She turned, her red summer dress sweeping around her, and flounced out of the kitchen, coffee and biscuits abandoned.
Logan shook his head. He hadn’t even realised he was being short with everyone. Oh, he knew he was using definite avoidance tactics when it came to Gemma. But he hadn’t been aware of the impact on everyone else.
He cringed. How embarrassing. There had already been a few whispers, a few knowing stares around him and Gemma. He might as well have put a sign above their heads. People must surely be wondering what had happened between them now. And it was clear it wasn’t good.
This was unprofessional. For them and for their patients. And this was his fault.
What he needed to do was sit down and have a reasoned, rational conversation with her.
But it was difficult to concentrate around her. She didn’t seem to realise the effect she had on him. It was almost magnetic. And when she was at her most angry, most emotional, she was even more gorgeous than usual and he just couldn’t think straight.
It was time to get himself in order. It was time to think about what he was doing.
Not being around Gemma was killing him. Not being able to touch her was keeping him awake at night.
He was going to have to come to terms with what she’d done, and fast.
Otherwise he might as well just set sail off the coast and never come back.
* * *
‘Are you in a better mood, or are you still grumpy?’
‘What?’ Logan was startled by the little voice. But then again, why should he be? Isla seemed to be a permanent fixture at his mother’s kitchen table. She was beginning to feel like part of the family. And, to be honest, it didn’t give him the usual run, run as fast as you can thoughts.
He glanced around and caught sight of his mother in the back garden, hanging out a load of washing. Isla pushed the seat out from the table. ‘Do you want to see my new school uniform, Logan? My mum picked it all out for me. Granny Scott says she’s going to take the hem up on my pinafore.’
Isla jumped down from the seat and stood in front of him, twirling around as only a little girl in new clothes could. She looked adorable. It was almost as if the bright green of the school uniform had been made entirely to suit her colouring.
Her curly red hair was tied neatly back with some matching green ribbons. She had on a grey pinafore and bright green school jumper, with a white polo shirt collar showing around the neckline of the jumper, along with highly polished—clearly never worn—school shoes. She pointed to the door handle, where there was a hanger with a green and white school summer dress.
‘My mum got me one of those too, in case it’s too hot when I start.’ She twirled around again. ‘But I like my jumper.’ She jumped back up on the chair, standing precariously on tiptoe and looking at herself in the mirror above the fireplace. ‘I think I look much older in my school uniform. What do you think?’
Logan couldn’t help the smile on his face. There was no getting away from it, Miss Five-Going-On-Eighty-Five was just adorable. ‘I think I would like you to stay five for as long as possible, Isla Halliday.’ He picked her off the chair and put her back on the floor.
‘But why? I want to be a big girl.’ She settled back down at the table. ‘And when I grow up I want to have a house just like Mummy’s.’ Her eyes stared off into the distance. ‘Or maybe a house like the castle on the hill.’
Brodick Castle. Logan stifled a laugh. It almost wouldn’t surprise him if Isla did have a castle when she was older.
He looked around. ‘Do you have a school bag yet, Isla?’
She shook her head and looked a little sad. ‘I wanted a proper satchel. Do you know what a satchel is?’
He nodded. ‘I think so.’
‘But Mummy can’t find one anywhere. She had one when she was a little girl and started school. I wanted a bag just like hers.’
Logan smiled. This would be easy. He could finally do something that felt right. ‘Was it made of leather?’ He pulled over the tablet his mother frequently used, typed in a few words and pulled up a picture of an old-fashioned-style leather school satchel.
Isla let out a squeal and jumped up. ‘That’s the one. Exactly like that. That’s the one I’m looking for.’ Her hands were jittery with excitement. ‘Can you tell Mummy?’
Logan shook his head. ‘Let’s not tell her yet.’ Then he frowned at his own words. The last thing he wanted to do was tell a child to keep a secret from her parent.
He pulled up a website. ‘I have a friend who makes these. Do you want a brown leather one like Mummy had?’ He clicked onto another page. ‘Or do you want a coloured leather one?’ He pointed at the screen. ‘You could get a green one to match your school uniform.’
‘Wow,’ said the little voice beside him. ‘That is so-o-o pretty.’ She touched her matching school jumper then pressed her fingers on the screen. ‘I like the green one, but I think I’d like the one that looked like Mummy’s best.’
Logan nodded. School satchels. He blinked at the price. No wonder his friend could make a living from this. The nostalgia bug was obviously alive and kicking.
Then he noticed something else. Four-to six-week delivery time. There were only two weeks until Isla started school. Just as well his friend owed him a favour. He scribbled down the phone number; he’d call him today.
‘I tell you what, Isla. If Mummy says she’s going to buy you a bag for school, tell her that Logan and Granny Scott are getting one for you. How’s that?’
Isla nodded. ‘Okay.’
Better. That was a much better solution. And Gemma might not object so much if she thought Logan’s mother was helping get Isla her bag for school.
Isla had picked up her crayons and started drawing. ‘Don’t you like us any more, Logan? You haven’t come to visit.’ Her face was solemn. ‘And you haven’t brought cakes.’
Logan felt his insides squirm. Gemma obviously hadn’t mentioned his last visit and it was probably for the best. ‘I like you and your mummy very much. Sometimes grown-ups get a bit busy. I’m sure I’ll come and visit soon.’
Was he wrong to tell a deliberate lie? After their last confrontation the chances of he and Gemma being in a room together were slim.
But there was something else ticking away at him. The time factor. It seemed like he’d worked a million hours this week. And his dad had done this job before him.
How had he managed it? Because Logan’s overwhelming memories were of a dad who had always been there and always had time for him. Could he ever fill shoes like those?
If he got his act together and contemplated being around Gemma and Isla, would he be fair? Would he have the time to invest in a relationship the way he should? The last thing he wanted to do was be unfair to the little girl who now wanted the tugboat stories read to her five times a day. He’d created a monster. And it was all his fault.
He wrinkled his nose. ‘Why have you got your school uniform on anyway?’ School didn’t start for two weeks.
Isla gave him a smile. ‘It was a practice run today. Do you know it takes much longer in the morning to get ready for school than it does for an ordinary day?’ She fingered her little red curls. ‘It took ages to do my hair.’ Her little face was solemn again. ‘And that was without Mummy making me a packed lunch for school.’ She shrugged her shoulders. ‘I’ve still to pick a lunch box. I can’t decide which one I want.’
He couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face. He’d noticed a plastic bag in the corner of the room. ‘Isla, are you supposed to keep wearing your uniform all day?’ He couldn’t imagine for a minute that Gemma wouldn’t have sent a change of clothes.
Isla looked a little sheepish. She stared down at her uniform again. ‘I like my uniform,’ she whispered. ‘I don’t want to take it off.’
He stared at the books on the table—recipe books with photographs of a whole variety of cakes, biscuits and tray bakes. Isla was obviously supposed to pick whatever they would bake today. He
could see her little blue pinafore hanging on a peg next to his mother’s. Looking as if it was supposed to be there.
Something curled inside him. A realisation.
He wanted it to be there.
He almost couldn’t believe it. Logan Scott, island bachelor, was once again picturing a woman in his future, and not only that but a woman with a child. Thank goodness he was sitting down.
Isla flicked through the recipe book until she found a picture of a rainbow-coloured cake. ‘Ooh, this one looks pretty. Do you think Granny Scott will let me make it? It might cheer my mummy up.’
He straightened in his chair. ‘Why would you need to cheer your mummy up?’
She tilted her head to one side. ‘Because she’s sad. She thinks I don’t know, but I do.’
Logan wanted to ask a million questions. He wanted to know exactly why Isla thought that. But he knew better than to question a child. It would be an invasion of Gemma’s privacy. She would eat him alive if she found out he was questioning Isla.
And the truth was he didn’t need to ask any questions. Children were much more perceptive than adults gave them credit for. And it didn’t surprise him that a bright little girl like Isla had picked up on something at home.
‘Do you think Granny Scott will let me make the rainbow cake?’ Isla asked again.
He nodded. ‘I think she might. On one condition.’
Isla looked at him suspiciously. ‘What?’
He pointed at the bag. ‘That you change your clothes. You don’t want to get your brand-new school uniform all floury.’
Isla seemed to take a few seconds, trying to decide if it was a reasonable trade-off.
She jumped up from her chair. ‘Okay, then. I’ll do it.’ She grabbed the bag and scurried off to the bathroom. ‘But only if you stay to taste my cake. I need it to be perfect for my mummy.’
Logan leaned back in his chair and put his feet up on the other under the table. He might as well get comfortable. Looked like he could be here for quite some time.
Then again, it could give him some thinking time.
Thinking time to figure out how he could sort out this mess he had created.
Because the truth was he had no idea how to start.
CHAPTER NINE
THERE WAS A knock at the door. ‘Come in.’ Gemma was just finishing typing up the last of her notes on the patient who had just left.
Julie stuck her head around the door. ‘Gemma? Edith is looking for a doctor, she’s got some concerns about a patient. Are you free?’
Gemma nodded. ‘Of course. Who is it?’
‘Lynsey Black.’
Gemma typed in the name and quickly pulled up the file to give herself some background on the patient. Lynsey Black, thirty-eight. Twin pregnancy and currently thirty-two weeks. Booked in to see the obstetric consultant on the mainland in a few weeks. Apart from a sore back, there was really nothing significant in her notes. She’d had a few antenatal scans and they’d all looked entirely normal.
Strange. They’d had a chat the other day about any antenatal patients that Edith was concerned about. Lynsey Black hadn’t been one of them.
Gemma stood up and walked through to the other consulting room, pushing the door open and walking over to the sink to wash her hands. ‘Hi, Edith, hi, Lynsey. I’m Gemma Halliday, one of the doctors here.’
She could tell straight away that the normally unflappable Edith was unhappy. A foetal monitor was attached to one side of Lynsey’s abdomen, giving little blips, and Edith was listening with a stethoscope on the other side. She was obviously trying to monitor both babies.
Edith looked up. ‘Lynsey phoned in to say she’d had some PV bleeding and some sharp abdominal pain. She only lives a few minutes away and was already on her way in when she phoned.’
Gemma nodded. ‘How much bleeding?’
Lynsey’s voice was shaky, she was obviously terrified. ‘Quite a bit. I’ve had to change my pad twice.’
‘And what colour is the blood?’
‘Bright red.’ Not a good sign. Gemma walked over immediately and glanced at the pad Edith had wrapped up in tissues. Lynsey was right. It was bright red.
Edith had stopped listening with her stethoscope and started winding a blood-pressure cuff around Lynsey’s arm. ‘Any back pain? Abdominal pain?’ she asked.
Lynsey spoke in guarded breaths. ‘My back’s always sore these days. And my tummy just feels hard.’
Gemma could feel the hackles rise at the back of her neck and she daren’t look at Edith. A hard tummy, along with the PV bleeding could mean placental abruption. That’s what it sounded like. And it was serious. Sometimes deadly.
Gemma started checking off Lynsey’s risk factors in her head.
Multiple pregnancy. Check. Over thirty-five. Check.
She glanced at Edith’s notes on the desk in front of her. Lynsey was a smoker. Check. Maternal smoking was associated with up to a ninety per cent increased risk.
She walked over to the side of the examination couch. ‘Lynsey, if you don’t mind, I’m going to have a little feel of your abdomen.’
Lynsey nodded and Gemma placed her hand on Lynsey’s stomach. It was rigid, masking the signs of further bleeding taking place.
Edith was making a few notes on a chart and Gemma glanced over her shoulder. Both babies were starting to show signs of foetal distress. They had to act quickly.
Lynsey’s colour was pale and she was slightly clammy. All further signs of placental abruption and associated hypovolaemic shock.
Gemma moved quickly, grabbing a tourniquet to wrap around Lynsey’s arm. ‘Lynsey, I’m just going to see if we can get a line in to allow us to get some fluids into you.’
‘What’s happening?’ Her voice was shaking. Inserting the line literally took seconds. Gemma was used to dealing with babies with tiny veins so an adult was much easier.
She sat on the edge of the examination couch. ‘I’m concerned about the bleeding. I think your placenta could be separating from the uterine wall. We’re going to arrange to transfer you to the mainland.’
‘How?’
Gemma didn’t hesitate. ‘By helicopter.’
Tears started to roll down Lynsey’s cheeks. She knew exactly how serious this could be. Anyone who lived on Arran knew that the helicopter was only called for real emergencies.
‘But it’s much too early. I’m only thirty-two weeks. My babies will be far too small. How will they survive?’ Her voice was beginning to break.
Gemma touched her hand. ‘We don’t know everything yet, Lynsey. Give us another few minutes. But I can assure you that babies at thirty-two weeks can live. We can also give you some steroids to try and aid the development of their lungs before delivery. But we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.’ She took a deep breath.
‘Edith, I’m going to get the ultrasound machine.’ Gemma walked quickly across the hall to the other room and wheeled the portable machine across. It was vital she act quickly, but she also needed to know exactly what she was dealing with.
She plugged the machine in and switched it on, spreading a little gel across Lynsey’s stomach. She swallowed, trying to keep her voice nice and steady. ‘When was the last time you felt the babies move, Lynsey?’
‘I was up most of the night, between them and my backache.’
Backache. Was it really backache, or was it something else? She felt Edith’s hand rest gently on her shoulder, letting her know she was just as concerned.
Gemma swept the transducer over Lynsey’s abdomen. ‘And since then?’
‘They’ve been quieter. They’re probably having a sleep.’ She let out a nervous laugh. ‘But they’re usually quieter at this time of day so I wasn’t worried—not until I saw the bleeding anyway.’
Gemma was keeping her expression as neutral as possible. Her heart gave a little leap as she found the first baby’s heartbeat and pressed a button for a little trace. She sent a little silent prayer of thanks upwards. In cases of placent
al abruption around fifteen per cent of babies died.
She swept the transducer over to the other side of Lynsey’s abdomen. Thankfully she found a heartbeat there too, but this time the reading gave her cause for concern. Edith was instantly at her elbow, watching the printout on the machine. This baby was showing signs of foetal distress. They had to get Lynsey to the maternity hospital as quickly as possible.
Gemma had one final sweep of the abdomen. It was difficult to visualise the placenta with two babies fighting for space in there, but she could see some signs of where it had separated from the uterine wall. Time to act.
As Gemma stood up Lynsey clutched her abdomen. ‘Aaawwww.’
‘What is it, Lynsey?’
Her face was deathly pale. ‘Oh, no, I think that was a contraction.’
Edith was already pulling out some other equipment, designed to monitor women in labour. Gemma didn’t have a single doubt. Class two placental abruption. They had to act quickly.
‘Is there someone we can call for you, Lynsey?’
She nodded. ‘My mum. Callum’s out on the fishing boat. He won’t be back until after two.’
Edith handed Gemma a piece of paper with a number on it. ‘This is Lynsey’s mum. Can you ask Julie to phone her and I’ll wait with Lynsey while you make the other arrangements?’
Gemma nodded. Thank goodness for Edith. Her experience, knowledge and calm attitude were just what was needed in a situation like this.
She walked out the door to make the call for the emergency helicopter, crossing her fingers that it wouldn’t already be on callout somewhere else. Placental abruption could be serious for both mother and babies. In some cases the babies could die.
Lynsey seemed to have a mixed abruption, which meant that some of the bleeding was evident, and some was hidden internally, with the blood trapped between the placenta and uterus. Chances were the babies would need to be delivered—and soon.
She glimpsed the broad span of Logan’s shoulders from the other end of the corridor. It didn’t matter that he could barely talk to her or look her in the eye. All that mattered now was the patient.
A Mother's Secret (Mills & Boon Medical) Page 13
