‘On condition that the marriage took place as soon as it could be arranged. No months and months of planning. No big celebration. Just him and me and…and it was beautiful and he was so happy and…and…I just felt so guilty because I felt as if I was cheating him. He should have known what was happening before he was tied to me, but I was afraid that if I told him, he might not want…’
‘But you know him too well for that,’ Amy said with a flash of understanding. ‘In your heart, you knew that he would marry you any way he could have you, and this was the only way you could see of making your wedding a happy occasion. A memory he could take out and cherish after you were gone.’
‘But it’s happening too soon,’ she wailed weakly. ‘I haven’t had enough time to work out how I’m going to tell him, and I’ve got to do it now.’
‘Do you want me to do it for you?’ Amy offered, a glance at the various monitoring displays confirming that her patient was stable enough for her to leave her long enough to do that for her.
Jane took several moments to think about it and Amy could tell that the idea was tempting, but the determination in the way the woman pressed her lips together told her that the offer was going to be rejected.
‘Thanks for the offer, but this is something I have to do,’ she confirmed. ‘If you could bring him back in?’
‘He’ll only start grilling me if I go to get him,’ Amy pointed out as she reached for the phone.
‘Louella, I’m in Resus Three with Mrs Paxman,’ she said as soon as she recognised the Caribbean accent, the fact that her colleague had already arrived for duty telling her just how much time had elapsed. ‘Fleur’s with Mr Paxman in the relatives’ room. Could you get her to bring him back in here?’
‘You got a problem there, Amy, girl?’ Louella asked softly, obviously picking up on something in Amy’s voice.
‘No problem,’ Amy said equally softly.
‘Tell me later. I’ll send Mr Paxman in.’
By the time the worried man pushed his way through the doors, Amy had cleared the room of all the other personnel, sure that this conversation was going to be difficult enough for Jane without a cast of thousands listening in.
‘Janey! Sweetheart, are you all right? Have they found out why you collapsed this morning?’ The lump in Amy’s throat grew as she turned away to give them some semblance of privacy, concentrating hard on tasks that she could usually complete without thinking about them. This man obviously loved his wife. He was going to be devastated when she told him how little time they had left together.
‘No! Oh, Janey, no! It’s not true. It can’t be…’
Amy threw a quick glance over her shoulder to confirm that the monitor readings were still within normal bounds. Blood pressure was raised, as was pulse rate, but that was hardly a surprise with the stress Jane was under, even with her husband’s arms wrapped right around her, cradling her as though she was the most precious porcelain figurine in the world. His shoulders were shuddering with the force of his sobs as she apologised over and over again.
With the force of an express train it suddenly hit Amy that this could be what she would be going through in just a few months’ time, but in her case there would be no supportive husband mourning a life cut short. She had colleagues and friends aplenty but, apart from her parents, there would be no one to hold her close while she cried out her fears and regrets for all the things she would never achieve.
So why did Zach’s image burst into her mind?
He wasn’t her husband or her lover. In fact, in spite of the new relationship they had been forging since they’d started working together, he was little more than a friend, no matter what her dreams might imply.
‘Excuse me?’ Mr Paxman’s voice broke into her thoughts and she wondered guiltily exactly how long she’d been gazing blankly at the wall. ‘What happens now? Can I take Jane home?’
‘Her oncologist has been paged and will be on his way down. He’ll be able to tell you what’s been going on to make Jane collapse this morning and discuss with you what that means as far as treatment goes.’
‘I’m not going to be admitted,’ Jane said as firmly as her weakened condition would allow, her voice choked by emotion. ‘I want…we both want for me to stay at home as long as…’ She couldn’t finish the sentence, but Amy didn’t need the words.
‘If you’ve already discussed that with Mr Khalil, he’ll have it in your notes. If not, it would probably be a good idea for the two of you to go up to the oncology ward—’
‘But she doesn’t want to be admitted,’ her husband interrupted swiftly.
‘And she won’t be, unless it’s absolutely necessary,’ Amy promised. ‘It’s just that it’ll be a bit quieter and more private than down here.’ She risked a gentle joke. ‘Don’t worry, the bed shortage is still severe enough that they’re unlikely to start forcing people to stay.’
They both smiled, but when the door was shouldered open by Mr Khalil, it was short-lived.
‘Jane, how are you?’ he asked, as he hurried across the room to her, taking one of her hands and pressing it between both of his. ‘And this must be Francis.’ He offered a hand to her husband, his large dark eyes full of sympathy. ‘Jane has told me so much about you that I almost feel as if we’ve met before.’
He returned his gaze to his patient. ‘You’re not looking quite as radiant as I was expecting,’ he teased her gently, then surprised Amy by adding, ‘Has it been a rather…energetic month since the wedding?’ with a waggle of his eyebrows and made both Francis and Jane chuckle, a wash of embarrassment lending a welcome touch of colour to Jane’s pale cheeks.
The apparent suggestiveness of the oncologist’s gesture had been so at odds with his dapper conservative dress that Amy had goggled, tempted to laugh aloud, but then she’d seen the corresponding lessening of tension in the air and had appreciated the reason why he’d done it. It was obvious that he wasn’t a doctor who concentrated solely on the disease process his patients were suffering, but considered the whole person as his charge.
‘Well, then,’ Mr Khalil said briskly, with a deliberately dismissive glance around the stark environment of this most clinical of surroundings, ‘would you like to come upstairs to my domain? We have much better coffee and tea up there than they’ll give you down here in A and E…and more comfortable chairs.’
A porter had obviously been detailed to wait outside the room, and at the consultant’s signal Amy gestured for him to bring the wheelchair in for Jane.
‘Thank you,’ the young woman said to Amy as they were about to leave the room, offering her hand. ‘You’ve been very kind. Very understanding.’
‘Good luck,’ Amy whispered, as she reached her other arm around the slender shoulders for a gentle hug, pleased to see that Jane’s eyes were less haunted now that her dreadful secret was out.
‘I don’t know whether luck will have anything to do with it, but I’m determined to live beyond my fortieth birthday, just out of sheer cussedness,’ she said with an unexpected grin. Amy frowned, not understanding the significance, but Francis laughed aloud, an unexpectedly joyous sound in the previously sombre atmosphere.
‘That’s been a joke between us for years,’ he explained. ‘We have this agreement that when she gets to her fortieth birthday, for one day only I will have the option of a “two for one”—with her agreement, I can swap her for two of twenty.’ He swallowed hard to regain control of his suddenly shaky voice, his eyes shiny with the threat of tears as he gazed lovingly down at her. ‘It looks as if she’s determined to veto the swap and keep me for herself.’
Amy was busy for the next half-hour, making certain she’d caught up with all the outstanding paperwork on the patients she’d seen during that shift and flagging any outstanding tests and investigations for the next shift to chase. But suddenly work was over for the day and she suddenly realised that something had changed inside her.
‘It was the Paxmans,’ she murmured, as she leant back against t
he wall in the changing room, her discarded scrubs dangling from one hand. In her mind’s eye she could see the loving way Francis had cradled his wife and cried over her distress. ‘That’s what I want in my life.’
And what had she got at the moment? The threat of a diagnosis of cancer hanging over her head, an ongoing battle with parents unwilling to let her live her own life and a something-and-nothing relationship with the man who’d stolen her heart when she’d been nothing more than a teenager.
‘It’s time to start sorting things out,’ she said aloud, a new determination flooding her with energy for the task ahead. It was either that or she’d explode with unresolved tension.
The shrill sound of a pager intruded on her thoughts and she realised with a chuckle that she’d just thrown it in the basket with her scrubs.
‘They’re out of luck. I’m off duty,’ she gloated, then shrugged fatalistically as she reached for the nearby phone, unable to ignore the summons.
‘Amy Willmott here. You paged me?’
‘Dr Willmott, you have a visitor at Reception.’
‘A patient?’ Amy queried, wondering why the receptionist wouldn’t just have directed whoever it was to triage or the nearest on-duty staff.
‘No. Not a patient.’
Suddenly she realised who it must be. Her father…or perhaps both of her parents, finally tiring of playing telephone tag with her answering-machine. Well, perhaps it was a good thing that this was going to happen on more or less neutral ground because this time she wasn’t ducking the confrontation. She loved them dearly but it was time to lay down some ground rules.
‘Shall I show them to the relatives’ room?’ asked the voice on the phone, and Amy agreed.
‘Please. And could you tell them I’ll be with them in a couple of minutes?’ It shouldn’t take her any longer than that to drag a brush through her hair and swipe her mouth with a touch of colour. It wasn’t as if she needed to impress them. ‘Oh, and some clothes might be a good idea!’ she exclaimed when she caught sight of herself in the mirror. ‘More haste, less speed!’
But she couldn’t help being in a hurry to get her life on track again. Ever since Edward had been killed, she’d felt almost as if she was drifting aimlessly, her emotions put on hold, but that was about to stop.
‘There’s nothing like having a diagnosis of cancer hanging over your head for making you realise what’s really important,’ she declared aloud, suddenly not caring if anyone could overhear her.
CHAPTER NINE
AMY pushed open the door to the relatives’ room and stopped in her tracks when she saw not her parents waiting for her but a pretty young woman with a fretful baby in her arms.
‘Can I help you?’ she asked, struck by the feeling that there was something familiar about the young mother’s face.
‘Dr Willmott, you probably won’t remember me but I’m Sharon Lees. I used to work in Theatre with your husband and…and…’
Without any warning, she burst into tears, her sobs only seeming to intensify the wails of the child in her arms.
Amy had no idea what had brought the young woman here to find her, but recognised that she needed time to get herself under control.
She heaved a silent sigh, realising that it was going to be some time yet before she left work, and held out her arms to relieve the young woman of her unhappy burden.
‘You look exhausted, Sharon. Sit down while I see if I can rustle up a pot of tea. I won’t be a moment.’
By the time a tray of tea and biscuits had been rustled up and delivered, she’d somehow managed to soothe both mother and baby by concentrating on them as if they were distressed patients.
‘So…’ she began, hoping they could get to the point fairly quickly once Sharon had managed to mop her face and take several sips of tea. She needed to go and speak to her parents to clear the air before she could see Zach and tell him what was in her heart. Anyway, people could be needing this room at any time so she would start with the obvious. ‘You wanted to see me, Sharon?’
‘I just didn’t know what else to do,’ she whispered, tears welling in her eyes again. ‘I know none of it’s your fault. Edward explained right at the start that the two of you had an open marriage and you didn’t mind that he…’
Amy was so shocked by the matter-of-fact assertion that she was completely speechless. An open marriage? she repeated silently with a fierce surge of anger. Edward had actually told this young woman that his wife was happy that he was being unfaithful? He’d implied that she was betraying her vows, too?
Everything inside Amy was revolted by the idea and suddenly she knew such rage that if Edward hadn’t already died on that motorway she’d have…Ooh! She had no idea what she’d do, or say. She only knew that the blinkers were well and truly off now.
‘I know I wasn’t the first person he’d had an affair with,’ Sharon hurried on, while Amy bit her tongue, knowing that nothing was to be gained by haranguing the already distraught young woman. ‘But when I discovered I was pregnant…’ She looked up at Amy as she swayed gently to soothe the baby, the warm little bundle apparently happier now that it was settled against her shoulder. ‘I half hoped he might want…’ She shrugged and heaved a jagged sigh. ‘He was making all the arrangements for me to have an abortion when he died, but somehow I couldn’t kill his baby then. It just didn’t seem right. But…I just didn’t know how hard it was going to be, all on my own.’
‘Can your family help you…do some babysitting so you can get out?’ Amy probed gently, trying to divert more tears, but it was obviously the wrong thing to say.
‘I haven’t got any family any more,’ she wailed, the tears flooding again. ‘My dad died during my training—he was infected with MRSA when he went into hospital for a hip replacement—and my mum…well, she just faded away without him.’
Amy suddenly realised how grateful she was that she still had both of her parents, no matter how difficult it could be coping with their constant interference. She remembered, too, the way Edward’s elderly parents had been visibly fading since they’d lost their precious son.
She remembered especially that the last time she’d visited them they’d said that it broke their hearts every day to remember that she hadn’t been ready to give Edward the child he’d wanted so badly…the grandchild they’d never have.
Only her respect for their grief had made her bite her tongue and keep the truth to herself—that she’d actually been trying to persuade Edward that it was surely time to start their family, only to have him put her off yet again.
She cradled the little head in the palm of her hand and laid the little body in her arms so that she could look at that tiny face again.
‘He’s the mirror image of Edward, you know,’ she said quietly, remembering with an inward grimace the myriad photos and mementos of their son that had turned his parents’ home into a veritable shrine.
‘That’s what I called him as soon as the scan told me it was a boy…Edward,’ Sharon said, and an idea took instant root in Amy’s head.
It was obvious that the older couple needed to know about Sharon and baby Edward every bit as much as the overwhelmed young woman needed their help. Amy had no doubt that their pleasure in discovering they hadn’t completely lost their son would swiftly bury the fact that he’d casually broken his marriage vows.
It was the work of a moment to explain her idea and ask for Sharon’s permission to phone the Willmotts—permission all too eagerly given—and even as she was contacting them to arrange an introduction in the least stressful way possible, Amy could feel a great weight lifting off her shoulders.
Silently she examined the feeling and realised that something that would have been devastating just a few short weeks ago barely warranted a ripple of regret. Edward was firmly in her past. She’d definitely moved on since Zach had come back into her life.
Was she angry that the man she’d married had been so casual about his vows? Yes, most definitely. Would she let it cast a pa
ll over the rest of her life and stop her taking a chance that she could have something wonderful with Zach? No way!
By the time Amy waved Sharon on her way with an agreement to go with her for her first meeting with baby Edward’s grandparents, she was exhausted, too. She certainly didn’t need to emerge from the relatives’ room to find her parents waiting impatiently to speak to her.
‘Bring it on!’ she muttered under her breath, as she led the way back into what was becoming her own personal space.
As the three of them waited stiffly for one tea tray to be replaced with another, Amy wondered idly whether some malign force had heard her determination to sort her life out and had decided to make her do it all at once.
Well, she may as well get as much of it over as she could while the resolution was fresh.
Her father waited just long enough for the social niceties to be observed, with each of them holding a freshly poured cup of tea that none of them bothered to taste, before he began.
‘This just isn’t good enough,’ he declared, fixing her with his sternest glare. ‘You certainly weren’t brought up to be rude enough to ignore messages on your answering-machine. One can only assume that it’s the company you’ve been keeping that has caused this serious decline in—’
‘Enough!’ Amy interrupted, with the same sort of force she sometimes had to use when they were inundated with drunken rowdies on a Saturday night. It worked just long enough to put him off his stride, but not for long.
‘There you are!’ he exclaimed. ‘That’s exactly what I mean—interrupting when your father’s—’
‘I said, that’s enough, Father,’ she repeated angrily, depositing her unwanted tea on the little table with a clatter and shooting to her feet to tower over him, her hands clenched into fists that had more to do with nerves than antagonism. ‘I’m thirty-two years old. It’s time you realised that you can’t do this to me any more.’
‘But, Amy, we’re your parents,’ her mother interrupted self-righteously.
A Very Special Proposal Page 13
