he had a voice that could melt butter, and eyes that seemed to gaze down deep inside you, but anyone with half a br
ain should also have been able to see that he was also an unprincipled flirt. Good grief, put him in front of any female between the ages of eight and eighty—herself included—and he instantly switched on the charm.

  Well, she wasn’t some naïve schoolgirl who could be impressed by a few slick words, a few finely tuned compliments, she thought with irritation as the staffroom door opened, and Mark came in, deep in conversation with Tom and Gideon. She was more interested in whether he was any good as a doctor.

  ‘Good news, Helen,’ Tom declared, coming over to sit beside her. ‘Gideon’s agreed to slot Rhona Scott in for surgery as quickly as possible, and we’ve got two possible dates. One for Monday the week after next, and the other for the end of May.’

  ‘Rhona would come in this afternoon if you asked her,’ Helen murmured, taking a bite out of her sandwich and trying very hard to ignore the fact that Mark was flirting quite outrageously with Liz.

  ‘You don’t think she might feel both dates are too soon?’ Tom said. ‘We’re talking major surgery here, and she’ll be in hospital for at least a week. As she’s a school-teacher she might prefer to wait until the long summer holidays.’

  ‘Trust me, she won’t.’

  ‘Female intuition?’ her husband said curiously.

  ‘Female heart.’ She smiled.

  ‘OK, that’s good enough for me. I’ll suggest the Monday when she comes in for the results of her hysterosalpingogram, and see what she says.’

  Helen nodded. Annie was getting ready to go off duty, and she saw Gideon bend his head to catch something his wife had said, then laugh and press her hand briefly to his lips.

  She and Tom used to do that, Helen thought wistfully. Steal kisses, hold hands simply for the pleasure of touching one another. In fact, they’d joked that there wasn’t a sluice room in the hospital they hadn’t used at one time or another for a secret rendezvous.

  And I’m doing it again, she thought angrily as the couple left the staffroom. Envying them, and it’s so stupid. The love I feel for Tom is bound to have changed over the years, become less intense, more familiar, more comfortable.