Eight? Because he still hadn’t cancelled his visit to Cromayr Bay, simply because he missed her so much.
Nine? Because he was a stubborn bastard and where his career was concerned he never backed down.
This damn thing called love hurt more than he’d considered it might.
Yes, love. And he missed her.
Ten.
Yes. Losing Freya was definitely a ten.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
AS STELLA HAD SUGGESTED Freya had spoken to Pat—who, it turned out, was a fantastic seamstress.
‘I’ll do them for you,’ Pat offered.
‘I can’t just bring you in a pile of fabric!’
‘Don’t be daft. I’ll bring my sewing machine to you.’
It had been arranged for Sunday afternoon, and Kelly had come along, Stella too. As nervous as for a first date—in fact far more nervous than she had ever been on a date—Freya had bought cheese and nuts and crisps and worried.
But then they’d arrived, and it had been so much fun. Pat on the sewing machine, Stella on the ladder. And by the time they had left there had been deep crimson curtains.
They changed the entire room.
And he would never see them, Freya thought.
‘Do you see him at all?’ Alison asked one night when she called.
‘A bit,’ Freya said. ‘Well, quite a lot. But it’s not like before. His registrar, Dominic, can do most of the epidurals now, so I only really see him if there’s an emergency.’
‘Have you tried talking to him?’
‘There’s no point,’ Freya said. ‘He’s made things completely clear. I don’t see why I should have to give up coming home when he won’t consider moving.’
There was silence. From both of them.
‘I want you here,’ Alison said finally. ‘You know I do. But if Callum had to move for work—well, that’s where I’d go.’
‘Yes, but the fact is you’re not working. You’ve finished work to have a baby,’ Freya snapped, and then realised what she’d said. ‘Sorry...’
‘No!’ Alison laughed. ‘I’m delighted to hear the return of the real Freya. You’ve been...’
‘What?’
‘Too nice,’ Alison said. ‘Too midwifey.’
‘I shall have to snap at you some more, then. Anyway, enough about me—how are you doing?’
Alison was doing well. The baby was due early in the New Year and Freya’s contract was up in mid-January—which meant that Freya wouldn’t be around for the birth.
Alison was having the baby in the main hospital, and if there were any further bleeds she would be transferred elsewhere, so there would have been no chance of Freya delivering her friend anyway.
Yet still she would have been there.
She thought back to the time when she had first put in her application to London. She and Malcolm had long since broken up, and Alison had just told her that she and Callum were expecting again.
They’d sat in the bar at the Tavern and Alison had said she wanted Freya to be with her in the delivery room.
‘Callum’s going to be so tense,’ she’d explained.
‘That might not be possible,’ Freya had said, and had told her best friend that she was considering moving to London.
It had just tumbled from her lips, even before it had been a cohesive thought, and it had grown from there. Freya had applied for a job at the Primary the next week.
Richard had been right. She’d been running away.
There was no avoiding heartbreak, though. It just morphed into something else and found you wherever you were hiding.
Until you faced it.
CHAPTER TWELVE
RICHARD NO LONGER crashed out in the staff room, and they merely nodded if they met in the canteen.
Freya ached to know whether he had decided to stay with the NHS or go and work at the private hospital. Each week when the hospital newsletter came out Freya scanned it for information, but there was no mention of his leaving, nor of his replacement.
She’d find out on the intranet, perhaps. Or one day she would realise he was no longer here, Freya thought as she sat on the labour and delivery unit, where she’d been allocated today.
‘It’s so quiet,’ Freya commented to Stella, for there was only the sound of a woman loudly humming her way through her contractions.
Pat was in there with her. And Kelly was in D5.
‘Why don’t you go and have your coffee break while it is?’ said Stella.
‘Freya,’ Kelly called, because they were ‘buddies’ today. ‘Can you check this CTG with me before you go?’
Freya did so. They both checked it carefully. There were a couple of anomalies—enough that they called over Stella, who then buzzed for Dr Mina to come and asses mother and baby.
‘Go and have your coffee now,’ Stella said.
Freya made a coffee and thought how odd it was that it would be a normal day in Cromayr Bay while she was here in London. They’d have the antenatal and postnatal clinics running through the day. And then there were care-in-the-home visits.
Freya loved those. Going into a home and seeing the new baby and its family. If there was a part of her job in Cromayr Bay that she missed the most, then it was that—following the entire journey.
Of course she followed up on certain cases here.
Louise Eames was doing incredibly well and had been discharged home. She was recovering from her trauma and visiting her tiny son.
But it didn’t feel the same. Freya missed her old work, the longer preparation and anticipation of birth and the follow up too.
She was about to open a magazine when the overhead chimes went off.
Freya didn’t rinse her mug. Instead she put it down on the coffee table and headed straight back to a department that was no longer quiet.
The light was flashing over D5, and Stella was running for the phone. Then she saw Freya.
‘Let Theatre know we’ve got a crash Caesarean coming,’ she told Freya, and then got back into D5.
Freya made the call and saw Richard running down the corridor and into the same suite.
‘Freya?’ Stella put her head out through the door. ‘Can you check this?’
As Freya went over to check on the drugs she could hear a tense conversation taking place between the father of the baby and Richard.
‘But I’m her husband—absolutely I’m going into Theatre with her.’
‘He won’t get in the way,’ the patient pleaded.
She was lying on her side, with oxygen, and Freya could hear the sound of the baby’s heart-rate. It was ominously low. Her waters were thick with meconium, which was usually the baby’s first bowel movement after birth.
It felt like a replay of what had happened to Alison.
Andrew had died from meconium aspiration.
Of course it happened—Freya knew that—but she could hear the fear in this mother’s voice and it sounded just like Alison’s had...
‘What’s happening?’ she asked.
Her calls did not go unanswered as Stella, Dr Mina and Kelly all took time to explain as they prepared her for urgent transfer.
‘Baby doesn’t like the contractions,’ said Dr Mina. ‘The slow heart-rate tells us that.’
Then Stella spoke. ‘And the meconium shows us that baby’s distressed...’
Guy Masters arrived then, and got the hand-over from Dr Mina.
‘I want Abigail in theatre,’ Dr Mina said, and looked over to Stella. ‘Now, or we go ahead here.’
‘They’re preparing.’ Richard said, a touch breathless.
No one would move from this room until a theatre was ready, even if it meant that the baby was delivered here.
‘I want my husband with me,’ Abigail said.
And then Freya found out what Richard Lewis could accomplish in seconds.
‘I understand that you want your husband to be there for the birth, Abigail,’ he said in his deep voice. ‘But you’re having general anaesthetic s
o it just isn’t possible. We need to get your baby out quickly.’
‘I insist on being there!’ the husband cut in.
‘Mr Dunstan,’ Richard said. ‘We don’t have time to debate. You cannot be there. From this point, I won’t be leaving your wife’s side.’ He crouched down to be at eye level with Abigail. ‘I will be with you the whole time until you are brought round.’
He didn’t make false promises and say he’d be there after that, because he knew she would be handed over to the post-anaesthetic care unit, and at that point he might well be called to something else. He had just told the terrified parents how it would be, and had obviously reassured them at the same time, because Abigail nodded.
‘Now,’ he said as he stood, ‘I’ve got another IV line in and I’ve gone through your history. I just need to ask if you have any dental crowns.’
‘None.’
‘Or any loose teeth that I should know about?’
‘No.’ Abigail shivered.
Everything was ready to go, and the emergency packs were ready for the short dash to Theatre, but until they were told it was ready they would not be leaving.
‘Theatre’s ready!’ someone called.
And then they were off. Running down the corridor in a race to save the baby.
‘Can you clear up?’ Stella asked, when she saw Freya simply standing there in the middle of D5.
‘Of course.’
She cleared all the discarded wrappings and equipment, and as she replaced the oxygen masks and tubing could see that her hands were shaking.
And then she stopped.
Just for a moment.
It felt as if she was shrouded in black lace.
Freya simply stood there and felt the fear and the absolute horror of that night with Alison. And then she did what Richard had suggested on the day that had ended them.
Her mind was in a time that had never been. Imagining a phone call and hearing that Alison had had the baby and it hadn’t gone well. Or coming into work and hearing the news. Or Callum, Alison’s husband, calling her.
‘How would you have felt?’ Richard had asked her.
Now Freya felt that moment without herself in the picture.
Devastated.
Only Richard wasn’t there to know her answer.
* * *
Richard knew this patient would have upset Freya. It had been an incredibly close call.
Their aim was thirty minutes from alert to delivery, and in this instance it had been twenty-eight.
There could not be a more valuable two minutes saved, Richard thought now as he heard the cries of his patient’s new baby and Abigail Dunstan was wheeled through to the post-anaesthetic unit. She had been extubated in Theatre and would soon come round.
Richard went over and spoke to Kelly. ‘How is he?’
‘Lucky,’ Kelly said. ‘He’s well enough for a quick cuddle with Mum when she comes round, and then we’re taking him up to NICU—but really just to be observed.’
‘Good.’ Richard said. ‘Well done.’
‘And you.’
It had been a good day. Or rather, a good hour. But at any given second that could all change.
Richard looked around at the efficient unit that he’d frequented so often and knew he was going to miss this place.
He was going to go private.
His decision was made.
Rather than hover, he headed straight from Theatre back to the Maternity Unit.
Yes, he should stay away from Freya, Richard knew that, but he was certain this case would have upset her.
He would check up on any staff member, Richard told himself. But he knew that he was lying, for every day involved drama after drama. If he checked in on everyone he’d never get anything done.
‘Hey,’ he said to Stella. ‘Well done back there.’
‘I heard he’s doing well. What can I do for you, Richard?’
‘I was actually looking for Freya.’
He didn’t dress it up, or pretend he was here for another reason.
‘She’s gone home.’
‘Oh.’
‘A migraine, apparently.’
‘I see...’
‘She’s back on tomorrow—on a late,’ Stella said. ‘And that reminds me... It’s her birthday tomorrow. Can you sign the card?’
‘I haven’t got time for that. I need to get down to Surgical.’
‘It will take two seconds!’
They did it for everyone. Just a cake and a card. It was nice that a staff birthday didn’t escape unnoticed.
And so he took out his pen and scribbled a message.
Best wishes
Richard Lewis
Richard wrote what he always wrote—but he didn’t feel like he always felt.
He needed time to think—but when did an anaesthetist in a busy hospital get that?
* * *
By the end of the day the good outcome with Baby Dunstan had been countered by the loss of a twenty-year-old, and as he drove home Richard changed his mind—no, he would not miss the place.
And the drama didn’t end at work.
As the garage door beneath his apartment opened he was just pondering calling Freya, to check how she was faring, when he caught a flash of blonde hair. And as he got out of his car she rushed over to him and promptly burst into noisy tears.
Oh, God, Richard thought. Not now. Please!
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
THIRTY!
How the hell had that happened?
Freya awoke in a far less lumpy bed, thanks to the amazing mattress topper she had bought, and commenced her fourth decade on earth.
Whether she looked older or not, Freya thought as she came out of the bathroom and looked in the mirror, she didn’t feel older—and she didn’t feel wiser.
Freya just missed him so.
She was working a late shift, so she took her coffee back to bed and lay checking her messages. There were plenty, but Alison must have been waiting for her to switch on because her phone rang straight away.
‘You’re catching up to me,’ Alison said.
‘Ha-ha.’
‘Thirty! It’s awful, isn’t it?’
‘Not really. I feel the same as I did when I went to bed. It’s just the numbers that have changed.’
‘There’s a parcel here for you,’ Alison said. ‘I’m not going to lie and pretend I’ve posted it. You’re not coming home for your birthday?’
‘No,’ Freya said. ‘I messed up my days off.’
‘Any word on the man?’
‘No. He’s being very polite at work.’
‘Well, that’s good.’
‘Not really.’ Freya sighed. ‘And I’d be mad to base staying on here just for a chance with him.’ She was thinking out loud, really. ‘He told me never to rely on him...’
Only that had been right at the start.
‘And we were only together two months...’
‘Freya,’ Alison broke in. ‘You’re arguing with yourself.’
* * *
She had a lovely morning, spent mainly on the phone and opening the door to flower deliveries. There were some from her parents, from the staff at the Cromayr Bay birthing suite, and even a posy from Leah Roberts.
There was also a message in her inbox from Malcolm, saying that if she was coming home for her birthday perhaps it would be good to catch up and see where it might lead...
Hell, no!
Freya slammed her computer shut.
And then later she felt the utter joy that came with the job of delivering a little one who’d share the same birthday as her.
Sophie Reece started to arrive in the world one foot first, causing her midwife more than a moment of internal panic. But there was Stella, coming in through the door and being amazing, followed by Dr Mina, who was the most calming presence. And soon there was the body out, with just the head to come.
‘Patience...’ Dr Mina said.
Guy Masters came in, and Richard did t
oo, just in case this little one needed some more help. But, no, she was fine. Better than fine.
‘Happy Birthday!’ Freya said to the tiny new girl, once she was settled with her very delighted mum.
She was ready for her coffee break—seriously so—as well as a sit-down, but that wasn’t going to happen just yet.
‘Happy Birthday!’
And there they all were. Stella, Kelly and Angela, and there was Rita, and Guy Masters, and even Richard, no doubt hauled back to come in while passing.
And there was a cake, with ‘30’ written in glitter balls. Apparently Rita had made it.
But no candles.
‘They set off the smoke detectors,’ Stella explained.
Freya briefly met Richard’s eye and tried, as she had that first day, to think of a quip about fire extinguishers.
But she didn’t say anything—couldn’t think of what to say that would fit the moment.
She read her card.
Best wishes
Richard Lewis
She looked up, about to ask him what the hell that was supposed to mean, but he was suddenly gone.
So she ate cake, and laughed with her friends, and when Len came sniffing round for leftover cake for his animals Freya had it ready and wrapped for him.
It really was a lovely birthday.
Almost brilliant, in fact.
Just minus him.
But deep into her shift, coming up for nine o’clock, Freya was holding little Sophie while her mother got some very much deserved sleep and he came to the desk.
‘Hello, Richard Lewis,’ Freya snarked.
‘Hello, Freya Ross,’ he said, and took a seat at the computer.
‘Why are you still here, Richard?’ Stella checked. ‘I thought you finished at six?’
‘Yes, well, I’m covering for Simon, but I’m just about done.’
By the time little Sophie was asleep and about to be put in her crib he’d turned off the screen.
‘I’m out of here.’ But he spoke too soon, for immediately there came the ring of his phone.
‘Excuse me,’ he said to Stella as he answered the call.
But then he stopped being polite.
‘What?’
He was very curt.
‘I don’t know—and I told you not to call me at work. I’m heading to a long case in Theatre, so I can’t speak.’
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