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She stopped with her fingers on the doorhandle.
‘Am I picking you up or meeting you here? And what time?’
‘I’ll make my own way there,’ Jodie said. ‘It starts at seven in the canteen.’
‘I’ll see you there, then. At ten to seven.’
‘OK.’ Jodie left his office, closing the door behind her, and heaved a sigh of relief. It hadn’t been as bad as she’d expected…or, now she thought about it, had it? She had her date for the party, but she still had no idea whether he really wanted to be there or not.
‘Well, Mr Frosty, if the revue doesn’t thaw you out, nothing will,’ she said softly to herself.
Sam leaned back in his chair. He was walking on very thin ice indeed. Jodie had even given him the perfect get-out for not going to the party—so why hadn’t he jumped at it?
Because you want to see her all dressed up, the little voice in his head informed him. And then you want to take every scrap of material off her again…
Do not.
You’re in denial—Mr Frosty, the voice taunted him.
Sam groaned aloud. He was going to have an awful lot to live up to—but he was aware that distance wasn’t a style the ward was comfortable with. Maybe the party was his chance to show the rest of the team that he had a sense of humour, that he could laugh with them.
How long had it been since he’d laughed? Really laughed? Before Jodie had burst into his life and insisted on him going to Mario’s with the rest of the team?
He closed his eyes. Jodie again. Maybe he should have accepted her get-out. He wasn’t sure how he was going to cope, dancing with her. Holding her so close and knowing he couldn’t have her—ever. It wouldn’t be fair on either of them.
He smiled wryly. Who said life had to be fair? Besides, he knew there were people out there far worse off than he was—it was just that, right now, it didn’t feel like it.
Tomorrow morning, he decided, he’d have a convenient sore throat. One that got worse during the day so he wouldn’t feel up to going to the Christmas party. That way, Jodie wouldn’t think he was avoiding the party because of her. She’d still be able to go and enjoy herself, she wouldn’t be embarrassed dealing with him at work—and he wouldn’t have the torture of wanting something he knew he couldn’t have.
CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_8126e9f4-1332-51fd-9a97-515d8eceae68)
THOUGH, of course, Sam did nothing of the kind.
Although his path didn’t cross Jodie’s during their shifts the next day, he could have complained about his ‘sore throat’ to any of the nurses or junior doctors he worked with, knowing they’d pass the message on to Jodie. But something stopped him and at ten to seven he was striding down the corridor to meet her.
She looked absolutely stunning, Sam thought as he saw her standing by the entrance to the canteen. She’d piled her hair on the top of her head and little tendrils escaped here and there to soften the severity of the style. Her make-up was understated, just enough to emphasise her beautiful green eyes and tempting mouth. And the crimson raw silk shift dress suited her colouring perfectly. Not to mention showing just how long her legs were. She was wearing heels high enough to make her the same height as he was and a smile that made him feel as if a knife had been plunged into his stomach—because the smile was directed at the man who was talking to her. Mick Salmond, a nurse on their ward. The man who knew her well enough to order her pizza for her when she’d been late at Mario’s.
And the warmth of that smile…Was something going on between them? He searched his memory. Wasn’t Mick Salmond married? What the hell did Jodie think she was doing, having an affair with a married man?
‘Dr Price,’ he said stiffly, joining them. ‘I trust I’m not late.’
‘No. I was early.’
‘For once,’ Mick said, teasing her.
‘Huh. I’m not late all the time.’
‘Only on a day with a Y in it,’ the nurse retorted with a grin.
‘Yeah, yeah. Hey, Mick’s got some fabulous news.’ She dug her companion in the ribs. ‘Go on, tell him, before I burst.’
‘News?’ Sam echoed, frowning.
Mick beamed. ‘I’m going to be a dad!’
‘Congratulations.’ Sam forced the word out. Hadn’t he come to terms with this years ago? So why could those six little words still hurt him so much, the six words he’d never be able to say himself?
And why was Jodie going to burst? Was she the one expecting Mick’s baby?
The thought was like a physical blow. He felt winded, sick.
‘Shelley’s going to make a brilliant mum,’ Jodie said. ‘And she’s asked me to be godmother.’
Shelley? Godmother? The fog cleared and Sam suddenly realised what was going on. Jodie wasn’t having a baby. She was just excited for her friends and delighted at being asked to be godmother. So when it came to her own babies, she’d—
‘When it’s your turn,’ Mick said to Jodie with a grin, echoing Sam’s tortured thoughts, ‘I bet you’ll never get any housework or anything done. You’ll spend the whole day playing with your kids.’ He gave her a sidelong look. ‘Observing them at the same time. And you’ll write it up as a study paper when they’re in bed.’
Jodie rolled her eyes. ‘I will not. I’m not that bad, Mick.’
‘Yes, you are, Jo-jo. Look at the way you are with the kids on the ward. You even come in on your days off to play with some of them. You’ll be ten times worse with your own,’ he teased.
‘No, I won’t. I’ll be just like any other mum.’
‘As if!’ he scoffed. ‘I can see you with half a dozen.’
Jodie chuckled. ‘Yeah, right.’
‘So how many are you planning?’
She shrugged. ‘Depends.’ Her face softened. ‘One of each would be nice.’
‘You mean, so you get to play with the trains and the doll’s house?’ he teased.
‘Let’s p-l-a-y,’ Jodie teased back.
Just like any other mum. The words reverberated inside Sam’s head, numbing his senses. Just like any other mum. Meaning that Jodie, despite her protests at Mario’s, was planning to have children one day. One of each would be nice. Taking it for granted that she could have children—and so could her future husband.
‘Can’t you just see what our Jodie’ll be like with her kids, Mr Taylor?’ Mick asked, laughing.
‘Yes,’ Sam said shortly. He could just see Jodie with her arm round a three-year-old, reading him a story and getting him to act out one of the speaking parts while the baby was curled up asleep on her lap. I’ll huff, and I’ll puff, and I’ll blow your house down… He could imagine only too clearly the softness in her face, the deep enduring love of a mother in her eyes as she cuddled her children.
A stab of something—pain or envy—lanced through him as he listened to them talking about their future children. It amazed him how easily they could talk about their plans. If anyone had asked him, the words would have stuck in his throat. I can’t have babies. I’m infertile.
He became aware that Mick was talking again. ‘I dunno who called it morning sickness. Shelley gets it in the evenings.’ As if he’d sensed the message behind the sharp look Sam had given him, Mick continued, ‘I would have stayed with her to hold her hand and mop her face and what have you, but she wanted me to video the revue so she doesn’t miss out on it.’
‘Indeed,’ Sam said brusquely.
‘Mick wr—’ Jodie stopped abruptly, suddenly realising she’d been about to blurt out that Mick had written the revue. ‘Shall we go and sit down, Mr Taylor?’ She didn’t quite dare use his first name. Not when he was back in Mr Frosty mode. And why the sudden freeze? Something was obviously bugging Sam…but what?
I’ll be just like any other mum…One of each would be nice…
The words echoed round and round in Sam’s head as if his mind were stuck on continuous-loop replay, and he couldn’t stop it, even though it was torture. And the dreams he’d started entertaining about Jodie crumbled into dust.
He sat locked in misery until he realised that Jodie was shuffling in her seat, looking distinctly nervous. Then he realised why: the revue. It had been going on for ten minutes and he hadn’t even noticed.
He forced his attention to the stage. Yes, there was Mr Frosty: a consultant in a formal suit, a white coat and a snowman’s head, with an expressionless mouth, large grey eyes and a big carrot for a nose.
Stuart Henderson, one of the senior house officers, was playing Mr Frosty and had Sam’s mannerisms down to a T. Sam found himself laughing at the way various nurses pretended to be overcome with heat and Mr Frosty cooled them down by blasting snow at them. Jodie visibly relaxed when she saw Sam laugh. He found himself relaxing, too. Maybe he was reading too much into all this, overreacting. Hadn’t Angela always said he was too serious?
Finally there was the pièce de résistance—something Jodie obviously hadn’t expected, by her gasp of surprise followed by a giggle—the pantomime dog. One of the auxiliaries had made herself up like an English springer spaniel and trotted onto the stage, dropping a ball on the patient’s bed and saying, ‘Let’s play!’ She bounded up to every other actor on the stage—‘doctor’ and ‘patient’—saying, ‘Let’s play! It’s good for you. Let’s play!’
‘Hoist with your own petard?’ Sam whispered in her ear.
‘Deservedly.’ Though she didn’t look cross or embarrassed by the lampooning—just amused. In her shoes, Angela would have stormed off in a huff.
When the revue finished, Sam gave some of the loudest applause. He also collared Mick when they’d both helped to shift the chairs out of the way of the dancing area.
‘I…er…hope you weren’t offended,’ Mick said, shuffling his feet slightly.
‘If it weren’t for your impending fatherhood,’ Sam said coolly, ‘I’d be suggesting that you consider a change in career.’
Mick looked completely crestfallen, and Jodie—who’d joined them and had overheard Sam’s comment—was clearly about to jump to his defence when Sam added, ‘Your comic timing’s brilliant and you’ve an eye for detail and mannerisms. But nursing’s a steadier job than scriptwriting, so I’d stick with the day job for now. Besides, we’d all miss you too much on the ward if you went off to London.’
Mick stared at the consultant, open-mouthed. ‘For a minute there, I thought you were going to…’ He tailed off awkwardly.
‘Freeze you?’ Sam gave a rueful smile. ‘Message received and understood.’
‘Thanks for being such a good sport about it,’ Mick said.
‘Hmm. Well, another lesson’s been drummed into me tonight.’ With a sidelong glance at Jodie, he explained, ‘Play’s good for you.’
Jodie’s face clashed spectacularly with her dress. ‘I’m not really that over the top, am I, Mick?’
The other nurse nodded. ‘But the patients love it.’ He looked diffidently at Sam. ‘And they think a lot of you, too, sir.’
‘The name’s Sam, not sir,’ Sam corrected.
‘Sam.’ Mick smiled. ‘Well, have a good time, you two. I’m off to get some banana and anchovy pizza before I dare go home and show the missus this.’ He waved the video camera at them and headed for the exit.
‘Banana and anchovy?’ Sam and Jodie simultaneously pulled faces.
‘Am I really like a spaniel?’ Jodie asked Sam.
He tipped his head on one side, considering. ‘Well, I don’t see any evidence of a wet, shiny nose, big brown eyes, long ears or halitosis.’
Her colour deepened. ‘That isn’t what I meant.’
He smiled. ‘Your enthusiasm keeps everyone going.’
‘Oh.’ Jodie bit her lip. ‘Shall we get something to eat?’
‘As long as it isn’t banana and anchovy pizza.’
‘Definitely not!’ They wandered over to the buffet table and helped themselves to chicken satay, tiny bridge rolls and cheese straws. Jodie eschewed the mince pies in favour of chocolate cheesecake, and ate Sam’s share as well as her own.
‘I had you pegged as a traditionalist,’ Sam said.
Jodie grimaced. ‘I hate mince pies. And Christmas cake. And Christmas pud.’ She screwed up her nose. ‘I don’t care if dried fruit’s good for you, it’s revolting.’
Sam’s lips twitched. ‘So you have chocolate instead?’
Jodie spread her hands. ‘Chocolate’s actually quite healthy.’
‘That report about catechins was referring to top-quality plain chocolate,’ Sam said, surprising her. ‘And it didn’t say you should eat industrial-sized quantities of the stuff.’
‘You weren’t eating your cheesecake,’ she pointed out, ‘and it’d be a shame to waste it.’
‘Huh.’ Sam gave a mock grimace and the corners of his eyes crinkled.
Jodie felt her pulse accelerate and looked away. Not now. No, please, she couldn’t develop a huge crush on the man now. She was supposed to be getting him out of his shell, that was all. Though a part of her wanted to do much, much, more…
As the band started, Sam looked round and raised an eyebrow. ‘Is that Stuart Henderson again, on vocals?’
‘And air guitar. A man of many talents,’ Jodie said. ‘Not to mention a string of nurses desperate for his attention.’ She shrugged. ‘He’s young.’
Sam burst out laughing. ‘You’re starting to sound like me.’
‘You mean, old?’ she teased.
‘Listen, you, I’d hardly started at infant school when you were born.’
‘Uh-huh.’ Jodie tapped her nose meaningfully. ‘I believe you.’
To his surprise, Sam was thoroughly enjoying himself. How long had it been since he’d had some fun? Excluding Mario’s…too long, he thought. When his marriage had disintegrated, he’d buried himself in work and avoided the social side of hospital life completely.
Right now, he wanted to have fun. And if Jodie thought he was an old fogey, she was about to learn something! ‘Come on. Let’s dance,’ he said to her.
‘Dance?’
‘Move your feet, wiggle about a bit in time to music, that sort of thing.’
Was this really Sam Taylor, Mr Frosty, talking? Jodie thought. But the offer was too good to resist. ‘Let’s go,’ she said, putting her plate down on a convenient table.
Dance. She’d expected him maybe to do what everyone else at the party was doing—as he’d put it, ‘move your feet, wiggle about a bit’. But, no, Sam Taylor could really dance. When Stuart’s band switched to a rock ’n’ roll number, Sam was spinning Jodie round and getting her to do all sorts of complicated things that would have had Matt goggling at his clumsy kid sister’s performance.
When the music stopped, she was out of breath. And then she became aware that she and Sam were the only two on the floor—everyone else was standing watching them, applauding and cheering. Yet again that evening Jodie’s face clashed with her dress, and she retreated to the table where she’d left her plate.
‘Come on. Play’s good for you,’ Sam teased.
