Twins For Christmas

by Alison Roberts

  His mother had lost a child, as Mary had. Had she not been strong? Had she never been able to face the world with positive determination again? It was possible that such a tragedy could have caused a depression severe enough to contribute to the deterioration of her mental function.

  How old had Rory been?

  He’d said they would talk later. Kate was going to have a raft of questions by then. Was she way off beam thinking that he might be of Mary’s ilk—had devoted his life to medicine in order to help people who were at risk of suffering the same kind of loss he had?

  Except it didn’t quite fit.

  It was lucky that Rory was concentrating on his task of trying to bring the edges of the cut together neatly enough to leave Florence with very little scarring. He wouldn’t notice how intently Kate was staring at him as she supported the older woman’s head to keep it perfectly still, unaware of the deep furrow on her own forehead.

  Surely such a tragedy in his past would have left a mark? The Rory she remembered had always been so upbeat. Not so much ‘eat dessert first’ as ‘why bother with vegetables at all?’

  And life’s ‘vegetables’ had been things like commitment. Marriage and mortgages.

  And babies.

  Maybe she wasn’t so far off beam. His tragedy might have affected him in a similar way as Mary’s had affected her. It wasn’t beyond the realms of possibility that he had also made a conscious decision not to have children of his own.

  If that was the case, Kate was not only presenting him with the certainty of unwanted parenthood, she was unwittingly twisting the knife because it was twins.

  The heaviness pulling at her spirits was sympathy for Rory.

  Or was it? Maybe Kate was feeling sorry for herself.

  How could she have forgotten the way Rory had neatly sidestepped any hint of a long-term relationship?

  ‘You’ll be feeling a bit of tugging,’ Rory was telling Florence as he tied off a stitch. ‘Not painful at all, is it?’

  ‘No, lad. You keep going. I need to get out of here and help with the children. Lucy’s probably got her hands full with those little scamps.’

  ‘I think most of them are in the staffroom at the moment,’ Kate reassured her. ‘Probably being stuffed full of toasted sandwiches and ice cream.’

  ‘And they’re all right?’

  ‘Mostly. There’s a few bumps and bruises. Michael got the worst of it.’

  ‘He wouldn’t stay sitting down. He fell down the aisle as the bus tipped and there was nothing to break his fall. And the seat at the front broke. He was still trapped beneath it when I got out. How’s he doing now—do you know?’

  ‘We haven’t had a progress report from Theatre,’ Rory said. ‘I’ll go and check when we’ve got your head sorted. You don’t have a headache, do you?’

  ‘Not much.’

  ‘On a scale of zero to ten, with zero being no pain and ten being unbearable, what score would you give it?’

  ‘Oh, a three, I guess.’

  ‘I’ll get Kate to give you some paracetamol in a minute.’

  The mention of that medication took Kate back again to the last time she had worked with Rory. With its action of reducing inflammation and fever, paracetamol had masked the early symptoms of meningitis. And those bright red spots on the lower legs couldhave been fleabites. Kate had been there when Rory had quizzed the younger doctor on his management of the case. She had seen the dawning alarm on his face and been as astonished as everyone else when Rory had actually run from the department to try and catch the family. It had been a desperate struggle to save that child, but they’d succeeded. Not that Rory would know how he’d been discharged a week or so later, with remarkably few lingering effects from the deadly disease, because he hadn’t hung around to find out.

  Not that day, he’d said. As though something much worse had happened. What could have been bad enough to have negated his triumph at saving that child?

  They hadn’t dealt with anything out of the ordinary. Broken bones and cuts that needed suturing. Abdominal pains and chest pains and difficulty breathing from one cause or another. Headaches. A man with a fish-hook in his finger. Someone who’d been kicked by a pony. A heart attack. There had been a DOA, but Rory had been in the middle of cutting out that fish-hook at the time, and Kate had been assisting. The patient hadn’t even made it inside the department, and it had been Braden who’d gone out to the bay to do the paperwork required before the ambulance could move on to the morgue.

  Kate could remember pretty much the entire day, because she’d been over and over it in her head so many times. It had been business as usual, and that had meant Rory knowing everything that was happening in his depart ment. Taking charge of anything serious. Smoothing over any bumps.

  Always interested. Always smiling. Always flirting a little because it came as naturally as breathing. It was his way of making women feel special. From an elderly female patient to a nervous new nurse aide.

  ‘Nearly there, Florence,’ Rory was saying now. ‘We’ll get a dressing on this, then I reckon it’s going to heal and you’ll be just as gorgeous as ever.’

  ‘Get away with you!’ Florence scoffed, but Kate could feel the cheek muscles under her fingers bunching as the older woman smiled broadly.

  Kate wasn’t smiling. He hadn’t changed at all, and right now, the Rory McCulloch they all knew and loved was about as far as she could get from the image of a family man.

  It had been a stupid fantasy, pulling fragments of time out for closer inspection. A smile, perhaps, or a compliment—like you always were the best—and making it into something it could never be.

  Kate had honestly believed she was finally over doing that. She had been dealing with this pregnancy and planning her future on the basis of being alone. Rory had walked into her life tonight and here she was, doing it again. Watching his interaction with Lucy and the other children and thinking that he could be that way with his own children.

  That he could be the perfect father if he chose to stay in London.

  But how hard would that be? Having to see him every second weekend as she handed over her babies? Knowing they would be together but she would be excluded? Knowing that he would love his children but she would only ever be their mother? Having to hear about a series of ‘special friends’ of Daddy’s? The ever-changing parade of woman that Rory would no doubt include in his life because he always had.

  What on earth had ever made her think that she could offer him enough to make him want to change?

  Fantasy evaporated, and the reality of what she might have to face was daunting. Kate wasn’t some kind of saint. And she wasn’t going to be a martyr. She deserved better than this, dammit!

  It was her job to put the dressing over Florence’s beautifully stitched wound.

  ‘You’ll need to keep this clean and dry,’ she advised automatically. ‘If it gets red or painful or has a discharge you’ll need to come back in or see your own doctor.’

  ‘When will the stitches have to come out?’

  ‘In five to seven days. I’ll check with Dr McCulloch.’

  ‘He’s gone to see Mary, hasn’t he?’

  ‘Yes. I think he’ll be checking up on the children, too. Try not to worry.’

  ‘I don’t have to,’ Florence said with a smile. ‘Not if he’s in charge.’

  ‘SO YOU’LL MAKE SURE everything in the bus is kept safe? Particularly those Christmas presents?’

  ‘I’m onto it,’ the young policeman assured Rory. He unclipped the radio from the shoulder strap of his protectivevest. ‘You just leave it with me.’

  Knowing that the gifts intended for the children would eventually reach their destination was satisfying.

  So was discovering that he’d been right about the extent of Mary Ballantyne’s injuries and that it wouldn’t be long before she could be discharged.

  Braden Foster, who was treating Mary now, had also been able to give a report on Michael’s surgery, and the news
was good.

  ‘He’ll make it,’ Braden had said. ‘Thanks to you.’

  ‘It was a team effort,’ Rory had responded.

  Like the way the staff were currently dealing with the overcrowded department. Efficiently and cheerfully. Judy was still here—and hadn’t someone said she was supposed to go off duty some time ago? If he was still head of department here he would be proud of them all.

  Even the orderly, who was wearing a pair of red felt reindeer horns on his head as he came past with an empty wheelchair.

  ‘Could I borrow that?’

  ‘Sure. Merry Christmas, Doc.’

  ‘You, too.’ Rory pushed the wheelchair towards the cubicles. He had one more request to honour, and then he was going to do something for himself.

  Or rather for Kate.

  For both of them, perhaps.

  Things were starting to clear in his head. He was being given an opportunity here to repay Kate for what she had given him—albeit unwittingly. He could make life easier for her. Support her.

  He wouldn’t have chosen to become a father, but it was happening—and, dammit, if he was going to be a father he was going to be the best he could possibly be.

  Pulling back the curtain, he found Kate helping Florence to sit up.

  ‘Just take things easy,’ she warned her patient. ‘You’ve had a bump on the head and you’ve been lying down for quite a while. You might well find you’re a bit dizzy if you try and get on your feet too quickly.’

  ‘Mary’s fine,’ Rory informed Florence. ‘She’s about to have a small blood vessel in her nose cauterised, and when the bleeding’s definitely stopped the fracture will need strap ping. She’d like to talk to you.’ He smiled as he deftly manoeuvred the wheelchair into the cubicle. ‘Your chariot, ma’am.’

  ‘I don’t need that.’ Florence slid her not in considerable weight onto her feet. Seconds later she paled and clutched Kate’s arm.

  Kate helped lower her into the wheelchair. ‘Better?’

  Florence still looked pale. And not very happy. ‘How am I going to help Mary with the children if I come over all peculiar when I stand up?’

  ‘Give it some time,’ Rory advised as he turned the chair and started wheeling Florence to where Mary was being treated. ‘Nobody’s going anywhere for a while yet, and I prescribe a nice hot cup of tea.’

  There was another prescription he was going to make as soon as he could. One for Kate.

  KATE TIDIED UP, putting the suture needle and the syringes from the local anaesthetic and the tetanus booster into the sharps bin, and all the disposable material and anything contaminated with blood into the hazardous waste bag.

  A glance at her watch showed that it was now two hours since the first victims of the mini-bus accident had arrived. No wonder her feet and her back were aching and she was feeling so tired. Helping to deal with a Code Red would have been enough all on its own. To have to factor in all the confusing and still overpowering feelings she had for Rory had made it a marathon.

  Maybe she could put her feet up back at the desk, and take over what must be a vast amount of paperwork.

  Or maybe not.

  She was smoothing a clean sheet onto the bed when someone came into the cubicle behind her.

  It was a surprise to hear the curtain being whisked shut, and even more of a surprise to turn and find Rory standing there.

  He was smiling at her. As though he was genuinely pleased to see her. It was impossible not to respond. Not to feel that incrediblewarmth. Kate smiled back and forgot all about her sore feet.

  ‘When are you due?’ Rory asked quietly. Not that there was any chance of anyone overhearing above the noise in the department.

  ‘My obstetrician seems to think they’ll come early, but we’re hoping for at least another eight weeks. Any time from Valentine’s Day, probably.’

  ‘And have you told people?’

  ‘That I’m pregnant?’ Kate couldn’t help her lips twitch. ‘It’s been a bit hard to hide lately.’

  Rory’s gaze was intense. Serious now. Kate bit her lip. ‘I haven’t told anyone who the father is.’

  He blinked. ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because I hadn’t told you. It wouldn’t have been fair. I…thought you might come back.’

  His gaze wavered for a heartbeat. Had he guessed what she had almost confessed? That she had hoped he would come back? Dreamt of it too many times to count? Maybe not.

  ‘Where will you live?’ he asked.

  Kate could cope with meeting his gaze now. ‘I’ve started looking for somewhere.’

  ‘So you’re still in that bedsit? Up all those stairs?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How will you manage? Financially, I mean?’

  He was going to offer to help, Kate thought in dis may. This was how it would all start. Financial support. Legal documents. Custody arrangements.

  ‘I’ll manage,’ she said quietly.

  ‘You don’t have to,’ Rory said. The curl of his lips might have gone, but the smile had returned to his eyes. ‘Not by yourself. Marry me, Katie.’

  It was fascinating how Kate could mentally rewrite her future in the blink of an eye.

  She wasn’t hearing the children tell her about Daddy’s new ‘friend’. Or sitting alone. She was in the same house as the twins.

  With their father. Her husband.

  Always knowing that he had offered marriage only for the sake of the children and not because he wanted her as a partner for life. Watching resentment build because he was trapped.

  It was equally instantaneous to realise which of the scenarios would be the worst.

  There was humiliation to be un earthed from this in the not too distant future, Kate realised.

  And grief. Dreams that simply had to be given the burial they deserved.

  Tears were dangerously close, but she wasn’t going to cry in front of Rory. She had some pride. Somewhere.

  ‘You’re proposing to me?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘That’s very generous of you.’

  ‘No…’ Rory gave his head a tiny shake. ‘I want to marry you.’

  ‘Why?’

  His expression went blank. He didn’t understand. Why would he? It was obvious why he was asking. She was pregnant and he was the father. He was going to fix the terrible mistake he’d made. Put things right.

  She stared back. It wasn’t a mistake, and she didn’t need gestures that came from someone feeling sorry for her. She was proud of who she was and the decisions she had made, and she could manage. By herself. She was independent. And strong.

  At least she would be when she’d had a bit of time to herself to get her head back together. There were only precious seconds of control left right now, however. Kate lifted her chin.

  ‘The answer’s no, Rory,’ she said softly. ‘I’m not going to marry you.’

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  SPLASHING COLD WATER on her face did little more than disguise her tears.

  Rory had proposed to her.

  The stuff of fantasy—except that there was no ro mance in the proposal. Worse, there was no way she could have done anything other than refuse. Kate felt as if she’d been offered a gift she wanted more than anything in life, but when she’d unwrapped it the pretty box had been empty.

  A sham.

  And that was what their marriage would have been if she’d accepted.

  Six months ago she might have thought differently. She might have even convinced herself that it could work. That love could grow from a commitment that had been made for other reasons.

  Just as she’d convinced herself that one night with the man she loved was worth it, even though he had been with her simply because he’d needed someone and she’d happened to be there.

  Kate was older and wiser now. She knew the repercussions of such self-de cep tion. Pain that even a river of tears would never completely wash away.

  ‘Get a grip,’ she ordered her tear-stained reflection. ‘You’re
a strong, independent woman—remember? You have to be. You’re going to have two little lives dependent on you in the very near future.’

  Her hands smoothed the round ness of her belly. Felt the delicious ripple of movement. And finally the tears ceased and Kate smiled. A secret smile. Nobody else could share this joy. This wonder of new life within her. She was going to protect and nurture these babies with everything she had.

  She might be alone, but she was never going to be lonely.

  ‘You can do this,’ she said to the mirror.

  And, with a nod, Kate turned away to dry her face with a paper towel.

  She could do this.

  Rory was probably relieved that she’d refused his impetuous proposal. He’d done the right thing in offering, she’d refused, and that was that. They could move on.

  There was even relief to be found in the end of fantasy. Peace. The cloak of serenity that Kate pulled around herself as she left the female locker room behind her might be transparently thin, but it was far too busy in here tonight for anybody to be looking hard enough to see through it.

  Even Judy, who was preoccupied by finally being able to head home.

  ‘I’ll be buying my final gifts at the all-night grocer’s,’ she lamented. ‘But everybody likes chocolate, don’t they?’

  ‘Of course they do.’ Kate hugged her friend. ‘Have a wonderful day tomorrow. Merry Christmas.’

  ‘You’re coming for dinner, don’t forget. Oh, help! I hope they’ve still got stuffing in the shop.’

  ‘I won’t forget.’

  ‘You should be going home now, too. Melanie’s here from Medical Records. She’s doing the paperwork.’

  Except poor Melanie wasn’t coping. She was virtually in tears when Kate went to find her.

  ‘It’s a mess,’ she confessed. ‘I’m missing details on more than half the people in here, and I don’t know where to start trying to catch up.’

  ‘You go home,’ Kate told her. ‘I’ll fix it. Go home and get some sleep, and have a really happy Christmas Day tomorrow.’

  ‘Are you sure? Oh, thank you! You’re an angel!’