The Pregnant Registrar

When he didn’t respond she pushed on regardless, trying to somehow rewind, to wipe the slate clean without revealing too much of herself. ‘It’s sad and everything, awful actually…’ Her voice trailed off, realising how awful she was sounding, as if she had a plum in her mouth, hating the sound of her own voice as she reeled off a few more platitudes while knowing it was useless.

Unfeeling bitch.

She could almost feel him punching out the letters as he labelled and pigeonholed her, but as Dr Browne and his entourage swept into the ward the rather uncomfortable conversation was left behind as Corey gave a small eye roll. ‘Ready for the off?’

The ward round took for ever. Dr Browne was rather old school and even Lydia was slightly taken aback by the in-depth discussions at the cots, sure the barrage of scenarios he detailed wouldn’t be very comforting for the anxious parents. After a rather gruelling hour it was a rather washed-out Lydia who finally sat down at the nurses’ station, simultaneously clicking away at the computer and wrestling with a mountain of notes to write up the ward round findings and formally prescribe new courses of treatment as the junior doctors set to work on the barrage of tests and drug charts that needed completing. Looking up, Lydia noted Corey quietly making his way around the unit, talking in turn to each of the parents, presumably answering the multitude of questions the ward round would have thrown up and hopefully clarifying a few issues.

He was good, she had to admit it. Most NUMs would be dashing off to a meeting or holing themselves up in the office by now, but Corey had barely left the shop floor all morning.

He was good-looking. too.

Where that thought had appeared from Lydia had no idea. For the last few months she had wandered the world in a curiously asexual state, too focused on her own troubles to register irrelevancies like looks, gender, emotions. Now suddenly here she was, five months into the most nauseous pregnancy in history, sworn off men for the next millennium at the very least, staring across the ward at a man she knew absolutely nothing about and who, more to the point, was probably gay! Giving herself a mental shake, Lydia dragged her eyes back to her notes, trying to cross-reference some lab results on the computer as she filled in the patients’ history in her vibrant purple scrawl. Even though she was a registrar, even though she probably wrote the blessed word five times a working day, as she stumbled through the mental block that the spelling of the word ‘diarrhoea’ eternally produced she found her eyes drifting back to him.

Very good-looking, she mentally reiterated, in a rugged sort of way. Dark curls that needed a cut coiled on the back of a very thick neck, and the set of his wide shoulders made him look more like a rugby player than a neonatal nurse, which, however politically incorrect, begged a question in itself which Lydia answered this time in a nano-second.

Corey Hughes was definitely not gay.

He looked up then, a slightly confused smile crinkling his eyes as he caught her staring. An extremely unbecoming blush whooshed up Lydia’s cheeks as he made his way over.

‘Everything all right?’ he asked, frowning in concern as Lydia fanned her cheeks with a prescription chart.

‘Everything’s fine. It’s just a bit hot in here.’

‘Did you want something?’

She was about to say no but, remembering she’d been caught staring, Lydia forced a hasty question. ‘I’m trying to get into the computer to see if Patrick’s labs are back. I haven’t had much luck.’

‘Have you used the right password?’ Coming round to her side of the desk, Corey peered over her shoulder, leaning forward and tapping away as Lydia sat rigid, staring at the back of his very large hands and trying and failing not to check for a wedding ring.

Absent, as was her pulse for a second as Corey’s arm brushed her cheek.

‘You’re already in,’ he said, bemused. ‘Did you type in the correct UR number?’

‘That must be it.’ Lydia flushed even more as Corey tapped away and Patrick’s results appeared on the screen. ‘They’re still not back.’

‘They won’t be till lunchtime.’ Corey frowned. ‘I already told you that.’

‘So you did.’

He obviously wasn’t one for small talk. He made his way back across the ward and resumed whatever it was he had been doing as Lydia stared helplessly at the screen, cheeks flaming, heart pounding, trying to ignore the delicious lingering waft of his after-shave, stunned at the response he’d elicited from her, curiously irritated at her body’s rather unloyal response.

She was pregnant, for heaven’s sake.

Wasn’t that supposed to exalt her to some sort of nun-like status?

Wasn’t her libido supposed to vanish with her waist line?

Not that it made a scrap of difference. From the black looks Corey flashed at her every now and then, from the rather terse way he addressed her, this was one relationship that was clearly set to stay professional.

Oh, well, Lydia sighed, pulling out her hair tie at the end of a long and exhausting day, snapping the folders closed and flicking off the light in the cupboard that doubled as her new office.

‘I thought you left ages ago.’ Corey looked up as she wandered past his office.

‘One day in and I’m already behind on the paperwork.’

‘Tell me about it.’ Corey grimaced, gesturing to his overloaded desk. ‘I was supposed to be off at four. Four a.m. more like.’

‘You’ve only got yourself to blame.’ When he frowned, Lydia smiled. ‘Most NUMs shut themselves in their offices for the best part of the day.’

‘Not my style.’ Corey shrugged.

‘Then stop complaining.’

She was almost smiling and so was Corey, clearly getting her rather dry off-beat humour.

‘I’ve been thinking about your problem and maybe you should come into work a bit earlier,’ Corey ventured as Lydia made to go.

‘Sorry?’ Turning, it was Lydia’s turn to frown now.

‘In this line of work there will always be paperwork. Why not do only the essentials at the end of the day and leave the rest till the morning, come in half an hour earlier?’ When Lydia’s frown remained he addressed her as one would a bemused three-year-old. ‘Your morning sickness—you said it hits you within half an hour of setting foot in a hospital. If you come in early, you can spend a bit of time acclimatising.’

‘Oh!’ Lydia blinked a couple of times, the solution so simple she couldn’t believe she hadn’t already thought of it.

‘And you’ll have more of the evening to put your feet up and relax.’

‘Better and better.’ Lydia smiled.

‘And I’m sure your husband will be pleased to see a bit more of you.’

She couldn’t be sure, the light on his overhead desk didn’t allow for an absolute inspection, but for a fleeting second Lydia swore his cheeks darkened.

‘There’s no husband.’ As Lydia swallowed nervously, Corey filled the uncomfortable silence.

‘Boyfriend, then.’

‘No boyfriend either.’ Another nervous swallow and when her voice came it was strangely high. ‘When I say no husband, what I meant was—’

Corey put his hand up. ‘You really don’t need to explain. I mean, I just assumed you had…’

Lydia looked down at her bump, which seemed to be growing like Pinocchio’s nose before her eyes, determined to make her feel as fat and as sexless as it was possible to feel, but dragging her eyes up, meeting Corey’s full on, her bump seemed to fade into insignificance, the cocktail of hormones fizzing through her bloodstream at that very second definitely not maternal. ‘It’s a natural assumption,’ Lydia said softly. ‘So natural, in fact, that I was naı¨ve enough to think it myself. We just got divorced.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Corey started, but it was Lydia putting her hand up now.

‘Don’t be.’ She gave a small shrug. ‘At least, not on my account. I’m saving all the sympathy for this little one.’

Putting a hand up to her stomach, Lydia felt the soft swell of her child beneath and for an awful moment she felt the appalling sting of tears on her lashes, struggled with a bottom lip that seemed to be involuntarily wobbling, before forcing a very brittle, very false smile. ‘’Night, then.’

‘’Night.’ Either he didn’t notice or politely ignored the slight tremor in her voice. Clicking on his pen, he turned to his notes as Lydia scurried through the unit, blinking back tears as she watched the two-by-two world of the neonatal unit, the mothers and fathers hovering by the cots, staring at the fragile miracles they had created, loving each other, leaning on each other. Not for the first time, Lydia wondered how on earth she could do this on her own.

As if on autopilot she washed her hands, made her way to the only incubator that didn’t have a parent beside it, stared at the little scrap of life who really knew what loneliness meant for a moment, before slowly putting her hand in and gently soothing the restless, furrowed brow.

‘What have I got to complain about, Patrick?’ Lydia said gently, smiling softly as he relaxed under her touch. ‘What have I got to complain about?’

CHAPTER TWO

LYDIA hated shopping.

Correction. Lydia loved shopping, adored trying on clothes, slipping her feet into strappy little sandals and pondering her purchase over a well-earned caffe latte.

She merely hated food shopping.

Still, it beat walking into an empty house…Leaning on a trolley that had a mind of its own, Lydia wandered aimlessly along the aisles, staring in utter bemusement at the rows upon rows of nappies and trying to fathom why it had to be so dammed complicated. Some were in kilos, some were in age, some spoke about softer outer, and stay-dry inners with tiny little teddies that faded when the nappy needed changing. Not for the first time, Lydia felt a surge of panic well inside her.

What on earth was she doing?

How on earth was she supposed to cope with a living, breathing, crying, demanding baby of her very own when she couldn’t even decide what type of nappies to purchase? Sure, she dealt with babies every day, handled the most fragile infant with skill and confidence, made life-and-death decisions in the blink of an eye, but, and here was the big one…

At the end of the day she went home!

Picking up speed, she drifted out of the baby aisle, pushing aside her intention to make one purchase a week for the baby. Why change the habits of a lifetime? She always did her Christmas shopping at the last minute and undoubtedly the baby gear would be dealt with in the same vein.

It would all get done in the end.

Humming abstractedly to the piped music, Lydia filled her trolley with a stash of meals for one, before turning into the soft-drink aisle, her lethargic spirits lifting as with a jolt she saw Corey Hughes—or at the least the back of him.

It was becoming a rather familiar response these days. They’d been working alongside each other for a week now and even though the atmosphere between them was still strained, to say the least, even though Lydia thought him a rather arrogant know-all, her body simply refused to listen, insisting upon darkening her face with a blush and sending her heart rate into overdrive every time she glimpsed him!

Disappointingly, though, one arm was rather protectively around an incredibly tiny, incredibly pretty woman, while with the other he struggled to contain the most appallingly behaved child in the history of the world.

For a second Lydia considered making a hasty U-turn, darting back to the relative safety of the nappy section, but the thought of Corey catching her making a rapid retreat, of seeing the effect he was having on her, was enough incentive to beat back her blush. She sauntered in what she hoped was a casual way along the aisle, pretending to concentrate on the soft drinks, practising a casual hello and smile in her head as she worked her way nearer, then realising as she edged closer that she needn’t have bothered.

Corey was so engrossed in cartons of orange juice that, had she stripped off and congad naked behind her shopping trolley, she doubted he’d have even looked up. Instead of disciplining his appalling child, instead of forcing the squealing, tantrum-throwing toddler back into its stroller, his deep loud voice droned on and on about the merits of home brands as opposed to named ones, to check for any special offers and, of course, to always look at the contents. It might look like a bargain but if there were only four hundred mls in the container…

It was at that point that Lydia questioned the merits of first impressions.

That sexy, rugged, good-looking guy evaporated there and then. To see him at his domestic worst truly pulled the wool from Lydia’s eyes and she was eternally grateful for it.

She hated meanness in men, hated it more than anything in the world, well, except for adultery, but that wasn’t the issue here. She could just imagine him in the loo-roll section—he’d probably whip out a calculator and work out the sheets per roll and the benefits of two- as opposed to four-ply.

‘Lydia!’

Truly caught, she had no choice but to smile, but due to her sudden insight there was no trace of awkwardness. ‘So you’re a late-night shopping addict, too.’

‘Absolutely.’ Corey smiled warmly. ‘Fewer people…’

‘More chance of spotting a bargain.’ Lydia muttered. Glancing down at her own trolley, she realised how empty her statement sounded. For all her determination, for all her self-conditioning and occasional attempts, somehow cooking chicken massala from scratch seemed so dammed complicated and, perhaps more to the point, when flour and coconut milk weren’t staples of your larder, so damned expensive.

She was saving money really!

Still for tight gits like Corey, her trolley probably did look rather extravagant!

‘This is Adele.’ Corey gave a wide smile as Lydia nodded politely. ‘And this is Bailey.’

Bailey didn’t look up. He was too busy pulling orange juice off the shelves and creating chaos to care about introductions as Adele stood silently, her pretty face almost surly as she eyed Lydia, clearly uncomfortable at the intrusion.

‘Best get on.’ Lydia smiled, moving gratefully into aisle four and immersing herself in two-minute noodles.

They met again at the checkout, Lydia blushing to her roots as Corey counted out the notes to the cashier, checked and rechecked his change with the unfortunate Adele while Bailey helped himself to a large slab of chocolate from the display stand.

‘Poor woman,’ Lydia muttered to the checkout girl as finally they moved off.

‘Oh, I don’t know…’ The checkout girl looked dreamily over her shoulder as the trio departed, didn’t even offer Lydia the mandatory ‘How are you tonight?’ ‘I think he’s kind of cute.’

This was the bit she hated—unloading the groceries from the boot of the car, lugging them up the garden path and heaving the bags into a dark, empty house. No one to come out and offer to help, no one to moan she’d forgotten to get coffee-beans…

No one, full stop.

Not that she minded her own company. When Gavin had still lived there, invariably he’d be away on some course or interstate on some business trip—at least, that’s what he’d said he’d been doing, Lydia thought darkly, filling her freezer with her purchases. She hadn’t minded a bit—in fact, she’d actually enjoyed it in many ways. Having beans on toast, or just toast for dinner, even taking the said toast into bed and curling up with a good book.

Gavin had hated that.

Come to think of it, Gavin had hated a lot of things in the last few months of their marriage.

Slamming the freezer door closed, Lydia pulled a couple of slices of bread out of the pantry and loaded them into the toaster.

Toast, a good book and bed.

What more could a girl want?

‘I’ve saved you a ticket.’

Frowning into the telephone that seemed to be permanently glued to her ear these days, Lydia looked up.

‘For what?’

‘The special care unit Christmas fundraising ball. It’s held every year at the beginning of December and it usually turns out to be a great night.’

‘No, don’t put me back on hold,’ Lydia yelped as finally a human voice responded, but as the music droned on Lydia settled back for the long haul, digging in her pocket for a proverbial ten-dollar note then baulking as she eyed the gold-rimmed ticket more closely. ‘Two hundred dollars!’

‘It’s a black-tie do.’ Corey shrugged. ‘And the money goes to a good cause.’

‘It’s a bloody rip-off.”

He thought she was joking. Looking up, she watched him laugh, waiting for her to pull out her cheque book, to sign herself up for taxi fare both ways and a maternity ballgown that would make the ticket price pale into comparison, but for the first time in her adult life Lydia couldn’t do it, couldn’t write a cheque for the sake of it, couldn’t rob Peter to pay Paul. Suddenly money mattered when it never had before.

‘I’ll let you know.’ Frowning into the telephone, Lydia turned away but still he persisted.

‘You’re not working.’ Corey grinned. ‘I’ve checked, so there’s no excuse.’

‘How about this for an excuse?’ Swinging her chair around, Lydia met him face on, her cheeks burning with embarrassment at having to admit the appalling truth, her voice too harsh, too sharp as she choked on the pride she was being forced to swallow yet again. ‘For someone who’s so up on the price of orange juice, for someone who checks their change three times before moving off from the checkout, you’re terribly careless where other people’s money is concerned.

‘Did it never occur to you that just because I’m a registrar, just because I’m supposedly affluent and raking it in—maybe that isn’t the case?’ She watched his eyes widen, watched as he attempted to beg to differ, but Lydia was on a roll now. ‘Would you be quite so accepting if your wife strolled home with a two-hundred-dollar ticket in her hand?’

‘I don’t have a wife.’ Corey shrugged.

‘Well, girlfriend, then,’ Lydia snapped. ‘The poor woman’s received a five-minute lecture into the variances of orange juice prices and she has to show you her cashier’s receipt, yet you don’t bat an eyelid when it’s a co-worker’s money you’re spending!’

Suddenly the temperature seemed to have dropped, suddenly the usually stifling nurses’ station seemed to be taking on arctic proportions. As she watched his face darken Lydia knew she’d gone way too far. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said quickly. ‘That was way below the belt.’

‘It was,’ Corey agreed grimly, and Lydia shifted uncomfortably as he carried on talking. ‘Adele’s not my wife and neither do I have a girlfriend or a son.’ He watched her frown, watched her squirm for an uncomfortable second before continuing.

‘Adele’s my sister, Bailey’s my nephew, and for your information I personally couldn’t give a damn about the price of orange juice, but given the fact my sister was involved in a car accident two years ago and she has changed from an eloquent, educated woman into someone with the personality of an errant teenager, it seems rather more fitting to show her that ten dollars can be spent on staples like bread and orange juice rather than a basket full of crisps and bubble gum or cheap wine and cigarettes.’

‘I’m sorry.’ Lydia’s voice was a faint whisper. ‘I’m so very sorry.’

‘Not as sorry as I am,’ Corey responded curtly, and picking up his stethoscope he shot her a black look before stalking off to his office. She was vaguely aware of a voice on the telephone line, vaguely aware of someone asking how they could help, but mumbling her apologies Lydia hung up the telephone, appalled at what she had done and desperate if not to put things right exactly to at least make some sort of amends.

Knocking on his office door, she neither expected nor received a response. Pushing the door open, she stood for a hesitant moment watching as Corey scribbled furiously on the paperwork in front of him, determinedly not looking up. Lydia rather less determinedly moved the pile of folders herself this time and, after making sure the door was firmly closed behind her, tentatively sat down.

‘I’m sorry.’

‘So you said.’

‘I’d like to explain something—’

‘There’s really no need,’ Corey cut in, fixing her with a most withering glare.

‘But there is.’ Dragging her eyes down, Lydia went to fiddle with the solid gold band around her wedding finger, as she did when she was nervous, but like everything else familiar to her it wasn’t there. ‘What I said out there was wrong. Whether Adele is your sister, wife or girlfriend, I had absolutely no right to pass judgement on you, no right to infer you were mean.’ She was tying her fingers in knots now. ‘Which you’re not, of course, but even if you were, even if you do care about the price of loo rolls…’

‘We were in the soft-drink section,’ Corey pointed out, and if she’d looked up at that point she’d have been rewarded with a ghost of a smile. ‘Where do loo rolls come into it?’

‘They don’t.’ Her eyes did meet his then, briefly, awkwardly and she immediately pulled them away. ‘What I’m trying to say is that I was way out of line.’

‘You were,’ Corey agreed, but more gently this time. ‘But I was probably being overly sensitive.’ Those massive shoulders moved downwards as he gave a ragged sigh, and Lydia saw the lines of concern grooved around his eyes. ‘There’s a lot going on there.’

‘With Adele?’

Corey nodded. ‘She was a lawyer. Hard to believe it now, but she was the epitome of sophistication. Somehow she and Luke made it all look so damn easy.’

‘Luke’s her husband?’ Lydia checked, wincing when Corey continued.

‘Was. He was killed in the car accident. Adele was in a coma for six weeks. We were so close to making that awful decision—to discontinue treatment. She was so sick and there really seemed no hope.’

‘But look how well she’s done,’ Lydia said optimistically, her voice trailing off as Corey shook his head.

‘She suffered massive brain injuries—she’s got frontal lobe damage, which means no inhibitions and no responsibility for her actions. Sometimes I wonder if we did the right thing.’ Strained eyes met hers. ‘You’ve seen Bailey. No doubt you think the kid needs a good smack, to be disciplined…’

Lydia shook her head, but her blush gave her away.

‘You wouldn’t be alone,’ Corey said sadly. ‘Bailey was in the accident as well. He’s undergoing a load of tests, they’re not sure if he suffered brain damage himself or if he’s got attention deficit disorder. His paediatrician has even started to suggest autism.’

‘What do you think?’ Lydia asked, hearing the doubt in his voice.

‘I think it’s a rather more basic problem.’

‘Such as?’ The room was deathly quiet now and it took an age for him to answer.

‘Neglect,’ Corey said finally. ‘I’ve made so many excuses for her, rushed over there to clean up before the social worker comes, filled up her fridge with healthy food. I go round every night or morning and bath him, cut his toenails, clean his ears, all the things Adele wouldn’t even think of doing, but…’

‘It’s not enough?’ Lydia ventured, watching as Corey shook his head sadly.

‘I don’t know what to do,’ Corey admitted. ‘So if I jumped down your throat out there, it was with reason.’

‘You had every right to jump down my throat,’ Lydia said softly. ‘Even without what you’ve just told me. I know I can be harsh sometimes, know I can come across as rude. In fact, it’s becoming rather a habit.’ Tears were appallingly close now, but she blinked them away, picking instead at an imaginary piece of fluff on her theatre blues. ‘I seem to be eternally putting my foot in it these days, snapping people’s heads off, saying the wrong thing…’

‘You’ve got a lot on your mind.’

‘I know,’ Lydia admitted, ‘but so do you and yet you still manage to come to work with a smile. It would be nice to manage a simple greeting without messing things up.’

‘I think you’re being a bit harsh on yourself. I haven’t had any complaints from the staff and the parents seem to like you.’