The Family She's Longed For

by Lucy Clark

Gwenda went off to do his bidding but he stopped her. ‘Can you get me the children’s paracetamol liquid first?’

  ‘Of course.’ Gwenda grabbed the medicine before going out to the car to get Virgil’s medical bag.

  Virgil brushed the hair from Rosie’s eyes. ‘Sweetheart? Rosie?’ he soothed, but received no response.

  He checked her pupils, took her pulse, made sure she didn’t have any cuts or scratches.

  ‘Blossom? It’s Daddy,’ he said, and this time her eyes flickered open for a brief second before closing again.

  She started to whimper and Virgil’s heart constricted in pain. He hated it when she suffered. Why hadn’t he found the time to ensure those bookshelves had been secured to the wall? Why hadn’t he taken better care of his girl? Because he’d been busy paying attention to Clara rather than doing the one thing he was meant to do—being a good father to his child.

  ‘Where is it sore, baby? Does your head hurt?’

  Virgil administered liquid paracetamol through a dropper. Rosie was still whimpering.

  ‘Shh. It’s all right, darling. Daddy’s here. Everything’s going to be fine.’

  Through the multitude of emotions Virgil was experiencing, uppermost in his mind was fear.

  If anything happened to Rosie...he didn’t know what he would do.

  Being a father meant the world to him. Rosie was the most perfect thing he’d ever had in his life. Even though his marriage hadn’t been the happiest, Rosie had been the little ray of sunshine which had brightened his existence.

  He was angry at his daughter for attempting to climb up the shelves—especially when she’d been told not to do it. He was angry with himself for not ensuring the shelves were better stabilised. He was thankful he’d arrived home just at the right time—that he hadn’t been delayed at the hospital. He was cross with himself for having dallied in buying flowers for Clara. If he hadn’t, he’d have been home sooner and Rosie would have been playing with him, rather than making mischief in her bedroom.

  When Gwenda returned, Virgil splinted Rosie’s tiny little leg. It was ridiculous to realise just how small she really was. Once the splint was in place, he fashioned a small brace from a tea towel and the newspaper he’d asked Gwenda to fetch, so he could use it as a cervical splint.

  ‘Just in case she has some injuries I don’t know about,’ he muttered to Gwenda as he carefully scooped his little girl into his arms. ‘OK. Let’s get her to the hospital.’ His tone was brisk, his body rigid, his jaw set. ‘You’ll have to drive, Gwenda. Rosie may have a head injury and for the moment she’s comfortable in my arms, so the less she’s moved, the better.’

  ‘OK.’

  Just as they stepped outside he saw Clara’s car just turning into his driveway.

  ‘Never mind, Gwenda. We’ll go in Clara’s car.’

  Gwenda was already opening the rear passenger door. ‘I’ll lock up the house. then meet you at the hospital,’ the housekeeper told him.

  Virgil only heard half of what Gwenda was saying as the majority of his attention was focused on Rosie. When Clara took in the situation, Virgil briefly registered the look of horror on her face.

  ‘No, no, no! What’s happened to Rosie?’

  ‘Some bookshelves fell on her.’ Virgil’s words were clipped and direct.

  ‘Right. Straight to the ED for us.’

  As Clara drove, she had to stop herself from speeding, from taking unnecessary risks to get Rosie to the hospital sooner. Virgil simply sat there with his daughter in his arms, crooning over and over.

  ‘Shh, baby. It’s all right. Daddy’s here. Daddy will fix everything.’

  The anguish in his tone was veiled, but she heard it, and it broke her heart to see him in so much pain.

  When they arrived at the hospital they were met by an orderly with a barouche. Clara had called ahead, with her hands-free phone, to let the hospital know of their imminent arrival.

  ‘I need X-rays of her left femur and, more importantly, her head.’ Virgil was giving orders. ‘Clara, I’ve given her paracetamol but nothing else. Find out the correct dosage for a child of three and get her some analgesics.’

  ‘Does she have any allergies?’

  ‘No.’ He paused for a second. ‘At least none that I’m aware of. She’s only three years old.’ He shook his head, as though to clear it, then another round of instructions flowed from his mouth. ‘Contact the children’s hospital in Melbourne and organise for a paediatric orthopaedic surgeon to come here immediately. The less Rosie is moved, the better,’ Virgil instructed as he walked with the barouche into the hospital and through to X-Ray.

  Clara wanted to soothe him, to tell him that everything would be all right, that children were resilient, but she wasn’t sure of anything right now. It was becoming increasingly difficult to hold on to her professionalism because she loved that little girl so very much, but she knew she needed to stay cool, calm and collected—especially as it appeared Virgil was in full parental panic mode.

  She didn’t blame him. Instead, she did as he’d suggested and checked on the analgesic dosage requirements for a three-year-old, estimating Rosie’s weight. Next she placed a call to the children’s hospital in Melbourne and spoke with the director of Orthopaedics. She related the particulars of the accident and enquired whether a surgeon would be able to come to Loggeen for review.

  ‘I’m sorry, Dr Lewis. I can’t possibly spare anyone today.’

  ‘The patient is Rosie Arterton. Virgil Arterton’s daughter,’ she added hopefully.

  She knew Virgil would have friends in high places and at the moment he needed every string that was available, pulled.

  She heard the director groan with frustration. ‘Is there any sign of head injury?’ he asked.

  ‘She’s being X-rayed now and has been slipping in and out of consciousness.’

  ‘I don’t know what else I can do. I’m sorry, Dr Lewis, I can’t possibly spare anyone to send to Loggeen. Believe me—if I could, I would. Best to get her flown here in the hospital’s helicopter and we’ll ensure she’s seen immediately.’

  Clara sighed and the director picked up on it.

  ‘I know he’s not going to like it, but it’s the best I can do.’

  ‘Thanks. I appreciate it.’ She rang off, then set about organising the helicopter. Once the transfer details were taken care of, she called Gwenda.

  ‘Oh, how is she?’ Gwenda sounded distressed.

  ‘She’s in X-Ray. We’ll know more soon. Have you left home yet?’

  ‘Just about to get in the car.’

  ‘Would you mind packing some clothes, please? One bag for Rosie—pyjamas and comfortable clothes—and also one for Virgil.’

  ‘Why? Why? What’s happened?’ Gwenda choked back a sob.

  ‘I can’t get a specialist to come here so I’ve arranged a transfer for Rosie to the children’s hospital in Melbourne.’

  ‘Oh, no. Oh, no. I should have been watching her.’

  ‘Gwenda, you can’t be expected to watch her twenty-four hours a day. She’ll be as right as rain.’

  Even as she said the words Clara was trying to force herself to believe them. It all depended on the results of Rosie’s head X-ray. If the little girl had suffered a concussion, or fractured her skull, things might take a turn for the worse.

  ‘Oh, Clara, I hope so. How’s Virgil?’

  ‘Feeling helpless.’

  ‘That’s not good. OK, I’ll go back inside and pack them both a bag.’

  ‘Thanks. They’ll be leaving in about half an hour, and at least the helicopter flight won’t take too long.’

  Clara rang off and reviewed her check-list to ensure she’d done everything that needed doing. She then called through to Radiology to check on Rosie’s progress and was told that the lit
tle girl was being wheeled back to the Emergency Department.

  Clara readied a treatment room and when she saw the orderly pushing the barouche, directed him into the room. She had analgesics ready for Rosie.

  ‘What’s the situation?’ she asked quietly.

  He turned and looked at her, his eyes wild. She’d never seen him looking so utterly helpless. He wasn’t here as a surgeon in command—he was here as a father. There was nothing he could do medically to help his daughter and it was tearing him apart.

  Seeing him standing outside his home with the small, limp girl in his arms had caused an instant panic to ripple through her. The two people she’d come to love and cherish were both hurting—one in physical pain and the other in emotional anguish. She wanted to do whatever she could to help.

  ‘Head X-ray shows a small hairline fracture. I want a CT scan performed to rule out any further injury. I’m still waiting to see the X-rays of her legs. They said they’d email the scans as soon as possible.’

  ‘I have an injection for her.’

  Clara set down the sterile kidney dish she’d used to carry everything in. She opened the swab, unwrapped the needle and drew up the shot. Swabbing Rosie’s right thigh, she injected it into the fatty tissue.

  ‘There you are, darling.’ Clara spoke softly once she’d finished. ‘That will help with the pain.’

  Rosie’s eyes fluttered open at the sound of her voice. The child looked at her for a minute, quickly scanned the room until she saw Virgil, and then closed her eyes again. Clara felt a lump appear in her throat. Rosie was so vulnerable, so helpless. All Clara’s suppressed maternal instincts came bursting out. ‘Everything will be all right. Just sleep for now.’

  Tears sprang to her eyes. So this was how a mother felt when her child was ill. It was devastating—heart-wrenching and unbearable. No wonder Virgil didn’t want to leave her alone. After everything he’d been through, Rosie was his life. She looked at him, trying to convey the fact that she understood his feelings.

  He was watching his daughter, his jaw clenched tight. ‘When will the surgeon arrive?’ he asked.

  ‘She has to go to Melbourne, Virgil.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I spoke with the director of Paediatric Orthopaedics. I told him it was your daughter but he can’t spare anyone. He’s asked for her to be transferred by helicopter and promises she’ll be seen immediately upon arrival.’

  ‘No,’ he reiterated. ‘I will not allow her to be moved again. She’s in too much pain. She needs a CT scan.’

  Clara counted to ten. ‘Virgil,’ she said firmly, ‘I understand how you’re feeling—’

  ‘You have no idea how I’m feeling,’ he responded vehemently. ‘You’re not a mother. You don’t have children of your own. How could you possibly understand how I feel? This is my daughter, Clara. My own flesh and blood.’ He pointed to where Rosie lay. ‘My daughter is lying there with a head injury, broken bones and in pain and there’s nothing I can do.’

  He ground his teeth, having spoken his words with determination.

  Clara tried to let his words wash over her—he was worried about his daughter, after all—but the way he looked, the way he was gesticulating with his hands, his whole manner was reminiscent of how he’d been all those years ago at the fundraising dinner, when he’d told her that nothing else mattered in life but his career.

  She forced herself to breathe calmly. Although his mannerisms might be the same, this was a different situation. He was worried about his daughter.

  Still, he had no idea of the anguish he was causing her, Clara. No, Rosie was not her own flesh and blood. Clara would never be able to have any children of her own. But she had taken heart in the knowledge that if she loved Rosie enough, that would be all that mattered. She loved the child, rejoiced in her, and needed those childish little smiles to make her life complete.

  ‘I may not be a mother, Virgil, but that doesn’t mean I don’t understand this situation. I love Rosie as though she were my own. I, too, feel devastatingly helpless, but in this situation you have to do what is best for your daughter. A surgeon can’t be spared from the children’s hospital in Melbourne and therefore, Rosie must go there to be treated.’

  ‘You have no right—’ he replied coldly.

  ‘I have every right,’ she told him sternly. ‘I’m the admitting doctor. Rosie is my patient. You’re her parent—act like it.’

  Clara held Virgil’s piercing gaze, not allowing herself to be daunted by it. When he didn’t immediately reply, she took that as a sign that he was now willing to co-operate with her.

  ‘The helicopter leaves in twenty minutes. Gwenda is on her way here with clothes for you and Rosie. You’ll no doubt be at least three to four days in Melbourne before Rosie can be transferred back here. I’ll ensure your clinics and operating lists are postponed until you return.’

  At the end of her speech she stared at him, holding his gaze, her chin raised in defiance, almost daring him to dispute her words. Virgil’s answer surprised her. He stepped forward and pulled her into his arms, holding her tight for three seconds, burying his face in her neck. Then he let her go just as abruptly.

  Was that his way of thanking her? Accepting that she was in charge? Being grateful for her support? She had no idea what was going on in that mind of his.

  ‘Are you coming to Melbourne with us?’

  ‘Just for the transfer.’

  Virgil clenched his jaw. ‘What about in Theatre?’ he asked. ‘If she needs surgery, will you stay for that? They’ll let you in.’

  Clara knew what he was getting at. She wasn’t a blood relation to Rosie and could therefore be admitted into theatre as an observer.

  ‘If they agree, I’ll be there. I love her, Virgil.’ Clara’s words were soft and tears began to brim in her eyes. ‘I love that little girl with all my heart, soul and mind.’

  ‘I can see that.’ Virgil sighed, and she hoped his previous panic was over. He looked over at his little girl and shook his head sadly. ‘She’s so helpless and I can’t just snap my fingers and make it better. I hate it when she’s not well. It’s my worst nightmare coming true.’

  ‘Let me check and see if those scans of her leg have come through,’ Clara said, and walked to the nearest computer screen. Sure enough, the digital scans were there, and together they looked at them. ‘Greenstick fracture. The bone’s bent on one side and splintered on the other.’ Clara clicked on a different file and looked at the X-rays of Rosie’s cranium, where a small hairline fracture was visible. ‘I’ve already booked a CT scan for her in Melbourne,’ Clara remarked, after they’d reviewed all the different scans.

  ‘So she will require surgery.’ He exhaled slowly as the situation sank in.

  ‘It’s minor, Virgil, and the operation to realign the splintered part of the bone back into place, takes less than thirty minutes. Slap a plaster cast on her leg and she’s done.’

  ‘She’s never had a general anaesthetic before.’

  His tone was soft, and for the first time since he’d bundled himself and the small child into her car, Clara was talking to the real Virgil.

  ‘I’m sure she’ll be fine. Kids are resilient. It’s the parents who end up going grey with all the worry and stress.’

  Clara crossed to his side and brushed her fingertips through his hair, delighted that he wasn’t pulling away from her any more. As though he sensed her need, he reached for her with his free hand, the other one still firmly holding his daughter’s.

  ‘Come closer,’ he urged, and when she complied he pressed his lips firmly to hers, his kiss filled with apology. ‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered. ‘I said some awful things to you. Forgive me?’

  Clara sighed and brushed her fingers through his hair once more. ‘I don’t scare that easily any more,’ she replied, and kissed him back, wan
ting to show him that she’d already forgiven him.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  ROSIE WAS GIVEN a general anaesthetic for the CT scan. She needed to be absolutely still, and the machine was rather frightening—even for some adults. As Clara had predicted, everything was fine except for the small hairline fracture which had shown up on the X-rays.

  She quickly reported the findings to Virgil, who visibly relaxed and sank into a chair. Gwenda had insisted upon coming with them to Melbourne, which meant Virgil wouldn’t be left alone with his thoughts while Rosie was in Theatre.

  After the CT scan, the next step was to realign Rosie’s leg. Seeing Rosie’s small body, limp with anaesthesia, almost made Clara want to weep. It was different when a child was sleeping—a natural, healthy sleep rather than being sedated. She’d seen it on countless occasions with other patients but this was Rosie.

  Get a grip, Lewis, she instructed herself as the theatre staff prepared for the operation.

  It proceeded without a hitch, and Clara managed to switch off her feelings and observe the techniques the orthopaedic surgeon used. Finally the cast was in place, and Rosie was being wheeled to Recovery. Clara went with her, holding her hand as they went.

  ‘Clara.’ Virgil came into Recovery and crossed to her side, his face anxious with worry.

  ‘She’s fine, Virgil. The procedure went well, with no complications, and she’ll make a complete recovery.’

  Clara released her hold on Rosie’s hand and stepped back, allowing Virgil access to his daughter.

  ‘She really is all right?’

  The statement was made with astonishment, as though he’d expected something terrible to happen.

  ‘She’s fine.’

  Clara took a few steps away from Rosie’s bed and Virgil looked at her.

  ‘Where do you think you’re going? I want you here—with Rosie.’

  Clara smiled, delighted to hear those words from him. ‘You stay with her. I’ll go tell Gwenda the good news.’

  ‘OK, but don’t be gone too long. Once Rosie comes round, I’m sure she’ll want to see you.’