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‘I said you were worrying needlessly, didn’t I?’ David grinned when she finally managed to get Jamie into bed.
‘I’m his mother,’ she protested. ‘Worrying goes with the territory.’
‘I’m his uncle, and I say you worry too much.’
She did—she knew she did—just as she also knew she would never change.
‘How was your day?’ she asked, deliberately changing the subject.
‘I didn’t get the promotion.’
‘Oh, David…’
‘To be honest, I never really expected to. Admin and I have never really seen eye to eye, so…’ He shrugged. ‘It’s no big deal, Annie.’
But it was. Her brother was a gifted obs and gynae specialist registrar, and if anyone deserved being made consultant at the Merkland Memorial it was him. He’d been so good to her, too. Bringing her back to Glasgow when she’d told him she was pregnant, insisting she stay with him after Jamie was born, and it hadn’t been his idea for her to move out and get a place of her own.
‘I can’t—and I won’t—live off you, David,’ she’d told him when he’d protested at her decision—and had protested even more when he’d seen the flat. ‘It’s time I was independent.’
He’d agreed eventually, had even paid her first month’s rent, and now he hadn’t got the promotion he deserved because the administration at the Merkland didn’t like his innovative ideas.
‘David, couldn’t you—?’
‘You haven’t told me how you got on at the Belfield.’
Who was changing the subject now? she thought, but he clearly didn’t want to talk about his own problems so obediently she told him. Told him every single, humiliating incident, and by the end, to her surprise, she was laughing about it as much as he was.
‘Honestly, love, when you mess things up, you really go for it,’ he exclaimed, wiping the laughter from his eyes. ‘This Gideon bloke sounds all right, though. How old is he—fifty—sixty—nearing retirement?’
‘Late thirties, I’d guess, but I don’t see—’
‘Good-looking—pot ugly? Look, just answer the question, OK?’ David continued when she looked even more confused.
‘Ordinary-looking, I guess, but tall—very tall—with brown hair. Well, it’s more sort of beech nut brown, really,’ she amended, ‘with little flecks of grey at the sides. His eyes are brown, too. A kind of hazel brown—’
‘Not that you noticed, of course.’
Her brother’s eyes were dancing, and she gave him a very hard stare. ‘David…’
‘Pretty junior doctor Annie Hart arrives for her first day at work and falls headlong into the arms of tall, ordinary—but apparently not all that ordinary—consultant Gideon Caldwell. Their eyes meet across a bedpan—’
‘And he hits her with it because she’s the ward dork,’ she finished dryly. ‘David, Mr Caldwell would never be interested in me in a million years. And even if he was, I certainly wouldn’t be interested in him.’
‘Annie, not all obs and gynae consultants are rats,’ her brother protested, ‘and giving up on men because of what happened to you in Manchester is crazy. You’re only twenty-eight. That’s way too young to have stopped dating.’
‘You date enough for both of us,’ she said with a laugh, then quickly put her hand up to her brother’s lips to silence him. ‘David, you’re my big brother, and I love you dearly, but I’ve got my son, and you, and now I’ve got a job. I don’t need anything else.’
And she didn’t, she thought when David went home still muttering under his breath.
She’d vowed four years ago never to let another man into her life. Never to let anyone get close enough to hurt her the way Nick had, and she’d meant it. She’d loved him so much. Believed him when he’d said he loved her. Trusted him when he’d said he was getting a divorce. And then he’d walked away, leaving her with nothing.
No, not with nothing, she thought wryly, picking up one of Jamie’s toys. Jamie had been the accidental result of one of their nights of love-making, and despite everything she could never regret him.
Yes, the last four years had been tough, but things were starting to look up. Gideon Caldwell could have fired her today, and he hadn’t. Jamie could have hated the day-care centre, and he’d loved it. It was going to be all right. If she could just hold onto this job, everything might finally be all right.
CHAPTER TWO (#u22337ca9-cbb9-5fb2-804f-64e0d55aa8f6)
‘DON’T want to go to the day centre. Want to stay home with Mummy.’
Annie glanced at the kitchen clock then back to her son’s truculent face with a groan. She didn’t need this, not today. Not when Gideon had asked her to sit in on his morning clinic for the very first time.
‘I thought you liked the centre. You said the toys were terrific—’
‘Don’t want to go. Don’t like it there any more.’
Annie put his cereal bowl in the sink, her brain working overtime.
‘I could collect you early today,’ she suggested. ‘I should be finished at the hospital around two o’clock, and after I’ve done some quick shopping—’ frantic, more like ‘—I could collect you at three.’
Jamie didn’t look impressed. In fact, he looked even more truculent. ‘I’ve got a sore tummy.’
‘I’m not surprised considering how fast you ate your breakfast.’
‘I mean a really sore tummy. And a sore head.’
She stared at him uncertainly. He’d been perfectly fine when he’d got up this morning, and he looked perfectly fine now, but…
‘Wait here while Mummy gets her thermometer,’ she ordered.
‘Don’t want the termoneter,’ Jamie yelled after her. ‘Want to stay home.’
And I’m the worst mother in the world, Annie thought when she’d taken his temperature and found it to be normal. It was obvious what was happening. The novelty of going to the centre had worn off and this was Jamie’s way of telling her he felt abandoned, but what could she do? She had to work to keep a roof over their heads. She couldn’t keep on relying on David for the rest of her life.
‘Sweetheart, Mummy has to work—you know she does.’
‘You never did when we stayed with Uncle David,’ Jamie argued, his face beginning to crumple.
‘Look, if you’re a good boy and go to the centre, I’ll buy you that pudding you like for tea,’ she said swiftly. ‘The one with the chocolate bits in it?’
And now I’m bribing him, she thought, seeing Jamie’s face miraculously clear. Bribing my own son. But I don’t have time for this. Dr Dunwoody is only just speaking to me after the tea trolley disaster on Monday, and if I’m late…
‘Can I have chips for my tea, too?’ Jamie asked as she helped him on with his coat. ‘And beans—can I have beans with my chips?’
Beans and chips, and chocolate pudding. The hospital nutritionist would faint clean away at the sound of that diet, but if she said no she’d never get Jamie to the centre.
‘OK, but only for today as a special treat,’ she replied, salving her conscience. ‘Now, remember—’
‘Not to sing or shout going down the stairs, ’cos Mrs Patterson will come out wearing her grumpy face.’
Annie’s heart constricted as she stared down at her son. He was only four. He should be able to run and play whenever he wanted, but their landlady had made her feelings only too plain when they’d moved into the flat above hers.
‘It was bad enough when I rented the place to those university students,’ she’d sniffed. ‘Playing their stereos at all hours of the day and night, never shutting a door when they could bang it, but I refuse to have my eardrums blasted by a screaming child. No offence meant, Ms Hart, but I’ve always been a firm believer in speaking my mind.’
And speak it she had. Constantly.
But at least not today. For once Annie managed to tiptoe down the stairs and past Mrs Patterson’s door without having to endure her usual catalogue of complaints. She’d undoubtedly have to hear them when she arrived home this afternoon, but at least she’d missed them this morning. Now all she had to do was to get Jamie to the centre, and herself to the hospital on time.
A task she had about as much hope of achieving as flying, she realised, glancing down at her watch with a groan.
‘Where have you been?’ Liz exclaimed when Annie flew into the staffroom at ten past eight. ‘I’ve been stalling for you as long as I could but—’
‘Is Woody blowing a fuse?’ Annie interrupted, throwing her coat over one of the staffroom chairs.
‘Luckily for you she’s been on the telephone for the past fifteen minutes, trying to discover what’s happened to the X-rays she ordered for Mrs Douglas. It’s Gideon I’ve been stalling, and by now he must think you’ve got severe bladder problems.’
‘Bladder problems?’ Annie repeated, pausing in the middle of dragging on her white coat.
‘I had to come up with something to explain your absence so I said you were in the loo. Now, for heaven’s sake, get yourself along to his consulting room fast.’
Annie needed no second bidding. She was out the door, running. Head down, heart racing, along the corridor, round the corner, and to her utter horror slap bang into Gideon yet again.
‘I’m sorry—so sorry,’ she gasped, disentangling herself from his arms as fast as she could, red-cheeked with embarrassment.
‘I’m not.’ He grinned. ‘In fact, I think I could get to quite like this. Not every day, of course—you can have too much of a good thing—but once in a while? Yup, I reckon I could live with that.’
He was joking—she knew he was—trying to make her feel better—but it didn’t help.
Why did this have to keep on happening to her? She never used to be so inefficient. She never used to be so clumsy, and yet in less than a week at the Belfield she’d been late twice, trashed the contents of a tea trolley and now cannoned into her boss for the second time.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said unhappily. ‘I know I’m late again.’
‘I wondered about that. Liz kept telling me you were in the toilet, and I was beginning to think you might need to see me in a professional capacity.’
He was smiling but, try as she may she couldn’t smile back. ‘Please, don’t blame Sister Baker—she was only trying to help. I had…There were problems at home.’
All amusement instantly disappeared from his face. ‘Nothing serious, I hope?’
Just my son realising that when I leave him I’m going to be gone for hours. Just the question of what am I going to do tomorrow, or the day after, if the same thing happens again.
Tell him, her mind whispered, he’ll understand.
But what if he didn’t? The male doctors at the Manchester Infirmary had been anything but sympathetic when a female doctor was late, or distracted, because of family problems.
‘Unreliable’ had been one of their favourite comments. ‘Not sufficiently committed’ had been another. And always the implication had been the same. That it was a mistake to employ a female doctor with a young child.
‘No, it was nothing serious,’ she said. ‘Everything’s fine.’
‘But—’
‘Do I have time to look at the files of some of the patients you’ll be seeing this morning?’
He knew she was changing the subject. He also looked as though he’d very much like to press her on why she’d been late, but abruptly he turned on his heel and led the way into his consulting room.
‘Take your pick.’
She stared at his desk. Her pick? Good grief, there had to be at least fifty—if not more—files sitting there.
‘How long did you say this clinic was supposed to last?’ she asked involuntarily, only to colour when she suddenly realised how that might sound. ‘Not that it matters, of course. I mean, that’s what I’m here for—to learn, to assist. And I know we don’t work nine to five, and—’
‘Annie, I wasn’t about to whip out a placard with the words “Poor attitude—lack of commitment” written on it,’ he snapped. ‘So relax, OK?’
The colour on her cheeks darkened. ‘Yes. Sorry.’
‘Half of those files belong to patients we’ll be seeing today. The other half belong to patients I’ll be seeing on Monday, and I’m taking them home with me for a quick read-through at the weekend.’
‘Oh, right.’ She nodded. ‘Sorry.’
And I wish to heaven you’d stop apologising to me, Gideon thought, selecting the top file from the pile on his desk and handing it to her. The woman he’d met on the stairs might have got his intentions all wrong but at least she’d had some spunk about her. Lord, but she’d been angry that day, her blue eyes flashing, contempt plain on her face, but he’d liked her. He still did, but not when she behaved like some stressed-out, scared rabbit.
She’d said there’d been trouble at home. Could she be looking after an infirm or elderly relative—was that why she’d been late this morning? Her file might tell him but to get it he’d have to ask Admin, and he knew only too well what the gossiping girls who worked there would make of such a request.
‘Mr Caldwell’s interested in Annie Hart,’ they’d snigger, and they’d be right.
But not in the silly, lovesick way they would mean. His interest was purely professional. Based solely on safeguarding the best interests of the department. And yet as he saw a small frown suddenly crease her forehead he couldn’t help but wonder what it would take to make her smile—really smile. Dammit, she couldn’t be any more than twenty-seven or twenty-eight, and yet she looked as though she carried all the cares of the world on her shoulders.
‘Annie—’
‘Miss Bannerman has fibroids?’
Well, it wasn’t quite what he’d had in mind as a topic of conversation, but if talking about their first patient would make her relax he was more than willing to go with it.
‘Carol was referred to me six months ago because of excessive menstrual pain and bleeding, and bladder problems.’
‘The bladder problems would be due to the pressure of her fibroids?’ she suggested, and he nodded.
‘Fibroids—or benign tumours of the uterine muscle to give them their correct name—are very common amongst women over thirty-five. It’s only when they start to interfere with a woman’s life—as they have done in Carol’s—that we need to do something about them.’
She handed him back the file. ‘I notice you’ve been treating her with drugs.’
‘Fibroids are caused by too much oestrogen in the body. If we can decrease the level, the fibroids usually shrink, and the pain and excessive bleeding lessens, but—’
‘The drugs can’t cure the fibroids, and as they tend to have side-effects if taken for too long, it’s not a long-term solution,’ she finished for him.
He stared at her thoughtfully. Woody had said she was bright, and she obviously was, but bright doctors didn’t necessarily make good ones. Annie could have all the book learning in the world, but if her communication skills with patients were as poor as they were with him…
He cleared his throat. ‘On Carol’s last visit I told her she really only had two options. A hysterectomy, or a laparoscopic myomectomy. She’s coming in today to discuss those options, and I’d like you to advise her.’
‘Me?’ she faltered. ‘But—’
