From Doctor to Daddy

by Becky Wicks

  She crossed her arms and looked up at him expectantly. Conflict took him hostage. He wanted nothing more than to spend some down-time with Sara, but this was a strange day in general.

  ‘You don’t want to sleep?’

  ‘I’ll do that later.’

  In her eyes Fraser saw a glimpse of the playful girl he’d fallen for back in Edinburgh. ‘Not if I can help it,’ he said softly, before he could stop himself.

  A laugh escaped Sara’s mouth. She reined it back in behind her hair and turned it into a yawn as the surgeon turned to them questioningly.

  ‘OK,’ Fraser said. ‘If you want to do something fun, meet me at the beach I told you about the other day? You remember the one?’

  She raised her eyebrows. ‘I remember. Two hours, OK?’

  ‘That should be long enough. Bring Esme, if she’s back from her trip.’

  ‘What do you have to do here anyway?’ she asked him. Her face held a sombre expression now. ‘Did you bring someone else from the ship?’

  ‘No, it’s just admin. See you soon—I might even buy you an ice-cream.’

  Fraser took the stairs two at a time, stopping to help an elderly lady into a wheelchair on his way.

  ‘Such a handsome darling,’ she said, and grinned at him through gappy teeth.

  Fraser saluted her as he hurried on his way.

  Passing the dialysis clinic, he recalled the brand-new idea that had sprung into his brain and refused to go away over the last few days. He’d been pondering over opening a dialysis unit at the Breckenridge Practice. Maybe Sara would help him run it. It was just the kind of business decision his father would have approved of—a way to grow the practice into something more, with far-reaching potential.

  He couldn’t wait to be able to talk about it all with her. Hopefully after this second test, and whatever it was concerning Boyd about his blood tests, their prospects would at least be a little clearer and he could maybe even reach the beach this afternoon with good news.

  ‘Dr Fraser Breckenridge?’

  The Caribbean woman who opened the door to him was probably eighty-five. Her white coat came down to her feet, which were in rather scuffed trainers.

  ‘That’s me,’ he said, amused. ‘I’m looking for Dr Boyd Phillips.’

  ‘He’ll be back soon. He’s asked me to take another urine test first.’

  ‘Fair enough.’

  She opened the door to let him inside the tiny, somewhat stuffy room. He couldn’t help remembering, in the face of this elderly nurse, the time a younger Sara had called him for tests before his marathon—the playful Sara, who was slowly but surely coming back to him in spite of her reservations...

  ‘Fraser Breckenridge?’ Sara had looked up as he’d closed the door to the white and too-bright room. ‘Here for your tests?’

  He’d stepped inside and noticed her hair: long, blonde, but not the tacky kind of blonde, the kind that was natural and always looked good messy.

  ‘Yes, that’s me,’ he’d said, shutting the door behind him. ‘Thanks for doing this. I know you probably have something more interesting to do.’

  ‘I can’t think of anything more interesting than this.’

  Sara Cohen had almost perfectly symmetrical eyebrows that were real, not drawn on with pencil, and her words had held no trace of sarcasm. She’d scanned some papers. Her nails were pale purple.

  ‘So you’re running a marathon, huh?’

  ‘Indeed I am. As long as I’m innocent on the inside.’

  He had smiled serenely with what he’d hoped was suspicious purity. He hadn’t known why yet, but he’d wanted her to wonder about him.

  Sara had raised her perfect eyebrows. ‘You don’t strike me as the innocent type.’

  She was teasing him. His interest in this woman was mounting. Sure, he’d seen her about the hospital. She was pretty, friendly—nothing to write home about...or so he’d thought. She was great with the kids. All the kids at the hospital loved her—almost as much as they loved him.

  She’d leaned against a cabinet with one hip and eyed him in a way that had made something stir in his jeans. Her tight fitted white coat ended just above her knees and her shoes were dark blue velvet flats, as if she was planning to ballet dance away from her nursing duties. She was graceful.

  He had wondered what she looked like naked.

  ‘Well, there’s a lot you don’t know about me,’ he’d told her.

  ‘Apparently so.’

  ‘I know about you, though. I’ve seen you knitting.’

  It had come out before he could think. He was usually able to play it cooler than this.

  She’d lifted her eyes from his running shoes up to his face. ‘What does that tell you about me?’

  ‘It tells me you’re either pregnant with triplets or you just really like knitting... OK I don’t know about you. I think I want to find out, though.’

  He’d rested his backside on the back of a chair. Had seen a battered copy of Lord of the Flies sticking out of a satchel on the floor by her chair. He’d seen her reading too, in the canteen. Big novels like this. He’d never told her, but he’d read every single one of the books he’d seen her reading long before.

  He liked this little game they were playing, and he liked Sara too, with her butterfly earrings and her fondness for literature, and shoes he could picture her dancing in...naked.

  But he couldn’t get distracted. He really needed this drugs test.

  ‘Listen, I need these results back pretty quickly, if that’s OK?’ He’d stood, looked up around him for the container. Surely she would have it ready.

  Sara had opened the drawer by her hip and pulled out a container with a small white lid. ‘We’re all set.’

  ‘Sperm sample?’

  She’d held the container out to him carefully between two fingers, slightly away from her body. ‘You know very well we need a urine sample,’ she’d said. ‘For now.’

  The more he’d grinned, the more her own lips had twitched at the corners. He’d seen the laughter fizzing in the colour of her irises. The way she’d said ‘for now’ had been unmistakably flirtatious.

  ‘Do you need a drink of water first?’

  ‘I’m good—thanks for caring.’ He’d stepped a little closer, pressed his hands into his denim pockets so as not to touch her.

  ‘In that case,’ she’d said, lowering her voice in mock seduction, ‘the bathroom’s through there, Fraser Breckenridge.’

  They’d been inches apart.

  ‘Maybe when I’m done we can go get some lunch?’ he’d ventured.

  ‘That depends on how innocent you are.’

  Fraser had held her gaze, more than slightly aroused ahead of his bathroom visit. So this was Sara Cohen. If this had been a sperm test, he’d probably have no problem right about now...

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  ‘ALL DONE?’ BOYD motioned Fraser through into another room and into a chair on wheels by a desk.

  ‘Let’s hope it’s second time lucky.’ Fraser took his seat in the stark white room, trying not to show how the anticipation was messing with his head.

  ‘Apologies for the mix-up with the urine sample,’ Boyd said. ‘I hope it wasn’t too much of an inconvenience.’

  ‘Not at all,’ he replied, just because it was polite. ‘So, what is it you want to discuss in person?’

  Boyd sucked in a breath and let it out slowly. He took off his big round glasses and dangled them from his fingers over the desk, all of which put Fraser’s nerves even more on edge.

  ‘Boyd, what have you found?’

  ‘It’s interesting,’ he replied, sitting back in his chair, studying him. ‘Fraser, how long have you known Esme, exactly?’

  ‘Since the start of the cruise we’re on,’ he said. ‘Why?’

  Boyd slid a piece of pa
per across the desk to him. ‘Fraser, I don’t want to alarm you, but did you ever think there might be something that her mother isn’t telling you?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Fraser took the paper in his hands. ‘What am I looking at, Boyd?’

  ‘The blood tests show you’re a perfect biological match to Esme. Fraser, this kind of blood type is so rare you’re possibly the only person who could be her donor.’

  Boyd tapped his finger on the piece of paper. The letters and numbers blurred before Fraser’s eyes. He could hardly believe what he was hearing.

  ‘I don’t understand...’ He did, but it didn’t seem possible.

  ‘Fraser, Esme appears to be your daughter.’

  The world seemed to skid to a stop. All he could hear was his heart pounding in his ears. When he looked up Boyd was still studying his face in concern.

  ‘This can’t be true.’

  ‘I’m afraid it is.’ Boyd rested his arms on the desk, still holding his glasses. ‘I hate to be the one to break this to you, Fraser, but either Sara doesn’t know herself or she’s been keeping it from you. I think you need to have a talk with her before we go any further. No matter what the new urine tests show...’

  ‘This is crazy, Boyd.’

  He stood up, strode to the window, raking his hands through his thick hair. Palm trees waved at him from under a blue sky, but all he could see was Esme’s face, and Sara’s too.

  ‘It can’t be.’

  ‘I understand this completely changes things. It must be quite a shock.’

  ‘That’s an understatement.’

  Fraser turned around again and paced the small room, drumming his fingers against his thighs as the world shifted around him. Anger. Denial. Shock. Some strange new hope. It was all bubbling inside him now.

  He sank back into the seat heavily, took the piece of paper again. He blinked as unexpected tears pooled in his eyes, and embarrassment made him slam the paper down again hard.

  ‘How could I not have known this, Boyd? All this time.’

  ‘You say you’ve been apart for five or six years, right? With no contact? Did you ever try to make contact?’

  ‘Only once, about two weeks after we broke up.’

  He stared unseeingly at the desk, remembering Sara standing there with her one-night stand. Whatever had happened, she clearly hadn’t wanted a man around to help her with a baby, and from what she’d said to him so far, the way she’d been pushing him away, she was wary of having one around now...

  This was more than he’d bargained for. He was a father? He had a daughter? A sick daughter he’d missed out on knowing all this time.

  He took the paper and got to his feet again.

  ‘Fraser, take some time to think about this,’ Boyd said calmly.

  But Fraser was already striding for the door.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  ‘HONEY, WHAT ARE you doing?’ Sara rushed across the sand to Esme. ‘You can’t do things like that. What’s the problem?’

  The little girl whose sandcastle had just been unceremoniously bulldozed by Esme was screaming the beach down, pulling a total tantrum in her pink two-piece swimsuit.

  Sara took Esme’s wrist and led her aside gently. She was always gentle, no matter what. ‘Baby, tell me—why did you do that?’

  ‘She told me I was going to die!’

  White heat, all over her.

  Words like this tore her to pieces. She composed herself as Jess appeared in her giant yellow hat. They’d been having such a nice time until now.

  She crouched down and put her hands on Esme’s little waist over her cotton sundress. ‘Esme, you’re not going to die.’

  The kid’s mother was walking over now, wearing sunglasses far too big for her face. ‘What happened?’

  ‘I’m so sorry about that,’ Sara told her.

  She was starting to wish she’d gone back to bed, like Fraser had suggested; she was far too tired for all this. Come to think of it, where was he? He was supposed to have been here twenty minutes ago.

  The woman spoke loudly, haughtily, over her screaming daughter. ‘I don’t know what kind of parent lets their child—’

  ‘Excuse me?’ Sara stood rigid.

  The woman shut her mouth. She was looking at Esme’s catheter. Her face had turned slightly pale, like everyone’s did when they started viewing Esme less as a child and more as some precious flawed person who might keel over and expire at any moment. Her illness brought out the best and the worst in people all at once at times. Other mothers with healthy children suddenly felt guilty, or woke up to the fact that they were blessed.

  This woman seemed particularly ashamed. ‘I’m so sorry. I didn’t see...’

  ‘That doesn’t excuse her from being naughty,’ said Sara.

  ‘She told me I was going to die!’ Esme cried again.

  ‘If you cross over the bridge!’ the kid in pink insisted, pointing to the smashed elements of her creation. ‘I told you—you only die if you cross over the bridge! You smashed my bridge!’

  ‘It’s only a game,’ Sara told Esme. ‘She was including you in her game. You’re not going to die. She didn’t mean it like that.’

  ‘Where is Dr Fraser, Mummy?’

  She looked at her helplessly. ‘I don’t know, sweetie. He’s supposed to be here...’

  ‘What is that...thing?’ The screaming child had stopped her tantrum and stepped up close to Esme, inspecting the lines running up from the neck of her white dress.

  Here we go again.

  Esme swiped at her eyes. ‘It’s my catheter. I’m on dialysis. I have a robo-kidney, and you’re right. I might die.’

  Sara wrestled with the need to flop down onto the sand and close her eyes. She took a deep breath and let Jess lead Esme away from the drama towards the shoreline.

  ‘You are not going to die,’ she whispered after her anyway, and the horrible woman, now sufficiently apologetic if only with her eyes, slunk away, back to her sun chair.

  Another half an hour passed. Esme was happily building sandcastles again, but still there was no sign of Fraser. She watched the waves lap the shore, seeing his eyes and the way he’d looked at her that time when she’d asked where he’d been in Florida. He wanted to tell her, he’d said, but he couldn’t yet.

  She’d made peace with that, and even grown to believe he was planning some kind of nice surprise for her. But he’d skipped out on her again now, when he knew she’d be with Esme. When he knew Esme would be disappointed if he didn’t show up.

  Annoyance bubbled into anger. She was back on that staircase, feeling what she’d felt the first time her thoughts about Fraser Breckenridge had weighed her down rather than lifted her up.

  She’d flown back to Edinburgh six months after they’d started dating and three weeks after her mother’s death. Just to be near him. She’d felt bad for leaving her father, but her sister had been with him and both of them had told her that she should go and do something nice for herself.

  They’d eaten dinner an hour after she’d arrived—Sara, Fraser and his parents. All the way through their perfectly al dente pasta his father had looked between them, as if he was dying to get something out in the open. It had been after dinner, on her way back from the bathroom, that she’d heard them talking.

  ‘She’s no good for you, son. You’re in danger of screwing it all up. What about your career? What about everything you’ve worked so hard for?’

  His voice had made her shiver. And what had been worse was the fact that Fraser hadn’t defended her or their relationship. That fact was the knife that kept on stabbing her in the heart, every time she thought about that night.

  The rest of the evening had been awkward. She’d made her excuses, gone upstairs to his bedroom. Fraser had come in when she’d been sitting on the bed, staring at the floor, knowing her heart
was about to be torn into even more pieces.

  ‘What are you doing up here?’

  ‘Just thinking.’

  He sat down on the bed beside her. ‘OK... Well, I’m glad I’ve got you alone. Listen, I was hoping we could talk.’

  She had struggled to breathe as his hands had left dents on the bed either side of him. She’d already known what was coming. He was going to end their relationship.

  ‘You know I need to qualify this year, Sara. You know the practice needs me. So...’

  ‘You don’t need to explain, Fraser—honestly. I’ve been thinking I should talk to you, too.’

  She’d stood up then, paced the room while the lump in her throat had caused her physical pain. ‘This is just such a bad time. My dad really needs me... I shouldn’t even be here.’

  ‘Sara...’

  ‘We should call it a day, Fraser. It’s just too crazy right now...everything is changing. Under the circumstances I think it’s best. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have come here.’

  Her taxi had sounded its horn outside and Fraser had stood up in surprise, yanked the curtain aside. ‘What the hell—?’

  ‘That’s my cab to the airport.’ She’d reached for her bag.

  Fraser had walked up to her purposefully, making her gasp as he snatched the bag back and held her by the shoulders. ‘Sara, what’s happened? Why are you saying this? Talk to me.’

  But she’d pulled away, reached for the bag she had already packed. ‘Fraser, we’ve just been delaying what you know needs to happen. I don’t belong here. I need to be with my dad and my sister in London. And you need to be here.’

  His mouth had been a thin line. His fists had curled to his sides. She’d been convincing enough.

  ‘It’s what I need right now,’ she’d continued, though her tears had been coming thick and fast. ‘I should go.’

  She hadn’t been able to keep on talking. Her heart had been hurting too much. But she hadn’t been able to stick around for him to break up with her either.

  Whether he did it now, or next week, or next month, he was going to do it eventually. His family and career meant too much to him for her even to try to keep a place in it right now. She’d leave quickly, like ripping a sticking plaster off, before the real pain of a deeper wound could kill her.