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Sitting in a cot and playing happily with a toy.
A toy he recognised. Called Ears. A soft pink rabbit with disproportionately long legs and ears. A silly toy he’d bought when she’d first been sick and been admitted here, which had fast become her ‘cuddly.’
Ella was holding Ears in one hand as she knelt in the cot and then pulled herself up using the side of the cot. He could see the nasal prongs supplying oxygen taped to her face and one arm was bandaged, keeping the IV line that went to the port beneath her collarbone safe from being tugged. It didn’t stop her getting to her feet, though.
Dio...she was strong enough to stand?
It didn’t stop Ears being dropped over the side of the cot either, but Ella didn’t burst into instant tears, like most children her age would. She just looked down at the floor and then up, perfectly confident that help would not be far away.
And then Rafael could really see her face for the first time. Those big, dark eyes were looking straight at him.
For a long, long moment they stared at each other. Rafael could remember the first time he’d held this baby and the overwhelming need to protect her. He could remember the feel of her downy skin. The smell of her when she’d been freshly bathed and fed. The sound of her voice when she’d been learning her own baby language.
But would she remember anything at all about him?
It seemed that she did. Her eyes got even bigger and those rosebud lips curled and curved into a smile. And Ella held up her little arms, which was enough to make her lose her balance and sit down on her padded bottom with a thump, but she was still smiling.
Still holding out her arms to her father.
And nothing else mattered.
Without even another glance at Abbie, Rafael rushed into the room.
* * *
Abbie stood and watched through the window.
It had been only a few minutes since she’d been doing exactly this, watching to see if Ella would be happy for a few minutes while she went to... What had she been going to do? Go to the bathroom? Make a coffee in the staffroom?
Whatever her intention had been, she’d forgotten it the moment she’d heard Rafael call her name and she’d had to brace herself for their reunion.
And now it was over.
They’d seen each other again. They’d talked.
But had anything been resolved?
If anything, Abbie felt more unsure than before.
Slow tears were leaking from her eyes and rolling down the side of her nose as she watched Rafael gather up his daughter into his arms and press his cheek against the top of her head. He had his eyes closed so he couldn’t see that she was watching. And...oh, God...did he have tears tracing the edge of his nose, too? No...Rafael would never cry. But if he ever did, his face would look exactly the way it did right now.
The love he had for his daughter was almost as palpable as the wall Abbie had to reach out and touch for support.
He’d never expected to be able to hold her again, had he?
Or to see her smile. To hear that noise she made when she was really happy—a kind of cross between cooing and giggling that sounded like water going out of a sink.
Being a plughole, they’d called it. Ella’s being a plughole, they’d tell each other and then they’d both hold each other’s gaze and smile because they knew it was such a happy noise and it had been such a rare thing amongst the pain and sickness. Those poignant smiles and the silent communication of eye contact had been moments of connection that had given them strength to go on. That had made them feel that sharing this heartbreaking journey was making their relationship stronger. But, in the end, like it did so often with this kind of unimaginable stress, it had torn them apart.
Yes. Rafael still adored his daughter. She could see him rocking her now and hear his voice as he spoke rapidly in Italian. She caught the word fiorella. Ella’s proper name. His little flower. And he was singing now. Softly. Still in Italian. Stroking the odd patches of wispy hair on Ella’s head so gently. It was one of the things she loved about this man, that he could be so passionate. So demonstrative.
And for a moment when he’d been out here with her, he’d looked as if he still loved her like that, too.
Just before he’d stupidly said how hard it had been for him.
He hadn’t been there. Hadn’t sat for countless hours amongst the bank of monitors in the intensive-care unit, wondering if each breath Ella took would be her last.
Maybe she shouldn’t have taken the bait and reignited the old conflict but...it still hurt, dammit.
It wasn’t going to just go away by itself.
Being together in the same place wasn’t enough because it felt like there was no common ground between them.
Or if there was, the only person inhabiting it was a baby called Ella.
CHAPTER THREE (#ua36f27db-9446-5b77-a1c2-01538fd92dea)
‘I CAN’T BELIEVE you’re starting back at work so soon.’ Ella’s nurse for today, Melanie, was watching Abbie spoon morsels of breakfast into her daughter’s mouth. ‘You’ve only just set foot back in the country.’
‘I just want to get back to normal.’ Abbie’s smile was a bit of an effort. Getting Ella back to London had been a huge step closer to getting back to a normal life but she had no real idea what ‘normal’ was going to be from now on.
She caught an escaping dollop of porridge with the edge of the plastic spoon and waited until Ella opened her mouth so she could pop it back where it belonged. ‘And I’ve had far too much time away already,’ she added. ‘You know what they say, Mel. “Use it or lose it.”’
Melanie looked up from the drugs she was preparing for Ella’s syringe driver. ‘You won’t go straight back into full time, though, will you?’
Abbie’s headshake was swift. There was no way she could suddenly cope with that kind of punishing schedule—the long surgery hours at the Lighthouse, outpatient clinics, ward rounds and the travel time and consultations at the Hunter Clinic. A schedule that Rafael had apparently ramped up to an unthinkable level while she’d been away. No work–life balance there but she could understand escaping like that. And her own life had been just as one-sided. For a very long time.
‘I haven’t been genuinely full-time for ages,’ she said aloud. ‘We started scaling things down when I got to about six months pregnant and then things got even more disrupted after Ella was born, of course.’
Melanie’s nod was sympathetic. She clicked the syringe into the driver. ‘You must be missing your work, too. You don’t get to be as good as you are if you don’t really love what you’re doing. Are you in Theatre today?’
‘No. It’s just an outpatient clinic this morning. They’re easing me in gently.’
‘That’s good.’ Melanie was making an exaggerated happy face at Ella. ‘You done yet, chicken? Ready to have a wash and get dressed and face the day?’
Abbie wiped Ella’s face with a damp cloth. ‘I think we both are.’ With a final cuddle she handed Ella to Melanie. ‘Be good, sweetheart. I’ll be back as soon as I can.’
Setting off to the Lighthouse’s outpatient department, she realised how nervous she was feeling. Maybe it was because she was out of her jeans for the first time in ages and wearing clothes more appropriate for her job. A neat blouse tucked into a long, swirly skirt that reached the top of her boots. An unbuttoned white coat as a jacket. The bright name badge that had a cute flower with a smiley face for a centre that told the world she was ‘Doctor Abbie.’
Or maybe it was because people would be bringing their precious children to her to have decisions made about potentially major surgery. She would have to weigh up the risks versus benefits for other people’s children when she was so acutely aware of how it felt to be a parent herself. What the repercussions of those risks might be.
Oh, for heaven’s sake, Abbie scolded herself. ‘It’s only an outpatient clinic. Hardly life or death.’
There was an expectation, however, that she would start again with the really high-pressure work as soon as possible and get up to reasonable speed so that she wouldn’t lose the skills that had won her such a prestigious position in the first place. The expectation wasn’t just coming from the Hunter brothers or the head of the paediatric surgical department at the Lighthouse Children’s Hospital.
It was coming from Abbie herself and that was why she’d told Ethan that she would start again so soon.
The passion that had led her into this career represented a part of herself that she had no intention of losing. First and foremost, it was who she was. Being a wife and a mother might be just as important but that part of her couldn’t survive in isolation. Not happily, anyway, and if she wasn’t happy she couldn’t do her best. Be her best.
This nervousness that made her stomach churn was very unfamiliar, though. Disconcerting. It was only an outpatient clinic she was heading for, she reminded herself again. One of her favourite parts of her job, where she could spend time with young patients and their families, either exploring the possible routes they could take to make a positive difference in their lives or checking up on progress and getting the satisfaction of seeing that difference.
Why was she so nervous?
Because she felt rusty from being away from the action for too long? Those kinds of nerves might be expected when she was back in Theatre with a scalpel in her hand but they would be welcome then because she’d know they would keep her focussed and would evaporate as her confidence returned.
This was different. This was the first time she would be working with Rafael since she’d accepted the ultimatum that meant their marriage was over. Would working together make things better or worse? Could it break through the polite distance they’d ended up in last night before Rafael had excused himself to do a post-operative check on his most recent patient?
Apparently not.
Rafael had arrived before Abbie and, against the background of a crowded waiting room, he was sorting files with the clinic’s nurse manager, Nicky. Like Abbie, he was wearing an unbuttoned white coat over his professional uniform of tidy trousers and a neat shirt and tie. He had a name badge on his pocket, too. Nothing as frivolous as a smiling flower, though. His was a far more dignified standard issue with the tiny lighthouse logo and his full name.
Abbie hadn’t even offered to get him a fun badge when she’d had her own made. She’d always known the limits to which his pride would let him bend.
Or she’d thought she’d known. Until it had come to the crunch.
Both Rafael and the nurse manager looked up as Abbie approached.
‘Abbie.’ Nicky’s smile was welcoming. ‘It’s so good to see you. I was delighted to hear that you’d be sharing the clinic this morning. I’ll bet your registrar was delighted as well.’
Rafael’s smile wasn’t nearly as welcoming as Nicky’s but at least it was a smile. One that was at odds with the wary look in his eyes. Surely Rafael wasn’t nervous about working with her again? No...
She’d never known him to be nervous about anything. Excited, certainly, like he’d been when they’d seen the stripes on the pregnancy test stick that had meant they were on the way to becoming parents. Fearful, maybe, like he’d been when they’d been waiting for those first test results to come back and explain why their newborn baby was failing to thrive in such a dramatic fashion. And angry, definitely, like he’d been when she’d refused to accept his decision that enough was enough when it came to putting Ella through any more misery.
But nervous? This was disconcerting. Abbie had to force herself to return Nicky’s smile of welcome.
‘I did hear that you’ve been incredibly busy. It’s lovely to see you, too, Nicky.’
‘And I hear that Ella’s doing well. That’s such good news.’
‘It certainly is.’ Abbie slid a sideways glance at Rafael but he seemed absorbed in the list of patients. He eased a set of patient notes out of a pile and put it to one side.
‘How long before you can take her home?’
Rafael’s head jerked up at this query and Abbie could feel the intensity of his glance and it felt...accusing? This wasn’t something they’d had a chance to talk about last night. How could they, when Abbie wasn’t even sure whether she had a home to take Ella back to?
‘Um...it’ll be a few weeks, I think. We need to see how things go. Certainly no decision will be made until she’s had her T cells checked at the three-month mark.’
Which gave them some breathing space at least. Time to sort out where they were as far as their marriage went. Or how they might share Ella’s parenting in the future.
The noise level in the waiting room was increasing. A scuffle had broken out near the toy box and more than one child was crying. A woman carrying a well-wrapped baby was standing near the door and looking as if she would prefer to turn around and go out again. Her partner was trying to persuade her to take a seat. Nicky surveyed the scene and squared her shoulders.
‘We’d better get this show on the road. I’ll get the first patients into the consulting rooms. I’ve put you in Room 3, Abbie.’
‘Cheers.’
As Nicky moved away, it felt as if Abbie and Rafael were almost alone, sandwiched between the waiting-room chaos and the rest of the staff, who were busy organising the rooms for the consultations and tests that were scheduled.
‘Hi...’ Abbie offered a smile. ‘You okay?’
‘I’m fine.’ Rafael smiled back. Another polite smile. ‘And you? That chair in Ella’s room can’t be that comfortable to sleep in.’
‘I’m used to it. I’ve been sleeping in one of those chairs for so long now that a bed will probably feel weird.’
And there it was again. A slap in the face. A reminder of where she’d been for the last three months. An echo of the awkward moment last night when Rafael had asked if she would come home to sleep and she’d said that changing something that big in Ella’s routine was out of the question just yet.
‘How is she this morning?’
‘Good. She ate a little stewed apple and porridge for breakfast. It’s great that she already knows so many of the nurses on the ward. She’s got Melanie today and I don’t think she even noticed me leaving to come here.’
‘I’ll get up and see her as soon as we’ve finished here. I...wasn’t sure whether to disturb your early-morning routine.’
Keeping his distance? Abbie stifled a sigh. ‘She’s your daughter, Rafe. You can spend as much time with her as you want.’
His nod was almost curt. He reached for a pile of notes and slid them along the counter. ‘Here are your patients for this morning.’
It wasn’t rocket science to see that her pile was much smaller than his. Or that the names on the list had been divided far more equally. Abbie raised her eyebrows. Rafael shrugged.
‘I’ve added some cases to my list. It’s your first morning back, Abbie. I wanted to make things a little easier for you.’
Abbie stared at him. ‘If I didn’t think I could cope, I wouldn’t be here.’
The words came out a little more vehemently than she’d intended but it was bad enough feeling nervous about her own performance. She didn’t need other people doubting her abilities.
He mirrored her raised eyebrows and gave another one of those subtle shrugs that was part of what kept people so aware of his birthplace. As you wish, it said. It’s of no importance to me.
Except it had been of importance or he wouldn’t have done it. And it was a generous gesture when he probably had too much to do today anyway. Maybe she should compromise. Abbie scanned the list rapidly.
‘I’d like to keep this little girl.’ She tapped the list. ‘Grade-three microtia. That’s one of my favourite things to do.’
Rafael knew that. He’d been in Theatre with her more than once as she’d tackled the delicate surgery to create an ear from the birth deformity that had left nothing more than a peanut-shaped blob as an outer ear. Life-changing surgery for a child who was being teased at school, and this little girl was seven years old.
‘And this one...’ She pulled another set of notes from the pile. ‘Seven-month-old ready for repair of his cleft lip and palate. Oh...it’s Angus. I remember us seeing him for his first consultation. That’s another one I’d love to do...’
Her voice trailed away. The sometimes massive surgery needed to correct this kind of birth defect was a procedure that both she and Rafael were known to be exceptionally good at. Together. Rafael’s skill at shifting bones and moulding features in conjunction with her ability to join tiny blood vessels and nerves and then suture to leave almost invisible scars had made them a team that people came from all over the country to consult via the Hunter Clinic.
Would she want to do it by herself?
‘Maybe I’ll leave this one for you.’ Abbie couldn’t bring herself to look up at Rafael. ‘I’ll take Harriet back, though. I’ve been wondering how those burn scars are settling. She must be due for her next surgery.’
Rafael simply nodded, took the first set of notes from his pile and headed to the first consulting room. Abbie took her first set and went past his door to Room 3. Separate lists. Separate rooms. Separate operating theatres even? Was this how it was going to be from now on?
Even when they’d seen different patients in the past, they’d always been popping into each other’s rooms to get a second opinion or simply brainstorm a case. This felt wrong but it was also a relief. Perhaps they needed time to get used to working together again. Or maybe they actually needed to find out if they could work together when their personal lives were in such disarray. Being too close too soon could well mean that it would never happen.
There was no reason why they couldn’t define some professional boundaries and make it work. Was there?
Apparently there was. The message Abbie got later that day, asking her to attend a meeting at the Hunter Clinic, had all the undertones of a ‘Please explain.’
* * *
