by Amy Andrews
Claire rose and wandered into the staffroom to get a cup of coffee, still not quite believing these strange new feelings. She should be happy—wasn’t that how women in love felt? But it was hard to be excited about unwanted feelings.
OK, she loved him and, short of leaving St Jude’s she was going to see a lot of him. So she had to sort out a way to handle it. They had to work together and they had to find a way to get back to their previous ease. This stiff formality since their split was awful.
Today they had worked together like old times. They had worked as a team for Charlotte. All their baggage had been left outside the curtain and they’d got on with the job.
She shouldn’t be surprised. Their recent history not withstanding, he’d always been a pleasure to work with. He treated her as an equal, he was polite, funny, considerate and willing to listen and integrate her opinions and ideas. Claire realised suddenly she missed that dynamic.
It had disintegrated of late, replaced with awkwardness and formality. OK, she’d have to keep her love a secret, but she could do that if it meant they could return to their old professional relationship. If they couldn’t be lovers, maybe they could be friends? Surely they were grown-up enough for that?
A knock on her door brought her out of her reverie. She glanced up. It was Campbell. Looking at him standing in her doorway, Claire marvelled at how it had taken her so long to get it. Her love was so obvious to her now.
She noticed his strained demeanour was back in place.
‘Just checking in to see if you were OK … you know, after everything that happened today?’
Claire was touched by his consideration, even if it was a little stiff. This was why she loved him. He cared and he was thoughtful.
‘I’m fine.’ She smiled, her voice husky. ‘A little shaky still …’
‘Yes … me, too,’ he admitted, and gave her a ghost of a smile in return.
‘Any update on Charlotte?’
‘No. Still not looking good. They haven’t been able to wind any of her ventilation back.’
He sounded so civil Claire could bear it no longer. She rose and took some steps towards him, but stopped when she saw him straighten and take a step back.
‘Look, Campbell, I know this past month has been difficult … but we’re both adults. I miss our professional relationship—the way it used to be. The way it was today. Can’t we put what happened behind us and just be friends?’
She held her breath. All of a sudden she needed this more than anything. Maybe his friendship would be the perfect antidote for her love?
He regarded her seriously. Was the woman mad?
‘Friends? Claire, I don’t know if I could ever just be your friend.’
‘OK. Maybe we can’t be bosom buddies, but surely we can be friendly at least?’
‘I think for some men and women, especially ones with history, being friends is … difficult.’
‘But why, Campbell? Why does it have to be that way?’ She took a couple steps closer, beseeching him.
‘Because.’ He pushed his floppy fringe out of his eyes impatiently. Hell! Was he going to have to spell it out?
‘Because why?’ Desperation tinged her voice. It would be such a relief to put their awkwardness behind them.
Obviously he was going to have to spell it out. ‘Because whenever I see you I want to make love to you,’ he said, trying to keep the exasperation from his voice. Was she that clueless?
The admission seemed to be wrenched from deep within him and Claire figured it hadn’t been an easy thing to admit. She swallowed convulsively, his words melting her insides and calling to her love. It rose in her and threatened to spill out. No! She must stay focused.
‘I know it’ll be … strange at first, but it’ll soon seem more natural. We just need a bit of practice. I’m tired of us being tense around each other. Everyone notices, you know. The gossipmongers are having a field day. If people can see that we’re fine with each other, they’ll leave us alone and gossip about something else instead. Aren’t you sick of the speculation?’
‘Yes,’ he agreed wearily, rubbing his eyes. The scrutiny was a little wearying. To be able to act normally would be a nice change—or as near normal as was possible for ex-lovers. ‘OK,’ he conceded. ‘I’d be willing to give it a go if you are.’
‘Good. Oh, that’s great. Thanks, Campbell. I feel so relieved,’ Claire prattled, desperately wanting to go and hug him but rooted to the spot. A little too early in their friendship for that.
* * *
Campbell shook his head as he made his way back to his office. Friends? It was never going to work. How could he have a platonic relationship with the woman he loved? Every time he saw her he wanted to push her against a wall and have his way with her!
Her professionalism at the birth and resuscitation of Charlotte and her continued empathy, compassion and unspoken support of him today had only served to deepen his love.
Something told him he was going to suck at being friends.
CHAPTER EIGHT
A WEEK later Campbell had to concede that maybe he’d been wrong. The birth centre had been very busy all week, which had necessitated a lot of contact with Claire. Their pact to be friendly seemed to be working. They were both more relaxed and their professional relationship seemed to be getting back on track.
Of course, he was still as horny as hell at the very sight or smell of her, but as far as he knew no one had ever died from it and her friendly, easier way with him compensated to a degree. And then, of course, there were always cold showers. Campbell had never been cleaner in his life!
He whistled as he made his way over to the centre to check on a client who had delivered in the night. Claire was on day shift so he was bound to run into her. Maybe if he didn’t push it, friendship could blossom into something more?
* * *
Claire was beaming when she bumped into Campbell.
‘You look as if you’ve won a million dollars.’
‘Better.’ She grinned. ‘Sometimes, Campbell, I love this job so much I just want to burst with it. You know?’
‘Sure.’ Campbell kept his smile in place and tried not to flinch at the ease with which she used the word ‘love’. So it wasn’t that she couldn’t say it—she’d just never associated it with him. ‘What happened?’ he asked, following Claire to her desk.
‘I helped your client with a breastfeeding issue. It never ceases to amaze me that human beings are born with the ability to bear young and then nurture them. I love watching mothers feeding their babies. It’s truly wonderful.’
‘Yep. It’s a beautiful thing,’ he agreed quietly. Images of Claire with a baby at her breast rocked him. His baby.
Friends. Friends. Just friends, he chanted to himself. Yep! Sucking at the being friends thing!
Oblivious to his inner turmoil, Claire stood to retrieve a file. A wave of dizziness hit her and she grabbed hold of the desk for fear she would faint. Nausea rolled through her gut. She sat down again quickly.
‘Claire? Claire, are you OK? You’re as white as a sheet.’ He crouched beside her chair.
‘I’m fine … I just feel a little light-headed,’ she admitted in a small voice, fanning herself as a surge of heat washed over her.
‘You don’t look fine,’ he said gruffly, grabbing her legs and dumping them up onto her desk.
‘I’m sure it’s just because I haven’t eaten anything since breakfast,’ she replied shakily, some vigour returning to her voice as she felt the blood rush back to her head.
‘I’ll get you a glass of cordial,’ he said, leaving her side briefly before returning.
‘Thanks.’ She smiled gratefully. She reached for the water with a shaky hand, feeling the cool glass against the pads of her fingers before it slipped and smashed to the floor at his feet.
Claire sat up in horror, watching vacantly as the water pooled around their shoes. How clumsy!
Barbara bustled in to investigate the sound of breaking
glass. ‘Not again, Claire,’ she tutted, after checking that Claire was OK. ‘That’s two glasses in as many days! You’ve been a bit of a butterfingers lately,’ she teased, helping Campbell mop up the water.
‘No, I’m not,’ Claire denied absently, her thoughts still foggy.
‘Oh, yeah? What about that tray of instruments you dropped in Theatre the other day during that Caesarean? Goodness, forgetful as well. Anyone would think you were pregnant,’ she quipped, as she left the room with a soaked towel.
Claire stilled as she felt the beginnings of fear settle in her stomach. Pregnant … or worse. Barbara was right, she had been a bit absent-minded of late. She could feel herself tremble and a wave of nausea assailed her again. Clumsy as well. Oh, God. Please, no.
‘Claire? Hey, Claire! What’s wrong? You look terrible. She was only joking about the pregnant thing.’
Campbell was shaking her gently by the upper arms. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. Fear paralysed her and kept her mute.
‘I’m going to be sick,’ she whispered, finally managing to speak and move her legs. She dashed to the toilet, her hand clamped over her mouth.
She retched and retched. Once the nausea had passed, Claire pulled the toilet lid down and sat. She was pale and shaken.
‘Claire? Are you all right?’
Claire heard the concerned note in Campbell’s otherwise gruff voice.
‘I’m … I’m fine,’ she answered, standing on wooden legs and flushing the toilet.
Campbell helped her out, assessing her pallor.
‘I’m fine.’ She raised her hand to fend him off and smiled weakly. ‘I’ll just throw some water on my face and I’ll feel better.’
He watched as she splashed water on her face and neck. He handed her a towel.
‘Better?’ he asked gently, brushing her damp fringe with his long finger.
Claire nodded and allowed him to pull her close. She sank against him gratefully, ignoring the guilt she felt at breaching their new pact of friendship. She longed to stay in his embrace but knew it wasn’t healthy for either of them. She broke away and walked on wobbly legs back to her desk.
She sat down, thankful that her head had now stopped spinning. Unfortunately, her mind had taken over. Was it possible that the first symptoms of her mother’s disease, one she had a fifty per cent chance of inheriting, were emerging?
Clumsiness and forgetfulness. The hallmarks of Huntington’s. Claire tried to keep the panic at bay and think logically. Was it possible to have had these symptoms for long and not realised it?
Ever since her split with Campbell she’d kept herself busy with her work in an attempt to ignore the emotional fallout. Nothing had mattered but her career and the birth centre.
She dismissed the possibility of pregnancy out of hand. They’d used contraception, it wasn’t possible. For goodness’ sake, they’d only had sex a few times! Although it was slightly preferable to the alternative, Claire had to admit that neither of them were great choices.
‘I’ll get you something to eat.’ Campbell interrupted her swirling thoughts. His pager beeped and he pulled it impatiently off his belt.
‘It’s OK, Campbell. You go.’ Claire assured him. She needed time to think without him being right there in front of her. She’d never been more scared in all her life and she didn’t want that to be the catalyst to confess all to Campbell. ‘I’ll sit for a bit and then I’ll ask Barbara to get me something to eat.’
He hesitated. His pager beeped again.
‘I mean it,’ she insisted. ‘I feel much better now.’
‘I’m going to ring you later to check on you,’ he threatened lightly.
She smiled weakly and watched him walk away, a sense of foreboding sitting like a lead weight in her stomach.
* * *
The week went from bad to worse. Not only did Claire have to contend with the growing fear that she had inherited her mother’s disease, but the mere thought of it made her physically ill. Every time she thought about it, and that was practically always, she had to rush to the toilet. Nausea and vomiting were now her constant companions.
She tried hard to remember if her mother had suffered from nausea when she’d first become symptomatic. If she had, Claire couldn’t recall it and Mary was in no position to confirm or deny it. She could ask her father, but there was no need to alarm him yet.
What she wouldn’t give to have Campbell with her now. To be able to lean on him, tell him everything. The whole sorry story, including her love. Maybe things wouldn’t be so scary and uncertain with him by her side.
* * *
A few days later she was sitting at her desk, trying to concentrate on the water-birth protocols she’d begun shortly after her break-up with Campbell. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, partly because she really wanted to see it come to fruition but mostly because she knew it’d occupy a lot of time. But try as she may, they just couldn’t hold her attention today.
She was staring blankly, her mind going over and over the same things that had been fermenting there for days now. When her eyes refocused she realised she was staring at a big red ring around one of the dates on her desk calendar.
That was the day her period had been due. Tuesday the twelfth. Weeks ago! She was as regular as clockwork every twenty-eight days. Never missed. She sat up straighter.
She counted back and double-checked. How could she have not realised that she’d missed a period? OK, so she’d deliberately shut out everything other than work and her responsibilities at home but this was ridiculous.
It was probably nothing to worry about. To say she’d been under a lot of stress recently was a gross understatement. Just because nothing had ever affected her cycle before, it didn’t mean that it couldn’t. Trying to come to grips with a potential terminal illness would certainly do it!
The next morning, Claire had to admit that being pregnant was a real possibility. She’d risen early as usual to assist with her mother’s care, and had to make a detour to the toilet before she could begin anything.
She felt a brief lifting of her spirits at the thought that the nausea might be related to pregnancy and not the disease. But that didn’t account for her forgetfulness and clumsiness. Although most pregnant women she knew did complain of poor memory. So maybe …
As Claire parked her car at St Jude’s a few hours later, she knew she had to find out.
‘Barbara, I need you to take some blood from me.’
‘OK. Sure. Everything OK?’
‘No, not really. I think you were right. I might be pregnant after all.’
Claire was most grateful to Barbara who sympathised but didn’t pry. She felt absurdly close to tears as Barbara assured her that the secret was safe with her.
The needle stung as Barbara slid it easily into the vein at the crook of Claire’s elbow. The syringe filled with dark red blood. She took off five mils and handed it to Claire.
‘Thanks.’ Claire plunged the needle into the top of a vacuum-sealed blood tube and watched as the blood was sucked from the syringe into the tube.
Barbara filled out the slip for the lab, writing ‘Beta HCG’ in the test-required box.
Beta HCG, the pregnancy hormone, responsible for the entire gamut of symptoms described by pregnant women the world over. It became detectable in the blood and urine at a very early stage.
To complete the form she needed to fill in the requesting doctor box. Barbara hesitated over this one. She pursed her lips and firmly put down Campbell’s name, hoping that she’d done the right thing. She placed the blood sample and the form in a path bag and sent them off to the lab.
Thankfully Claire had a busy day of appointments and meetings. It wasn’t until just before she was due to go home that she could check the computer for her results.
It took a few minutes to get into the screen she required. And there it was, blinking in bright green. POSITIVE.
Everyone had gone off for the day so Claire felt no embarrassmen
t as she burst into tears. Life just wasn’t fair. As if it wasn’t bad enough that she’d convinced herself she’d inherited Huntington’s disease. Now, apparently, she was pregnant. Her two worst nightmares had just come true.
* * *
How Claire got through the next few days, she really couldn’t recall afterwards. She was pregnant. Pregnant with Campbell’s child. And also, whether she wanted to face it or not, she had to confront the very real possibility of having Huntington’s. A disease she could pass on to her baby.
A baby. Something Claire had always wanted, more than she could have articulated. Something she had known she could never have. But she was having one now, and she could think of nothing else.
Mercifully Campbell was away at the moment, attending a three-day conference in Melbourne. Not seeing him had given her the space she needed to look at their situation clearly.
She probably had Huntington’s disease. Worse, she was pregnant with a baby that could also have the same illness. His beliefs about genetic disorders still rang in her ears, and her belief that she couldn’t burden someone she loved with a potential invalid still stood. It was more important than ever that she keep her distance.
Claire kept turning over and over in her mind what she was going to do. All she really wanted to do was revel in the life growing inside her and daydream about happily-ever-afters. But there were decisions to be made.
How could she bring a child into the world with her family history? She’d hardly be protecting it if, by giving birth to it, she was exposing it to the same awful genetic lottery that she’d lived with for too many years.
At least Claire had had twenty carefree years before the axe had fallen. This little one would live every day of its life under a cloud. Sure, plenty of children lived under worse uncertainties, but this was her child. Claire knew she wasn’t capable of giving her baby life knowing she could also be passing on a death sentence.
But was she? She had never been tested. There hadn’t even been a test available when her mother had first been diagnosed, and after extensive genetic counselling, she’d decided not to bother. Not knowing was preferable to being told you were positive. As she had told Campbell, ignorance was bliss.
