The Doctor's Lost-and-Found Bride (11 page)

‘Max, I can’t.’ She looked at him, stricken. ‘I want to be with Rosie and Neil and the baby—of
course
I do—but it’s my day in the children’s assessment unit tomorrow.’

‘Don’t worry. I’ll have a word with Rhys in a minute and let him know the situation so he can get cover. You said he and his wife are expecting a baby, so I’m sure he’ll understand. These are exceptional circumstances.’ He squeezed her hand. ‘It’ll be fine. Try not to worry. Give Rosie and Neil my love, and I’ll call you later, OK?’

E
VERYTHING
was a blur after that. Marina rushed home, found her camera and came straight back to hug Rosie and take photographs of the baby. Neil’s parents clearly felt as if they could do nothing to help; Marina suggested that the grandmothers could go and get the photos printed and find some extra-small baby clothes, while the grandfathers went to the park with Phoebe, so Rosie and Neil could spend time with the baby.

‘You’re a genius,’ Rosie said to Marina when their parents had left. ‘Now nobody feels left out, and I don’t feel that Neil and I have to stay up here and be sociable when I really just want to be with Nathan.’

‘Nathan? That’s a lovely name,’ Marina said with a smile. ‘And it suits him.’

She and Max had never got round to discussing names, thinking it unlucky until after the twenty-week scan. Except they hadn’t made it that far. She’d lost the baby at thirteen weeks, the week after she’d been so sure it was safe to tell the world that they were expecting.

She pushed the thought away. Now really wasn’t the time to brood. She couldn’t change what had happened, so
it was completely pointless dwelling on it; better to spend her energy supporting Rosie, Neil and the children.

‘His middle name’s Murray, by the way,’ Neil added.

‘Seeing as I was stuck in here,’ Rosie said, ‘it gave me plenty of time to look through all the baby-name books and find a boy’s name meaning “from the sea”. It’s Gaelic.’

Marina suddenly twigged what her sister was telling her: her own name meant ‘from the sea’. ‘You named him after
me
?’ Her eyes filled with tears.

Neil slipped his arm round her shoulders and hugged her. ‘I don’t know anyone else called Marina, so I guess we must have done.’

‘That’s…that’s…’ She was lost for words.

‘Don’t cry,
cara
,’ Rosie said. ‘Or you’ll set me off and I’ll start leaking everywhere.’

‘I’ll go and get us some drinks and meet you in SCBU,’ Marina said, and fled into the corridor so she could give in to the overwhelming rush of tears. Her sister had given her precious baby the masculine version of Marina’s name, showing just how much she loved her.

How she wished she’d been able to pay Rosie that same compliment three and a half years ago.

Later that evening, Max phoned Marina. ‘How are things?’ he asked.

‘Fine.’

But he could hear the wobble in Marina’s voice. Something definitely wasn’t fine. Was the baby ill?

‘Rhys sends his best and says not to worry—and he’ll pop in and see the baby too.’

‘Thank you.’

He heard an audible gulp, and it worried him even more.

‘How was your day?’ she asked.

‘Fine. And don’t worry about work. I’ve sorted cover for you.’

‘Thank you.’

There was another wobble in her voice, and Max needed to know just what she wasn’t telling him. The only way to satisfy himself about what was really going on was to see her face to face. But he also knew that if he suggested dropping by she’d say that there was no need and everything was fine. Marina always had been self-contained—too self-contained, really. If she’d cried her heart out on his shoulder instead of her sister’s when they’d lost the baby, he would’ve felt that she needed him, that he’d actually been able to do something to help. But after that first horrible day she’d just withdrawn from him, and he hadn’t known how to get her sparkle back. He hadn’t really explained that to her properly at Greenwich: how helpless he’d felt, facing her pain and knowing he couldn’t do a single thing to make things better.

‘I’ll talk to you later,’ he said. ‘Call me if you need anything.’

‘Thanks. I will.’

Though he knew full well that she wouldn’t. She’d try to fix things herself, the way she always did.

This time, things weren’t so bleak, but he still needed to show her that she could rely on him. That he’d be there for her, support her the way she deserved. He went to the corner shop for supplies, then drove over to her street and leaned on her doorbell.

Her eyes widened as she opened the door. ‘Max! I wasn’t expecting to see you.’

‘I think,’ he said softly, ‘you need a hug. Come here,
honey.’ He stepped into the hallway, closed the door behind him and held her tightly. She was trembling, teetering on the edge of leaning on him. And he really, really wanted her to lean on him.

‘How are things
really
?’ he asked, resting his cheek against her hair.

She shivered. ‘Max, you know as well as I do, preemies can have real problems. I can’t possibly tell Rosie any of this—she’s scared enough as it is, without me dumping this on her.’

Marina was using up all her reserves to support her sister; she needed someone to shore her up, too, whether she admitted it or not. ‘Talk to me,’ Max said. ‘Tell me what you’re worried about.’

‘For a start, the baby’s more susceptible to picking up an infection.’

‘Which is exactly why they’re so hot on hygiene in SCBU. He’s in the right place,’ Max reassured her.

‘And preemies don’t have the shiver reflex that full-term babies do. He doesn’t have as much subcutaneous fat, he’s at risk of hypothermia—and that can lead to other conditions.’

Such as low blood sugar, Max knew. ‘Which is why he’ll be wearing a hat, why he’ll be in an incubator and why it’s so horrendously warm in SCBU.’

‘And he’s at risk of developing RDS.’

Respiratory distress syndrome was one of the biggest risks to premature babies. ‘OK, he doesn’t have as much surfactant in his lungs as a full-term baby,’ Max said. Surfactant stopped the small air sacs in the lungs from collapsing, so the lack of it caused problems for premature babies, making it harder for them to breathe properly. And the sheer effort
they had to expend in breathing exhausted them, so they didn’t have the energy to feed. ‘He might need some extra oxygen to help him for a while, or if he’s really struggling they might intubate him and treat him with surfactant—and yes, before you say it, they’ll monitor the oxygen carefully. He’s in the right place to get the help he needs.’

‘And he’s a high risk of developing apnea.’ The condition made babies stop breathing for twenty seconds or more, and their heart rate slowed down below eighty beats per minute; it was most likely to occur when the baby was asleep.

‘Not all preemies do. If he does, the nurses will stimulate him to breathe by touching his feet—and they’ll put him on a monitor that will tell them if he stops breathing.’

‘And he’s more likely to have a haem—’

Max cut off the rest of the word by kissing her, nibbling at her lower lip until she opened her mouth and kissed him back. He walked her backwards into her living room, still kissing her, then sat down in a chair and pulled her onto his lap.

She stared at him. ‘Why did you do that?’

‘Because you’re working yourself up into a real panic here, and that was the only way I could think of to stop you. Yes, there are risks, but your nephew’s in the right place, and you know that—they’ll be monitoring him really closely and they’ll pick everything up.’

She dragged in a breath. ‘He’s so tiny, Max. He only weighs two and a quarter kilos.’

‘That’s pretty good, for his dates.’

‘And his skin’s thin and wrinkled, and his head looks too large.’ She grimaced. ‘I did a placement in SBCU, so I knew what to expect if he did arrive early—but it’s so different when the baby’s part of your own family, not just a patient.’

‘Of course it is. You’re emotionally involved—which is just how it should be.’ He kept his arms round her. ‘How’s he feeding?’

‘Through a naso-gastric tube. Rosie’s expressing milk and cuddling him during feeds.’

‘That’s great. It’ll help them bond. How’s she doing?’

‘Frantic with worry—it’s not at all like last time, when she had Phoebe naturally and could hold her straight after the birth. She’s able to hold him for a little bit, but clearly it’s not that comfortable for him right now, and she feels as if she’s a bad mother because she can’t give him what he needs.’ Marina sighed. ‘Obviously, she’s staying in hospital for observation anyway because she had a section, and they probably won’t discharge her until the weekend. I’m going to keep her company and support her with the baby during the day for the rest of the week, and Neil’s going to try and delegate as much of his work as he can so he’ll be able to spend more time with her and the baby in the evenings.’

‘Is Phoebe going to keep going to the hospital nursery?’

‘For the next couple of weeks, yes. She’s going to stay with my parents, and I’m going to do the nursery run both ends of the day, to take the pressure off Neil, and also give Phoebe the chance to see a bit of her mum.’

‘It sounds as if you’ve got it all sorted out between you,’ Max said. Marina’s family always had been good at organising things. Louise had been brilliant with the wedding plans, especially as everything had been such a rush, and Marina had been suffering too much with morning sickness to do as much as she wanted to.

They’d married in Kings Weston House, a beautiful Georgian mansion on the outskirts of Bristol that had been
designed by Sir John Vanbrugh. His bride had walked down the amazing suspended staircase to meet him for their marriage. His parents hadn’t quite forgiven him for not getting married in church—his mother had even mentioned Bristol Cathedral, at one point—but Marina had asked him for something simpler. And he’d wanted to give his bride the kind of day she’d dreamed about. The kind of day he wanted himself.

‘Mum’s been brilliant,’ Marina said, and there was a hint of wistfulness in her eyes; was she, too, thinking of their wedding? he wondered. ‘Neil’s parents have been good too, but Neil’s mum doesn’t want to risk Phoebe or Neil picking up her cold, because then they won’t be able to see the baby, either—and she’s so upset, Max. She hasn’t been able to see the baby yet, and photographs really aren’t the same at all. She’s trying to be brave for Neil and Rosie, but I can see it in her face. She feels useless and miserable because she can’t do anything practical to help.’

‘Maybe she can help with things like sending birth announcements and pictures of the baby to people,’ Max suggested.

‘That’s a good idea. I’ll talk to Neil and Rosie and see what they say.’ She bit her lip. ‘I just wish I could do more. I wish I could wave a magic wand so Nathan’ll be well and ready to go home right now.’

‘Of course you do.’ He drew her closer. ‘But you’re already being a brilliant support.’

She swallowed hard. ‘They’re calling him after me.’

He didn’t follow that at all. ‘Didn’t you just say they were calling him Nathan? Forgive me for bursting your bubble, honey, but Nathan doesn’t sound anything like Marina.’

‘Not his first name—his middle name. Murray. It’s the Gaelic masculine equivalent of Marina.’

‘That’s lovely.’ He stroked her hair. ‘And I’m not surprised. Rosie thinks an awful lot of you.’

‘I think a lot of her.’

He stole a kiss. ‘Look, I live nearer to the hospital than you do. Why don’t you come and stay with me for a while? It would save you a bit of time.’

She shook her head. ‘That’s really sweet of you to offer, but I’d rather stay here. If there’s a problem, this is the first place anyone will ring.’

‘You’d have your mobile phone on you.’

‘Even so. I’d rather be here.’

With all her things round her—at
home
—rather than in his anonymous and impersonal flat. He could understand that. ‘In that case, give me your spare key.’

She frowned. ‘Why?’

‘So I can help you with practical stuff. For a start, I can stop your fridge becoming like mine.’ He kissed the tip of her nose. ‘And I can work a washing machine nowadays. It’ll take some of the pressure off you—and if you call me when you’re on your way home, I’ll have dinner ready when you get in.’

She shook her head. ‘Max, you really don’t have to cook for me.’

‘I know I don’t, but I want to help.’ He drew her closer. ‘I want to be here for you. You’re supporting Rosie and Neil. Let me support you.’

It was such a tempting offer. Someone to lean on. Someone to talk to about her worries—someone who’d understand the things she couldn’t say to her family.

But, the last time she’d needed his support, he hadn’t been there. She’d had to put a brave face on it and go it alone. Until she’d fled back to her family.

Would Max let her down again? Or could she take the risk and trust him?

‘By the way, I brought supplies.’

She hadn’t even noticed the paper bag he’d brought with him. But, when he gave it to her and she opened it, she discovered chocolate. Lots of chocolate. And a box of tissues.

‘That’s so…’ She was overwhelmed by his thoughtfulness. ‘Thank you, Max.’

‘Just in case,’ he said. ‘I had this feeling there was something you weren’t telling me.’

‘Not about Nathan. But you know how it is—when you’re a medic, you know too much. You know what the worst-case scenario is. I couldn’t talk to Rosie or Mum about it without worrying them sick.’

‘I’m glad you told me,’ he said softly. ‘And what you said isn’t going anywhere.
I’m
not going anywhere, either.’

‘Thank you.’ Making the decision, she wriggled off his lap. When he looked wary, she took his hand and tugged him to his feet, then led him into the kitchen. She took her spare keys from the drawer where she kept them. ‘You’ll need the code for the alarm,’ she said, scribbling it on a piece of paper and giving it to him along with her keys.

Max was as good as his word. Marina called him the next evening on her way home from the hospital, and by the time she got in he had a meal ready for her: baked salmon, new potatoes and salad.

‘It’s all pre-packaged stuff. All I did was follow the instructions and shove it in the oven,’ he warned.

‘It means I don’t have to worry about cooking. Thank you, Max.’

‘No problem. As I said, I just want to support you.’

If he’d supported me like that four years ago, Marina thought, if he’d let me support him, we’d still be together now.

The food was good, but Marina found herself picking at it. And she really wasn’t in the mood for conversation; in her mind’s eye, she could see her nephew in the special-care unit, vulnerable, fragile and struggling to breathe. As if Max guessed, he didn’t push her to talk; he simply cleared away their plates and tidied her kitchen.