Their Miracle Baby

by Caroline Anderson

  ‘What does he want?’

  Anna shrugged, and trailed a spoon over the top of her tea, bursting the little bubbles. ‘He wants to know about Harry,’ she said quietly, but her voice was vibrating with

  ‘What makes you think he even knows about Harry?’ her mother asked.

  ‘Because they’ve met—he fell over him, in the shop! He could hardly fail to notice him, and then I picked Harry up, and he looked at us—of course he’s made the connection, and, anyway, he’s told me he wants to know about his son. Trust me, Mum, he knows. Even if he didn’t know before he arrived in Wenham Market, he knows now—and he wants to know more.’

  Her mother shrugged philosophically. ‘Why don’t you talk to him, then? Get it over with—show him the photos, the videos of the birthday parties, the little clay things he’s made. Bore him to death with the Mother’s Day cards and the drawings and the pasta pictures—’

  ‘I don’t want to!’ she said vehemently. ‘It’s nothing to do with him! None of it’s anything to do with him!’

  ‘Except that Harry is his son.’

  She glared at her mother. ‘Harry is the biological fruit of his loins, mother. He is not his son!’

  One eloquent eyebrow arched expressively. ‘Strikes me it’s one and the same thing. You lost touch. Now he’s back—’

  ‘And what if he wants custody? What if he tries to take him from me?’ she asked, desperation clawing at her.

  Sarah Young tutted reproachfully. ‘There isn’t a judge in the land who would give him custody—don’t be absurd. Is he married?’

  ‘Married?’ she echoed incredulously. How odd. She hadn’t even given it a thought! ‘I don’t know,’ she murmured. ‘He didn’t say.’

  Anna sighed. ‘I wish I could believe you, but I don’t know him. I know hardly anything about him. He was a moment of foolishness, Mum, and I have no idea what kind of man he is or what he wants. All I know is that he walked out on me without any kind of explanation, and now he’s back and I can’t trust him. He could do anything—anything at all.’

  She met her mother’s eyes. ‘Are you busy tonight? Could we stay for supper?’

  ‘Because he knows where you live?’

  She looked away. ‘You think I’m being silly, don’t you?’ she said in a soft voice.

  ‘I think you aren’t giving him time to explain what he wants. I think that’s a little unfair—’

  ‘Unfair? Unfair! After what he did to me?’ She pushed her tea away and stood up. ‘I give up. You clearly don’t want to see it from my viewpoint. You can’t see how scared I am that I’ll lose Harry—’

  ‘You won’t lose Harry—’

  ‘I will if he kidnaps him,’ she said flatly, and turned away, staring out of the window, her arms wrapped round her waist, hugging herself.

  The words hung in the air.

  Max sat on the front door step for ages. She’d left the surgery before him, and wasn’t home. At least, if she was home, she wasn’t answering her bell. Still, it was a pleasant summer evening. He’d gone home and changed into something

  And he’d ended up here, waiting. Ridiculous. He’d start attracting attention, and then she’d get mad with him. That wouldn’t help at all.

  He stood up, just as the next-door neighbour came out of her house. ‘She’s not back yet—I expect she’s at her parents’. Can I take a message?’

  He smiled and leant over the honeysuckle hedge, his hand extended. ‘Hello. I’m Dr Carter—I work with her. I’ve taken over from Dr Korrel while she’s on maternity leave. I just wanted a quick word.’

  The neighbour shook his hand and moved closer, relaxing her guard. ‘Jill Fraser. Dr Korrel’s my doctor—I expect I’ll be seeing you with one of my brood in the not-too-distant future, if our track record holds.’

  She looked down the road. ‘Why don’t you go over to her mother’s? They often stay late. I’m sure she won’t mind, if it’s important. It’s the big Georgian house on the left, after all the other houses. There’s a field, and then it’s set back. Painted white—you can’t miss it.’

  He thanked her, and set off down the road, enjoying the feel of the sun on his face and the scented air. People were pottering in their gardens, watering hanging baskets and pots and tubs, tweaking weeds, picking roses. It was peaceful and domesticated and he envied them.

  They smiled at him, said ‘Lovely evening!’ and things like that, and one or two recognised him and stopped him for a chat.

  Then the houses petered out, and the lane narrowed, and

  It was a pretty house, not huge, but fairly substantial, the proportions elegant, the front garden deep with a gravelled turning circle in front of the house. He crunched over the gravel, rang the doorbell and waited.

  A dog barked and was shushed, and then he heard the scrape of a key in the lock and the door swung inwards, revealing a softer, more mature version of Anna—the sort of woman his Anna would turn into given another twenty years. It was a pleasing thought.

  ‘Mrs Young?’

  She looked at him, searching his eyes. He obviously passed some sort of test, because she extended her hand. ‘Sarah—and you must be Max,’ she said calmly. ‘Come on in. Anna’s in the kitchen. We were just about to sit down to supper—why don’t you join us?’

  CHAPTER TWO

  ANNA couldn’t believe her ears. She’d eavesdropped blatantly at the kitchen door, worried that it might be Max, that he might have followed her here, and her mother was letting him in! For supper!

  Sarah, indeed. She slammed the cutlery down on the table and turned to face the door, uncaring that hostility blazed from her usually gentle grey eyes. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing here?’ she snarled furiously. ‘How dare you—?’

  ‘Anna! Max is my guest, and you will treat him with respect—’

  ‘What, like he treated me with respect? He walked out on me when I was pregnant—or have you conveniently forgotten that?’

  Max intervened, a pained look on his face. ‘At the time I had no idea—’

  ‘And you didn’t hang around long enough to find out, did you? Tell me—how many other times have you done this, Max? How many other little bastards are there wandering the streets, with your blue eyes and sexy smile?’

  ‘Was that a compliment?’ he asked wryly.

  ‘There’s nothing to discuss. I’m leaving. Where’s Harry?’

  ‘Out checking sheep with your father. Anna, darling, sit down. Let Max have his say—ah, there they are now. George, come in. We’ve got a visitor—Max Carter.’

  The name meant nothing to her father, but his face stopped George Young in his tracks. Years of diplomacy, however, prevented him reacting with anything but dignity. He nodded his head. ‘Max. With you in a minute—Harry and I need to clean up a little bit. Come on, son, let’s wash these hands.’

  He hoisted the child up to the sink, propped him against the edge with his body and leant over him, soaping and rinsing until all four hands were clean. Then they dried them, and Harry turned and looked up at Max.

  ‘You fell over me,’ he said, recognising him for the first time. ‘I got a bruise.’

  ‘So’ve I,’ Max said wryly, watching him with a painful intensity.

  Anna glared at him. ‘Don’t you dare say anything,’ she muttered under her breath for Max’s ears alone.

  He turned to her, his eyes curiously gentle. ‘Don’t worry, Anna,’ he said softly. ‘I’m not here to make trouble.’

  It seemed he wasn’t. He was charm itself, smiling and laughing at Harry’s stories, engaging him in conversation and hanging on his every word.

  And Harry adored him.

  At least, he enjoyed the attention, and Anna kept trying to catch Max’s eye to get him to cool it, but he assiduously avoided her attempts. It infuriated her, but she was helpless

  Then finally the meal was over, and Harry dragged Max into the sitting room to meet the dogs while Sarah made coffee. Anna followed with her father, unwilling to
leave them alone together for as much as a second.

  ‘Harry, go and ask Grannie if she can find that box of chocolates, would you, son?’ George suggested, and Harry took off like a rocket. Her father dropped into his favourite chair with a slight groan, and stretched his legs.

  ‘So, Max, what have you been doing for the past five years?’ he asked cordially, settling back in his chair.

  Anna held her breath. Was he married? Divorced? Widowed, even?

  ‘Nothing terribly exciting,’ Max said in a strangely calm voice. He was fondling the ears of one of the dogs, who was propped against his leg like a faithless hussy, grinning. ‘I’ve done locum work in several practices—done some training courses in surgery and obstetrics, that sort of thing.’

  ‘Never thought of settling down?’

  Something flickered in his eyes, but then he leant back in the corner of the settee and gave a lazy smile. ‘Maybe one day,’ he said easily. ‘For now I’m quite happy with variety.’

  ‘And no responsibility,’ Anna said under her breath.

  ‘I have responsibilities,’ Max corrected. ‘Every patient that I see is my responsibility. What I don’t have is ties.’

  ‘And where does Harry fit into the great scheme of

  Max hesitated, something like regret flickering over his face. ‘I don’t know. I’d like to see him, obviously, but I don’t think it’s necessary for him to know exactly who I am. I would like to contribute towards his upbringing, though.’

  ‘Conscience money?’ Anna said bitterly.

  Her father stood up and left the room, closing the door quietly behind him, and Max sighed and ran his hand through his hair.

  ‘Annie, I don’t want to fight with you. I didn’t know I had a son until last Friday. I’m still feeling stunned. I’d like to know about him—about his birth, his early years, his first steps…’ His voice was suddenly gruff, and he looked down at the dog, still patiently waiting for more attention. He tickled her ears again.

  ‘I don’t want you to feel threatened,’ he went on after a moment. ‘I can’t take any real part in his life, for all sorts of reasons, but I would like to help you out with money, and I’d like to keep in touch and know how he’s doing and what he’s up to—that sort of thing.’

  ‘So you want all the cream and none of the hard work, is that it?’ she said, perversely furious that he didn’t want to be involved in Harry’s life.

  ‘The cream?’ he said with a trace of sadness. ‘Is that what you call it? Knowing I have a son who doesn’t know me, who will never know me as his father? Never know the joy of sharing his successes and the pain of standing back and letting him fail, if that’s what’s needed? Never sharing those special times, those late-night cuddles and quiet chats? You call that the cream?’ He gave a humourless

  ‘It’s more than you deserve.’

  He regarded her steadily. ‘That’s as may be. Whatever, will you allow me that? Will you tell me about him, share those early days and years with me, keep me in touch?’

  ‘And in return you’ll pay me to look after him. Is that it?’

  He sighed shortly and stabbed his hands through his hair. ‘I would contribute to his expenses whether you kept me in touch or not. It would just be nice to know how he’s getting on.’

  She let out her breath on a shaky sigh and stood up. ‘I don’t know. I’ll show you pictures, tell you about him, but as for keeping in touch over the years—I don’t know if I can do that. You hurt me, Max. I gave you everything I had to give, and you walked away. I don’t know if I can face having you in my life again.’

  He bowed his head. ‘I’m sorry. You will never know how sorry I am.’

  She snorted and walked to the door. ‘I think it’s time you went. I have to take Harry home and get him to bed. He can’t have too many late nights during the week, he gets crabby and disgusting.’

  ‘Like his mother,’ Max said softly. ‘You never were a morning person, were you, sweetheart?’

  She stiffened at the endearment. ‘Don’t call me sweetheart. You lost all rights to call me that when you walked out. I’ll tell you about your son, I’ll share what I can of him with you while you’re here, but that’s all. No starting up where we left off, no thinking that you can use me and leave again. I won’t have it. Do you understand?’

  He moved past her and went down the hall to the front door. ‘Thank your mother for supper for me, please. It was very kind of her.’

  And he let himself out of the door, leaving her standing in the hall, her mind in a turmoil. Could she cope with him? With being so near him, talking to him, sharing Harry’s early moments?

  Remembering the things she’d had to do alone, when he should have been there to share them with her?

  The thought filled her with dread, but underneath it was a strand of hope, a useless, optimistic thread of anticipation and excitement.

  No, she told herself sternly. You don’t want anything to do with him.

  Even if he is the only man you’ve ever loved…

  It was typical of fate’s little tricks that she was scheduled the following day for minor surgery with Max. Just what I need, she thought, being stuck in the same room as him working alongside him for hours!

  Still, it could have been worse. There were only three patients, and the first was a relatively simple incision of a cyst. Despite her best attempt at detachment, she was nevertheless interested to see how well and how carefully he worked. He really did have skill, she realised, and wondered again why he was still working as a locum instead of settling down somewhere in a permanent post.

  Except, of course, that would give him ties, she thought

  She forced herself to concentrate on their patient, and after Max had finished and stitched the little wound, she dressed it, cleaned up the little theatre and prepared it for the next patient.

  ‘This one might be interesting,’ Max said. ‘A discharging sinus on a farmer’s finger. He has a little shard of metal in it from an accident with machinery. It apparently healed and has now started swelling and discharging years later.’

  ‘Is that Mr Bryant?’ she asked, something prickling at the back of her mind.

  ‘That’s right. Why? Know him?’

  ‘He’s a friend of my father’s. They farm next to us. I remember him doing it—a flywheel shattered and took off one of his fingers. This must be one of the ones that’s left. Right, we’re ready for him. Shall I go and get him?’

  Max nodded, studying the notes. ‘Please.’

  She came back with Mr Bryant moments later, and Max shook his hand and introduced himself. ‘Right, could we have a look at the offending digit?’ he said with a smile.

  ‘Sure. Here it is—I wouldn’t have bothered, but every now and then it gets sore and infected, and, to be honest, Doc, it’s a darned nuisance.’

  He held out his hand, and Anna could see the great lump on the side of the tip of his finger. Half of the nail was missing, presumably lost in the original injury, and in the centre of the swelling was a nasty little black pit. Max pressed it gently, and it oozed.

  ‘Right. Well, that looks straightforward enough. I’ve

  Mr Bryant laughed. ‘Hope you’ve got good eyesight, Doc.’

  ‘Twenty-twenty,’ he assured him, then said softly under his breath, ‘especially my hindsight.’

  ‘What was that?’ Mr Bryant said, looking puzzled.

  ‘I said I have special eyesight,’ Max lied blithely, and injected the finger to numb it, before scrubbing and gowning in preparation for the operation.

  Anna laid out the trolley, taking care with aseptic technique so as not to contaminate any of the sterile packs, and by the time the finger was numb they were all ready.

  The little shard of metal proved surprisingly elusive, but after a few moments Max found it and produced it with a florish, like a conjurer with a rabbit.

  ‘Right. That’s the little blighter. Now all we need to do is clean up, and it should heal nicely all by itsel
f. I’m not going to stitch it—this sort of thing needs to heal from the inside out. I’ll ask Sister Young to dress it for you, and you’ll need to come in and have the dressing changed every day for a week. By then it should be just about sorted. OK?’

  ‘Excellent. Thank you, Doc. Lovely job.’

  Anna attended to the wound, all the time chattering to him about farming and how her father was and the price of lambs at the market and the state of the industry, and by the time he left Max was staring at her in amazement.

  ‘What?’ she said crossly. ‘Don’t you dare tell me I gossip.’

  He laughed. ‘I was just stunned by your social skills. You tell old Fred that he’s still drinking and Mrs Bootle in

  ‘She doesn’t have grandchildren. Tom’s not old enough, and Rebecca’s still at university—’

  ‘I rest my case,’ he said drily, and Anna gave a self-conscious laugh.

  ‘OK, I give up,’ she said, a touch of mockery in her voice. ‘Blame it on continuity. It might be something to do with the fact that I’ve been here off and on for the past thirty years. You might like to try it some time. Staying in one place has a lot to recommend it.’

  She stripped off her gloves, bundled up all the disposable waste and put it in the yellow clinic waste bin.

  Max watched her silently, making her antsy and nervous. ‘Don’t you have something useful to do, like look up Mrs Green’s notes?’ she asked acerbically.

  One eyebrow arched expressively, but he turned to the paperwork on the desk and scanned it. ‘She’s on beta blockers,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘People sometimes get pincer nails with them. I wonder if that’s what is wrong with her, or if she’s got ordinary ingrowing toenails. The notes aren’t very specific.’

  Anna changed the paper over the couch, laid another trolley and turned to him. ‘Shall I fetch her?’

  ‘If it’s not too much trouble,’ he said mildly, and she pressed her lips together to hold back the retort and went out to find Mrs Green.

  She limped across the waiting room, and Anna frowned