The Surgeon's One-Night Baby

by Charlotte Hawkes

  ‘How would I know that much about your childhood?’ she bit back. ‘I saw a little but my father kept his confidences. Mostly, I know the rumours from the press. Now I’m your wife. But how can I begin to really understand?’

  He had no intention of answering, certainly not in a way that invited investigation of his life, but suddenly he heard himself speaking.

  ‘What do you want to know?’

  ‘You would tell me?’ Wide, round eyes pinned him down. It was all he could to get a response out.

  ‘Ask.’

  She visibly deflated. Her anger seeped out of her and into the ether so suddenly it was though it had never existed. Still, he wasn’t prepared for her fingers to suddenly reach out and skim his cheek.

  ‘What happened, Kaspar?’ she murmured. ‘I know your mother was volatile, selfish. I know both your parents were. But what is it that I don’t know?’

  She was asking him to trust her enough to open up with the one thing he’d never told anyone. Not ever. His entire life.

  He drew in one deep, steadying breath. Then another. And all the while she stood there, her eyes locked with his and her fingers resting on his cheek, so lightly that he wasn’t sure if he could feel them or merely sense them.

  Everything in him railed at the mere thought of revisiting those hateful memories, let alone voicing them aloud, reliving them. But he’d offered. He couldn’t renege now.

  Wordlessly, he led her into the living room. It took an eternity for them both to settle. And then she sat, staring at him. Half expectant, half just waiting for him to shut her out instead.

  He wasn’t sure where to even start. As if she could read his mind, Archie tried to prompt him.

  ‘Robbie met your parents once. Or at least saw them dropping you off once at boarding school. He...said they wasn’t exactly...loving.’

  He swallowed a bark of bitter laughter. Let it burn the back of his throat. Used it to propel him forward the way he always had done.

  ‘They wouldn’t have been remotely loving.’ His voice was more clipped than he might have liked, but that couldn’t be helped. ‘Love didn’t exist in our home. At least not towards me. Which I think was a step up from my parents’ twisted version of love.’

  ‘But you were their son.’ She looked dazed.

  ‘I wasn’t wanted. Not like you and Robbie. I was a mistake.’

  ‘That’s how you felt?’

  ‘That’s what they called me.’ He let out a humourless laugh. ‘It was one of their more restrained names for me. The only time they really referred to me was to call me names or to fight about whose turn it was to take responsibility for me. I was rarely a he, I was most often an it.’

  Cold realisation flowed through her.

  ‘Which is why you got so mad when I called our baby it.’

  ‘I couldn’t stand it,’ he admitted. ‘The memories were so strong when you did that, that a sense of worthlessness that ran through me, even all these years later.’

  ‘Were they...as volatile as the press makes out?’ she pressed cautiously.

  How could she already have grown to hate that expression that clouded his face? To detest his parents for putting it there? It occurred to her that she’d seen it once before. The first summer Robbie had invited him to stay at their house. Too late, she remembered the introverted, awkward seven-year-old he’d been back then.

  ‘You don’t have to answer that,’ she blurted out suddenly.

  Her entire body felt like it was combusting as he cupped her chin gently as if to reassure her.

  ‘You know when Hollywood make films and they’re horrific and poignant and the world says how it makes them think, and yet the truth is that it doesn’t even come close to how appalling the real truth actually was? Well, that’s what the media have reported my life and parents’ marriage to be versus the reality.’

  ‘They’ve always called it explosive.’ She frowned.

  ‘And then they’ve dressed it up to be something sensationalist and implied that such uncontrolled passion was somehow romantic and dramatic,’ he ground out. ‘But the truth was that there was nothing romantic or sensational about it. It was ugly and twisted and destructive. What’s your first memory, Archie?’

  It was a fight to keep his voice even, not to let the bitterness creep in. Nonetheless, Archie bit her lip as she slowly bobbed her head.

  ‘It’s probably not a real memory, just a memory I’ve cobbled together from photos and the stories my father told me. But it’s of my mother helping me to paint a wooden race cart my father had made for me. It was just before she died so I was probably about six. Then we went out onto the dirt track behind our house and Robbie and I raced each other while my mother refereed and my father pushed me to help me keep up with Robbie.’

  His chest cracked even as he knew that such special memories were exactly what he wanted for his child. For the baby Archie was now carrying.

  ‘Mine is of my parents screaming at each other as my mother accused my father of not wanting her to succeed in Hollywood because he wouldn’t give her another tummy tuck. I was standing in the kitchen doorway as they went at it the way they always did. She was throwing pots and pans and he was grabbing her and pushing her. I think I shouted out because my parents turned to the door and my mother roared at me to get out because her sagging figure was all my fault anyway. Only her words weren’t that restrained. Neither was their fight.’

  But he didn’t want to scare Archie away. To make her fear that he was too damaged.

  ‘Kaspar!’ Her cry tugged at something he couldn’t identify. ‘How old were you?’

  ‘Who knows?’ He shrugged. ‘It wouldn’t have been a unique occurrence. I ran for the phone, I don’t know who I was going to call. Anybody, I guess. Then I recall his footsteps thundering behind me, cuffing me across the back of the head and telling me to mind my own business. Then he picked me up, opened the front door and threw me outside, telling me to go and play in the garden or the sandpit or something. Only no one was as polite as that.’

  He had a hundred memories like that locked away in some dark, deep pit of his mind. In many of them he’d copped a lot more of the blame, verbally and physically.

  ‘Didn’t anybody know?’

  ‘There was a woman who lived down the road. Her husband was some high-flying guy in the city. She’d been the stay-at-home wife, and also his punch-bag. Her kids had grown up and moved out and she took me in often enough, gave me milk and a cookie. Somewhere to lick my wounds. She made me feel cared for. Like I wasn’t alone.’ He shrugged again, not able to put into words how much she had helped him, in her own way.

  ‘That’s appalling,’ Archie uttered in disbelief. ‘I never really understood.’

  ‘Why would you? Your childhood was so different. And that can only be a good thing.’

  She shook her head at him.

  ‘How can you be so blasé?’

  Kaspar wasn’t sure how to answer that. ‘I don’t know. It was just...how things were. It was normal to me. It could have been worse, I guess. A lot of the time they didn’t really take much notice of me at all. If I stayed out of their way I could pretend the shouting and screaming and fighting was some bad movie on a TV in another room. I used to pretend I was somewhere else. Someone else.’

  ‘Is that why you used to love school so much? Because it made it easier to pretend?’

  ‘I guess. I never really thought about it.’ Actually, that wasn’t true. He’d thought about it from time to time. ‘I don’t think it was personal, Archie, as odd as you might think that sounds. I don’t think it was ever about me. It was always about them. That was the point.’

  ‘Is that what you think?’ She shook her head.

  ‘I guess. It’s what your father once said to me.’

  ‘I remember Dad used to take us into his workshop and help
us make a wooden toy, or later a metal one on his lathe, and weave long stories that you couldn’t help but find yourself caught up in.’ Archie laughed softly. ‘The next thing you’d be pouring your heart out to him about whatever was wrong. At least, I would be.’

  He smiled, bowing his head so that she couldn’t read his expression. He suspected it was suddenly a fraction too wistful. Of all the people he’d felt he’d let down when he’d lost his cool that night in the bar, it was Archie’s father. To this day, he had no idea whether the man ever knew about the monumental mistake he’d made that night.

  Suddenly Kaspar felt too full of sorrow for all he had lost over the years but never previously allowed himself to mourn. He swallowed, breathed, waiting until he felt less emotional.

  Him. Emotional?

  ‘Your father helped me to realise that it wasn’t my fault. Whatever they said there was nothing that I did or didn’t do that influenced them. I was an easy target, but they would have followed the same path with each other whether I’d been around or not.’

  ‘You sound so...rational about it all.’ A hint of wonderment coloured her tone. ‘So logical. I can’t imagine how I could handle it the way you do.’

  A laugh escaped him. A hollow, empty sound that seemed to bounce off every hard, flat surface.

  ‘You have no idea. I don’t handle it, Archie. I never have. I ignore it, hiding it away somewhere and pretending it doesn’t exist. I did it successfully for years, but in the end it all bubbled over. I physically hurt someone, Archie. Why do you think I’ve let the press portray me as this ridiculous “Surgeon Prince of Persia”? Because it’s what I deserve.’

  ‘You don’t deserve anything of the sort.’

  ‘Yes. I do. Why do you think I avoid relationships? Why do you think I avoid emotional connections of any kind? Why do you think that until you came along I didn’t want to settle down and have a family of my own? I couldn’t bear the idea that I might do to them even a fraction of what was done to me.’

  ‘You could never do that,’ Archie asserted fiercely, the certainty in her voice surprising him as much as it warmed him. ‘You aren’t them. You’re nothing like them.’

  ‘I was never sure of that before. Not until you turned up, carrying my child. Not until that moment when I knew I would be a part of my baby’s life. A full, complete part, not some part-time dad. I won’t accept that, Archie. And I won’t let you relegate me to that. That’s why we had to marry.’

  He couldn’t tell her that he was becoming more and more suspicious that it was only part of it.

  She watched him intently, her eyes never leaving his face.

  ‘And what about love?’ she challenged, so quietly he had to strain to hear her.

  There was no reason for his heart to suddenly hang a beat. He didn’t like what it might mean. What it might be trying to tell him. Kaspar forced himself to regain control.

  ‘I can’t tell you about love,’ he informed her steadily. ‘But I can tell you about chemistry.’

  ‘Five months ago?’ She let out a nervous laugh.

  ‘It wasn’t just that night, Archie. You know it as well as I do. That kiss before proves it.’

  She wanted to argue. But she didn’t. She couldn’t. And he felt that was a good start.

  * * *

  She was still riding on the unexpected high of Kaspar opening up to her the following day when they were back in Dr Jarvis’s office. Wondering if marriage to Kaspar would be so bad after all. Her marriage to Joe might have gone wrong, but they hadn’t had a fraction of the chemistry Kaspar had mentioned. Not to mention the fact that she was carrying Kaspar’s baby.

  Could it really be that easy? Fitting together so neatly? It almost felt too good to be true.

  ‘Right.’ Dr Jarvis strode across the room to them, snagging Archie’s attention as she advanced.

  The woman’s expression was too careful. Something dark, and terrifying, churned inside her.

  ‘So I’ve spoken to your doctor and got your records, as you know, and I’ve carried out another examination today. I believe that there is funnelling taking place. However, it’s no more advanced than when I examined you last week.’

  Kaspar’s arm unexpectedly moved around her back, and instinctively she leaned into it, drawing strength from his solid body.

  ‘So what happens next?’ he asked clearly, calmly, like he knew her vocal cords were too paralysed to even try to speak.

  He probably knew already, of course. He was asking for her benefit. But that only made her all the more grateful.

  ‘It means it’s your call, Archana. There’s no need to become alarmed but, given your history I would be prepared to do a cerclage in the expectation that it might help to ensure this baby stays in there where it needs to be.’

  ‘What would that entail?’ She swallowed a wave of nausea, trying to focus, to understand.

  ‘I would place a band of strong thread around the neck of your womb, under spinal anaesthetic. I could do it this afternoon and it should take around twenty-five minutes. Antibiotics will help to reduce the risk of infection but I would want to keep you in for at least twenty-four hours anyway to ensure that the procedure hadn’t induced labour. After that you should be able to go home provided you take things very easy.’

  ‘Bed rest?’ Kaspar sounded gravelly compared to his usual voice, but Archie couldn’t process it. She didn’t know what it meant.

  ‘For a few days if possible.’ Dr Jarvis nodded. ‘Then you can slowly start to resume light movements, graduating to normal. With some emergency cerclage, we recommend no sexual intercourse for the duration of the pregnancy, but with Archana the funnelling is so faint that I’m anticipating you can resume sex in a week or two as long as it’s light and infrequent, say once or twice a week.’

  Later, much later, she would flush at the memory at the rather one-way conversation, and the fact that neither she nor Kaspar had refuted the idea that they were enjoying a healthy sexual relationship.

  Later. Not now.

  ‘But you should wear a condom, Kaspar,’ Dr Jarvis was continuing blithely. ‘Obviously that’s more about reducing the risk of infection rather than concern about conception.’

  On some vague level Archie was aware that the woman had been making a joke. No doubt one she made to all her patients to try to elevate the mood a fraction. But Archie couldn’t laugh, she barely even cracked a smile. She wasn’t sure if Kaspar did any better.

  ‘We won’t be having sex,’ came Kaspar’s tight, rasping admission eventually. But when Dr Jarvis continued, it wasn’t clear if she had misunderstood or was simply being discreet.

  ‘That’s probably wise until I have chance to do a two-week post-op check-up. Then I’ll have a better idea of how your body is reacting to the cerclage, Archana. Often orgasms can soften the already compromised cervix, which can also lead to premature birth. Although, again, in your case, I don’t believe that will be the case. This is more a precaution due to your history along with the fact that there is faint funnelling. If it was just one of those factors then I wouldn’t be considering the procedure.’

  And if Kaspar hadn’t been the one pulling the strings, would anyone have done anything at all? Her doctors had dismissed it, if they’d even noticed it, just as they had done when she’d been carrying Faith.

  She couldn’t lose another baby. She wouldn’t.

  She didn’t need to look at Kaspar to know what she wanted to do. Somehow, him just being here, his arm around her, gave her the confidence she needed to make her own decision.

  ‘Schedule the procedure, please.’ Her voice cracked but she didn’t care. ‘I’ll have it done as soon as possible.’

  CHAPTER NINE

  THE SUN BEAT DOWN, seeping into Archie’s skin and melting into her very bones, its warmth heating the poolside paving slabs under her feet. Archie relaxed
in the shade and tried not to stare too obviously at the sight of Kaspar cutting through the water as he executed perfect length after perfect length.

  The past few weeks since the cerclage had seemed surreal. Like she’d woken up in a parallel life where she lived in pleasant domesticity with Kaspar. He’d been attentive, and patient, and easy company.

  But they’d never mentioned his childhood again. Or their marriage.

  They never really talked about anything of substance. Not even the cerclage. Their conversations were light, sometimes funny, always friendly, but they verged on the superficial, and it galled Archie more than she cared to admit. As though their moment of breakthrough had never happened.

  Even when Dr Jarvis had expressed her satisfaction that Archie’s body seemed to have accepted the intervention well with bed rest slipping into house rest then into gentle activities, but not yet sexual activity.

  Archie had no doubt that her searing cheeks had raised the temperature of the consultation room by several degrees, mortified that she’d instantly thought back to that weekend together and had not been able to get the incredible X-rated images from her head. Yet Kaspar had schooled his features as though the conversation hadn’t bothered him in the least.

  It had somehow felt demoralising, making her wonder why he hadn’t even touched her since the kiss that wedding night. Had it simply been about proving a point? Why did it even bother her?

  Archie stood up abruptly. The need to get away from the house—something she hadn’t been able to do in the last few days—more overwhelming than ever.

  That one moment of openness, of almost vulnerability on Kaspar’s part those weeks ago had been gone even by the following morning when she’d awoken. She could remember it as vividly as if it had only been hours ago.