The Baby Bonding

‘Another ten minutes and I get my pint,’ he said with a grin. ‘I think I’ll hold on for that.’

So Sam made coffee for Molly and himself, and poured juice for the children, and then, because it was such a lovely evening, they went out into the garden and sat amongst the scent of the roses and honeysuckle and listened to the droning of the bees while the children played in the sandpit a few feet away.

‘What a gorgeous spot,’ Molly said, delighted to know that Jack was living in such a lovely place. She and Libby lived in a very pleasant house with a pretty garden, in a tree-lined street convenient for the hospital and Libby’s school, but it was nothing like this. Sam’s house was only ten minutes from the hospital, fifteen from the town centre, and yet the peace and quiet were astonishing. They could have been miles from anywhere, she thought with a trace of envy, and then quickly dismissed it.

It wouldn’t have been nearly so convenient for them, particularly not for Libby, and Molly didn’t want to spend her life driving her daughter backwards and forwards every time she wanted to see a friend or visit her grandparents. It was hard enough fitting in Libby’s schedule around her own work timetable without having to factor in being a taxi service.

No, living in the town suited them, but she was still glad for Jack that he would grow up with the song of the birds drowning out the faint hum of the bypass in the distance.

‘So, what do you think of him?’ Sam asked softly, and she dragged her eyes from the little boy who wasn’t her son and smiled unsteadily across at him.

‘He’s gorgeous. Bright and lovely and…’

She broke off, unable to continue, and she looked away quickly before she disgraced herself.

‘It’s OK, Molly. I feel the same about him, so I do understand you.’

‘Do you?’ she said quietly. ‘I’m not sure I do. He’s not my son. Why do I feel like this for him?’

‘Because you gave him life?’

‘No. You and Crystal gave him life. I just incubated him until he was big enough to cope alone.’

‘Don’t underestimate your part in it. Without you he wouldn’t be here. I think that gives you the right to feel emotional the first time you see him in three years.’

She closed her eyes against the welling tears. ‘I’ve thought about him so much,’ she confessed softly.

‘You should have seen him,’ Sam said, his voice gruff. ‘I should have kept in touch, no matter what Crystal said. I wasn’t happy with it. I always felt she was wrong, and I should have done something about it. I’m sorry.’

Molly shook her head slowly. ‘She was his mother. She had the right to make that choice,’ she pointed out, determined to defend the dead woman’s decision even though it had torn her apart, but Sam made a low sound of disgust in his throat.

‘She didn’t want to be his mother,’ he said, his voice tight and dangerously quiet. ‘She went back to work when he was four months old, because she was bored at home. Seven months later she went off with her boss on a business trip to the Mediterranean, and she never came back. Her son wasn’t even a year old, and already she’d turned her back on him.

‘She wanted a life in the fast lane, and that was how she died—with her lover, on a jet-ski, late one night. They smacked into the side of a floating gin palace that was just coming into the harbour at Antibes and they were killed instantly. They’d both been drinking.’

Molly stared at him, shocked at the raw emotion in his voice, the anger and pain that had come through loud and clear even though his voice had been little more than a murmur. Without thinking, she reached out to him, laying her hand on his arm in an unconscious gesture of comfort.

‘Oh, Sam, I’m so sorry.’

He looked down at her hand, then covered it with his and gave her a sad, crooked smile before releasing her hand and pulling his arm away, retreating from her sympathy. ‘So was I. It was a hell of a way to find out my wife was being unfaithful to me.’

‘Didn’t you know?’

He shifted slightly, moving away as if even that small distance made him less vulnerable. ‘That they were lovers? I suppose I should have done. The signs were clear enough, although she’d never told me in as many words, but, no, I didn’t know. She’d been itching to get back to work from the moment Jack was born, apparently, but she’d never really said so. Like everything else, she just let me find out.’

‘But—why?’ Molly asked, stunned that anyone could keep secrets in a marriage. It wouldn’t have occurred to her to keep anything from Mick.

‘Just her way.’ He pursed his lips thoughtfully. ‘I suppose the first hint I had that things weren’t all sweetness and light was when I came home one day and found an au pair installed—so we’d have a resident babysitter, she told me. She wanted to go out at night to glitzy restaurants where you pay a small ransom for a miserable little morsel of something unpronounceable, when I was coming home exhausted from work and just wanted to fall asleep in front of the television with my son in my arms.’

‘So who won?’

He gave a sad, bitter little laugh. ‘Who do you think? Crystal wanted to go out—and what Crystal wanted, Crystal got. She said she had cabin fever—said she could understand how women got postnatal depression.’

‘And did it make any difference?’

Again the low, bitter laugh. ‘No, of course not. Then a few days later I opened a letter addressed to her by mistake. It was a credit-card bill, and in three weeks she’d run up thousands—and I mean thousands, literally. I went upstairs and looked in her wardrobe, and tucked in amongst the clothes she already had were loads of new things I’d never seen—sexy little dresses, trouser suits, skirts, tops, all designer labels, all from the big Knightsbridge stores—the sort of thing you’d wear if you wanted to seduce your boss.’

‘And it worked, I take it.’

‘Oh, yes. I confronted her about the clothes, and she cried and said she was miserable at home, and of course she loved Jack, but she just wanted to get back to work, she missed it. They were work clothes, she said. She had to look the part. So I paid the credit-card bill, and she went back to work, and the rest, as they say, is history.’

She wanted to reach out again, to comfort him again, but he’d withdrawn from her and she couldn’t. Instead she concentrated on watching the children, wondering how much this fractured upbringing had affected Jack.

Would she have had him for them if she’d known what had been in store? She’d had doubts about Crystal, but only when it had been too late, towards the end of her pregnancy. Had it been a mistake to hand him over at birth?

And then she heard Jack laugh, and saw the happy smile on his face and the love on Sam’s as he watched his son play, and she knew it hadn’t been a mistake, any of it.

Mick had died, too, although their stories couldn’t have been more different, but the result was the same and Libby was now in the same boat as Jack. Molly could never have said that having her daughter had been a mistake, or regretted her birth for a moment.

No, she had done the right thing for Jack. It was Crystal who had failed him, not her, and Sam was certainly making a good job of parenting him now, as she’d known he would.

She looked at her watch. ‘It’s getting late,’ she murmured, and Sam nodded.

‘Yes. I suppose they both ought to go to bed soon. Have another coffee before you go—just a quick one.’

And so she did, just because he didn’t seem to want her to leave and Libby and Jack were getting on so well, and in any case, given a choice she would have sat there all night watching Jack and absorbing every little detail about him.

She followed Sam back into the kitchen, deserted now that Debbie and Mark had gone to their own rooms in the little cottage on the end of the house, and as Sam made the coffee, she watched the children through the window.

‘Penny for them.’

She shook her head. ‘Nothing, really. It’s just so good to see him. I just want to hug him…’

Molly broke off and turned away, but before she could move far she was turned gently but firmly back and wrapped in a pair of strong, hard arms that gathered her against his chest and cradled her in his warmth.

The sob that had been threatening since she’d arrived broke free, and he shushed her gently and rocked her against his body, and gradually she felt her emotions calming, soothed by the comfort of his arms.

‘OK now?’ he asked, his voice gruff, and easing back from her he looked down into her eyes.

She nodded, dredging up a watery smile, and Sam lifted his hands and carefully smudged away the tears with his thumbs.

‘That’s better,’ he said, a smile hovering round his eyes, but then something shifted in their clear blue depths, and she felt her heart thump against her ribs. His brows drew together in a little frown of puzzlement and he eased away, releasing her abruptly and stepping back, busying himself with the coffee.

‘Um—about the photos. I’m not sure where they are. I’ll ask Debbie to dig them out. They know who you are, by the way, so you don’t have to worry about what you say in front of them if Jack’s not there.’

She nodded, willing her heart to slow down and her common sense to return.

If she hadn’t known better, she could have sworn he’d been about to kiss her and had then thought better of it.

No, not better. She couldn’t think of anything better than being kissed by him, but he obviously didn’t agree, to her regret.

Still, he was probably right. Their relationship was complicated enough without throwing that particular spanner in the works, however much she might want him to, and of course he had no idea how she felt about him—how she’d felt about him for years.

They went back out to the garden and drank their coffee and talked about the hospital—nice and safe and neutral, but there was a tension between them that could have been cut with a knife, and it was almost a relief when Sam put his mug down and stood up. ‘Right, time that young man went to bed, I think,’ he said briskly. ‘It’s nearly eight.’

Molly almost leapt to her feet, quick to follow his lead. ‘Good grief. I didn’t realise it was so late,’ she lied, and hustled Libby off the swing and towards the car.

Sam scooped Jack up, and just as she was about to get into the car, he leant over in Sam’s arms and held out his arms to her.

‘Kiss!’ he demanded.

Swallowing the lump in her throat, she hugged him gently and received his wet little kiss with a joy that brought the emotion surging back.

‘Night-night, Jack,’ she said unsteadily, and met Sam’s eyes. Her own must be speaking volumes, she realised, but he would understand. ‘Goodnight, Sam—and thank you.’

‘Any time,’ he said, his voice gentle, and the concern in his eyes nearly set her off again. She got hastily into the car, fumbled with her seat belt and drove away, eyes fixed on the road.

‘Are you OK?’ Libby said, seeing straight through her as usual, and with a little shake of her head she pulled over, folded her arms on the steering-wheel and howled.

Libby’s little hand came out and squeezed her shoulder, and Molly wrapped her hand firmly over her daughter’s and squeezed back.

‘Poor Mummy—you’ve missed him, haven’t you?’ she said with a wisdom way beyond her years, and Molly laughed unsteadily and nodded.

‘Yes. I miss Laura, too, but at least I see her. Still, I’ll be able to see Jack now, so it’ll be OK. It was just such a lot all at once. I’m sorry, darling. I’m all right now.’

She pulled herself together with an effort, blew her nose and wiped her eyes, and then swapped grins with her darling daughter. She was so like Mick, so sensible, so good at understanding her, hugely generous and loving.

Crazy, but even after all this time, she still missed him. He’d had the best sense of humour, the sharpest wit, the most tremendous sense of honour.

And dignity. Despite the accident that had left him in a wheelchair, and with all the resultant dependence on others for his most intimate bodily functions, Mick had never lost his dignity, and she’d been unfailingly proud of him.

She wondered what he would have made of her decision to be a surrogate mother. She’d always thought he’d have been supportive and understanding, but he would have worried about her. She could never have done it if he’d still been alive, but he wasn’t, and it had been something to do to fill the huge void that his sudden and unexpected death had left behind.

In those black months after the pneumonia had claimed him, she’d been lost. She’d cared for him for years, and suddenly there had been only her and Libby, and she’d felt useless.

She’d needed to be needed, and because of a chance remark, she’d been given an opportunity to do something to help others who were unable to have children naturally. Because of Mick’s paraplegia they’d only been able to have Libby with the help of IVF, and it was only one step further to imagine the anguish of a fertile mother who, due to a physical anomaly, was unable to carry her own child.

She couldn’t have done it except as a host, but neither of the two children she’d carried had been genetically hers. They’d both been implanted embryos, so handing them over hadn’t been like handing over her own child. That would have been too big a wrench.

Handing Jack over and knowing she wouldn’t see him again had been bad enough. It had taken her years to get over the pain, and she realised now that she had never truly recovered. If he’d been her own child, it would have destroyed her. It had nearly destroyed her anyway, but now, by some miraculous stroke of fate, he was back in her life, and she didn’t intend to let him out of it ever again.

The fact that Sam would also, by definition, be part of her life as well was something she would have to deal with—and so would he.

CHAPTER THREE

‘YOU’RE needed in A and E, Mr Gregory.’

He frowned. He was covering one of the other firms because the consultant was on holiday and the registrar was off sick, and, frankly, being on take again for the second day running was the last thing Sam and his registrar Robert needed. He hadn’t got round to any of that paperwork yesterday afternoon, and he’d hoped to get some done this morning before his afternoon clinic. There were urgent letters…

‘Can’t Robert do it?’ he asked, but the ward clerk shook her head.

‘Sorry, he’s already in Theatre, and it sounded quite urgent. The girl you saw yesterday—the one in the car who was unconscious and discharged herself?’

He was already on his way to the lift by the time she finished speaking. That girl had been a crisis brewing, and he’d been mulling her case over in his mind all night—in between remembering the look on Molly’s face when she’d seen Jack, and when the little tyke had kissed her goodbye. It had haunted him all night, racked him with guilt. He should have contacted her when Crystal died—should have insisted, even earlier, that they kept in touch.

Don’t go there, he told himself firmly, striding down the corridor to A and E. He palmed open the door and went through to the work station, where he was directed to Resus.

‘So what’s the story today?’ he asked, going in.

‘The same, except this time she was picked up in the street,’ Matt Jordan said tersely. ‘Drugs, possibly, or some bizarre form of epilepsy, but we’re getting some pretty confusing results. Positive pregnancy test, though, and we picked up a heartbeat for the baby, but it was pretty erratic. We’re getting a portable ultrasound down here now, and the neurologist is on his way.’

‘Still no ID?’

Matt shook his head. ‘No, nothing, but the car she was found in yesterday was stolen, and she hasn’t washed or changed her clothes since then, so I would guess she lives in a squat. That makes the drugs more likely, but I’m almost certain there’s something else as well.’

Sam nodded. That made sense. If only he could know what was making her black out, he could make a better assessment of the baby’s needs. Just then the portable ultrasound machine arrived, and within moments the baby’s existence was confirmed.

‘Well, she’s pregnant with a single foetus, and there’s a heartbeat, although it’s rather weak,’ the sonographer said to them. ‘I can’t tell you any more without the big machine.’

Just then the alarm on the heart monitor went off, and Matt swore softly under his breath.

‘Damn, she’s arrested.’

The team moved smoothly in to start CPR, but Sam was unhappy. After two minutes of frenzied activity, she was still showing no signs of recovery, and the baby was bound to be suffering from lack of oxygen by now, even with their best attempts to support her circulation.

‘How’s it looking?’ he asked tersely.

‘Lousy. I can’t worry about the baby, I’m going to have to shock her,’ Matt said. ‘There’s still a chance we can get her back, and if this is drugs, the baby’s chances are pretty slight anyway.’

Sam nodded agreement and stood back, watching grimly as they fought—and failed—to save her.

He checked the clock on the wall and sighed. They’d been working on her for nearly half an hour, and there was no way the baby was still viable, he didn’t think.

He took the business end of the portable ultrasound and ran it over her abdomen, but the heartbeat they’d detected before was gone, just a shadow remaining to show the position of the heart. The baby itself was motionless.

‘Damn,’ he said under his breath, then straightened up. ‘OK, forget the baby. We’ve lost it.’

And not only the baby. Despite the continuous external cardiac massage, shocking her, ventilating her, injecting her heart with adrenaline, still they were unable to get her back.

With a muttered oath Matt Jordan stripped off his gloves and looked up at the clock. ‘OK, everybody. That’s enough. Agreed?’

They nodded. ‘Time of death ten thirty-eight,’ he said, and scrubbed a tired hand through his hair. ‘If only she’d stayed in yesterday, given us a chance to assess her.’

‘She didn’t. You can’t hold people against their will,’ Sam pointed out. ‘There are too many damned if onlys in this job.’

He stripped off his gloves and gown, and after attending to the necessary paperwork he headed back towards Maternity, sick with the tragic waste of two young lives. Maybe the post-mortem would reveal why she’d died, but in the meantime he needed to get back to the paperwork on his other patients, finish those letters off.

Then maybe he’d have time for coffee with Molly, if she was free.

He growled under his breath. Molly. She was all he could think about, all he could focus on. It was going to drive him mad, if he wasn’t there already.

‘Mr Gregory?’

He paused and turned, and there behind him was a man of his own age, the badge on his white coat declaring him to be Mr Nick Baker, Accident and Emergency Consultant. He’d seen him in Resus a few minutes ago, dealing with another patient. Now he’d followed him, for whatever reason.

‘Mr Baker—what can I do for you?’

‘It’s Nick.’

‘Sam.’ He shook the man’s hand, his eyes making a rapid inventory while he waited for him to come to the point. Slightly shorter than Sam, his hair was rumpled as if he’d run his hands through it, and he had laughter lines bracketing extraordinary blue eyes, but there was no laughter in evidence now. His smile was taut, and didn’t reach his eyes.

‘It’s about my wife—she’s a patient of yours. She was under Will Parry, but he moved away, so you’ve inherited her. I don’t know if you’ve seen her notes, but I just wanted to fill you in.’

‘Sure—of course. Is there something I should know?’

He nodded. ‘She—we—lost a baby eight, nearly nine years ago. She had a congenital heart defect, and she was born at thirty-two weeks. This is our first child since, and—uh—’

‘You’re worried.’

His smile was wry. ‘Yes—just a bit. Sally’s thirty-five weeks now, and she’s been scanned in London because of the problems the other baby had, and everything seems fine with this baby’s heart, but—well, you know what it’s like once you’ve had a setback of any sort, and seeing that girl in there just now…’

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