The Surgeon's Marriage

by Maggie Kingsley

  ‘To be honest, I don’t really know how I feel,’ Annie sighed. ‘Gideon and I talked about having children before we got married, of course, but I was sort of thinking in maybe in a year or two.’

  ‘Our two were unexpected, and we never regretted having them,’ Helen said, ‘and, believe me, if you are pregnant, Gideon will be over the moon.’

  Actually, he looked as though he could do with some good news right now, she thought. Whatever Tom was telling him was obviously going down as well as a plague of midges in a nudist colony.

  ‘Ready to start the morning round, Helen?’

  ‘Hmm?’ she murmured, her eyes still fixed curiously on her husband.

  ‘Patients, Helen. Remember them? Sick people in beds who need our attention?’

  She turned to see Mark smiling at her, and flushed slightly.

  ‘Sorry. I was miles away.’ Quickly she straightened her white coat and affixed a smile to her lips. ‘OK. Ready whenever you are.’

  ‘Are you out of your mind?’ Gideon asked, then swiftly urged Tom up to the top of the ward away from the prying ears of Mrs Foster. ‘You’re asking if you and Helen can take a week off work, starting tomorrow?’

  ‘I know it’s short notice—’

  ‘It’s also impossible. Mark’s leaving us on Sunday, and we’re not expecting Rachel back for another fortnight.’

  ‘It’s important, Gideon. You know I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t.’

  The consultant sighed. ‘I’m sure you wouldn’t but, like I said, it’s impossible. Now, I can certainly give you and Helen a week off at the beginning of July—’

  ‘Gideon, if you don’t give me this week off, I’m just going to take it.’

  His boss’s jaw dropped. ‘Do you realise what you’re saying?’

  Tom nodded grimly. ‘That if I walk out of the hospital tomorrow without your consent I’m effectively throwing my job away. Like I said, this is important. I want to take Helen to Venice, and I’ve bought the plane tickets.’

  Gideon stared at him in amazement. ‘You’re prepared to throw away your career for the sake of a holiday?’

  ‘For this holiday, yes.’

  Gideon glanced down the ward to where Helen was deep in conversation with Mark. ‘Does Helen know what you’re doing?’

  Tom’s jaw clenched as he followed the direction of his boss’s gaze. ‘No, she doesn’t, and I don’t want her to know. At least not yet.’

  ‘I see. Or rather, I don’t, not at all. Look, would you at least consider changing the booking—waiting until Rachel gets back?’

  ‘It has to be this Saturday, Gideon.’

  ‘But why?’ the consultant protested. ‘Why does it have to be so soon? What difference will a few days make?’

  ‘All the difference in the world to me,’ Tom said tightly.

  ‘Yes, but why? What possible…?’ Gideon came to a sudden halt as Mark suddenly laughed at something Helen must have said, and his eyes narrowed. ‘You mean, you think that she…that she and…’

  ‘Gideon—’

  ‘Don’t tell me any more—you don’t have to tell me any more,’ he said quickly. ‘OK. I’ll speak to Admin—tell them we need emergency cover for a week, starting tomorrow. They’re not going to like it but, hey, what’s new? And I expect we’ll survive somehow.’

  A wave of relief spread across Tom’s face and he reached out and clasped the consultant’s hand firmly in his. ‘I owe you one for this, Gideon.’

  ‘Too damned right you do,’ the consultant said, nodding, ‘and, believe me I’ll collect.’

  ‘You can put me on permanent nights when I get back if you want,’ Tom replied.

  ‘I might just do that. Now, get yourself out of here and along to Theatre before I change my mind. Oh, and, Tom…’ His eyes were kind as Tom half turned and stared back at him questioningly. ‘Look, I just want to say…well, good luck, that’s all.’

  I’m going to need it, Tom thought. Taking Helen back to where they’d spent their honeymoon was the biggest gamble of his life. Everybody said you should never go back, never try to recapture the past, but that was exactly what he was hoping to do. Hoping that if he took Helen back to the small pensione off St Mark’s Square he might just be able to rekindle the love she’d felt for him ten years ago.

  It had to work. He had to believe it would work because without Helen…Without her he would be nothing.

  He glanced across at her as he left the ward. She looked puzzled and curious—probably wondering what the hell he and Gideon had been talking about. He managed a small smile, and saw her lips curve a little uncertainly in response. He couldn’t imagine a world without Helen. Didn’t want to imagine a world without Helen. If he could just get her away from Mark, away from his sweet-talking and his charm, maybe he might stand a chance.

  He had to. Somehow he had to.

  ‘If you’re in agreement?’

  ‘In agreement with what?’ Helen floundered, dragging her gaze away from her fast-disappearing husband and back to Mark.

  ‘You’re miles away, aren’t you?’ He laughed. ‘Mrs Merrick. I’ve just said I think you should start her radiotherapy next week.’

  ‘Oh. Right. Fine.’ She nodded.

  ‘It’s just that I’ll be gone by then—’

  ‘And you want to make sure all the loose ends are tied up before you go. I do understand, Mark.’

  ‘It’s not just Mrs Merrick’s treatment I want tied up, you know.’

  His green eyes were holding hers, and uncomfortably she glanced over her shoulder, hoping no one had heard him. ‘Mark, you said you wouldn’t pressurise me.’

  ‘But this is Friday, Helen, and I’m leaving on Sunday,’ he protested. ‘What’s there to think about? You know your marriage is over. You know I love you, and you love me.’

  Did she? she wondered as he strode on to the next patient, looking angrier than she’d ever seen him. She knew she was attracted to him, but was that the same as love?

  When she’d met Tom for the first time she’d been sitting in the Belfield canteen, all nervous and self-conscious in her brand-new junior doctor’s white coat, when a deep male voice had suddenly said, ‘Is it all right if I join you?’

  And she’d looked up to see a man with dark brown hair and gentle grey eyes carrying a tray piled with food, and had thought he looked nice. He’d sat down and started talking, telling her he was a new junior doctor, too, and within half an hour she’d known that this was the man she wanted to spend the rest of her life with.

  With Mark it had been so very different. With Mark she’d thought, Wow, before he’d even opened his mouth, but was that love or mere physical attraction?

  Does it matter? her mind asked. If Tom’s leaving you, do you really want to stay on at the Belfield, having to face the sympathetic looks, the curious questions? Wouldn’t it be better to leave, to start a new life in Canada?

  It sounded sensible. It sounded eminently sensible, so why could she feel tears welling in her eyes at the thought?

  Never had a day seemed so endless. Never had it been so hard for her to focus, to concentrate on what she was doing.

  Yvonne Merrick was very tolerant after she carefully explained all about the radiotherapy, then couldn’t remember which day Mark had said it would start. Mrs Foster wasn’t nearly so tolerant when Helen dropped her file, sending the woman’s notes scattering all over the place.

  ‘It seems to me that some people need to pull themselves together,’ she’d said loudly after Helen had gathered up the notes, red-cheeked with embarrassment.

  ‘Talk about the pot calling the kettle black,’ Annie commented as she accompanied Helen down the ward. ‘She’s hardly the most together person, is she?’

  ‘Perhaps not,’ Helen sighed, ‘but I really shouldn’t have dropped her notes.’

  ‘Look, why don’t you get off home?’ Annie suggested. ‘You’ve only got another ten minutes of your shift left, and I’ll cover for you.’

  ‘Are
you sure?’ Helen said hesitantly. ‘It doesn’t seem fair to run out on you, leaving you with my work.’

  ‘Hey, what can happen in ten minutes?’ the junior doctor protested, and Helen groaned as she saw Liz hurrying down the ward towards them.

  ‘Famous last words, Annie. OK, Liz, tell me the worst. We’ve got a massive influx of emergencies coming in, right? And I can wave goodbye to any hope of getting off home early.’

  ‘It isn’t that,’ the sister replied. ‘It’s…’

  ‘It’s what?’ Helen asked, wondering why Liz’s normally cheery face should look so white, shocked.

  ‘It’s…Helen, there’s no easy way to say this. It’s Emma.’

  ‘Emma,’ Helen repeated blankly. Emma was with her school’s swimming team. It was competing against another school in the first round of the Glasgow Challenge Shield and she’d waved her off on the school bus this morning. But as she continued to gaze at Liz, saw the pity and sympathy in her face, fear clutched at her heart. A horrible gut-wrenching, desperate fear. ‘What’s happened—what’s wrong?’

  ‘She’s been hit by a car. She was crossing the road with her schoolfriends when a car came round the corner—’

  ‘Where is she?’ Helen demanded.

  ‘In A and E. They brought her in half an hour ago, and one of the nurses recognised the name. I…I’m afraid it doesn’t look good.’

  Dear God, no, Helen thought as she began to run towards the ward door. Not Emma. Not her daughter. Not her bickering, complaining, lovely daughter. If she…

  Desperately she shook her head. She mustn’t even think the words—she mustn’t. She had to get to A and E. If she could just get to A and E everything would be all right, and then suddenly Mark was beside her, his face as white as she knew her own must be.

  ‘Helen, I’ve just heard. Oh, God, Helen, I’m sorry—so sorry.’

  He was holding her hands, chafing them between his own, and dimly she realised he was still speaking. Murmuring the stock phrases she’d used all too often herself to relatives in emergency situations. How Emma was in the best possible place, how skilled the surgeons were in A and E. His words washed over her, empty, meaningless, trivial.

  ‘Mark, I have to go,’ she exclaimed, cutting him off in mid-flow.

  ‘I’ll come down to A and E with you, Helen. Stay with you.’

  She shook her head. ‘No.’

  ‘You can’t go there on your own,’ he protested. ‘Let me come with you, please.’

  She pulled her hands free from his, and stared up into his handsome face, her eyes full of fear, and pain, and desperation, and shook her head again.

  ‘Tom. I want…I want Tom.’

  CHAPTER TEN

  ‘WHY won’t they let us see her, Tom?’ Helen cried, her voice harsh, unsteady, as she paced the corridor outside A and E. ‘What are they doing in there, what’s taking so long?’

  ‘They’ll be carrying out tests, performing procedures…’

  ‘But can’t they at least let us see her?’ she exclaimed. ‘I just…I only want to see her.’

  Quickly he went to her, wrapping her in his arms, trying to give her comfort, to draw some comfort for himself in return. ‘She’ll be all right, Helen, I know she will…’

  ‘But how did it happen?’ she said raggedly into his chest. ‘Why wasn’t one of the teachers keeping an eye on her?’

  ‘They can’t watch children all the time, and you know what Emma’s like. She’d be so excited she’d forget all about road safety.’

  ‘Even more reason for somebody to watch out for her. If Emma…’ Her voice broke and his grip on her tightened. ‘Oh, God, Tom, I feel so useless. I want to be in there, doing something. I want to be treating her, helping her, and I can’t…I can’t.’

  He knew what she meant. All his years of training, all his medical experience, and yet now—when it really mattered, when it was their own child’s life that was at stake—he was standing outside in a corridor, useless.

  ‘She’ll be all right,’ he repeated with more confidence than he felt. ‘She’s spunky, strong—’

  He came to a halt as the door to A and E clattered open. The consultant was walking towards them, and there was a smear of blood on his white shirt. Emma’s blood, Tom realised, and desperately he fought against the wave of nausea that threatened to engulf him.

  ‘How…how is she?’ he said, his voice seeming to sound from somewhere far away.

  ‘I’m afraid she’s one very ill little girl. Her pelvis is shattered, and her left lung has collapsed. The pelvis will mend in time, as will her lung, but we ran a CT scan because of the injury to her head, and…’

  And?’ Tom said with difficulty.

  ‘She has an extradural haemorrhage. We need to perform an immediate craniotomy to relieve the pressure on her brain.’

  Tom’s eyes flew to Helen’s. An extradural haemorrhage. The artery running over the surface of the outer layer of Emma’s brain had ruptured, and blood was seeping into her brain. The only way to stop it was to drill holes into Emma’s head and then try to clip the ruptured blood vessel. Sometimes the procedure worked, but sometimes…

  ‘Can we see her?’ Helen said, her voice shaky, uneven.

  The consultant was already walking back towards A and E. ‘Only for a minute before we take her to Theatre. Now, please try not to be too upset by what you see. She’s connected to a battery of tubes and wires—’

  ‘We’re doctors,’ Helen said quickly. ‘We know what to expect.’

  ‘In theory you do,’ the consultant observed, ‘but this is your daughter, and that makes it a whole different ball game.’

  He was right.

  Helen had thought herself hardened—toughened—after so many years of working with ill and often dying patients, but as she gazed down at her daughter she knew nothing could have prepared her for this.

  It wasn’t just the wires and tubes connected to the various monitors, or the endotracheal tube in Emma’s throat, helping her to breathe, that tore at her heart. It was the sight of her daughter’s little face swollen beyond recognition, the livid red marks on her fragile body where she’d been dragged along the road by the car.

  ‘Tom…Oh, Tom…’ She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to contain her tears, but they leaked past, trickling down her cheeks, running into her mouth, and he put his arm round her.

  ‘She’ll be all right—she’s strong—she’ll be all right,’ he said, his jaw working rapidly, his own voice clogged.

  ‘I’m afraid that’s all the time we can give you,’ the consultant murmured, beckoning to his waiting staff.

  ‘Just one more minute—a second,’ Tom begged, then leant forward and gently kissed his daughter’s forehead. ‘We’re here, sweetheart. Mummy and I are here, and everything’s going to be all right.’

  Emma didn’t move, didn’t even open her eyes, and desperately Helen reached for her daughter’s hand.

  ‘Emma, it’s Mummy. We’re going to make you better. I promise—I promise—we’re going to make you better.’

  ‘We really do have to go,’ the consultant insisted.

  They had time only to nod, and then the trolley was moving. Out of A and E, along the corridor, the IV bags swinging, the respirator wheezing, and they had to run to keep up with it, Helen holding one of Emma’s hands, Tom the other, knowing they were getting in the way, but they had to be there. Just had to.

  ‘I’m sorry, but you can’t come any further,’ one of the nurses said when they reached the theatre. ‘Look, why don’t you go through to our waiting room?’ she added more gently, seeing their faces. ‘There’s tea, and coffee-making facilities, and someone will come and speak to you as soon as there’s any news.’

  ‘How long will it be before we know anything?’ Tom asked.

  ‘I don’t know. I’m sorry, but I honestly don’t know,’ the nurse replied. And then Emma was gone, the swing doors closed and Helen pressed her hand hard against her lips, trying to hold onto the feel of Emm
a’s small fingers in hers.

  ‘Helen…?’

  There was pain in Tom’s grey eyes, a pain she knew was mirrored in her own, and blindly she followed him into the small room marked PRIVATE. They had a similar room in Obs and Gynae, and it was a room she’d always hated. The room where they gave relatives bad news. A room of heartbreak and tears.

  She drew in a shuddering breath, and then a new panic assailed her as her eyes fell on the clock on the wall. ‘Tom, it’s after five. School will be over. John—’

  ‘Annie’s gone to collect him. She said she’d look after him for as long as it takes.’

  ‘Oh, that was kind of her,’ she said tremulously. ‘So kind.’

  And necessary, she realised as they sat in the waiting room and the minutes dragged slowly by. Minutes that became hours, until her nerves were paper thin. Just when she thought she’d go mad if they didn’t get some news soon the consultant appeared, looking exhausted and drained.

  ‘OK, the good news is we’ve relieved the pressure on her brain and repaired her pelvis and lung,’ he declared. ‘She’s on her way to Intensive Care now, and…’

  ‘The bad news?’ Helen faltered, knowing from his face that there was definitely bad news.

  He sat down, forcing them to do the same. ‘You have to remember that the human brain was never designed to withstand the impact of a car. When the car hit her she was dragged along the road for quite some distance—’

  ‘What are you saying?’ Helen interrupted. ‘What are you trying to tell us?’

  ‘That she could be brain damaged,’ Tom murmured, his face chalk white. ‘You’re trying to tell us she might be brain damaged, aren’t you?’

  The consultant nodded. ‘I’m afraid there’s a distinct possibility of that, yes.’

  Helen let out a low moan of pain, and Tom gripped her hand quickly.

  ‘And when…’ He cleared his throat, and when he spoke again his voice sounded rusty, unused. ‘When will we know for certain?’

  ‘Not until she regains consciousness. In cases like this, the quicker she does the better the prognosis tends to be, but for the moment I’m afraid all we can do is wait.’