Her Baby Out of the Blue
‘He came out of Intensive Care and I had two weeks sitting beside his bed in the spinal unit. Sleeping beside it. Dad and I took turns but it was too hard on my father so I stayed virtually the whole time.’
He had to sniff. To clear his throat. ‘There was nothing to do apart from hold his hand and talk. To let him meet his daughter. To let him grieve for Izzy—the love of his life. And to grieve for the future he was never going to have.’
The pain in his voice was palpable.
Jane had never had a sibling but she’d had her chosen sister, Izzy. How would it have been to have been sitting with her for weeks if her beloved Josh was gone? With them both knowing that even if she survived she would be unable to look after the baby she had longed for so desperately?
It was unimaginable. Jane’s heart went out to this man sitting here with the baby. Swallowing the painful lump in her throat, Jane moved slowly back to the empty chair and sat down.
‘I’m sorry.’ She closed her eyes as she sighed. Words could be so inadequate at times. ‘It must have been terrible for you. Josh was…he was a lovely guy.’
‘You knew him?’ The tone of surprise was squashed. ‘Of course you did, with you and Izzy being so close.’
‘We lived together. Josh moved in with us within a few days of meeting Izzy.’ Jane found a smile. ‘It really was a case of love at first sight.’
‘I would have come for the wedding if I’d been invited.’
He sounded…jealous? Jane had shared a special moment of his brother’s life that he’d been excluded from. She couldn’t feel sorry for him, surely, after what she’d been excluded from.
Maybe she could.
‘It was a spur-of-the-moment thing. A celebrant, a beach and a couple of surfers for witnesses. Izzy and Josh said it was the commitment to each other that mattered, not putting on a show for anyone else.’ Another smile tugged at her mouth even as something sad and raw twisted inside her. ‘We all wore jeans and we went paddling afterwards.’
‘In jeans? On a beach?’ Dylan shifted the baby in his arms and fished in the pocket of his well-worn leather jacket. A slightly crumpled photograph was produced. ‘Was that when this picture was taken?’
‘Yes.’ Jane had to press her lips together. She didn’t want to cry in front of a stranger. She needed to wind this interview up and have a little time to herself, hopefully, before her pager summoned her. ‘That…that was my official bridesmaid portrait.’
Dylan shook his head. ‘Why did it have to be so rushed? I would have come.’
‘It was kind of a celebration, I guess.’
‘Of what?’
Jane sighed. ‘Maybe resolution would be a better word. It had been a rather intense few weeks. Josh had proposed but Izzy refused to marry him and it was tearing her to pieces. Tearing us all to pieces.’
Dylan’s eyebrows rose. ‘I thought it was love at first sight? Why did she refuse?’
At least there was something Jane knew more about than Izzy’s brother-in-law.
‘She knew she couldn’t have babies and there was nothing Josh could say that would convince her it didn’t matter. Izzy could get very passionate about things. She had got it into her head that the only way she could show Josh how much she loved him was to have his baby.’
‘And why couldn’t she?’
‘Early menopause. Hit her at twenty-nine. Way before she met Josh. There was no warning, either, so she couldn’t try and harvest her own eggs and store them.’
‘So you stepped in and offered yours?’
‘Not exactly.’ He made it sound as if it had been a casual thing. An easy solution. ‘As I said, it was…intense.’ Fraught, more like. Izzy had made it seem that futures and friendships were on the line. ‘Izzy knew I was never going to have my own children. I—’
‘Why?’ The interruption was puzzled. ‘How did you know that for sure?’
‘Because I made a choice to have a career that doesn’t leave time to raise children, that’s why.’ Jane’s tone hardened. ‘Because my parents had full-on careers and I know what it’s like to be raised by parents who don’t have the time.’ Not that her upbringing was any of his business. ‘Yes, I got persuaded to help Izzy but, if I’m honest, I had doubts about it. There was an element of relief when it didn’t work.’
‘But it did work.’
As if to support the quiet statement, the baby in his arms stirred and squeaked.
I’m here, the noise said. I’m real.
‘I have her birth certificate if you’d like to see it.’
A cold prickle ran down Jane’s spine. ‘And that’s relevant because…?’
‘Because it has your name on it. As her mother.’
‘I’m not her mother!’
‘Biologically, you are. It was Josh who thought it was the best plan. We got legal advice and medical records as supportive evidence. You signed a consent to have your identity available.’
‘Only in case of a family medical history being needed. Or…a bone-marrow transplant or something.’ Jane stood up again. She needed to move. ‘This is ridiculous. I did not choose to have a child.’
Sophie squeaked more loudly. A grizzle that threatened to turn into a cry. Did she sense the rejection?
‘There’s lots of mothers out there who didn’t exactly choose to have a child.’The outrageous calm of Dylan’s voice showed he had absolutely no understanding of the implications of this situation. ‘They still bond with them when they arrive. They bring them up and they make good mothers.’
‘I have no intention of bonding with this baby.’ Oh, Lord, that sounded callous but it was the truth. ‘And I’m not about to have motherhood forced on me.’
Jane was pacing again. Towards her desk. Her nice tidy desk—as organised and precise as her life. There was the gold clock, the box of pens, a pad of sticky notes, another box with her business cards.
‘Here.’ Jane picked up one of the cards and marched back to present it to Dylan. ‘Here are my contact details. Call me tomorrow when I’ve had time to contact my solicitors. We’ll sort something out. A way I can contribute to this child’s welfare.’
‘That’s big of you.’ Dylan took the card and stuffed it into his pocket. He stood up, seemingly oblivious to the steady wail Sophie was now emitting. ‘But wee Sophie needs a bit more than money.’
‘It’s the best I can offer.’
‘I don’t agree.’
‘Look.’ The noise the baby was making was filling Jane’s head and making it impossible to think clearly. She had to escape. Find time to think about this. ‘She’s got you. You’re her uncle and you obviously care about her. I’ll help however I can but—’
Along with the strident sound of a distressed baby came the insistent beeping of Jane’s pager. She was needed. Where she belonged. In the paediatric intensive care unit or the ward or an operating theatre. She had to escape and step back into her real life.
Away from this nightmare.
Jane turned, ready to pick up the telephone on her desk and find out where she was needed.
‘Oi!’
Jane’s jaw dropped. Her astonishment at such an inappropriate command was enough to actually make her turn back.
‘You made a choice,’ Dylan said, his voice low and dangerous. ‘You made it possible for this baby to come into the world. You have to take responsibility for that choice.’
‘But I told you. I—’
‘No.’ He was furious now, the word was ground out from a clenched jaw. ‘I won’t have it. Sophie deserves better than this. Sophie,’ he repeated, holding out the shrieking bundle. ‘Your daughter.’
She had no idea how it happened. It was all too fast and noisy and totally unexpected. There she was, facing an angry man and a baby making a sound that would scramble anyone’s brains, and a heartbeat later—here she was…
Holding that baby and watching incredulously as the man stormed out of her office.
CHAPTER THREE
HOW could he have done that?
Walked out and left her—literally—holding the baby?
An incredulous huff left Jane’s lungs as she scanned the now deserted corridor outside her office.
‘Shh!’ She jiggled the baby but, if anything, the decibel level increased.
Jane stepped back into her office and shut the door with her foot. Perhaps it was lucky the corridor was deserted. What would her colleagues think of this?
Jane Walters—dedicated paediatric surgeon who was letting nothing interfere with her meteoric rise through the consultant ranks. An accidental mother? Without ever having had sex with the baby’s father or having been pregnant?
There would be an endless stream of jokes about immaculate conceptions and stress-free pregnancies. People would be sniggering at her instead of giving her the respect she had worked so hard to earn.
With an inward groan, Jane recognised the kind of single-minded focus she had given her career taking over yet again. This was rather bigger than being labelled a nerd because she wanted to study instead of partying, however. She was turning the spotlight on herself and her career instead of what actually mattered in this moment of time.
Izzy…
No. She couldn’t go there and imagine a world without the person she loved the most. Falling to pieces here and now wasn’t going to help anyone, and if it became known it might do more damage to her credibility than producing an unexpected baby.
Izzy’s baby.
One that she had wanted desperately enough to beg her for help. What if Izzy could see her now? It was too easy to imagine her friend’s passionate expression. To feel the bond that had made them so close.
Please, Izzy would say. You have to help me here, Janey. You’re the only person who can.
‘Shh!’ Jane tried to push away the echo of Izzy’s voice. She looked down at the tiny, screwed-up face amongst the folds of fuzzy blanket. ‘Goodness, you’re red!’ she exclaimed. ‘Is there something wrong with you, baby?’
She could deal with that. Jane sat on the edge of the chair and leaned forward to lay the bundle down carefully on the floor. She peeled back the blanket.
Izzy’s baby, she reminded herself as she looked at tiny starfish hands and a miniature body in a soft, stretchy, pink suit.
‘Maybe you’re too hot.’
It certainly felt hot. And damp. And the smell was a lot less than pleasant. Jane found herself automatically looking up, half expecting a nurse or parent to step in and deal with this.
Jane diagnosed things. She saw babies when they were clean and awake. Often when they were crying like this, in fact. She saw them later, when they were sedated and quiet and again when they were recuperating and, of course, the time she almost loved the most—when they were completely asleep.
Anaesthetised.
A time when she could use her not inconsiderable powers of concentration and learned skills to fix whatever was wrong and make life a whole lot better for them.
Jane Walters did not change dirty nappies. Or feed babies. She cuddled them sometimes. Once she got to know them—inside and out—they were a part of her professional life and she cared passionately about those children. So much so that she’d never once regretted her decision not to have children of her own. She didn’t have the time or need for them. Being able to go home and have a complete break was what enabled her to give everything she had—and more sometimes—to her patients.
This baby had sprung from her personal life, not her professional one. Jane didn’t cuddle babies like this. Not when they needed the kind of attention a nurse could deliver much more effectively. Not when they needed their mothers.
Oh….God!
Jane stared down at the miserable scrap of humanity on her floor.
Was it really possible she was the closest thing to a real mother this child would ever have? No. Being a mother had far more to do with what happened after the biological chemistry took place. She wasn’t a mother. She couldn’t even begin to feel like a mother. She didn’t want to!
The ringing of her desk phone took a while to penetrate both the noise of Sophie crying and Jane’s stunned thought processes. By leaning back in her chair she could reach the phone on the corner of her desk.
‘Dr Walters?’
It was her registrar. ‘Mike. How’s it going?’
‘Did you get my pager message?’
Good grief. Jane had completely forgotten her pager had even sounded. Her life was in chaos.
‘Hang on.’ She unclipped it from the elastic band of her scrub suit pants. ‘You’re in ICU?’
‘Yes. Where are you?’
‘Um…’ There was no way he wouldn’t be able to hear the background noise. ‘I had to go down to Emergency.’
‘Sounds like you’ve got an unhappy customer.’
‘Yes.’ The baby was still howling but it was a tired sound now, with an occasional, miserable hiccup. Jane’s gaze slid towards the car seat Dylan McKenzie had also left behind. To the bag with the visible nappy. Was there a bottle in there as well? Formula?
‘A neonate?’ Mike sounded interested at the prospect of a new patient.
‘Yes.’ Jane needed to change the subject. To find out what Mike wanted and then get off the phone so she could try and think of how to cope. ‘What’s happening with William? He looked stable when I saw him in Recovery.’
‘He’s tachycardic. Blood pressure’s dropped a bit.’
‘Any abdominal signs? What’s happening with drainage?’
‘I can’t see any indication of bleeding. Drainage is minimal. There’s no distension.’
‘Urine output?’
‘Also minimal.’
‘Oxygen saturation?’
‘Good. Ninety-eight per cent.’
‘Increase the rate of IV fluids and see if you can get his BP stable. I’ll be up as soon as I can. I just need a few minutes to sort this…’
What—this baby? The situation? The feeling like she’d been sideswiped from her chosen path through life and was falling into a huge crevasse?
Mike didn’t wait for an explanation. As always, he was eager to impress. ‘I’ll be here. I’ve finished on the ward for now. Everything’s looking good.’
‘Fine. I’ll pop in there later.’
Jane ended the call. The ward wasn’t far away. The charge nurse, Margaret, was experienced and unflappable. Just the person Jane needed right now.
My friend’s in trouble, she practised silently as she wrapped Sophie back in her blanket and took the bag from the car seat. A family emergency. I’ve got to look after this baby for a little while and I really need some assistance. Just until I’ve seen all my patients.
And possibly taken one back to Theatre, but even so it shouldn’t be for more than an hour or two. Jane eased the safety strap over the lumpy bundle and secured Sophie into the carry seat.
And what then?
Jane carried the seat in one hand and the bag in the other, leaving her office and heading towards the paediatric wards. What if Izzy’s brother-in-law didn’t come back and take over the care of this infant?
She couldn’t very well leave it in the hospital over-night. Questions would be asked. Social Services might be contacted. The truth would emerge.
At least it was Friday. At worst, if she had to take the baby home, all she had to deal with workwise tomorrow was a morning ward round. Then she would have until Monday morning to get this mess sorted out.
And she would get it sorted out.
There was simply no alternative.
Nine p.m.
Dylan McKenzie returned the smiles from a group of young girls who teetered on their high heels as they passed the park bench he was sitting on. The ones who weren’t flat out texting absent friends on their mobile phones turned their heads for another look.
‘Come with us,’ one of them called cheekily. ‘It’s Friday night. Time to party!’
Dylan shook his head, his smile fading. ‘I’ve got a date,’ he responded. ‘But you have fun. And take care,’ he added.
They were far too young to be heading for a night on the town in their skimpy tops and tight jeans. No more than fifteen or sixteen, surely? Did their parents know where they were and what they were up to?
Would Sophie be off doing things like this when she should still be safely under adult supervision?
Dylan sighed. Funny how one’s view of the world changed so dramatically when one became a parent.
Or an almost parent.
He sighed again. More than twenty-four hours of travelling to get from Edinburgh, Scotland, to Christchurch, New Zealand, were taking their toll. He’d never felt this tired.
Or this despondent.
Okay, he’d hardly expected Jane Walters to fall over herself in delighted surprise at being presented with her baby but she’d been so obviously uninterested. Appalled, in fact.
She didn’t want Sophie.
She’d offered him money to try and make the problem go away.
Not many things made Dylan really furious. He prided himself on being able to see both sides of any conflict and being able to retain dignity, if not a sense of humour, in dealing with adverse circumstances, but that had made him angry.
So angry that walking out had seemed the only way to make his point. That Dr Walters had to shoulder at least some of the responsibility. And he’d been worried sick ever since.
What was happening? She might have left Sophie in the care of someone else. It wouldn’t be impossible for someone in her position to engage the help of the paediatric ward staff, for instance, and knowing that had been why Dylan hadn’t immediately turned round and gone back after his dramatic exit.
But she might have called the police. They might be hunting for him right now, with a warrant for his arrest for having abandoned a helpless baby. If so, he’d be easy enough to find, sitting here in public view beside the river only a few minutes’ walk from the hospital. With a backpack beside him to advertise that he wasn’t a local.
He’d been sitting here for a very long time now. Hours. Trying to see a way forward. A future he had never envisioned. It wasn’t that he wasn’t prepared to turn his world upside down to care for his niece because he was quite willing to do that. So was his father, but they’d both agreed that what Sophie really needed was a mother.
Preferably her own. The woman who was genetically closer to Sophie than either her uncle or her grandfather. It had been worth a try, anyway, but it certainly wasn’t looking a likely prospect.
Dylan’s legs felt stiff as he finally got up from the bench. According to the business card in his hand and the map now stuffed into the side pocket of his backpack, he was about at the halfway point between the hospital and the address where Jane Walters lived.
She would be home by now. If she had even a spark of responsibility or humanity, she would have taken her baby with her. If she hadn’t, that would be that as far as Dylan was concerned. He would find where Sophie was and take her back to the other side of the world.
Why wouldn’t she stop crying?
Margaret had said she had just been fed and changed when Jane had collected her from the ward around 8 p.m. Tucked into the car seat, the baby had been happy enough until the short taxi ride to her apartment block had ended. The miserable wailing had started as Jane had slipped the key into the lock of her penthouse door and it hadn’t stopped since.
This baby knew it was in the wrong place and with the wrong person and there was nothing Jane could do about that because that’s how it was. She paced the distance of her open-plan living, dining and kitchen area. Round and round. Rocking the baby. Talking to her. Trying to reassure both the baby and herself. Trying to unravel the knot of anxiety that could morph into something close to panic as it sat there, like a stone, in her stomach.
She actually felt sick. There had been no time to boil a kettle for a hot drink, let alone think about making any dinner. Jane still hadn’t even pulled the drapes that covered the wall of glass overlooking the huge central city park across the road.
‘It’ll be OK,’ she told Sophie. ‘He’s coming back. You were happy enough with him before, weren’t you?’
A lot happier than she was with her biological mother, that was for sure.
‘He’ll look after you. He loves you.’
He had certainly given the impression that he loved this baby. She had looked so comfortable and safe in those strong, male arms.
‘He looks like a very nice man.’
His brother had been at any rate. Jane had never allowed a serious relationship to interfere with her life goals. No, that wasn’t entirely true. The men she’d been attracted to were like herself. Highly intelligent, focused and ambitious, and she was not the type of woman they wanted in their lives. Those men wanted support and admiration, not competition.
Izzy had loved her work and had been smart enough to find it easy, but she had been more than willing to give up any notion of a high-powered job as a consultant to be a wife and mother. She’d been planning to work as a general practitioner. To share a practice and life and parenthood with the man who had captured her heart so completely.
And while Jane couldn’t think of anything worse as far as a career went, she’d been envious of that overwhelming kind of love. Like being a mother, it was something she knew she’d chosen not to allow room for in her life.
Sophie was still crying. The knot in Jane’s stomach was like a cramp now and thoughts of Izzy were crowding in on her. Izzy and Josh. She could imagine how incredulous they would have been to discover the IVF treatment had succeeded. How special it must have been to keep their secret and wait. She could see them so clearly. Josh with his hand on an expanding belly and Izzy with her face shining with hope and excitement and love…
And now Jane had tears streaming down her own face as she kept walking, and she was holding Sophie more tightly, her head bent so that the fuzzy duck blanket soaked up her tears. The baby’s crying was like an echo of her own grief and Jane hardly heard it until she became aware of the insistent knocking on her door.
Was she disturbing the elderly tenants that lived below? Had they come to see what on earth was going on? To complain?
Jane scrubbed her face with the corner of the blanket and took a deep, shuddering breath, determined to gain control. Her neighbours were going to have to deal with this temporary inconvenience.
Just like she was doing.
The ice queen had been crying!
Dylan gave himself a mental shake. The title was inappropriate.
His anger and anxiety had left in a rush a few minutes ago when he’d been standing over the road and had seen Jane walking past her windows, her head bowed over the bundle she was holding in her arms.
She’d done the right thing and had taken her daughter home with her and she was holding her. Cuddling her. Hearing the sound of the baby crying had been a surprise. Seeing how wrecked Jane Walters looked when she opened the door was disturbing.
She was still very pale and now there were dark circles under eyes that were reddened and had drops of moisture clumping the lashes. Wordlessly, Dylan stepped inside and took Sophie from her arms.
‘Hey, hinny,’ he said softly. ‘What’s the matter? It’s all right. Everything’s all right.’
The door closed behind him as he rocked the baby. From the corner of his eye he saw the way Jane leaned back against the door and closed her eyes, folding her arms around herself as though she still needed something to hold. Dylan had to fight the urge to use one arm to draw her close. To…comfort her.
Instead, he pretended complete focus on Sophie and kept his tone neutral.
‘Is she hungry?’
‘She was fed about an hour ago. And changed.’ Jane was straightening up now.
‘And have you eaten?’
‘N-no.’ She sounded surprised that he would ask.
‘Neither have I.’ Dylan was still rocking Sophie and her cries were fading. ‘Have you got enough of something for both of us?’