A Very Special Surgeon

by Laura MacDonald

  As they moved away out of earshot of Jane and Rick, Tom glanced at Kate. ‘This may well mean a Caesarean section tomorrow,’ he said, ‘but, like I say, we’ll give it twenty-four hours before we make a final decision.’

  ‘Is there no chance of a normal delivery?’ asked Kate.

  ‘Not with her history.’ Tom shook his head. ‘I’m only waiting now in the hope that things might settle down again and she may go further into the pregnancy. Now, Sister, do you have anyone else for me to see before I go?’

  Kate shook her head. ‘No, Mr Fielding,’ she replied, ‘I don’t think so. If I were you I’d get away before anything else happens.’

  ‘Thanks, Kate,’ he said. He spoke quietly so that only she heard his use of her first name, something which, in the past and on the ward, he’d never done. But things had changed since then because now, instead of simply a professional history between them, they also had a social history, slight as that had been.

  At the end of her shift Kate drove out of the car park past the huge macrocarpa trees on the lawns at the front of the hospital, then down the avenue of magnificent beech trees to the main road. Home for Kate and the children was at Copse End, a tall Edwardian house situated in a quiet lane on the far side of Franchester. The house belonged to Kate’s Great-Aunt Bessie, who was elderly, a widow and childless. After Liam’s death, when Kate had been wondering how she was going to manage both child-care and mortgage repayments, it had been Aunt Bessie who had come to her rescue. ‘Sell your house,’ she’d said, ‘and come and live here with me. You could have the top two floors and I would live downstairs—it would be my garden flat. I’d like that, the stairs were getting too much for me anyway. The house will be yours one day as it is—so you might as well enjoy it now. The children would have the garden and plenty of space to bring their friends home. And I will always be here when they come home from school.’

  And it had worked. Kate was able to keep an eye on Aunt Bessie, fetch her prescriptions and collect her shopping along with her own, and the children had been only too pleased to find Aunt Bessie there in a warm kitchen with a delicious smell of home baking when they arrived home from school when their mother was working a late shift.

  It had been a wrench to leave the house that she and Liam had bought. It was a modern house in a quiet cul-de-sac in a new complex, and they had furnished it lovingly. At the time of his accident Liam had been in the process of landscaping the garden and installing a section of decking where they would have been able to enjoy barbeques on a summer’s evening. It almost broke her heart even now whenever she thought about it.

  Gradually, though, they had settled at Aunt Bessie’s. Kate had already loved the house from her many visits there as a child, as did her own children, so the prospect of moving there and making it their home had seemed something of an adventure. From the sale of her own house and the life insurance money she’d received, Kate had set about making the large rooms of the top two floors of the house into a comfortable family home for herself and the children. And somehow, almost without her being aware of it, the move to Copse End and their subsequent life there was beginning to help her to get over Liam’s death.

  In fact, the more she thought about it, the more she realised just how far she had come since those dreadful dark days following the accident. The shock—the heart-wrenching shock and disbelief that she’d felt when two colleagues of Liam’s had come to her to break the devastating news—had been replaced first by anger, awesome anger when she had railed at everything and everyone, including God, for having allowed this to happen, and then the grief, grief like she’d never known. Whole nights spent holding some garment of Liam’s while she’d sobbed for hours—quietly so as not to wake the children—soaking her pillow and leaving her facing the next day feeling wretched and exhausted.

  And there had been the children’s grief to cope with on top of her own. She’d been strong for them at the time, at least she hoped she had, throughout the funeral, the wake that had followed—obligatory for an Irishman—and the memorial service in the cathedral attended by so many of Liam’s colleagues. But afterwards she had felt inadequate in dealing with their pain and bewilderment.

  And then, when everything had calmed down and life, at least for other people, had got back to normal, she had been left with the seemingly impossible task of rebuilding their lives. They had coped on a day-to-day basis—at least on the surface—but underneath there had been those practical difficulties to overcome.

  ‘We don’t need a childminder, Mum,’ Siobhan protested when Kate fretted over them coming home to an empty house or when she dreaded a half-term holiday.

  ‘I’ll have to do more hours,’ she said when the bills carried on arriving with alarming regularity.

  And then Aunt Bessie stepped in, and Kate knew in her heart that she would be grateful to her for the rest of her life.

  Now, as she drew into the drive of Copse End and parked the car, she looked up at the mellow old brickwork of the house, the wisteria over the front entrance and the laburnum tree casting its shadow on the front lawn, and realised that almost without her having been aware of it, this house really had become home.

  With a little sigh she climbed out of the car, shut the door and automatically made her way round to the rear of the house and the entrance to the garden flat, as Aunt Bessie still insisted on calling it. The gardens here were of the true cottage-garden variety, with a mass of flowers growing higgledy-piggledy from the crazy-paving pathway to the distant dark reaches of the bottom of the garden, which ended with the copse that gave the property its name. Tall hollyhocks lorded it over clumps of lupins, and huge white daisies jostled for position with sweet william and night-scented stocks. A large tabby cat lay on the kitchen window-sill, sunning itself, and as Kate approached it opened one eye, stood up, yawned and stretched.

  ‘Hello, Timmy.’ Kate began stroking the cat, then, as he rubbed himself against her hand and headbutted her, she laughed before moving on through the open kitchen door.

  Aunt Bessie was seated at the kitchen table, chopping vegetables. A radio on the dresser quietly played her favourite classical music, while Connor sat at the far end of the table, his homework books open before him and his mouth full, no doubt with one of the delicious-looking cherry buns that were cooling on a wire tray.

  ‘Hello, dear.’ Aunt Bessie smiled at Kate over her glasses. ‘Good day?’

  ‘Yes, not so bad.’ Kate smiled then paused and listened as through the ceiling came the steady thump, thump of pop music. ‘Has that been going on for long?’ she asked.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Aunt Bessie, ‘I hardly notice it.’

  ‘It’s been ever since she came home,’ mumbled Connor.

  ‘Don’t talk with your mouth full, dear,’ said Aunt Bessie mildly. Looking at Kate again, she said, ‘I’ve done enough vegetables for your evening meal.’

  ‘You shouldn’t,’ said Kate. ‘You spoil me you know.’

  ‘It’s no trouble,’ Aunt Bessie replied. ‘Besides, it gives me something to do. Cup of tea, dear?’

  ‘Maybe later,’ Kate replied. ‘I’ll just go upstairs and shower and change first.’

  As she climbed the stairs the music grew progressively louder. She found Siobhan lying full length on her bedroom floor, her homework books scattered around her and the deafening music blaring out of her personal stereo system, which was beside her on the floor.

  ‘Siobhan!’ yelled Kate, but there was no response. Swiftly crossing the floor, she bent down and clicked the stereo’s ‘off’ button. The sudden silence was a shock, following as it did the assault on the eardrums.

  ‘Hey!’ Siobhan looked over her shoulder. ‘What did you do that for?’

  ‘It was far too loud,’ said Kate firmly.

  ‘But I was enjoying it,’ Siobhan protested.

  ‘You are meant to be doing your homework.’

  ‘I am.’ Siobhan looked at her books, one of which was propped open before
her.

  ‘You can’t possibly concentrate with all that noise,’ said Kate.

  ‘Yes, I can.’ A rebellious look came across her face, a look Kate knew only too well. ‘It helps, actually,’ Siobhan added defiantly.

  ‘Well, I’ll thank you to keep the volume down in future. Besides, it just isn’t fair on Aunt Bessie.’

  ‘She likes it.’ Siobhan’s chin tilted as she sat up and hugged her knees.

  ‘She doesn’t have a lot of choice,’ said Kate. ‘I could hear the music as soon as I entered the house—right down there in Aunt Bessie’s kitchen. It’s just not on, Siobhan. If you don’t keep the sound down I’ll be forced to confiscate your stereo.’

  ‘You can’t do that.’ Siobhan looked aghast. ‘That was Dad’s last present to me.’

  Kate stared at her daughter and felt her heart twist as, at the mention of her father, tears sprang to the girl’s eyes. ‘I know,’ she said more kindly, ‘and I won’t have to if you just remember to be a little more considerate in future. You aren’t the only one living in this house, you know.’

  ‘All right.’ Siobhan shrugged then dashed a hand across her eyes. Kate knew that anything remotely concerning her father still affected her daughter badly.

  ‘Did you see him?’ asked Siobhan suddenly as Kate turned to leave the room.

  ‘See who?’ Kate paused, one hand on the doorknob, and looked down at her daughter who was still sitting on the floor.

  ‘Him. Mr Fielding.’

  ‘Yes, of course I saw him,’ Kate replied. ‘I work with him.’

  ‘Did he say anything?’

  ‘What do you mean, did he say anything?’ Kate had a vague idea what her daughter was driving at but somehow, and for some reason which was unclear even to herself, she didn’t want to acknowledge the fact that she knew.

  ‘About us meeting them at tenpin,’ Siobhan persisted.

  ‘Well, he may have mentioned it in passing, but that’s all,’ Kate replied.

  ‘Did he say anything about us seeing them again?’ Siobhan obviously hadn’t finished.

  ‘Siobhan, you mustn’t read anything into what was said on Saturday,’ Kate began.

  ‘Why not?’ Siobhan demanded. ‘If that’s what was said…’

  ‘But sometimes people say things they don’t mean to be taken literally. They say things like, “We must do this again some time,” or, “Call in if you’re passing,” but often it’s just a form of politeness and they don’t actually mean it.’

  ‘Well, I don’t call that being polite—saying one thing and meaning another,’ muttered Siobhan then, when it appeared Kate had no more to say on the subject, she narrowed her eyes and said, ‘So was that it, at work? Was that all he did, just mentioned it in passing, the fact that we’d met them?’

  ‘Well…’ Kate hesitated. ‘He did actually say what Joe said on Saturday about us doing it again some time…’

  ‘There you are, then!’ exclaimed Siobhan, and there was a note of triumph in her voice. ‘Maybe he wouldn’t have meant it if it had been said just once—but twice! He must have meant it the second time.’

  ‘Siobhan.’ Kate’s voice was gentle now, knowing just how easily her volatile daughter could get carried away. ‘You really mustn’t read anything into this.’

  ‘You’re just being mean,’ declared Siobhan.

  ‘No, darling,’ said Kate gently. ‘I’m not, really I’m not. I just don’t want you building up your hopes only for nothing to happen, then for you to get hurt.’

  ‘I’ve had an idea!’ said Siobhan, her eyes shining again, but for another reason this time and not with tears.

  ‘Oh, yes?’ said Kate warily. She knew all about Siobhan’s ideas. ‘And what’s that?’

  ‘Why don’t we invite them over here? We could, you know,’ she rattled on excitedly, not waiting for Kate’s answer. ‘We could ask them for a meal or something—we could even go bowling again first, then they could come back here for supper or lunch or whatever. After all, it is our turn because Mr Fielding treated us to the pizzas.’ She paused. ‘There!’ she exclaimed dramatically. ‘Don’t you think that’s a really cool idea?’

  ‘I do,’ said a voice from outside the open door. Kate turned and found Connor standing there. She had no idea how long he had been there.

  ‘There you are, then,’ said Siobhan. ‘Even he thinks it’s a good idea, so what do you say, Mum? Mum?’ she demanded again. When still Kate didn’t answer, she said, ‘You don’t think it’s a good idea, do you? Honestly, it’s just not fair. You don’t want us to have any fun. You never do. I wish Dad was here. He let us have fun.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Siobhan,’ said Kate wearily. This was the last thing she wanted now after a demanding day on Maternity: a run-in with her daughter over what she did or didn’t allow them to do, and how much better it had all been when their father had been alive. ‘I do my best.’

  ‘I know.’ Briefly Siobhan looked subdued, as if deep in her heart she knew that Kate did as much as she could. ‘But couldn’t you just ask them?’ she pleaded.

  ‘Look.’ Kate took a deep breath. ‘I’m sorry, but I really can’t do that.’

  ‘But why not?’ cried Siobhan.

  ‘Yes, why not?’ echoed Connor.

  ‘It just wouldn’t be right.’ Kate shook her head. ‘Mr Fielding is head of my department—it simply wouldn’t be right for me to invite him and his family here. When we met them the other day I’m sure he was simply being polite when he asked us to join them. I really doubt that it will be something that is repeated. If it is, fine, but it has to come from them. I’m sorry.’ She looked from one to the other of her children. ‘But that’s the way it is and I don’t want to discuss it any more. Is that clear?’

  ‘S’ppose so.’ Siobhan scowled, and with a sigh Kate went out of the room and into her own bedroom, shutting the door firmly behind her. For a moment she leaned against the door with her eyes closed. She hated it when either of her children was confrontational. It rarely happened with Connor, who was a placid-natured child, but Siobhan had not only her father’s colouring but also his volatile temperament. Liam had learnt to curb and control his temper, especially during his years in the police force, but Siobhan was often given to outbursts, which for herself were quickly over but which left those around her drained and exhausted.

  On the face of it, maybe it seemed perfectly reasonable to Siobhan that Kate should return the favour and invite the Fielding family to Copse End for a meal, but Kate knew that would be out of the question. She could just imagine the reactions amongst the staff on Maternity if it should get out—and it would be bound to, sooner or later—that she had invited Tom Fielding and his family to her home. It would be seen as presumptuous at the very least, and she shuddered to imagine what the fallout would be. There would be teasing from her friends, especially Natalie, and suspicion from others who would view it as a ploy on her part, using her children as a smokescreen when her real intentions would be to attract Tom’s attention to herself.

  Tom, she was well aware, was a very attractive man approaching the prime of his life. He was at the peak of his profession and was reaping the rewards. He was also, since his divorce, highly eligible. There had been much gossip and speculation about him on the maternity unit, with more than a few female members of staff trying to attract his attention. The fact that Kate herself was now single would only add to that speculation if she were to pursue Siobhan’s idea. And nothing, she thought in a sudden wave of desperation, could be further from the truth. She wanted no such speculation about herself. She doubted she was through with grieving for Liam and even if she were, she would hardly risk her professional standing by trying to attract the attentions of her boss. She had seen it happen before with depressing regularity among members of her staff and the outcome had more often than not resulted in heartbreak. There was no way she wanted to take that road or even to have others think that might be her intention.

  With another sigh she crossed the
room and began unbuttoning her blouse. As she did so she caught a glimpse of herself in the pine-framed, oval mirror in the corner of the bedroom. She stopped for a moment, turned to face the mirror and critically surveyed herself. She’d lost weight since Liam’s death, she knew that—there were hollows beneath her neck bones that hadn’t been there before, and under her cheekbones—but she hadn’t been able to help it. She’d had no appetite, and it had only been very recently that it had slowly started to return. Ruefully she found herself wondering if Liam would recognise her now. Even her hair was different—still dark and glossy but cut shorter, into a jaw-length bob instead of long, the way he had so loved it. The only part of her that still looked the same were the clear hazel eyes, which stared solemnly back at her from the mirror. With an almost angry little gesture she turned away and carried on undressing.

  ‘Mr Fielding is going to perform a Caesarean section this morning so will you, please, prepare Jane Fowler for Theatre?’ Briskly Kate instructed two of her nurses then went on to ring Paediatrics to request the attendance of a paediatrician at the birth. She was told that Matt Forrester, the paediatric registrar, was available and would be down shortly to scrub up.

  ‘Are you going to attend this one?’ asked Natalie, overhearing Kate on the phone.

  ‘Yes.’ Kate nodded. ‘I promised Jane I would.’

  ‘I have to say, she seems quite calm and resigned now that the time has actually come and a decision has been made.’

  ‘All she wants now is to be able to hold her baby,’ Kate agreed. Looking at the notes and charts on the nurses’ station desk, she asked, ‘Are you going to be able to manage out here? There seems to be quite a lot happening this morning.’

  ‘I think we’ll be OK,’ Natalie replied. ‘We have one mum on her way in, membranes have ruptured and contractions are five minutes apart. Emily and Melissa can take that one. Sita Vanerjee is already in strong labour so I shall attend there with Rachel, and Mary is standing by for Adele Rossington.’