Their Miracle Baby

by Caroline Anderson

  He took Felix by the scruff and drew him gently onto the covered mat, then lifted him. The cat cried softly in protest, but otherwise lay motionless, panting and gasping.

  ‘Take him to the vet. Could your parents come and sit with Harry?’

  ‘You could stay. I’ll take him.’

  Max shook his head. ‘No. It’s too hard to do that alone. You don’t know how badly injured he is. Where is the vet?’

  ‘Ten minutes down the road. I’ll ring.’

  They’d set the cat down on the sofa, and it was obvious from the strange angle of the limb that one back leg was broken. His face looked battered as well, and Anna bit her lip. Was his jaw broken? The last thing she needed at the moment was a stupendous vet bill.

  She rang the vet, filled him in and arranged to meet him, then rang her parents. Her father was out of the door before she’d put the phone down, and arrived as they were loading the cat into her car.

  ‘Don’t worry about the boy,’ he said, hugging her. ‘Hello, Max. Going with her?’

  He nodded, and her father said, ‘Good man.’ He watched them pull away before going inside.

  Anna held the cat on her lap on the mat. Her carrier was broken, and she’d kept meaning to get another. Maybe if he came home… ‘Turn left—there it is.’

  The vet was waiting for them, and met them at the car, lifting Felix gently by the scruff and under the chest and carrying him through to the surgery.

  ‘I’ll have to anaesthetise him and X-ray him to make sure his chest isn’t compromised,’ he said. ‘That leg’s definitely gone, and possibly his jaw. When did he last eat?’

  ‘Good. Right, if you could sign the consent form, I’ll do it now, and then you’ll know, if you want to hang on.’

  She stopped him. ‘Is it—? Will the cat recover? Would it be kinder to put him down?’

  The vet pulled a face. ‘Hard to tell without the X-rays. We need to see what’s wrong, but if it’s just the leg he should be all right. If it’s his pelvis, his bladder and bowel nerves could be affected. We’ll have to wait and see.’

  ‘Do whatever’s necessary,’ Max interrupted. ‘If you think it’s fair to the cat, do whatever you have to do. I’ll pay for it.’

  ‘Max, you can’t!’ she protested.

  ‘I can. I opened the door.’

  ‘But it’s not your fault—’

  ‘Could you please sign the consent form for the X-rays? You can decide who pays for what once we know if he’s going to make it, but I’d like to knock him out. He’s in a lot of pain.’

  Anna signed, her hand trembling, and then looked up. ‘Can we come with you and watch?’

  ‘Sure you want to?’

  Anna nodded. ‘I’m a nurse, he’s a doctor. We won’t faint or get in the way.’

  The vet smiled. ‘Come on, then. You can look at the X-rays and see what he’s done.’

  He clipped a little fur off Felix’s foreleg, injected him with anaesthetic and the cat subsided into sleep. ‘Right, let’s arrange him for these pictures.’

  He positioned the body, laid long tubes like sandbags over his limbs to hold them steady and exposed the plates.

  ‘Right. Well, for a start he’s going to be a compromised cat, but it could have been worse. The head’s all right—bottom jaw’s a bit mangled, but I gave it a good wiggle and it’s not dislocated or broken, just sore. He’s shattered an eye-tooth, lost a chunk of skin under his chin but otherwise his head’s fine.

  ‘The chest is good, which is a relief. Sometimes they rupture their diaphragms and the abdominal contents push up into the chest cavity and crush the lungs and heart, which isn’t good. They usually sit up then and pant, which he wasn’t doing, so I didn’t think it was a problem.

  ‘Now, this leg, though.’ He shook his head. ‘He’s taken the head right off his femur—snapped it clean off the femoral neck. The problems will arise because the end of the femur may have damaged the bladder nerves, so before I operate I want him to pee. Once he’s done that, we’ll know it’s all right to go ahead. If he doesn’t, I’m afraid that’s it. He’s a dead cat.’

  ‘If he does,’ Anna said, feeling sicker and more unhappy by the minute, ‘if he pees, then what?’

  ‘Then we have to remove the head of the femur—an excision arthoplasty. It’s dead now—it’s totally severed and lost all its blood supply, so it will start to become necrotic, so we have to remove it. I’ll file off the end of the femoral neck, and that will then float in the muscle, build up a layer of callus in the form of cartilage, and create a new joint—a pseudarthrosis.’

  ‘Which the cat, of course, can’t do, so he’s going to be walking with a limp, but it’s quite a common injury, quite a common procedure for us to carry out, and the prognosis is good.’

  ‘If he pees,’ Anna said flatly.

  ‘If he pees,’ the vet agreed. ‘It may be some time. I’ve given him a painkiller in there with the anaesthetic, so when he comes round he’ll be groggy for a while and then might feel like staggering to the litter tray.’

  ‘Ring me,’ she pleaded. ‘Ring me when he pees. Any time. At home, in the surgery—whatever. Get a message to me, please.’

  The vet nodded. ‘I think it’s hopeful he will. His pelvis isn’t damaged but, of course, the hip joint is part of the pelvis and it’s all very close to the nerves. If the swelling spreads, that may cause a problem, but don’t worry, I’ll ring you the second he’s in that litter tray.’

  She struggled for a smile. ‘Thank you.’

  Max thanked the vet as well, then dropped an arm round her shoulders and led her out to the car. Without asking, he put her in the passenger seat and drove her home, and spent the night there in the spare room.

  She was glad to have him close. It wasn’t close enough, but it was better than in his cottage down the road. She even slept a little, dozing for a few minutes at a time. The night dragged, and only common decency prevented her from ringing the vet and getting him out of bed to check the cat.

  ‘Hello?’ she said breathlessly.

  ‘Panic over. He’s managed to use his litter tray.’

  Relief surged through her. ‘Thank you. So what now?’

  ‘Now I go ahead and operate. He’ll be here until tomorrow. I want to keep an eye on him and make sure he’s all right—make sure all his functions are up to scratch and he’s comfortable, and then he’ll have to be on cage rest for weeks, I’m afraid.’

  ‘That’s fine,’ she said weakly. ‘I don’t mind.’

  ‘I expect he will, though. He’ll probably drive you mad, but he can come out for cuddles on your lap. He just mustn’t jump up and down on the furniture and, of course, he can’t go out until he’s properly healed. Anyway, ring up later if you like and see how he got on. I’m sure he’ll be fine now.’

  ‘OK. Thank you.’

  She put the phone down, shaking with reaction, and found Max’s arms round her.

  ‘He peed,’ she said. ‘He’s going to operate this morning.’ And promptly howled her eyes out.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  FELIX looked incredibly sorry for himself. His leg was shaved at the top, over the hip joint, and there was a line of sutures which Anna hoped he would have the good sense to leave alone, his head was battered and sore, and he was delighted to see them all.

  Anna was just delighted that he was alive, and Max insisted on paying the bill. She didn’t argue. It came to over a hundred pounds, money she didn’t have just lying about, and she vowed to take out pet insurance.

  He had to be on cage rest for ages, and for the first few days he was quite good. Because she was out at work all day, she got up early and cuddled him on the bed until she had to get ready, and then again in the evening she had him on her lap in the sitting room, but he was restless and kept trying to jump down, and that was the last thing he was allowed to do until he’d healed.

  Harry was wonderfully gentle with him, but she wouldn’t let him hold him at first, because she was worried tha
t if Harry prodded a sore bit by accident Felix would scratch or bite him in self-defence. Either that or he’d jump down and hurt himself.

  It meant she couldn’t go out, of course, and so Max did her shopping, Max sat with them in the evenings and, after Harry was in bed and the cat was returned to his borrowed cage, each night Max would systematically drive her up the wall with his goodnight kisses.

  Then came the day when Max had to go to London for his check-up.

  ‘When will you know?’ she asked him anxiously.

  He didn’t pretend not to understand. ‘A few days,’ he said tautly. ‘They do the scan, check the blood, run a few tests and let me know. I have to go back for the results.’

  She nodded. ‘Good luck,’ she murmured.

  ‘Thanks.’

  She hugged him, unable to help herself, and he hugged her back, his arms tightening so hard he nearly cracked her ribs. ‘I love you,’ she whispered.

  His grip tightened again, just fractionally, and then he let her go. ‘I’ll be back later. I don’t suppose you’d like to get a sitter for the cat and Harry for a few hours and play hooky?’

  ‘I’d love to.’ She tried for a smile, but it wouldn’t come. She was too tense, too scared, and as the day wore on it grew worse.

  It was silly. She kept telling herself it was silly, because he wouldn’t get the results today, but it was the fact that the scan would be done and the blood tests taken, and that the whole train would be set in motion.

  Without the check-up, without the reminder, they had been able to play at being an ordinary couple and carry on as if nothing had happened.

  The sword of Damocles, he’d said, suspended over him on a frayed thread.

  She swallowed her fear and tried to concentrate on her patients, but it was difficult. She struggled through her morning surgery, and was just finishing and planning a drive home and a cuddle with her wretched cat when Fred came in.

  He’d fallen down, as drunk as a skunk, and been brought in by the local policeman.

  ‘Oh, Fred,’ Anna said with a sigh. ‘You’ve cut your head open.’

  ‘Bloody kerb come up and hit me,’ he slurred.

  ‘So I see,’ she said drily, and smiled at the policeman, another familiar face. ‘Stick him there. I’ll clean him up and put a stitch in it. Would you like to stay and keep an eye on him? He’ll do me for assault, for sure. If you’re here, he won’t be able to get so exercised.’

  The policeman laughed. ‘You’ll be a good old boy, won’t you, Fred?’ the young man said, pushing him into a chair in her treatment room and keeping him occupied while she cleaned up the blood down his face and assessed the wound.

  ‘You’re going to have a scar, Fred,’ she warned, studying the jagged tear. ‘Still, we’ll soon have you stitched up.’

  ‘Want the doc,’ Fred slurred aggressively. ‘Not a bloody woman.’

  ‘Fred, shut it, eh?’ the policeman said with some affection. ‘She’s a damn sight prettier than the doctor. Just think

  Anna stifled a smile and swiped Fred’s forehead with a spirit wipe. ‘Hold still now, this might sting a little.’

  ‘Ow, hell, get her off me!’ he yelled, flailing his arms. She whipped the needle out and straightened up.

  ‘Are you going to sit still, or are you going to lie on the bed and I’ll tie you down? Which is it to be, Fred? Or you can just go home with your brain hanging out. You never know your luck, some sense might leak in there.’

  ‘Cheeky cow,’ he grumbled, but he sat, and she injected him again, putting up with the volley of abuse and invective.

  ‘That’s better,’ she said comfortingly. ‘Now we’ll give it a minute to go to sleep, and then I’ll sew it together and you’ll be good as new.’

  Not quite, she thought, standing back some minutes later and studying her handiwork, but better than she’d feared from the state of the cut. At least it had been clean, just a simple split rather than a dirty graze. She didn’t fancy her chances of taking a wire brush to his head in this lifetime!

  She glanced at her watch as they left, and sighed. She wouldn’t get home to Felix, and it seemed unfair to leave him all alone. Now that he wasn’t hurting so much, he was bored out of his mind.

  She had an idea, and rang her mother. ‘Mum, would you mind having Felix in the kitchen in his cage? He could lie there and watch the other cats and the dogs come and go, and Harry could play with him after school, and it would be so much nicer for him.’

  ‘Sounds fine,’ her mother agreed. ‘I’ll get your father to go round with the car and pick him up now, shall I?’

  ‘Of course,’ her mother said without hesitation. ‘He’s got plenty of things here. Don’t worry about it—and I’ll take him to school in the morning if you like. Then you don’t have to worry about getting up so early.’

  She could feel her colour rising, but fortunately her mother couldn’t see it. ‘Lovely. Thanks, Mum. I owe you.’

  ‘You owe me nothing,’ her mother said gently. ‘Just be happy.’

  Anna cradled the phone and bit her lip. She’d love to be happy. All she wanted was the chance…

  The train journey was interminable, from the hot, overcrowded confusion of the tube to the mercifully air-conditioned but still overcrowded chaos of the mainline service to Ipswich. Max crossed the road, went over the bridge and down to the car park, retrieved his car and headed for Wenham Market. It took half an hour, and without thinking he pulled up outside Anna’s house, locked the car and walked up the path.

  The door swung open before he had time to touch the bell, and he stepped through the open doorway, kicked the door shut behind him and engulfed her in his arms.

  ‘God, I hate London,’ he mumbled into her hair, and kissed her jaw, her cheek, her nose, her eyelids—and then her mouth, settling on those soft, warm, eager lips with a sigh of homecoming.

  ‘Harry’s at Mum’s. So’s the cat. So, my place or yours?’

  He thought of his car, parked outside her house in broad daylight for all to see, and thought of the secluded intimacy of his cottage down its quiet lane.

  ‘Mine? It’s more private. I want to be alone with you, without people dropping in or wondering what I’m doing here.’

  She nodded. ‘Can I stay over?’

  He grinned lazily. ‘Just try leaving.’

  She chuckled. ‘Give me a minute to grab some things. I can bring my uniform and then I don’t have to come home. Hang on.’

  She ran upstairs, her legs flying, and he watched her bottom vanish round the corner with regret. She had a pretty bottom, rounded and soft, without being big—like her breasts. A groan rose in his throat, and he closed his eyes and waited impatiently. He needed two things. A drink was the second. Anna, without doubt, was the first.

  He went into the kitchen, drank a glass of water from the tap and was back at the bottom of the stairs as she came down, bag in hand. They all but ran down the path, jumped into his car and didn’t quite exceed the speed limit going out to his cottage.

  They didn’t make it upstairs for a while. Instead, they closed the front door and reached for each other, tearing off their clothes with trembling hands, their eyes fevered, and he lifted her against him and drove into her with a groan of relief. Her legs coiled round him, her mouth sought his and he propped her against the door and plunged

  His body stiffened, he dropped his head against her shoulder and locked his knees, and when the tremors had passed, he lowered her feet to the floor and kissed her again.

  ‘I love you,’ he said raggedly. ‘It’s been so long.’

  ‘Only a week.’

  He gave a strangled laugh. ‘Is that all? It feels like months. It’s the tension.’ He eased away from her and smiled wryly. ‘I’m sorry. That wasn’t very dignified.’

  ‘I don’t care.’ Her hand came up and cupped his cheek, her thumb stroking the side of his mouth, dragging the damp skin. ‘I love you, too. I’ve missed you today. It’s been such a long day without yo
u.’

  Her eyes sparkled, and she blinked and turned away, gathering their clothes in a heap in her arms.

  ‘Let’s go to bed,’ he suggested softly, and she nodded and went upstairs. He followed her, watching the soft globes of her buttocks tense with every step, and wanted her again. Still. For ever.

  He backed away from that thought. Just tonight, he promised himself. Just think about tonight. Don’t look ahead. Deal with today. Love her tonight as if it’s the last time.

  He took the clothes out of her hands and dropped them on a chair, then drew her back into his arms. ‘Where were we?’ he murmured.

  Her arms slid round him and she eased closer, her eyes widening with surprise as she felt his response.

  ‘We were in the hall, up against the front door like alley cats,’ she said with a smile. ‘Now we’re in your bedroom. Shall we take advantage of that nice big bed?’

  He flicked back the quilt, groaned as he watched her slide under the covers, her nipples sassy and pert and asking for attention, and followed her in, drawing her into his arms.

  ‘This time I’m going slow,’ he promised.

  ‘Don’t change anything on my account,’ she said with a laugh, and he groaned and moved over her.

  Forget the foreplay, he thought. They didn’t need it. They were both wound up so tight they were about to explode, and as he entered her she shuddered and sobbed. He felt her body convulsing round him, her hands raking his back, her mouth hot and eager against his throat, and he abandoned all attempts at finesse and let nature drive him.

  It should have been quieter, more gentle, their appetites slaked a little by the first time.

  It wasn’t. It was, if anything, more devastating, more powerful, more intense than ever before, and as he lay in her arms, unable to move, stunned by the awesome beauty of their loving, he wondered if he would ever find the strength to leave her.

  Because he’d promised himself that if by a hideous twist of fate he was no longer in remission then he would go.