‘Right,’ Jess murmured, beginning to back away, her cheeks darkening. ‘I’m sorry—you know—for bothering you like this, and I won’t do it again.’
And before either Connor or Brianna could say anything she’d left the staffroom, and Connor shook his head at Brianna.
‘That wasn’t very kind.’
‘Maybe I don’t feel kind,’ Brianna retorted. ‘Maybe I’ve just heard enough of Jess’s half-baked theories to last me a lifetime.’
‘And maybe you don’t want this baby’s mother to come forward at all,’ he said, and Brianna got to her feet impatiently.
‘Of course I do. I just think—’
She never did complete what she’d been about to say. The emergency alarm sounded, and she was out of the staffroom in a second.
‘What’s wrong—what’s happened?’ Connor asked, hurry ing after her.
‘It’s one of the babies,’ Brianna replied, frantically washing her hands. ‘Something’s badly wrong with one of the babies!’
And it was Harry. Harry’s monitors which were sounding the alarm, and Megan and Mr Brooke were already at his incubator.
‘Pulmonary haemorrhage, Brianna,’ Megan murmured, as she hurried round the incubator to insert another IV line. ‘Looks like patent ductus arteriosus.’
‘What does that mean?’ Connor asked, trying not to get in the way, and wishing the monitors would stop making their shrill noise.
‘Left heart failure,’ Brianna replied tightly, and Connor closed his eyes, feeling as though someone had punched him.
Heart failure. Their son had died because of an inherited heart defect, which meant it wasn’t the same, but it felt like it.
‘Why didn’t that show up before? ‘ he demanded. ‘He’s had enough X-rays and scans. Shouldn’t it have shown up then?’
‘It can sometimes happen to babies who have respiratory distress syndrome,’ Megan explained. ‘We don’t know why, but when it happens it happens fast.’
‘I want an echocardiogram, and I want it now,’ Mr Brooke ordered.
Chris was gone in a flash, and somewhere in the ward Connor could hear one of the babies crying as though it somehow knew that.
Don’t go there, his mind warned. Don’t even think that.
‘Is there anything I can do?’ he asked as he saw Brianna flipping switches, changing lines, completely in control, though both her face and lips were white.
‘Just keep out of the way,’ she replied. ‘Are we looking at thoracoscopic surgery?’ she continued, glancing across at Mr Brooke.
‘There’s a strong risk of laryngeal nerve damage if I do that,’ he declared as Chris appeared with the echocardiog-raphy machine. ‘Plus I could end up with a ligation of the pulmonary artery if I make even the tiniest mistake.’
‘There’s also the mortality rate to consider,’ Megan pointed out.
‘Which is currently one per cent,’ Brianna replied, as she applied some gel to Harry’s chest. ‘Pretty good odds, I’d say, plus you don’t make mistakes, Mr Brooke.’
The consultant shook his head.
‘Nice compliment, Sister, but all surgeons can make mistakes, and, with a baby as little as this, we could be also looking at damage to the thoracic duct.’
‘Yes, but thoracoscospic surgery is much less risky than a thoracotomy,’ Brianna argued, ‘and we’re running out of time here.’
‘Agreed.’ He nodded as Chris placed the transducer on Harry’s chest. ‘OK, let’s see what we’ve got.’
To Connor, the echocardiogram seemed to take an eternity. The pictures on the screen meant nothing to him, but they clearly meant something to Brianna, Megan, Chris and Mr Brooke, because there was a lot of muttering and a lot of pointing.
‘What have you decided?’ he asked when Chris removed the transducer, and both Megan and Brianna looked at Mr Brooke.
The portly consultant chewed his lip, then nodded.
‘Thoracoscospic surgery. Dr Phillips, Sister Flannigan, you’ll assist.’
Chris was already pushing Harry’s incubator out of the ward, and as Brianna made to follow her Connor put out his hand to stay her.
‘He is going to be all right, isn’t he?’ he said.
‘I don’t know,’ she replied, her bottom lip trembling slightly. ‘I honestly don’t know. Mr Brooke’s a brilliant surgeon. He has lousy people skills, but when it comes to operating, he’s the best, but. Look, why don’t you go back to my cottage?’ she continued. ‘I don’t know how long the op will take—’
‘I’m going nowhere,’ he said, but as Brianna turned to leave he added, ‘Would it be wrong of me to wish you all luck? I know on the stage it’s considered very bad luck to say that, so they say break a leg, but—’
‘We’ll take your good wishes,’ Brianna declared. ‘With this one we’re going to need all the luck we can get.’
And she was gone, and Connor stood in the centre of the ward, knowing he had never felt quite so alone, while the other nurses bustled about, a kind of normality returned for them.
It had been so different with their own son, he thought as he walked slowly out of the ward and down to the nurses’ staffroom. He and Brianna had sat together in the consultant’s room, holding one another’s hands in a vice-like grip as though that might somehow keep Harry with them, while the consultant had explained very gently, and very kindly, that there was nothing he could do. The damage to Harry’s heart was too severe, he’d said, and the kindest thing would be to switch off his life-support system.
The kindest thing.
Connor gritted his teeth. He’d wanted to hit the consultant when he’d said that. Kind shouldn’t have meant simply allowing their child to die. Kind should have meant the medical staff doing everything they could, never giving up, not them recommending they switch off the only thing that was keeping their son alive.
With an effort, he pushed open the door of the staffroom and went in. Were there any more depressing places than empty staffrooms and waiting rooms? he wondered as he sat down and let his head fall back against the seat. Brianna had been right when she’d said being able to do something was infinitely preferable to having nothing to do but wait, but wait he would, for as long as it took.
Wearily, Brianna walked down the corridor towards the staffroom. Chris had told her Connor was there, had been there ever since they’d taken Harry to Theatre, and she was grateful, so very grateful, that he’d stayed.
Gently, she opened the door in case he’d fallen asleep, but his head snapped round immediately, and she could see the hesitation in his eyes, the desire to know, and yet the fear of knowing, too.
‘He’s fine,’ she said. ‘The op was textbook perfect, and he’s back in his incubator, breathing well.’
She saw him exhale, then his eyes scanned her face.
‘How are you?’
‘Shattered,’ she admitted. ‘Relieved. Happy.’
‘Then, let’s go home, Bree,’ he said, getting to his feet. ‘You’re just about out on your feet, and you said yourself he’s out of the woods, so let’s go home.’
To his surprise, she didn’t even attempt to argue, which proved how exhausted she was, and she didn’t protest either when he put some food into the microwave when they got home, then pulled out a chair for her.
‘I know you probably feel too tired to eat,’ he said when the lasagne was ready, ‘but you really should try.’
And obediently she picked up a fork. And she did eat, though he very much doubted if she knew what she was eating, but at least she ate.
‘You’re not still worrying about him, are you?’ he said when she finally pushed her plate away, and she shook her head.
‘When I was in Theatre,’ she murmured, ‘all I could think was how fleeting life can be. How, in the blink of an eye, everything can suddenly change, and you never get to do the things you want, or say the things you should, and then it’s too late.’ She raised her eyes to his. ‘Do you remember asking me whether I was sorry I had l
eft, or sorry you’d found me?’
He gazed back at her, clearly confused, obviously wondering why she was saying this now, and then he nodded.
‘I remember.’
Say it, Brianna, she told herself. Tell him everything because you might not ever have this moment again.
‘I was sorry you’d found me because I didn’t want you to find me.’
His face twisted. ‘I see.’
‘No, you don’t, because I haven’t finished yet,’ she said swiftly. ‘I left you because I knew I had to get away from everything. From our flat, my memories and, yes, from you because every time I looked at you I saw Harry. Harry dying in my arms, Harry’s life slipping away from him, and you…’ She took a breath. ‘You were slipping away from me, too, and I didn’t want to face the fact that not only had my son died, but my marriage was over, so it was better to hide, better not to have to face that truth.’
‘But our marriage wasn’t over,’ he declared, bewilderment plain in his blue eyes. ‘Why in the world did you think it was?’
‘Connor, even before Harry was born, we might have shared the same flat, but we barely talked, hardly ever saw one another—’
‘I was working,’ he protested. ‘You know what working in the city is like. If you rest on your laurels, you don’t get considered for the big deals, and I had to keep on working hard if I wanted to stay in the game.’
‘But even when you came home, you used to shut yourself away in your study,’ she said, ‘and I’d wait, and wait, and maybe, if I got lucky, you’d share a few words with me, and I’d go to bed and fall asleep alone, not knowing what you were thinking, or…’ Her eyes skittered away from his. ‘If you still loved me, or you’d found someone else.’
‘You thought I was cheating on you?’ he exclaimed, plainly dumbfounded. ‘Bree, I have always loved you, and I always will.’
‘Then why did you increasingly shut me out?’ she cried. ‘And don’t tell me you didn’t, because you did, you know you did. You hardly ever held me, or kissed me, and…’ A faint tinge of colour crept over her cheeks, but she was going to say this come what may. ‘We only ever made love if I asked you to.’
He bit his lip savagely, and, at first, she didn’t think he was going to answer her, and then he met her gaze, and she saw pain and heartache in his eyes.
‘I know we did, and I am sorry, so sorry, but…’ He shook his head blindly. ‘Oh, hell, but this is so hard for me to say because I don’t want to hurt you. You’ve been hurt so much already.’
‘Say it, Connor,’ she urged. ‘Whatever it is, just say it.’
‘I knew…’ He took an uneven breath. ‘I knew how much you wanted a child—I wanted a son or a daughter, too—but as the years went by, and you didn’t become pregnant, I felt…’ His eyes tightened. ‘You didn’t want to make love to me any more—not to me. That all I’d become for you was a sperm donor. Someone you needed to go through the motions with to get yourself pregnant, not someone you wanted to be there for you, not someone you wanted to give you pleasure.’
‘You thought that? ‘ she said, horror-stricken by his revelation. ‘Oh, Connor, why didn’t you tell me, why didn’t you say something?’
He clenched his jaw. ‘It’s hardly the sort of thing you can say to your wife, is it?’
‘But it would have explained so much,’ she declared. ‘I thought you didn’t want me any more, that you’d fallen out of love with me, and I was so scared to ask you outright because I thought, If he’s found somebody else, I won’t be able to bear it.’
‘There’s never been anyone but you, Bree,’ he said simply. ‘There never will be.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ she said with a sob. ‘Sorry I made you feel…redundant. I never meant to. I just. I wanted a baby so badly, but my desire for one shouldn’t have made you feel you meant less to me than achieving that. Can you ever forgive me?’
To her surprise, he half turned from her, his face pain-racked.
‘Don’t, Bree, please, don’t apologise to me. It only makes me feel worse.’
‘Worse?’ she echoed. ‘What do you have to feel so badly about? I was the one at fault, not you.’
‘You’ve no idea how I wish to God that was true, but it isn’t, it isn’t,’ he said, his voice ragged.
‘Connor—’
‘You asked me before whether I wanted Harry, and the truth is…’ He lowered his head for a second, and, when he looked up again, his eyes were agonised. ‘Bree, when you were pregnant, you were so ill all the time. I used to listen to the other men at work, the ones whose wives were pregnant, saying how well their wives looked, how happy and blooming, and every night…’ He balled his hands into fists. ‘Every night I would go home and find you with your head down the toilet, being sick again. Nothing you ate seemed to stay down, and instead of looking blooming you just seemed to get thinner and thinner.’
‘It was a difficult pregnancy,’ she said, gently putting her hand on his arm. ‘Some just are, and I didn’t care about being sick. I just wanted our son.’
‘I know you did, but…’ He drew in an anguished breath. ‘I hated him before he was born, Bree. I knew it was wrong,’ he said quickly when she drew back from him, appalled. ‘I knew I shouldn’t feel that way, but seeing you so ill, knowing he was the one doing it to you. I was frightened. So frightened I was going to lose you, and no baby was worth losing you for, so, yes, you were right, I didn’t want him.’
‘Not even when he was born?’ she said, her eyes dark, her voice barely audible. ‘Didn’t you want him even then?’
‘When he was born…’ Pain twisted across his face. ‘Oh, Bree, when I saw him I suddenly knew why you hadn’t given a damn about being so sick all the time. He was so beautiful, wasn’t he, and I thought…’ His voice shook. ‘I thought, This is my son. This beautiful, tiny, little person is my son. And I thought my heart was going to burst with joy, and then…all hell broke loose. The doctors and nurses were running everywhere, and they took him out of your arms, and there were all these tubes and wires, and I thought, Stop it, stop what you’re doing, you’re hurting him, and you mustn’t hurt him.’
‘I remember,’ she said, her voice suspended.
‘And when the doctors said he wouldn’t live…’ Connor shook his head, and something like a sob broke from him. ‘All I could think was, It’s my fault. God has listened to me, and decided, OK, if you don’t want him, I’ll take him away from you.’
‘No, Connor, oh, no!’ she exclaimed, instinctively reaching for him, but he lurched to his feet, evading her. ‘It wasn’t like that, you mustn’t think like that. No words, or thoughts, of yours could have caused Harry’s heart condition. It was an inherited heart defect. A horribly, cruel, inherited defect.’
‘I still blame myself,’ he said raggedly, screwing his eyes shut. ‘Every time I go to bed at night, and close my eyes, I still see him, so small, so fragile, and looking so much like you.’
‘I always thought he looked like you,’ she said unsteadily, and Connor shook his head.
‘You, he was all you, and when he died. Bree, half of me died with him because I’d failed him, I’d failed you.’
‘You didn’t—you didn’t,’ she cried, getting to her feet and clasping his hands tightly in hers. ‘Connor—’
‘All my life I’ve set myself goals, Bree,’ he said hoarsely, ‘and I’ve ticked them off one by one, but the one thing I knew you wanted above everything else was a child, and when they said we should turn off his life support…’ A shudder ran through him. ‘I wanted to fight with them, to tell them to go to hell, to tell them I would save our son if they couldn’t, but I couldn’t save him, I knew I couldn’t, and to feel I had no control, no power to alter anything. that broke me, Bree.’
She stared at him blindly, so wanting to help him, to somehow find the right words to say to help him, because she had never seen him like this before, a man in torment.
‘Why didn’t you tell me any of this? ‘ she excl
aimed. ‘Oh, Connor, you should have told me this.’
‘You were going through hell, and I…’ He bit his lip. ‘I didn’t want to burden you with how I felt.’
‘But we could have shared it,’ she protested. ‘All I could see was that you didn’t seem to care—not like I cared. You wouldn’t talk about him—’
‘Because I always seemed to say the wrong thing,’ he said. ‘If I didn’t talk about Harry you got so angry, and if I did talk about him you cried, and I couldn’t…I couldn’t bear to see you cry when there was nothing I could do to make it any better.’
‘All I ever needed was for you to let me cry, Connor,’ she said, her voice breaking. ‘Just for you to let me cry and for you to…to talk about Harry, so I could feel you understood, that you felt the same way I did.’
‘I did, Bree. Oh, God, how I did,’ he said. ‘I wanted him back, too. I wanted to be able to hold him again, and keep him safe, but I couldn’t keep him safe, and…’ A tear trickled down his cheek, and he pulled his hands out of hers. ‘I’m sorry. I have to. I have to…’
He was walking swiftly towards the staircase and she ran after him.
‘Connor, wait,’ she begged, trying to catch hold of his arm, but he shrugged her off, and began climbing the stairs.
‘Leave me be, Bree,’ he said over his shoulder, his voice choked. ‘I don’t.I don’t want you to see me like this.’
‘Like what?’ she cried. ‘Showing me you care, showing you feel? Connor, it’s not shameful to cry, it’s not a sign of weakness.’
He came to a halt at the top of the stairs, his face averted.
‘It is,’ he said, his voice cracked. ‘I should be supporting you, not the other way round.’
‘Can’t…can’t we support one another? ‘ she exclaimed. ‘Comfort one another?’
‘Bree, enough, please,’ he entreated, and she walked round him, and caught his face in her hands.
‘Don’t, Connor, oh, please…don’t shut me out,’ she said, ‘not this time.’
St Piran's: Tiny Miracle Twins Page 11
