One Tiny Miracle... (4 page)

‘Perhaps, though not anything serious.’

‘Ooh, I’m sure there’ll be plenty of takers.’ Celeste grinned. After all, she’d heard the giggles and gossip in the staffroom—Ben could take his pick!

‘What about you?’ They were sitting on her steps now, the conversation, and the friendship, too new, too fragile to snap it by asking him in. And anyway the power was still off, so they sat on the steps and got to know each other just a little bit better.

‘I’m hardly in a position to date.’ Celeste rolled her eyes. ‘Can you imagine me out clubbing?’

‘I guess not!’

‘And I’m still in that “all men are snakes” place.’

‘It’s probably a very wise place to be right now,’ Ben agreed. ‘I’ve been a bit of a snake myself lately.’

‘Do tell!’ She did make him laugh, she was so eager for gossip, and so easy to talk to, that somehow he did.

‘I went out with someone for a while—she was great, but even though I told her from the start—’

‘She didn’t listen?’ she finished for him.

‘She did at first, said she wanted the same thing—then, well, it got a bit more serious. She started to hint at wanting different things.’ He looked into her smiling amber eyes. ‘Like moving in.’

‘Not for you?’ she said wisely.

‘Maybe one day, but she also started talking about children. And one thing I do know is that I don’t want kids.’

‘Never?’

‘Never,’ he said emphatically.

She got the message and was actually rather grateful for it. Oh, they hardly knew each other, had barely scratched the surface, but there was certainly if not an immediate attraction then at the very least an acute awareness. Which was something she hadn’t felt in the longest time—had been sure, after the way Dean had treated her, that she’d never feel it again. But sitting here, looking into Ben’s green eyes, hearing his words, Celeste suddenly realised that he felt it too. That he was carefully reading out the rules of any potential relationship should they choose to pursue one.

‘We couldn’t be less suited really,’ Celeste said after a moment’s pause. ‘I’m not looking at all, you’re not looking for serious and…’ she patted her large stomach ‘…this isn’t a hernia!’

‘I had worked that out!’ Ben smiled. ‘So how about we just be friends?’

She stared into his green eyes and this time she didn’t blush. Oh, she had a teeny crush on him—what heterosexual woman wouldn’t?—but her heart was way too bruised and her ego far too raw and her soul just too tender to even fathom going there again. It was simply nice to have an adult to talk to. Her world had changed so much, and with her family not talking to her and her struggle to fit in on her new course, it was just nice, very nice to have Ben in her life, to talk to a person instead of staring at the television. ‘A friend would be lovely.’

And still he stayed. Celeste went in and brought out two glasses of water, and then picked at daisies as they chatted, shredding them with her fingers, joining them
up, and when she wasn’t looking at him, somehow it made it easier for Ben to talk.

‘You see, I had it all with Jen…’ He pushed his fingers through his hair, tried to sum up how he was feeling, because she was so easy to talk to. Maybe because she hadn’t known Jen, maybe because her eyes didn’t well up with tears as friends’ and family’s did when he spoke about her, or flinch in tiny reproach at his sometimes bungling efforts to try and move on with his life. ‘I don’t want to try to re-create it—I don’t want to do it again with someone else. I’ve already been there and done it.’

‘Lucky you, then.’ Ben blinked at her response. Really, he felt anything but lucky, but he supposed that, yes, she was right, he had been lucky to have Jen in his life for a while.

‘I’d give anything to be able to say to this little one that its dad and I were in love.’

‘Were you?’ Ben asked.

‘I thought so.’ She shrugged. ‘But looking back it was just infatuation, I guess—it sounds like you had the real thing.’

He didn’t answer, because at that moment her television started blaring through the window, a cheer coming from the unit opposite as the power kicked back in.

‘I’m going to do some work…’ Ben stood up.

‘Well, thank you for dinner…’ Celeste smiled ‘…and a thank-you from the baby too.’

‘You’re very welcome.’

‘I’d offer to return the favour, only I’m having enough trouble rustling up dinner for one at the moment,’ she said wryly.

‘I don’t expect you to.’

He didn’t expect her to. Celeste knew that and so too did Ben.

But next night when he came home from work he could see pots of sunflowers on his doorstep, her way of saying thank you, he guessed.

‘I have some good news for you,’ Ben said as he knocked on her door.

‘I could do with some. Come in,’ she invited.

‘Matthew was extubated this evening,’ Ben explained as he followed her into her tiny kitchen. ‘He’s doing really well—they’re hoping to move him from ICU in the morning.’

That
was
good news!

‘It could have been a very different story. I’ve had Belinda patting me on the back and the neuro consultant even came down to Emergency to say well done. I have told them that the credit goes to you.’ He watched her face pink up with his praise. ‘I know it’s tough deciding whether to wait and see or call for help.’

‘It can be,’ Celeste admitted, as she pulled a vast jug of iced tea from the fridge and poured them both a long glass. ‘I mean, you don’t want to look like an idiot or that you’re overreacting to everything…’

‘Overreact!’ Ben said simply. ‘For now at least—until you’ve got more experience and your hunch button’s working properly.’

‘Hunch button?’ Celeste frowned at the unfamiliar term. ‘What’s that?’

‘When you have a hunch about something, when you’re almost sure but not quite.’

She’d already worked out what he meant even before he explained it, but as he did explain it, she felt that glow in her cheeks darken just a touch, aware that he wasn’t quite meeting her eyes. Her hunch button was tapping away, but for different reasons now, and she flicked it off quickly.

She was so not going to develop a crush on
another
man from work!

Look where that had got her!

And it
was
nice to have a friend.

They sat in her little living room, watching the ‘weigh-in’ on her favourite show, Celeste grumbling that she should be a contestant. Ben was more than a touch uncomfortable and trying not to show it—he could see the little pile of baby clothes all neatly folded on the ironing board and even though it was weeks away, there was a slight baby smell to the house—which probably had something to do with the baby lotion Celeste was rubbing into her hands, but still…So he went to get the jug of iced tea and when he came back, he poured her one into the glass she was holding, and he wouldn’t have been human if he hadn’t noticed her cleavage—would have to be blind to miss it actually, only Ben wasn’t usually a breast man. Except that they were so jiggly and voluptuous that he was suddenly kneed in the groin with an unfamiliar longing.

So he sat down. He realised he couldn’t smell that baby smell any more, just the unsettling scent of Celeste. The room was too hot, so of course she kept lifting up her arms and coiling her hair onto the top of
her head as she chatted away, and then it would tumble down again, and she’d lift her arms once more.

‘I’d better go…’

‘Already?’ Celeste said, but then they got talking, oh, just about this and that, and suddenly it was after ten. As he stood at the door to really go this time, Celeste found herself thinking that she’d had the nicest night in a long time.

Too nice, even.

Because of all the stupid things to be thinking, she was wondering what it would be like to be kissed goodnight by him.

Wondering what she’d do if that lovely mouth came a little bit closer.

‘Thanks for the flowers, by the way.’ Ben broke into her thoughts. ‘You shouldn’t have done that.’

‘It’s no problem.’

‘No, you really shouldn’t have done that.’ Ben grinned. ‘They’ll be dead in two days—I’ll forget to water them.’

‘I won’t.’ Celeste smiled. ‘Just enjoy.’

It was a relief to close the door on him!

T
HEY
ignored each other at work, of course.

Well, they didn’t mention their evenings by the television or walks on the beach and sometimes as she sat in the staffroom and listened as Deb rattled on about how sure she was that Ben was going to ask her out (when Ben had already told her that he was embarrassed by Deb’s constant flirting), or when the gorgeous Belinda started talking rather too warmly about him, though Celeste sat like a contended Buddha, inside she was fuming and could have cheerfully strangled them quiet.

She liked him.

Which was okay and everything. After all, half the department liked him in that way too, she was hardly in a minority—no, there was a slightly bigger problem than that.

Sometimes,
sometimes
she got that nervous fluttering feeling, which could only be generated by two.

Sometimes,
sometimes
she got this fleeting glimpse that Ben liked her too.

She told herself she was imagining it—as surely as
Deb was. Because there was no way Ben could possibly be interested in her.

So why was he acting so strangely?

Coffee break over, she headed back to Cots—and tried to tell her stupid heart to stop beating so quickly at the sight of him, except it didn’t listen. It picked up speed half an hour later, only for different reasons as a rather frantic mother handed Celeste a very floppy baby.

She pushed on the call bell even before she unwrapped him.

He was big and chubby and barely opened his eyes as Celeste swiftly undressed him and ran some obs.

‘He keeps vomiting…’ The mum was trying not to cry. ‘He saw the GP yesterday, she said it was gastro and to push fluids into him…’

No help was coming, so Celeste pushed the call bell again. The baby’s pulse was racing and his temperature was high, so she put him on some oxygen and pushed the call bell
again
as she pulled over the IV trolley, resorting in the end to sticking her head out of the cubicle.

‘Could I have a hand?’ she snapped, and shot a frantic look at Ben, who was showing a patient his ankle X-ray. ‘Now!’

‘Press it three times for an emergency!” Ben snapped back, when he saw the baby.

She was still learning which way was up—only yesterday she had been warned for overreacting and pressing three times for everything remotely urgent and now she was being scolded for doing too little.

Some days this job was just so hard!

‘Depressed fontanel.’ Ben swiftly examined the listless baby, as Celeste quickly lifted him off the scales and set up for an IV. She was terrified of putting an IV line in such a sick baby, but it was part of her course and something she had to learn to do. She’d started on big, strapping, muscle-bound men with veins like tram lines, and then on sick adults. She had even put IVs in a few children now and a couple of babies as well, only not one as unwell as this and not with Mum anxiously watching—and now Meg was here too! ‘Poor skin turgor.’ Ben continued with his assessment then shook his head as he saw the slight shake of her hands as Celeste held the floppy arm with one hand and poised the needle with the other. ‘I’ll do it.’ He took over without further comment and she was glad that he had. As a fat little baby, his veins would be hard to find at the best of times, but collapsed from dehydration they were proving extremely difficult and even Ben, with very steady hands, took a couple of goes to establish IV access, eventually finding a vein in his foot.

‘I’m in.’ He took some bloods and held the IV in firm place as Celeste connected it to a drip and then taped and wrapped it, carefully splinting his foot as Mum hovered close. As Ben relayed the IV fluids he wanted the babe to receive, he glanced up at Celeste with a quick addition. ‘Could you put on a mask, please?’

She didn’t see
him
putting on a mask, and neither was he asking Meg to. She gritted her teeth, for now she did as she was told. It was becoming an all too familiar pattern—in the couple of weeks that they had been working together Ben had become rather—for
want of a word—annoying! She was already being looked out for by her colleagues and was uncomfortable enough with that, but Ben seemed to be on a mission to ensure that she saw only the safest, calmest, least infectious patients and if he wasn’t suggesting that she put on a mask he was reminding her to wash her hands!

As if she needed reminding!

Still, with Ben now speaking with the mother, it was hardly the time or place for discussion—she’d save it for later.

‘He’s nine months old,’ Ben checked with the anxious mum as Celeste sweated behind her mask. ‘Is that right?’

‘Only just nine months,’ his mum said. ‘I know he looks older.’

‘How long as he been sick?’ Ben asked.

‘He started vomiting yesterday, three, maybe four times.’

‘And this morning?’ He fired questions as he continued to examine the baby and ordered a bolus dose of fluids for him. Celeste had already put him on oxygen and the paediatricians were on their way down, but Ben was examining his abdomen carefully, concerned that it was the surgeons that they needed. ‘What colour is the vomit?’

‘Green.’

‘Okay…’ He checked the baby’s nappy and, still not happy with the abdomen, asked Meg to page the surgeons. Having spoken briefly with the mother, he rang Imaging to order an urgent ultrasound.

‘I think it’s an ileus,’ Ben said, standing on hold on
the phone at the nurses’ station as Celeste pointedly washed her hands at the little sink there, yet annoyingly as she dried her hands he pushed the bottle of alcohol hand rub towards her.

‘Does that diagnosis mean I can go in there without a mask now?’ Celeste asked, and then she frowned. ‘Or is that suddenly an airborne disease too?’ She watched his jaw tighten.

‘You just need to be careful,’ Ben pointed out. ‘At that age, he could have measles, chickenpox, slap cheek…’

‘Here.’ He pushed the bottle of hand scrub to her again as she climbed onto the stool to write her notes, but she ignored it.

‘You should use this,’ he insisted.

‘Why?’ Celeste challenged.

‘Because we don’t know what’s wrong with the baby yet, because you should—’

‘Ben.’ She clicked off her pen and put it down. ‘While I appreciate your concern, I really don’t need you to look out for me.’

‘I’m not looking out for you—I’m just—’

‘Making me paranoid!’ Celeste said. ‘Ben, I can beat you on the paranoid stakes with this pregnancy any day!’

He doubted that, but bit his tongue.

‘I’m just ensuring that you take sensible precautions,’ he said instead.

‘I’ve spoken with my obstetrician, with the infectious diseases nurse, with Meg, and I’m using universal precautions. I’m being as sensible and as careful as possible, but dealing with sick people is part and parcel of nursing,’ she said calmly.

‘I don’t see that it can hurt to take a few more precautions,’ he muttered.

‘I can’t walk around in a spacesuit,’ Celeste said, ‘and neither can the nurses on the children’s or oncology wards, neither can the nurses or radiographers who don’t even know that they’re pregnant but might be…’ She could see his frown descending as the grad nurse gave the registrar a stern talking to. ‘And all we can be is sensible,
all
the time, not just when we’re visibly pregnant, so thank you for your concern and, no, I won’t be using this…’ she pushed back the bottle of alcohol scrub ‘…because I happen to be allergic to it.’

‘Fine!’ Ben snapped, more annoyed with himself than her. If her doctor was happy to let her keep working, and the hospital was still employing her, if Celeste wanted to keep working—well, it wasn’t his concern.

So why was he so worried about her?

It niggled at him all day and later into the evening when, confused, he stood at the supermarket, basket in hand, and chose organic steak, because it was better for the baby—which, again, wasn’t his concern, but he just stuffed it in his basket and added a carton of orange juice with added iron. He knew he was overreacting and he had every reason to. It was the anniversary of Jen’s death in a couple of days, so it was no wonder he was upset. But then he did what he always did—and chose not to think about it.

A very vague routine had developed—not every day, not even every other day but now and then. He’d wander down and ask if she fancied dinner, or he’d hear her watering the sunflowers at his front door and pop his
head around and ask her if she wanted to watch a movie, or whatever.

It was company, that was all.

And she was so-o-o glad of it.

So glad not to have to be as bright and bubbly as she pretended to be when she was at work—so nice to chat and moan, or sit with her feet up on his coffee table and watch a movie.

And never, not once, did he lecture her, or question her decision to keep working.

Till at the end of thirty-three weeks, till
that
night, when, full from organic steak and salad washed down with orange juice with added iron, she heaved herself off the sofa, and Ben glanced at his watch.

‘It’s only eight-thirty.’

‘I just fancy an early night.’

‘You’re on a day off tomorrow.’ Ben frowned, reluctantly seeing her to the door. His own company was the last thing he wanted over these next few nights. ‘Are you sure you’re okay?’

‘I’ve got a doctor’s appointment tomorrow. I want to—’

‘Make sure that you look well rested, so you can fool him,’ Ben said, and then stopped, his jaw muscles clamping, because it was
none
of his damn business what she did.

‘I need to work for a few more weeks,’ Celeste said, and Ben said nothing. He just forced a smile, and opened the door, telling himself that she didn’t need a lecture, just a friend, but it was getting harder and harder to hold his tongue.

Then she burst into tears.

Celeste, who always smiled, always laughed, always came back with a quick retort, crumpled and gave in.

‘I can’t do it any more!’

All he felt was relief, relief that she’d seen it, relief that she wouldn’t be doing it any more, and he pulled her, sobbing, into his arms and let her weep.

‘Then don’t,’ he said gently.

‘I can’t afford not to,’ she argued, but with herself now. ‘Only I just can’t face going there again…’

‘I know.’

‘I’m so tired.’

‘I know.’

‘And I’m scared of the germs too.’

‘Come on.’ He led her back to his sofa, fetched some cold water from the fridge and then gently he spoke with her, just as he would a patient, and explored her options. She had everything in place, even had some savings, but it would only just cover the rent and not much else. There would be a bit more money once the baby came along, but undoubtedly things were impossibly tight for her financially.

‘The car’s about to give up,’ Celeste sobbed. ‘And I haven’t got a baby seat for it. I was going to get that with next month’s pay…’

‘My sister has had hundreds of car seats—the garage is full of them. She had twins…so that’s sorted, okay?’

It was just the tip of a very big iceberg, just another thing on her endless list, but it was a relief to tick it off, to share, to finally admit just how drained from it all she really was.

‘I need to work, but I really think that if I carry on,
it will affect the baby.’ She was so glad that he didn’t jump in and confirm her fears. ‘I’ve got all this fluid…’

‘Look.’ Ben was supremely gentle. ‘You’ve done well to get this far.’

‘Some women work right to the end.’

‘And some women don’t,’ Ben said. ‘Some women can’t, and it looks as if you’re one of them.’

‘I’ll speak to the doctor tomorrow.’ She nodded. ‘I’ll be honest.’

‘Good,’ Ben said, then he paused. And dived in where he didn’t want to, got just a little bit more involved. ‘Have you thought of asking the father for help?’

‘Never.’ Celeste shook her head. ‘And please don’t give me a lecture saying that he’s responsible too, and that I’ve every right—’

‘No lecture,’ Ben interrupted. ‘What about your parents?’

‘I’ve written to them.’ He realised how hard that would have been for her—knew from their chats how outraged their response had been, how they had cut her off. The fact that she had written and asked them for help after they’d done that to her showed she was thinking about the baby.

‘Well done.’

It was the nicest thing he could have said. ‘I only posted it yesterday, so I haven’t heard. I’ve asked if I can move back, just for a few weeks…’

He’d miss her, Ben realised, but it was the right thing for her now. She needed family, needed someone to take care of her during these last difficult weeks—and it certainly wasn’t going to be him.

‘I’m going to speak to the doctor tomorrow.’ Her voice was firmer now. ‘And then I’ll tell Meg.’

‘Good.’

‘And now…’ again he pulled her up from the sofa as she went to stand ‘…I’m really going home to bed.’

He smiled at her as they reached the door. ‘You’ll get there,’ Ben said, ‘you really will.’

‘I know.’

She was so tired and so weary and lost, trying to be brave in the dark, that this time when he pulled her into his arms, it wasn’t because she was crying, it wasn’t because she was upset. He didn’t actually know why he’d done it, it just felt very right to hold her.

And for Celeste it felt so wonderful to
be
held for a moment.

A lovely, lovely moment to just stand and lean on him, to feel his words in her hair, his assurances that she had made the right choices, that she would be okay, and that she was doing well.

‘I’m scared.’

She had never, not once, admitted it to anyone.

Defiance had become her middle name, because if she stopped for just a second, if she questioned her wisdom to keep the baby, to go on working, to not publicly name the father, to admit, even to herself, that she was struggling, then surely,
surely
, all the balls she was juggling would come clattering down. It was easier to cope, to insist she
was
coping, to just get on and do, rather than stop and think.

Yet in his arms she stopped for a moment—admitted the truth and waited for the crash.