A Mother by Nature

by Caroline Anderson

  She thought about it long and hard as she got ready for the day, but in the end she sighed, put on her coat and went to work, as she’d known she would.

  Anyway, she wanted to see Adam—sort of. She wasn’t sure. There’d been a lingering tension about him as they’d sat in the kitchen for their drinks. Significantly, he hadn’t even suggested going into the sitting room, and she’d felt he’d wanted her out of the way, so the moment her tea had been downed she’d left.

  He’d kissed her on the forehead, a light touch, too brief and yet with a curious lingering, as if he’d wanted more—much more.

  Maybe too much more.

  Whatever. Anna parked at the hospital, went in and shed her coat in her locker, pulled a clean, colourful tabard on over her uniform and pinned on her watch and badge.

  ‘Just in case I forget who I am,’ she often joked, but today she thought it was quite likely. It would serve to remind her that she was a work colleague, a single woman, not his wife, not Mrs Adam Bradbury.

  ‘Anna Bradbury,’ she found herself saying, testing it, and could have thumped her head against the nearest wall. ‘Leave it alone,’ she growled at herself, and looked up to find Allie eyeing her with curiosity.

  ‘You OK?’ she asked doubtfully.

  ‘I’m fine. How are you? How are the wedding plans?’

  Allie pulled a wry face. ‘Oh, advancing, I suppose. Mark wants to get married now in a register office, my mother wants to have the full works and palaver for her baby girl—you know how it is.’

  ‘Yes—and your mother will win,’ Anna said drily, trying not to think about marrying Adam and what sort of wedding she’d choose.

  Two days, she told herself fiercely. That’s all you’ve known him, two days. How can you even think about it?

  Then she looked up and saw him striding onto the ward, and he smiled at her as if she was the best thing he’d seen all week, and she thought, That’s how I can think about it.

  ‘Hi,’ he murmured once he was in earshot.

  ‘Hi,’ she replied. Her voice was catching and early-morning soft, and she felt like a lovesick fool. Still, it was wonderful to be this close to him again after—what, less than twelve hours?

  You’re losing it, she told herself silently.

  Allie had vanished, leaving them alone in a void that pulsed with emotional and sexual tension. Adam’s eyes searched hers, then with a sigh his lids slid shut briefly and he turned away. ‘Um—about last night.’

  Oh, hell. ‘I know. It was a one-off, it didn’t mean anything, forget it—is that what you’re going to say?’

  His smile was wry, his eyes softening with humour. ‘Actually, no. I was going to ask why you ran away.’

  Anna felt her brow pleat in a puzzled frown. ‘I thought you wanted me to go?’

  ‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘Well—I don’t know. I don’t know what I wanted.’

  I do, she thought. I know exactly what you wanted, because I wanted it, too, and I just bet you didn’t sleep a wink more than I did.

  ‘I’m sorry I misunderstood. I’ll make up for it when I’ve got a moment, but now I have to go and take report from the night sister. I’ll catch up with you later.’

  ‘OK. I’m busy, anyway. We’ll grab a cup of tea later in the day, perhaps.’ His smile curled round her heart, warming her, and she took it with her into the office, unaware of its tender reflection on her own face.

  ‘Morning,’ she said brightly. ‘How’s it been?’

  The night nurse, Angela Davis, rolled her eyes. ‘OK, if you like mayhem. You look happy.’

  ‘I do?’ How odd, Anna thought. I feel confused, not happy. Excited and scared and puzzled all at once. ‘So, what’s been happening?’

  ‘All sorts. Karl Fisher’s been in a lot of pain and he’s been crying in the night. I got him written up for some stronger analgesia, but he’s still suffering. All he can say is “I thought it was going to be better”, which just makes you feel dreadful. Still, the hand looks good and sensory and motor response in it are fine, so it’s just post-op pain and nothing more sinister, I’m sure. It might be an idea to get Robert Ryder or Adam Bradbury to look at him—I’m not sure who he belongs to now.’

  ‘Neither am I,’ Anna agreed. ‘I’ll ask Adam in a minute. He’s about, I think. Anyone else been a problem? Any admissions?’

  ‘Toby Cardew—asthma attack.’

  ‘But he’s only just gone home!’ Anna exclaimed in horror. ‘What triggered it—any idea?’

  ‘None. They were muttering something about anxiety—seems like it’s the only thing left.’

  ‘I should think it is,’ Anna agreed. ‘They’ve checked all the obvious allergens and some of the less obvious, and eliminated just about everything else.’

  ‘Quite. All that’s left is exercise, and he was in bed, sleeping, anxiety, which seems possible, and meteorological changes, like humidity, for example, but as he was inside and had been for some time it seems unlikely. Whatever, he’s back, he’s stable now just about, but he was bad.’

  Anna nodded. ‘I’ll go and see him—is Mum with him?’

  ‘Yes, she’s been here all night. Dad’s at home with the others.’

  ‘Fine. Anyone else?’

  ‘Oh, yes. An appendix. Andrew Reed, aged eight—he’s been to Theatre and was on the point of rupture when they opened him up, apparently. And Tim Scully, a nasty greenstick fracture of the radius and ulna—child fell out of the top bunk. First night in a new bed. Typical, isn’t it? They said he was so excited about the bed he couldn’t wait to get in it, and then, of course, he needed the loo during the night because he hadn’t remembered to go in the excitement, and he fell getting onto the ladder, apparently.’

  ‘Has he gone to Theatre?’

  ‘No—he’s all prepped and ready, and they’ve called Adam Bradbury in to look at him. I think he’s going to operate this morning. That’s why Bradbury’s on the ward, I think you’ll find.’

  And Anna had thought it had been because of her. How silly. She felt a huge wave of disappointment, and suppressed it. He had a job to do, and so did she. It wasn’t just some surreal tearoom, or a film set. They finished going through the other patients, and she took the keys and the responsibility for the ward from Angela, and went to see if Adam was still about.

  He was—talking to the parents of Tim Scully, the young lad who had fallen off his bunk bed, so while he finished she went to see Toby, their asthmatic. He was in a bed in a side room, propped up on the bed table, his arms folded and leaning forward on a pillow, still struggling for breath despite all the medication.

  His nostrils were flaring with each inspiration, and his whole body seemed to be involved in each breath out, and she quietly went through some breathing exercises with him, trying to relax him and shift some of the mucus that was obviously blocking all his bronchial tubes.

  He did manage to cough and shift some of the thickened mucus, and after that he seemed a little better. He sank back against the raised end of the bed, propped almost upright, and she tucked the bedclothes round him and left him to rest. His mother looked exhausted, and Anna took her hand and squeezed it.

  ‘Cup of tea?’ she offered, and Mrs Cardew nodded gratefully.

  ‘Thanks. It’s been another of those nights.’

  ‘I’m sure. Why don’t you try and have a nap if he goes off? It would do you good.’

  She nodded. Anna found Pearl, their kind-hearted orderly, and asked her to make Mrs Cardew tea, then tracked Adam down just as he was leaving the ward.

  ‘Hi. Can you have a look at Karl before you go?’ she asked. ‘He’s been suffering in the night.’

  ‘Sure.’ He turned and retraced his footsteps and she fell in beside him. ‘Any idea what’s wrong?’ he asked.

  ‘Post-op pain. No neuro or vascular problems obvious, apparently, just pain.’

  ‘Might be the cast.’

  ‘They thought it was all right.’

  He nodded, and stopped b
eside Karl’s bed. ‘Hello, young man. I gather you’ve been uncomfortable in the night.’

  Karl nodded miserably. ‘It really, really hurts,’ he said unhappily. Adam examined the arm gently, turning it this way and that, feeling the fingers for warmth, testing the reflexes.

  ‘Can you feel that?’ he asked a few times, moving from place to place, and Karl nodded.

  ‘Is the pain in the bone? Or is it the skin and muscles that hurt?’

  ‘I don’t know. It just hurts,’ he said, and started to cry.

  Adam laid a gentle hand on his shoulder and squeezed it comfortingly. ‘OK. I’ll give you something for the pain, then I want you to have an X-ray and see if we can find out a reason for it, and I think we’ll have the cast off and look inside it in case it’s too tight or your arm’s just too bruised to sit inside it. You could have it in a sort of soft padded cradle beside you, but you’d have to lie very, very still for a day or two. We’ll see. Let’s try the painkillers and the picture first.’

  He stood up and picked up the chart, scribbling down a prescription in the bold, jagged writing that was becoming familiar to Anna. ‘Here—can you give him this, please, and set up the X-ray? I suppose I need to sign something to authorise that.’

  His grin was infectious. ‘Oh, yes,’ Anna said with an answering smile. ‘Of course. You have to sign for a cup of tea in this place.’

  ‘Put me down for one later. I’ll be ready for it. I’m going to do Tim’s arm now. He’s all prepped and ready, I gather?’

  ‘So Angela said. What are you going to do?’

  ‘Open reduction and internal fixation. There’s no way you can get a satisfactory result with anything less. It’s a heck of a fracture for such a little fall, but I think he caught it in the ladder, between the ladder and the bed, and he’s quite a hefty lad. No matter, I can fix it.’

  He found himself thinking of Anna as he straightened up the drastically bent and damaged bones and screwed plates onto them to hold them in place. She’d seemed pleased enough to see him, if the light in her eyes was anything to go by.

  It was hard to pretend enthusiasm to that extent, he thought, turning the screw that brought the radius neatly into alignment. It didn’t need to be drawn together because the bone was still connected, just badly bent, exactly like a young, green stick—hence the term greenstick fracture. He tackled the ulna, thinking still of Anna’s eyes and the softness of her mouth when she’d smiled at him.

  The rest of the surgical team were gossiping about someone he didn’t know, and he ignored them, working steadily, thinking about the children and Helle and how he was going to get a replacement for her.

  Not only how he would get a replacement, but how he would keep the replacement. Au pairs seemed to have a very short shelf life, and the departure of each one brought trauma and loss to the children’s lives.

  It was unsatisfactory for them from an emotional point of view, but he supposed it at least kept the attachments they formed fixed firmly on him, and not on the carers. That was good, because he, God willing, was going nowhere.

  He straightened up, turned the limb back and forth to examine the position, checked the warmth and colour of the fingers and closed the incision, satisfied that he’d reduced the fracture to the best of his ability and that it would heal fast and well.

  That was all he could do. He pulled off his mask, smiled at the team and thanked them, snapped off his gloves and dropped them in the bin with his hat and gown.

  Tea with Anna, he thought, and headed back to the ward.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  IT WAS the weekend. Apart from a brief cup of tea when he’d come back to the ward to talk to Tim’s parents about his operation, Anna hadn’t seen Adam all day. He’d been in Outpatients doing a clinic, and he hadn’t reappeared.

  Karl’s X-rays had been sent down to him in Outpatients, and he’d sent back instructions for the cast to be removed and for the boy’s arm to be rested in a padded gutter support until the following day, when it would be put in an open cast if the pain improved and the swelling of the soft tissues subsided. Apparently, when he’d been coming round from the anaesthetic he’d flung his arm against the cot-sides of the stretcher. It was possible that the cast had become slightly bent then, before it had quite hardened, and that even such very slight pressure had been enough to make Karl miserable.

  Once it was removed he seemed much more comfortable, and fell asleep immediately, a sure sign that he’d had a difficult night. Tim was still largely out of it after his operation, and Andrew Reed, who’d been admitted in the night with acute appendicitis, was improving hourly.

  And now it was the weekend, and she was off, by a miracle, and it stretched ahead of her emptily. The chances of bumping into Adam at the supermarket again were so slight as to be not worth considering, and, short of going round there and ringing his door bell, she couldn’t think of any way she could see him until Monday.

  What on earth was she supposed to do to fill the time? She couldn’t bring herself to do any of the things she normally did. They seemed so empty somehow, so fruitless.

  She wondered what Adam would be doing, and if the children were looking forward to having him to themselves. Danny would be, she thought with certainty, and probably little Jaz, but Skye—Skye was a strange one, a poor, lonely little girl, very self-contained and withdrawn.

  Worryingly so. In many ways, Anna thought, she probably needed her father more than the others.

  Curiosity teased her again. She found herself wondering about their mother—his wife, in fact. When had she left, and why? Had she gone willingly, or had their divorce been acrimonious and bitter?

  Did he still love her? That thought was oddly painful to contemplate.

  She found herself remembering the kiss, going over those few brief moments in her mind for the hundredth time. Would it happen again? Oh, lord, she hoped so.

  The television failed to hold her attention, and finally, at only a quarter to ten, she gave up on the evening, had a quick shower and went to bed. She had hardly put her head on the pillow when the phone rang beside her, and she propped herself up on her elbow and picked up the receiver, a little glimmer of hope edging into her heart. He didn’t have her number, but…

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Anna? It’s Adam.’

  He stopped, and she had the oddest feeling that he didn’t quite know what to say. Funny, she felt the same. She said hello again, hoping she didn’t sound inane and wondering if the smile on her face was obvious in her voice, and afraid that it probably was. ‘How are you?’ she asked, her finger winding absently into the curling flex.

  ‘I’m fine. Look, Anna, I’m sorry to ring you at home so late—I had to do some sleuthing to get your number. I hope you don’t mind.’

  ‘Of course I don’t mind.’ She sat up straighter, concerned by the note in his voice, and pulled her finger free. ‘Adam, is something wrong?’

  He sighed, and she could visualise him stabbing his hands distractedly through that dark, silky hair. ‘No, not…wrong, exactly. It’s just…Helle’s gone to London for the weekend, I’m supposed to be on call and the kids are with my parents just up the road. I just…’

  He sighed again, and then went on, his voice soft and gruff and intimate, ‘I just wanted to talk to you. The house seemed awfully empty and, well, I thought it might be nice to see you, but it’s too late, really, so I thought I’d phone. Have a chat.’

  He ran out of words again, and Anna pushed the quilt off her legs and swung them over the side of the bed, sitting up. ‘It’s not too late,’ she said gently. ‘Either to phone or to come round, if you want to.’

  ‘It’s after ten.’

  ‘That doesn’t matter. Do you want to come here, or do you want me to come to you?’

  ‘I’ll come to you—it seems only fair as it’s my idea. It’s freezing outside. I can bring my bleeper. Where are you? How do I find you?’

  She gave him concise directions, ran a mental eye ove
r the house and groaned inwardly. She could usefully have spent the last three hours doing housework instead of moping about him.

  Oh, damn. There was no time to choose clothes. She pulled on her jeans and a clean jumper, pulled them off again, puffed a little cloud of perfume in the air and walked through it, then dragged the clothes back on and ran downstairs, banging cushions and tidying the kitchen rapidly.

  It would take him ten minutes, tops, and she’d already been more than five.

  She turned off the centre light, put on the lamps each end of the sofa, lit the fat church candles on the dresser and went to put the kettle on. She only had tea or coffee to offer him, no wine or spirits or anything like that, not even beer, but he was driving so perhaps it was just as well.

  The doorbell rang, cutting off her stream of panic, and she paused for a second, drew a steadying breath, ran her hands down her jeans in case the palms were clammy and went to the door, swinging it open with a welcoming smile.

  He looked wonderful. He was untidy, his hair rumpled, the poloneck of his sweater rolled over crookedly, but his eyes would have put the Olympic torch to shame and his mouth…

  She drew him in, went up on tiptoe and kissed it, just lightly, just once, but it was enough. He dropped something that landed with a soft thud, and then she was in his arms and his mouth was on hers and she could stop fantasising about his kiss because it was happening again and it was real, more real than she thought she could bear.

  Then he lifted his head, gave her a crooked smile and bent and picked up the thing he’d dropped. ‘Here, for you. Sorry, the corner’s bent but I don’t suppose it matters. I got, um, distracted.’

  Chocolates. Sinful, decadent chocolates, not just ordinary ones but deep, dark continental liqueur chocolates with a zillion calories each. ‘How on earth did you know?’ she said with a laugh, and looked up into his wonderfully expressive eyes and forgot to breathe again for a moment.

  ‘I didn’t—I just guessed,’ Adam confessed gruffly. ‘I would have brought wine, but I’m driving and I thought the chocolates would be a nice compromise.’