Once the pilot was able to land, the man was swiftly loaded and whisked away, with his wife being given instructions to follow with her children by car.
‘Why a helicopter?’ Tricia asked as they rounded up their own children and slowly made their way back towards their possessions.
‘Holiday traffic on the coast road. It’s the quickest way. They often do that.’
‘It was really cool, Dad,’ Mark said. ‘Can we go in a helicopter?’
Rhys ruffled the boy’s hair affectionately and hugged his skinny shoulders. ‘One day, maybe.’
‘You’re a really fast runner, Daddy,’ Emma said proudly. ‘I never seen legs go so quick!’
‘Impressed, eh?’ he said with a grin.
‘My legs are tired,’ Bibby said.
‘Mine too,’ Rhys confided, and swung her up onto his shoulders.
‘I expect you’ll ache tomorrow,’ commented Tricia.
He laughed. ‘What are you talking about? I ache now.’
‘Better that than lose the patient.’
They exchanged a glance that spoke volumes. The right place, the right time, with the right drug—Brian was a very, very lucky man.
‘I’m thirsty—can I have a can?’ Mark asked.
‘No!’ Rhys and Tricia said in unison, and then laughed softly.
‘Yes—but drink it from a cup,’ Rhys amended. ‘In fact, shall we go up to the café and have some lunch?’
The children chorused approval, and Tricia grinned. ‘That’s the best idea you’ve had all day.’
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE memory of that lovely day stayed with Tricia all through the weekend. She was on duty, and, needless to say, it was hectic—lots of cases of heatstroke and sunburn, more wasps stings but of a less dramatic nature than Brian’s, and indigestion from overeating.
There was nothing exciting, nothing dramatic, nothing to relieve the monotony of a long and tiring two days.
Nothing, that was, until Monday afternoon around two. She was lying curled up on the sofa, pretending to read a book, when the phone woke her. ‘Tricia?’
‘Oh, hi, Lins. How’re you doing?’
‘Um—that’s the problem. A bit quickly, I think. Could you come?’
Tricia sat bolt upright. ‘What do you mean, a bit quickly?’
She could almost hear the shrug. ‘I think I’m in labour, and Matthew’s out. He’s sailing—God knows when he’ll be back, and I think—well, I know. I just wondered if you’d mind coming over and having a look?’
‘Sure. I’ll be with you in a few minutes. Hang on.’
She slipped her feet into cotton casual shoes, grabbed her medical bag and flew. If Linsey thought she needed Tricia, she was probably almost at the point of delivery, and that sounded like thoroughly bad news to Tricia.
She arrived at the cottage with indecent haste and ran in through the open door. ‘Lins?’
‘In the bath.’
Oh, Lord. She ran up the stairs and went into the bathroom, to find her friend lying back in the whirlpool bath in a sea of bubbles, breathing her way through a contraction. When she stopped going whoo-whoo and started going hoo-hoo-ha-a-ah, Tricia began to panic.
‘When did you notice the first contraction?’ she asked.
‘About ten this morning.’
‘Four hours ago.’
Linsey nodded.
‘And how far apart are they?’
‘Every three minutes. They have been for ages.’
‘Fancy getting in the bath when you’re here on your own.’
‘I’ve been in it most of the day—it’s so relaxing. It’s much better when I’m in.’
Tricia frowned. The jets of a whirlpool bath could trap germs. If her waters had gone—
‘Don’t worry, my waters haven’t broken, and anyway, Matthew flushed the system through with special chemicals yesterday.’
‘Even so,’ Tricia said firmly, ‘I want you out so I can look at you.’
Linsey stood up slowly, her body still remarkably beautiful even in such an advanced state of pregnancy. Tricia noticed almost absently how well she looked, how fit and lean and healthy. Then Linsey sagged against the wall and let her breath out in a rush. ‘Oh, damn. It’s always worse if I’m standing.’
‘Sit on the edge.’
Tricia helped her down, then let her lean for a moment.
‘OK, it’s passed.’
‘Right, into the bedroom. Let’s see how long we’ve got.’
She was horrified when she saw. ‘Linsey, you’re almost there. I’m going to have to call an ambulance and the midwife, but I think you’re having this baby now, here, at home.’
Linsey’s face fell. ‘I want Matthew here,’ she whispered. ‘Oh, Tricia, he has to be here. He can’t miss it.’
‘Well, then,’ Tricia said, hauling sheets out of the airing cupboard, ‘he’d better get his butt home, or he’ll be too late. Up you get.’
She spread sheets and towels over the centre of the bed then helped Linsey into the middle again, up against a pile of pillows. ‘Right,’ she said briskly. ‘Let’s call the cavalry.’ She dialled the number of the ambulance station, then turned to Linsey. ‘Here—dry yourself,’ she said, chucking her a towel, then spoke to ambulance control, gave them directions and then asked for the midwife’s number.
She, too, promised to come immediately. Tricia, confident of her approaching support group, turned back to Linsey. ‘Right. Anything I can do for you?’
Linsey just shook her head. ‘Hold my hand, perhaps?’ she said with a weak smile. ‘I wish Matthew was here—’
She broke off, biting her lip, and Tricia hopped up on the bed beside her and gave her a hug. ‘You’ll be fine, Lins. Don’t worry. We’ll leave him a note—perhaps he’ll get there just in time.’
Then Linsey’s eyes glazed and she grunted—a deep, gutteral sound low in her throat. ‘Oh, Tricia—what on earth—? Aagh!’
‘Push with your mouth open,’ Tricia instructed her. ‘That’s it—that’s better. Good girl. Another push—well done. OK, the contraction’s gone; you can rest now.’
Linsey let her breath out on a long sigh. ‘That is something else. It just takes over—as if it’s something outside you that’s in control. It’s amazing. So powerful. Oh, Tricia, I wish Matthew was here—’
She broke off again, her face puckered with concentration, and gave another strong push. Tricia was conscious of the arrival of the ambulance and another car outside. The midwife. Thank God.
The baby’s head was crowning now, bulging at the entrance, hair plastered against its scalp.
‘It’s got dark hair—you been sleeping with the milkman?’ Tricia asked her.
Linsey grinned weakly. ‘No chance. He’s not as good looking as Matthew.’
Talk of the devil. He burst into the room, shouldering the ambulanceman out of the way, and stopped dead at the foot of the bed.
‘Oh, my God,’ he breathed. ‘Linsey—’
‘Ah, the cavalry. Go and wash your hands and get back here this minute,’ Tricia ordered him.
He went, returned with hands still dripping, and she jerked her head at a pile of towels. ‘Dry your hands and get another of those ready to cover the baby—OK, Lins, steady, love, steady; don’t push. Little pants—that’s it, good girl. Nice and slow; there’s no hurry.’
She used her fingers to support the taut perineum, and then with a slithering splosh the head was suddenly free. The baby was face down but turned as they watched, its face puckering in outrage, and then the shoulders slipped free and Matthew lifted the baby clear into Linsey’s waiting arms.
‘You’ve got a son—congratulations,’ Tricia said mistily, and then the tears welled over, splashing down her cheeks as she watched Linsey and Matthew greeting their tiny child.
‘Oh, you drip,’ she muttered to herself.
Linsey looked at her, her own eyes full, and reached out a hand.
Tricia took it. ‘OK?’
&nb
sp; Linsey laughed. ‘Never better. Thanks.’
‘Oh!’ Tricia blinked and looked up at the ceiling. ‘What a weed.’
Matthew chuckled. ‘You think you’ve got problems?’ His face was drenched, his lashes clumped together with tears, and she thought she’d never seen anyone so happy in her life.
The midwife arrived then, ‘just in time to deal with the boring bits’, as she put it, and the ambulance crew left, satisfied that everything was under control and that the mother and baby were both well.
Tricia took a moment to herself and went down to put the kettle on. So much joy. She wondered how Rhys had felt when his children had been born, and her eyes filled again. Dear God, she wanted to have his child! The pain of loss, the grief for all she would never have with him hit her like a steam train, and with a little cry she doubled up over the sink.
The midwife found her. ‘Are you all right, love?’ she asked worriedly.
‘Yes, fine,’ Tricia lied with a weak attempt at a smile. She straightened up and sniffed, then blinked. ‘Just a bit emotional. She’s been a good friend for a long time.’
‘Ah, that’s nice. Lovely baby—perfect. He’ll be a looker, too, if the parents are anything to go by.’
‘Any needlework?’
The midwife shook her head. ‘No. You did a lovely job. Well done.’
Tricia smiled again, more genuinely. ‘It was very easy. I have to say I think Linsey could have done it all herself—in fact, if I hadn’t got here when I did she would have had to.’
‘Well, she’s got her obstetrics qualifications, of course,’ the midwife said with a laugh. ‘I dare say she could have managed.’
‘I dare say,’ Tricia said, and wondered how long it would be before she could be alone and give in to the tidal wave of grief that was threatening to engulf her...
The next weeks were strange for Tricia. Linsey was consumed by her new baby and for the first time she left Tricia alone to do the job. Matthew was in and out as fast as possible, wanting to spend time with the new member of his family, and even Rhys was a little remote.
She wondered if it was because of Linsey’s baby and her reaction to it, because when she had seen him and told him about it the floodgates had burst and she had cried all over him.
Had he been terrified? Probably. Maybe he thought she was going to get broody and start being difficult, but she wasn’t. Broody, yes, but difficult, no. She loved him far too much to burden him any more.
He had, however, taken her advice and kept her away from the children. She missed them—missed the muddle and chaos they created wherever they went, missed the laughter and the squabbles, and most of all, perhaps, the spontaneous little hugs.
Only in the evening, after the children were asleep, and on those few nights when they were both free—only then did his remoteness vanish, driven out by the consuming passion that always flared when they were alone.
Conscious of the short space of time left to them, Tricia took her contraceptive pills continuously, choosing not to break for a withdrawal bleed. It served no real purpose, and as soon as her time with Rhys ran out she would stop taking it. In the meantime every day was precious, every chance they had to be together like gold-dust.
Of course there was more to their relationship than just the wonderful physical element they had discovered, but only then would Rhys really give her his love.
Only in his caresses, in the trembling, almost reverent way he held her in his arms, in the shattering, awesome power of their release did he give her access to his soul, but it was an unspoken access, and she longed to tell him of her love and hear the words that would bind him to her for ever.
Sometimes she dreamt of him, and in her dreams he told her that he loved her. She would wake then, and reality would hit her like an icy wave, and she would bury her face in the pillow and weep.
That was something she seemed to be doing more and more as the time drew nearer for her to leave. Tears never seemed far away when she was alone.
The only remedy seemed to be to bury herself in her work, and as there seemed precious little else to do she was more than content. She even covered some of Matthew’s duty to give him more time with Linsey, and in the end her mother protested.
‘You haven’t been to see us for ages,’ she told her daughter. ‘Your father and I were just saying last night, it must be over twelve weeks since you came to see us.’
‘I’ll come next weekend,’ she promised. ‘I’m on call this weekend.’
‘Mind you do,’ her mother scolded lovingly. ‘I expect you’re skin and bone—you always are if I’m not there to look after you.’
‘Rubbish,’ Tricia said with a laugh. In fact, since she’d been on the Pill she had put on weight—especially on her bust, which she could ill afford to do. She was already a touch on the top-heavy side.
It was the beginning of November, cold and frosty at night, warm and sunny by day. She was on call that first weekend in Casualty, over the peak time for bonfire parties, and as usual there were lots of minor injuries. Most of them were children burned by the metal rods of sparklers, but others were more serious.
One child had had a sparkler in the eye and was transferred straight to Lymington. Another had held a banger and again was transferred with a nasty burn to the palm of the hand.
Then a whole group came in together, teenagers who had been fooling around with petrol and a bonfire and had been caught in the massive fireball that had resulted.
Tricia rang Rhys. ‘I hate to ask you, but is your neighbour available to cover for a while? I’ve got so many patients here it’s crazy, and I can’t get to them in time.’
‘I’ll come,’ he promised. Fifteen minutes later he was there, working alongside her on the casualties. Most of them had just minor burns to the face and hands, but others might need grafting in places, and two Tricia had admitted for shock and possible smoke inhalation.
‘Chaos,’ Rhys said with a shake of his head. ‘Why do they do it? I take the children to the organised fireworks, with safety goggles, and in clothing which I know won’t catch fire. They don’t get within miles of a firework, I make quite sure they don’t have sparklers and so far, touch wood, they’re safe.’
‘I hate the bonfires,’ Tricia told him. ‘I’ve had two asthmatics in this evening already because of the poor air quality, and if you look outside you can hardly see for the smoke. It’s crazy—and what about all the hibernating hedgehogs, and the cats and rabbits that have crept inside the bonfires for warmth and then get burned alive? It’s horrible. So unnecessary.’
‘Another cause, Tricia?’ he said softly.
She glared at him. ‘Don’t mock me just because I have feelings,’ she snapped.
He blinked. ‘Don’t get out of your pram about it.’
‘I will if I want. People are thoughtless.’
‘They are. I’m sorry.’
She harrumphed.
‘So gracious,’ he murmured. ‘What are you doing tomorrow?’
She laughed without humour. ‘Sleeping this lot off, I expect. Why?’
He shrugged, his smile just a glimmer. ‘I was going to make you a better offer.’
‘If it isn’t covering the rest of this shift for me, I’m not interested,’ she told him bluntly.
His face became curiously expressionless.
‘Fine. Well, if you can manage now I’ll be off.’
And he turned on his heel, before she could say another word, and went out.
Tricia sat down with a bump and swore softly. She hadn’t meant him to take her seriously! She’d ring him later, when she got a minute.
There were no minutes, though, and by the time she got back to the surgery she just had time for a quick wash and a bite to eat before morning surgery started.
She’d see him at coffee-time, she thought, but he was gone by the time she’d finished.
By the time she came back from her lunchtime visits he was in a clinic, and by the time he was out she wa
s in one. She hurried her evening surgery, however, and then came out only to find that he had hurried his even more and gone.
She rang him at home.
‘I’m taking the children out tonight for a treat,’ he told her. ‘Sorry, I won’t be around.’
She put the phone down very, very carefully. Dear God, it hurt. She drew a slow, painful breath, then another one. Was that it? Had she offended him so much that he would take the hump so easily? Perhaps Judy had left him because he had grown cold and distant with her? How could you tell? It was impossible from outside a relationship.
She was, however, very tired. She couldn’t even be bothered to eat; she just made herself a drink and took it to bed, then fell asleep before it was cool enough to drink.
The doorbell woke her at ten o’clock. It was someone inside the building, someone who had access to the door from the kitchen hallway to her flat—probably whoever was on duty.
She dragged on her dressing gown, scraped her hair back out of her eyes and stumbled downstairs to open it.
‘Rhys.’
She almost sat down on the stairs behind her, she was so surprised to see him.
‘Can I come up?’ he asked softly.
‘Um—sure.’
He followed her, and she wandered into the kitchen, flicking on the light.
He looked around at the darkened flat and sighed. ‘I’m sorry; you were asleep.’ He stood on the other side of the room, hands jammed in the pockets of his jeans. ‘I just wanted to apologise for being short with you earlier. I was taking the kids out, but I wanted you to come too. That’s what I was going to ask you about last night.’
‘And I bit your head off. I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry if it came over all wrong; I was just tired.’
His smile was wry. ‘My fault. I shouldn’t have been so prickly, but Judy’s rejection did something to me. I tend to lash out if I feel I’m being brushed aside.’
‘So, there, we’ve both apologised. Can I make you a drink?’
He shook his head. ‘No. At the risk of alienating my babysitter yet again, I want to make love to you.’
‘We never do anything else.’
The Ideal Choice Page 13
