Tempted by Dr. Daisy (11 page)

She stifled a laugh. That wretched concrete frog was destined to feature in every conversation!

‘I expect so. Go on, in you go, darling. I'll see you later.'

Florence took two steps up the path, then ran back and reached up, and Daisy bent and kissed her goodbye, her heart contracting as Florence cuddled close for a second before running off again.

Dear, sweet child. She loved her so much. If only she could dare to trust in this love, could trust herself not to fail, could trust Ben not to leave—so many if onlys.

She got back in the car and hurried to work, to find Ben just coming out of Theatre.

‘How is she?'

He shook his head. ‘Rough, but we saved the baby—thirty seven weeks, perfect little boy and he's doing well.
But Mum's got a nasty tear in her liver and massive blood loss. They're working on her now but I don't know if she'll make it, and Dad's got a fractured femur.'

‘Oh, Ben, I'm so sorry.'

‘Yeah. Life sucks sometimes. I'm just going to find him and tell him he's a father. I'll leave the rest of the news till after he's had his leg pinned. They might know more by then. How's Florence?'

‘Fine. She's at nursery, but I had to bribe her with the offer of a picnic in the playground at the weekend.'

He gave a soft huff of laughter, and unexpectedly, his eyes glazed. ‘You're such a star,' he murmured, and then dragging in a breath, he walked away to find the father.

She didn't envy him but she knew he'd handle it well, because for all he managed to keep his emotions to himself most of the time, he was very sensitive to other people's feelings.

It was one of the very, very many things about him that she loved.

They met up for coffee, and he was looking happier. ‘Sheena Lewis made it,' he told her.

‘Your mum with the liver?'

‘Yeah. Baby's fine, she's going to recover, Dad's been pinned and plated and the grandparents are on their way to look after the kids. They've got five, apparently—four of his, and this one. They've only been married just under a year.'

‘And she's taken on his four children?'

‘Mmm. She must be a saint.'

‘Or very brave,' she said softly, wishing…

She met the mother later that day, resting quietly in a side room with her baby beside her looking none the worse for wear, and while she was checking Sheena, her mother-in-law came in with two of the children.

‘Hello, darlings,' Sheena said weakly, her eyes filling with tears, and they leant carefully over and kissed her cheeks, one each side, their little faces worried.

Bless their little hearts, Daisy thought, and was on her way out when their grandmother stopped her with a gentle hand on her arm.

‘Are you attached to her doctor? Ben something, I think?' she asked quietly, and Daisy nodded. Attached? You could say that, she thought, and resisted the urge to laugh hysterically or burst into tears.

‘Yes, I'm his registrar. If you want to talk to him I'm sure he's around.'

‘Oh, no, don't disturb him. I just wanted to thank him for saving the baby, and keeping Dan so well informed. He was so worried, and he kept him right up to date apparently and really put his mind at rest. And he didn't lie about how serious it was. Dan was really grateful for that—it meant he could trust him.'

How like Ben. Tell the awful truth, but do it so carefully, so sensitively that it didn't break the person receiving it.

‘I'll tell him. Thank you. Please don't make her too tired, will you? She's been through an awful lot.'

‘No, we won't, but the children were desperate to see her. My husband's got the younger ones downstairs in the café keeping them amused for a minute, and then we're taking them home.'

‘Well, good luck with it. I don't envy you.'
Liar
!

‘Oh, we love it, and we'd do anything for them,' Mrs Lewis said with a doting smile. ‘Sheena's been a godsend to the family. We all love her to bits.'

‘I'm sure you do.'

Daisy summoned a smile and left. If only Mike's family had felt like that. If only
he
had felt like that, instead
of just making use of her until he'd convinced his wife to have him back.

No! Stop thinking about the past. It's done. Forget it.

And move on?

She felt a shiver of something. Fear? Anticipation?

Hope?

If only…

 

Their arrangement worked fine until the weekend, and then all hell broke loose at work and it all got much more complicated.

He was in and out all Friday night, and then again in the morning, and it became obvious to Daisy that she was going to have to be there all the time. And that brought guilt, because Tabitha was getting lonely.

But maybe she didn't need to feel guilty, because Tabitha was also getting braver, and while Daisy was in the kitchen making a picnic to take to the playground, she looked up and found Florence sitting on the lawn with Froggy on one side and Tabitha, just out of reach, on the other, as if she was trying to decide if Florence was OK or not.

She smiled, but it was bitter-sweet. There was no point in Tabitha getting used to Florence, because they were going to move. At least, that was the plan, but she'd done nothing about it. There weren't any jobs, or none that she wanted, and she wasn't going to move until she found one. That would be foolish.

Only marginally less foolish than being here like this with Florence.

Her phone rang, and she glanced at the display as she answered it. ‘Hi, Ben. How's it going?'

‘OK. Where are you?'

‘In the kitchen, making a picnic. Why?'

‘Because I'm done here. Are you about to go?

‘Yes—five minutes?'

‘Make me a sandwich. I'll be with you.'

She slid the phone back in her pocket and sighed. He was hijacking their picnic, taking it and making it something it wasn't meant to be, and she felt sweat break out on her palms.

She could do covering Florence, because that was babysitting in an emergency. But—picnicking with her and her father, in the playground? That was lunacy. Playing happy families, for heavens' sake. Not wise. So, so not wise.

She shut her eyes briefly, then opened them again and reached for the bread, and as she did so, she saw Tabitha curl up beside Florence and settle down, the little girl's hand stroking her incredibly gently, and without warning hot, scalding tears spilled down her cheeks.

He got back just as Daisy put the last few things into a bag.

‘Perfect timing,' she said crisply. ‘You can carry the lunch. Or Froggy. Take your pick.'

He felt his eyebrows crunch together. ‘Froggy?' he said incredulously, and then started to laugh. ‘Oh, God, Daisy, we've made a monster.'

‘
We
haven't made anything,' she said flatly, and hoisting the bag off the worktop, she went out into the garden, leaving him to follow in confusion.

‘Is it time? Are we going?' Florence asked, dancing from foot to foot, and they set off three abreast with Florence skipping in between them.

‘Can we do “One two three whee?”' she asked, holding up her arms, and in unison they both said, ‘No!'

Their eyes met over her head, remembering her elbow, remembering the conversation they'd had shortly before, in the very playground they were going to. Daisy's eyes clouded, but he was the first to look away.

‘We have to be careful with your elbow. You can go on the swing,' he told her firmly.

‘Will you push me
really
high?'

‘
Really
high,' he promised.

‘Can Froggy come on the swing?'

And to think that last week she'd been so subdued, and he'd been worried! Whatever had been wrong with her had clearly passed and left her full of beans, and he wondered what kind of a day Daisy had had with her. Hellish, probably, judging by her rather short greeting.

Oh, damn. Was she mad with him because he'd gatecrashed their picnic? He'd thought it would help, dilute her interaction with Florence, but maybe he'd been wrong. Maybe it just made it worse.

He took Florence on the swing with Froggy watching safely from the sidelines, and he watched Daisy setting out the picnic out of the corner of his eye. She was kneeling on a rug under a tree, unloading all the goodies, and then she looked up and waved them over.

‘Is it time for our picnic?' Florence asked, and she nodded, so Ben lifted her out of the seat and she ran over, settling down cross legged on the rug and patting the space next to her for Froggy—which left a space for him beside Daisy.

Damn. He'd hoped—what had he hoped? That a concrete frog would be enough to keep them apart? Hardly. A brick wall would be more like it. And this had been his idea. He could just as easily have stayed at the hospital, but it didn't seem fair, and after the week they'd all had, he'd just longed to do something normal.

Something a family would do.

He picked up a sandwich at random and bit into it, then stopped in his tracks, his mouth rebelling.

‘What…?'

‘Chocolate spread,' Daisy said. ‘Florence chose it.'

He looked at it in a mixture of confusion and disgust, and she took pity on him. ‘I suppose you'd rather have ham and cheese and chutney?' she said, trying not to laugh, and he handed Florence the chocolate spread sandwich, swallowed the single bite reluctantly and took the sandwich Daisy was offering him.

‘Thank you,' he said fervently. ‘For a moment there, I thought I was going to have to eat it or starve.'

‘Would I do that to you?' she murmured, but he just grunted and ate his sandwich, and she watched Florence chomping her way through the chocolate spread sandwich and a small banana and some crisps, in no particular order, and wished she could bottle this moment and get it out, in the long dark days ahead after she'd found another job and moved away and Florence and Ben were in the past.

She picked a daisy out of the grass, and then another, absently slitting the stem of the first and threading the other through it, then adding another, and another—

‘What are you doing?' Florence asked curiously, and she blinked and dragged herself back to the here and now.

‘Making a daisy chain. It doesn't matter if we pick them, the daisies are weeds, really, they don't belong here.' Funny, that, she thought. Another Daisy that didn't belong. ‘Look—if you slit the stem with your nail, and you're very careful, you can thread another one through, and if you do it enough times you can make a necklace.'

Florence's little fingers couldn't manage, but she could pick them, very carefully. ‘Keep the stems as long as you can,' Daisy asked, ‘and mind you don't squash them.'

And as Ben watched and Florence brought her the little white flowers that didn't belong, she made a necklace for Florence and put it over her head. ‘There you go, Princess. Your very own daisy chain.'

Her eyes were huge blue saucers. ‘It's
really
pretty,' she said, stroking it as carefully as she would a tiny bird. ‘Daddy, look!'

‘I'm looking,' he said gruffly, and Daisy glanced up and caught his eyes, and her breath jammed in her throat.

Oh, no. No, no, no! They weren't supposed to be doing this! Where was his pager when she needed it? Not that she wanted some poor woman to have an emergency, but if anybody was planning one, now would be a good time.

Nobody was.

And Ben, lounging back on one elbow so he was half facing her, plucked a daisy off the little pile that Florence had created and fingered it thoughtfully.

‘I can remember, when we were kids, the girls would get a daisy and pull the petals off, one by one, and as they did it they'd say, “He loves me,” then “he loves me not,” each time they'd pull a petal out, like this, until they got to the last one, and then they'd pull it out, too, like this— “He loves me”,' he ended, pulling the last few petals out in one and looking straight into Daisy's eyes.

He loves me.

She swallowed and looked hastily away.

‘What does he loves me not mean?' Florence asked.

‘It means he doesn't love me,' Daisy told her, and looked pointedly at Ben, who just smiled sadly and got to his feet.

‘Come on, Florence. Let's go on the see-saw.'

‘With Daisy!' she squealed, getting to her feet and pulling Daisy up, and what was she supposed to say to that?

Staring daggers at him, she sat on the end of the see-saw, Florence cuddled up to her as she'd been before, all those weeks ago, and damn him, he just smiled sadly at her and rocked them gently up and down, up and down, singing, ‘See-saw, Marjorie Daw, Johnny shall have a new master,' his deep voice soft and warm and curiously com
forting. Daisy closed her eyes so she didn't have to look at him, but she could still hear him, could imagine him quietly rocking a baby and singing nursery rhymes, and her heart was splintering as he sang, and the see-saw rose and fell, and rose and fell, until at last she couldn't bear it any more.

‘I want to get off,' she said firmly, and he stopped, so her feet were just off the ground and their eyes were locked.

‘Count the petals on a daisy, Daisy,' he said softly, and let her down.

She got off. ‘They have an even number,' she said expressionlessly, and walked away.

He watched her packing up the picnic, and with a quiet sigh he got off the see-saw and took Florence to play on the slide. He didn't know what to do. He loved her. She loved him, and she loved Florence. If only she could believe in them, then maybe he could dare to hope…

H
IS
pager went off just as Florence was settled in her bed.

Daisy had gone home as soon as they'd got back from their picnic. ‘Call me if you need me,' she'd said, and walked out, leaving Florence confused and disappointed, because she'd wanted Daisy to read her a story. Even Tabitha, sunning herself in the garden, had looked confused when she disappeared.

And it was his fault, apparently. Well, that didn't surprise him. The atmosphere between them had been fraught since the moment he'd come home from the hospital, and apart from a brief interlude in the playground, it hadn't improved since.

So she'd gone home—to regroup, presumably, and rant about him in private—and he'd put Florence to bed. He'd really hoped he wouldn't need her, so that she could have some time away from the situation to chill out and destress, but the pager wasn't on their side.

He was reaching for the phone to call her when she knocked on the door and walked in. ‘I heard the pager,' she said flatly. ‘I hope you aren't going to be long, I wanted a bath tonight.'

‘Have one here. I could be ages, judging by the look of this. It's a breech that's on a go-slow, so fill the bath and
take your time. There's wine in the fridge and Florence is in bed.'

Wine. That was all she needed, on an empty stomach. But the bath? Oh, yes. She went back to her house, grabbed her things—bubble bath, her razor, deodorant, moisturiser, body butter—she was really going to go for it, and if he was back in ten minutes, tough, because she wasn't in the mood to hurry. At all.

She ran the bath, thought why not, went and got a glass of wine and slid under the bubbles. Bliss. There were no candles—maybe not a good idea with a child in the house, but a luxury she longed for. She glanced mournfully at the wall, picturing her bathroom on the other side of it, her sanctuary.

This room was clean, efficient and masculine, dominated by a huge walk-in shower, and his things were all over it. His dressing gown on the back of the door, his toothbrush on the basin. A pair of jeans had been chucked in the corner, next to Florence's tiny little pink knickers and a T-shirt with a frog on it.

Oh, damn you, Ben Walker, damn you and your gorgeous little daughter and your ‘he loves me, he loves me not' nonsense.
She had no idea how many petals there were on a daisy, and she was absolutely
not
counting them!

She sipped the wine, sighed and slid a little lower under the bubbles. Mmm. Better. Half an hour of this, and maybe she'd feel a lot less fraught and a little bit more reasonable.

 

‘Daisy?'

The house was in darkness, except for the nightlight spilling from Florence's room. He put the hall lights on and went up to check, but there was no sign of her, just Tabitha curled up in a ball at the foot of Florence's bed, next to the frog cushion. He ought to move her, he thought, but then
he shrugged. He'd had cats on the bed all his childhood and they'd never done him any harm. He pulled the door to, and paused outside the bathroom to listen.

Nothing.

‘Daisy?' he murmured, and tapped very lightly so as not to wake Florence, but there was no reply.

Where the hell was she? She was supposed to be looking after Florence, and she'd clearly gone home—and some time ago, because it was dark outside now, and it was three hours since he'd left, so she hadn't just nipped out to fetch something from next door or the lights would still be on.

But there were no lights on in her house, either, and she wouldn't just leave Florence, she wasn't irresponsible. Had she had an accident? Surely she couldn't
still
be in the bath?

He opened the door quietly, and his breath left him in a soft huff of relief, mingled with regret and a deep and painful yearning.

Oh, Daisy.

She was in the bath, her eyes closed, fingers loosely wrapped around a wine glass balanced precariously on her sternum, and through the very few bubbles that still floated on the surface, he could see her chest rising and falling gently, rocking the half-full glass with every breath.

Sleeping Beauty meets the Siren on the Rocks, he thought, and walked up to her, perching on the edge of the bath and staring down at her, mesmerised. God, she was gorgeous. Even like that, with her mouth hanging slightly open and her fingers round a wine glass, looking for all the world like a lush.

He smiled fondly and eased the glass out of her fingers, waking her abruptly. Startled, she sat up, clutching her arms across her chest and staring at him with wild eyes as the water sloshed and settled. Then she let out her breath on a gasp.

‘Ben! Gosh, you scared the living daylights out of me. Is Florence all right?'

‘She's fine,' he said, stifling a smile. ‘Why don't you get out of there and dry off and come downstairs and I'll get you another glass of wine. Have you eaten tonight?'

She shook her head. ‘No, not yet. What's the time? The water's freezing.'

‘I'm not surprised, it's ten o'clock. I'll call a takeaway. What do you fancy?'

She looked at him, her lips parting slightly, her eyes unreadable in the soft flood of light from the landing. He thought she might be blushing, and it made him want to smile. Or kiss her.

‘Anything. Go away, Ben—and shut the door behind you!' she squeaked, her modesty returning as she woke up properly.

He left her with the tatters of her dignity, changed his trousers because they'd got soaked when she sat up so abruptly, and went downstairs to phone for a takeaway. Even if he had to go out again before it arrived, she could eat, and if she was feeling mellow maybe she'd even save him some.

She came down a few minutes later, wrapped in her dressing gown and looking tousled and delectable. She smelt gorgeous, and he wanted to pull her into his arms and just hold her.

‘I'm sorry I've been crabby,' she said, before he could do anything so rash. Just as well. And maybe it would make sense to talk.

‘Why have you? Because I gatecrashed your picnic?'

‘Partly,' she admitted. ‘It took it from me babysitting to something else, something we'd agreed we wouldn't do any more. And then when we got there, there was all that silly
nonsense
with the daisies.'

‘What silly nonsense was that?' he asked, perfectly serious, and her heart thumped in her chest.

‘You were pushing my buttons, Ben.'

‘I was telling you that I still love you.'

She felt her eyes fill, and looked hastily away. ‘Ben, we can't—'

‘Why can't we? I've been thinking about it a lot—endlessly, in fact. About why you're so worried about us. And I don't think it's anything to do with Florence—'

‘I don't want to hurt her!'

‘But you won't. She adores you, Daisy, and you adore her. And I know you'll never hurt her.'

‘But she will be hurt—when we split up, she
will
be hurt.'

‘What if we don't?'

She turned slowly and looked at him. ‘What are you saying?'

‘I'm saying maybe we didn't give ourselves enough time. Maybe we didn't get to know each other well enough. As far as Daisy's concerned, you're just a friend of mine who lives next door and does stuff with us occasionally. If we give ourselves another chance, spend some time alone together, without changing anything with Florence, then maybe we could learn to trust each other. Maybe we could make it work.'

‘And if we can't?'

‘Then she won't be hurt any more than she is now, and at least we will have tried.'

She felt a tiny stirring of hope, but she didn't dare let it grow. Not just yet.

‘What about Jane? What will she think?'

‘Don't worry about Jane. I saw her yesterday when I picked Florence up, and Peter arrived while I was there. He's there for the weekend, and he scooped Florence up and
gave her a big kiss hello, and she hugged him and called him Uncle Peter. And Jane took me on one side and told me that they're thinking of getting married. And Florence doesn't seem even slightly fazed by him being around.'

‘Are you?' she asked, reading his eyes carefully, because Mike would have gone into orbit if his wife had even looked at another man, but Ben just shook his head.

‘Why would I be? Except in so far as it affects Florence, and it really doesn't seem to. She clearly likes him, and Jane's been in love with him for years. He wouldn't marry her before because he was in the army bomb disposal team, and he didn't want her ending up a widow. We met at a mutual friend's wedding a few months after they split up, and I think she'd decided then that it was time to move on. And I was there, physically and mentally sound, single, ready for a permanent relationship, and I had decent career prospects. And if she couldn't have Peter, then I ticked all the necessary boxes. And then she forgot to take her pill one day and got pregnant.'

‘So you married her.'

‘Yes. She was having my child, and to be honest she ticked the boxes for me in the same sort of way. Matt tried to warn me that it wasn't enough, but he had his own problems at the time and I ignored him, because following his heart didn't seem to have done him any good. And after we were married, I realised he was right. Jane was lonely, she wanted to come back here to be near her family, and of course she missed Peter. He's from round here, too, and I think that was a big part of her wanting to come back.'

‘Did you know about him?' she asked, appalled that he might have found out after they were married—or at least, after it was too late.

‘I did by then. She'd realised she didn't love me, and she didn't want to be with me. She said it wouldn't be good for
Florence anyway to have unhappy parents who were stuck with each other in a relationship that was going nowhere. I didn't agree at the time, I thought she was using me and maybe had all along, but maybe I agree now, now I can see that it works. Anyway, we split up and she moved up here, and as soon as I could get a job in the area, I was to move closer so I could share Florence's care. And in the time it took for that to happen, Peter came back into her life.'

‘But I thought he was still in the army?'

‘He is, but he's just reaching the end of his commission and he'll be UK based now to the end, but you've only got to see them together to see how well it works for them. I know they'll be all right, and he's a thoroughly decent guy.'

Her heart was thumping. ‘So—you're not worried about Florence being upset by you having a relationship with me? If—if we felt it could work? I mean—
really
work.'

He gave a fleeting smile, and grazed her cheek gently with his knuckles. ‘No. Not at all. Not now I know you, because I know you'd never hurt her. Jane says she talks about you all the time and seems very fond of you, and if we don't involve her any more than we already have until we're both utterly sure about it, then I can't see it'll do her any harm. And I can't go on like this, Daisy. I really miss you, and I really want to see if what we've got could work. I'm not on call after tomorrow, and Jane's better now, so Florence will be back there from tomorrow night.'

And they could be alone. It was written in his eyes, in the longing and hope she could read there so clearly, and it echoed the longing she didn't dare give a voice to.

‘Please give me a chance,' he went on, his voice serious. ‘Let me prove to you that this can work. Give me this coming week—and next weekend. Maybe Jane can have Florence and we can spend some time together doing fun stuff.'

‘I might be working.'

‘You aren't. I changed the rota.'

She opened her mouth to tell him not to interfere, and then she caught the uncertainty in his eyes.

‘OK,' she said, capitulating, but with reservations. ‘We'll try. This week. I don't know about the weekend yet.'

‘Just don't rule it out.'

He hugged her briefly, but before her arms could come up and circle him and hold him to her heart, the knocker sounded.

‘That'll be our food,' he said, and let her go, and she sucked in a deep breath and closed her eyes.

What on
earth
had she just done?

 

She woke up on Monday morning tingling with anticipation. Ben had been called out again Sunday night and he'd sent her home.

‘Tomorrow. I don't want any interruptions,' he'd said, with a promise in his eyes, and she'd gone home to bed alone. It was lovely to sleep in it again, after a week on Ben's sofa bed, and she woke refreshed and looking forward to going to work for the first time since their breakup.

Ever since then she'd been avoiding him, trying to keep out of his way, and when they'd been forced together there'd been a tension that she was sure everyone would have felt.

But now—now it was back to how it had been, working together seamlessly through the ward round and the routine of the morning, then Mel and Adrian Grieves came into the antenatal clinic for their check-up scan on the monoamniotic twins. They were twenty four weeks now, and although there was a loose tangle that didn't seem to want to untangle, both twins were growing well, their heartbeats were strong and healthy, and Ben was happy.

So were the parents.

‘Are they viable now?' Mel asked, and Ben pulled a face.

‘At a push. I wouldn't want to deliver them yet, not for at least eight more weeks, but they would stand a chance now, yes.'

The tension went out of her, and her husband squeezed her shoulder as her eyes welled with tears. ‘I've been so scared for them. It just seems to have been such a long time.'

‘Well, it isn't over yet, but we'll have you in in a few more weeks—maybe two? The cords
are
tangled, and I do have a little bit of concern, but at the moment they're fine and I'm happy to leave them. If they get another loop in that tangle, I'll want you here, so maybe from next week have a bag in the car with you, just in case. OK?'