The Fiancé He Can't Forget (9 page)

‘Want company?'

He shook his head. ‘Not really. Do you mind? It's
good to touch base and I really appreciate your support, but—I just want to talk to her, say all the things I've never said.'

Ben's hand gripped his shoulder. ‘You go for it,' he said softly, and with a gentle smile, he left him to make his own way back. ‘I'll bring you the photos. Keep in touch,' he called, turning as he walked away, and Matt nodded.

He would. Just as soon as there was anything to say…

 

He was there again.

She could hear him talking, his voice soft, wrapping round her and cradling her in a soft cocoon. She couldn't hear the words. Not really, not well enough to make them out, but it was lovely to hear his voice.

She tried to move, and felt a searing pain low down on her abdomen, and she gasped, the blissful cocoon vanishing. It hurt—everything hurt, and someone was holding her, gripping her hands.

‘Amy? Amy, it's Matt. It's OK. You're safe, and the baby's safe. He's doing well. It's OK, my darling. You're all right. You're much better and you're going to be OK now.'

She lay still, sifting through the words with her fuddled brain, trying to claw through the fog. Something was wrong. Something…

The baby's safe…he's doing well…

But he wasn't. He wasn't safe at all! Why was Matt telling her that? He knew she'd lost him, he knew that, so why was he lying to her?

She heard a strange noise, like someone crying, a long, long way away, and then the fog closed over her again…

 

‘She woke up. I was telling her everything was all right, and she started crying, and then she was gone again.'

‘Don't worry. She could just be in pain,' the doctor said, and he stepped outside for a minute to stretch his legs and give them room to get to her. God, he needed Ben, but he couldn't ask.

He went back inside. They were nearly finished. They'd topped up her pain relief and checked her thoroughly. She was coming up now, hovering just under the surface of consciousness, and he was feeling sick with dread. This was the time he'd find out just how bad she was, how much brain damage she might have sustained during the fit, or in fact before it, causing it.

A part of him didn't want to know, but the other part, the part that still, incredibly, dared to believe, wanted her to wake.

And then finally, what seemed like hours later, when he was getting desperate, she opened her eyes.

 

‘Amy? Amy, it's Matt.'

His face swam, coming briefly into focus. So it
was
him there with her. She'd thought so. Emotion threatened to choke her, and as if he knew that he leant forwards, gripping her hand.

‘How are you feeling?'

‘Sore,' she said hoarsely, answering the question because it was easier than thinking about why he was there by her side in hospital. ‘My head's sore. And—everywhere, really. Why do I feel like this?'

‘You went into pre-eclampsia, and you had a fit,' he told her gently, her hand wrapped firmly in his. ‘Ben had to deliver the baby, but he's OK. He's doing really well.'

She shook her head, slowly at first, then more urgently, because he was wrong and she had to tell him. ‘No. Ben wasn't there.'

‘Yes, he was. He delivered you, Amy. We found you on the floor.'

Yes. She remembered the floor. Remembered crumpling to the floor, someone coming to her, lifting her up, calling Matt. Telling him she was losing the baby…

She closed her eyes against the images, but they followed her, tearing her apart. ‘I lost him. I'm sorry…'

‘No, Amy.' He was insistent, confusing her. ‘Amy, he's fine. He's going to be fine. He's all right.'

‘No,' she whispered. ‘No. I've lost him. I saw him, Matt! I saw him! Why are you lying to me?' she asked frantically, feeling panic and the raw, awful pain of loss sweeping over her and deluging her with emotion. She brushed his hands away, desperate to be rid of the feel of him, hanging onto her and lying, lying.

‘Don't lie to me! He's dead—you know he's dead!'

He had her hands again, his grip inescapable, still lying to her. ‘Amy, no! Listen, please listen, you're confused, I'm not lying to you, he's alive.'

‘Stop it! Don't lie to me! Stop it!' she screamed, pressing her hands to her ears to block out the sound of his voice, but she could still hear him, over and over again, lying to her, the sound ringing in her head and driving her mad with grief.

‘
He's alive…alive…alive…'

‘No-o-o-o—! Go away! I hate you! Leave me alone, don't do this.'

‘Shh, Amy, it's all right, hush now, go back to sleep,' a firm, gentle voice told her. ‘It's all right. Easy now.'

‘Ben?' she whispered, her voice slurring. She struggled to get the words out, but they wouldn't come. ‘Ben, he's lying, get him away from me! Get him away.'

‘Hush, Amy, it's OK. He's gone. You go to sleep. Everything's all right.'

She wanted to argue, to tell him it wasn't all right. It was really important to tell them, but she felt herself sliding back down, felt the pain slip away as the fog wrapped her again in gentle, mindless oblivion…

 

Ben caught up with him in the loo off the corridor. The door was hanging open as he'd left it, and he was shaking.

He felt a gentle hand on his back. ‘You all right?' Ben asked softly, and Matt straightened and leant back against the wall, shuddering.

‘Ben, I can't take it. I can't do this.'

Ben shoved a tissue into his hand. ‘Yes, you can. She'll be all right. She's just confused, but it'll pass. It's the sedation and the pressure on her brain from the fluid, not to mention the other drugs, the painkillers, the magnesium sulphate.' Matt lifted a hand to ward off the words, and Ben flushed the loo. ‘Wash your face and hands, and come and sit down and talk this through with me. You know what's going on. She's having flashbacks, but she'll come out of it.'

‘Will she? I'm not so sure,' he said, and swallowed hard as bile rose in his throat again.

‘I'm sure. Come on. Sort yourself out and we'll go for a walk. You could use some fresh air.'

Fresh air? He could think of plenty of things he needed. Fresh air wasn't one of them. What he needed
was a miracle, but in the absence of that, his brother's support was the next best thing.

He washed his face and hands, took a long, deep breath and went.

I
T WAS
quiet when she woke again.

Quiet, and calm.

Well, calm for the hospital, anyway. There were still the bleeps and tweets and hissings of the machines, the ringing phones in the distance, the sound of hurrying feet, someone talking, but there was a quietness about it.

Night-time, she realised.

She opened her eyes and looked around, slightly stunned. HDU? Wow. She was hooked up to all sorts of things, and Matt was asleep in the chair beside her, his top half slumped on the bottom of the bed, his head resting on one arm and the other hand lying loosely on hers. She couldn't see his face, it was hidden by a fold in the bedcover, but she knew it was him.

She thought he'd been there all the time—had a feeling she'd heard his voice in the distance. Oh. So hard. She blinked to clear her vision, to clear her mind, but it felt like glue.

She tried moving—carefully, just a little, because she was feeling sore. Something momentous had happened, but she couldn't remember what.

Samuel, her mind said, but she knew that was wrong.
Samuel was years ago, and she could feel the sadness for him, the ache that never left her, but stronger now for some reason, and tinged with fear.

She eased her hand away from Matt's and felt her tummy. Soft, flabby—and tender, low down. A—dressing? A post-op dressing?

A section? Why had she had a section? Oh, think! she told herself. There was something there, just hovering out of reach, and she tried again.

Yes. She'd had a headache. It was a dreadful headache. She'd had it all day, getting worse, but when she'd got home it was awful. And then—

‘Oh!'

Her soft gasp jerked Matt awake, and he sat up with a grunt, grabbing his neck and rubbing it, his head rotating, easing out the kinks. His smile was tired and—wary? ‘Amy. You're awake. Are you OK?'

She nodded. He looked awful. He hadn't shaved, his clothes were crumpled and his eyes were red-rimmed. From exhaustion? Or crying? He'd looked like this before…

‘Matt, what happened?' she asked, not sure if she wanted to know the answer. His face…

‘You had pre-eclampsia,' he said carefully. ‘Do you remember that?'

She nodded slowly, trying to think, trying to suppress the niggle of fear. ‘Yes. Sort of. I had a dreadful headache. Were you there? I've got this vague recollection of you carrying me…'

His face crumpled for a moment, so she thought something terrible had happened. He looked so drained, and she felt her heart rate start to pick up. The baby…

‘Yes, I was there. I'd come up to see Ben and Daisy's
baby for the weekend. We heard you at the door, and when I opened it you'd collapsed on the floor. That was when I carried you. We brought you to the hospital.'

He waited, and she thought about it. Yes, she remembered that—not the hospital, but before then, his face looming over her, his arms round her, making her feel safe. And Ben and Daisy's baby. Of course. She'd delivered Thomas—when? Recently. Very recently. But—

‘I had a section,' she said, not daring to ask and yet she could hear his voice in her head, saying he was all right, it was OK, the baby was fine. But there was something else, about him lying to her, some little niggle…

He smiled, his eyes lighting with a tender joy. ‘Yes. We had a boy, Amy,' he told her, his voice shaking slightly. ‘He's fine. He's a little small, but he's doing really well, he's a proper fighter. Ben took some photos for you.'

He held them out to her, and she saw a baby almost lost in Matt's arms. There was a clip on his finger, and leads trailing from his tiny chest, and the nappy seemed to drown him, but he looked pink and well and—alive?

She sucked in a breath, and then another, hardly daring to believe it as the hope turned to joy. ‘Is he—is that really…?'

‘It's our baby, Amy,' he said softly, his eyes bright. ‘He's in SCBU and he's doing really well.'

He showed her another photo, a close-up just of the baby, and she traced the features with her finger, wondering at them. Amazing. So, so amazing…

‘Can I see him? I want to see him. Can you take me?'

He shook his head. ‘You can't leave the ward yet, sweetheart. You're still on the magnesium sulphate infusion, and you've been really ill.'

‘I want to see him. I want to hold him,' she said, and she started to cry, because she'd been so afraid for so long, and there was still something there, something lurking in the fringes of the fog behind her, something terrifying that she didn't understand. ‘Please let me hold him.'

‘OK, OK, sweetheart, don't cry, I'll go and get him. I'll bring him to you.' She felt him gather her up in his arms, his face next to hers, the stubble rough and oddly reassuring against her cheek. ‘Hush now,' he murmured gently. ‘Come on, lie back and rest. It's all right. Just relax—'

His voice cracked, and she wanted to cry again, but for him this time. He'd had no warning of this. She'd been going to tell him, to explain, but she'd run out of time, and for him to find her like that—

‘It's OK, Matt, I'm all right,' she said, reassuring him hastily. ‘I'm fine. Please, just bring him to me. Let me see him. I need to see him with my own eyes. I need to know he's all right.'

‘He's all right, I promise you, Amy, and I'm not lying. I'll get him—give me five minutes. I'll get someone to come and see you while I fetch him.'

He hesitated, then carefully, as if he was afraid to hurt her, he lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a gentle kiss to her palm, then folded her fingers over it to keep it safe while he was gone.

Her eyes flooded with tears. He'd always done that, right since their first date. The last time he'd done it was after Samuel died…

‘Amy, it's good to see you awake. How are you?'

She blinked away the tears and smiled up at the nurse who was both friend and colleague in another life. ‘I
don't know, Kate. OK, I think. My head hurts, and my tummy's sore, but—Matt's gone to get the baby…?' she said, ending it almost as a question, but Kate smiled widely.

‘Yes, he has. We can't let you off the ward yet, not till your magnesium sulphate infusion's finished, but he can come to you for a little while. You'll feel so much better when you've had a cuddle. Let's get you a little wash and sit you up. You'll feel better when you've cleaned your teeth, too.'

She'd feel better when she'd seen her baby, Amy thought, but she let Kate help her up, let her wash her and comb her hair, and she cleaned her teeth—Kate was right, it did feel better when her teeth were clean—and then she was ready, her heart pounding, every second an hour as she waited to hold her little son for the first time.

‘He's gorgeous,' Kate said, smiling and tidying up. ‘Ben's been in flashing photos of both of them, and he's just like their baby. Smaller, of course, but lovely. So cute. Oh, look, here he comes, the little man!'

Matt was trundling the clear plastic crib, and Amy scooted up the bed a bit more, Kate helping her and tutting and rearranging her pillows, and with a crooked smile Matt lifted his tiny, precious cargo out of the crib and laid him in her waiting arms.

Gosh, he was so small! He weighed next to nothing, his feet hardly reaching her hand, his little head perfectly round, but he was breathing, his chest moving, one arm flailing in his sleep.

She lifted him to her face, kissed him, inhaled the scent of his skin and felt calm steal over her. This was her child, here in her arms where he belonged, alive and
well and safe. The last cobwebs of her nightmare were torn aside as she looked at him, taking in each feature, watching his little mouth working, his eyelids flicker as he screwed up his button nose, and she laughed softly in delight.

‘He's so tiny!' she breathed, staring down at him in wonder. She took his hand, and the fingers closed on her thumb, bringing a huge lump to her throat, but then his eyes opened and locked with hers, and she felt everything right itself, the agonising suspense of the last six months wiped out in a moment. ‘Hello, baby,' she said softly, her voice rising naturally to a pitch he could hear. ‘Oh, aren't you so beautiful? My gorgeous, gorgeous boy…'

‘He's due a feed,' Matt said softly, after a moment. ‘They've given me a bottle for you to give him, if you want to.'

She felt shocked. ‘A bottle?'

‘Of breast milk, from the bank. Just until you're well enough, and because he's suffered a setback with the pre-eclampsia, so he needs to catch up. But if you want to try…'

She did. She desperately wanted to feel him against her skin, to touch him, nurse him, hold him.

They pulled the screens round her, and Kate eased the gown off her shoulders and then put the baby back into her arms. He was only wearing a nappy, and she felt his skin against her breasts, so soft, so thin it was almost transparent.

‘He's too sleepy.'

‘No, he's not. His mouth's working, look. He'll wake up if you stroke your nipple against his cheek.'

Oh, genius child! He knew exactly what to do. She
touched his soft, delicate cheek with her nipple, and he turned his head, rosebud lips open, and as she'd done countless times with other mothers, she pressed the baby's head against the breast and he latched on. And just like that, he was suckling.

Relief poured through her, because so often if babies suffered a setback at this stage and had to be bottle fed for the first days or weeks, it could become almost impossible to establish breast feeding. Not so with her baby, she thought with a flurry of maternal pride.

‘He's amazing,' she said contentedly. ‘So clever.'

‘He is,' Matt agreed, tucking a blanket gently round them to keep him warm. ‘He's incredible. So are you.' He stared down at them both, at the little jaws working hard, the milk-beaded lips around her nipple, her finger firmly held by the tiny hand of this miracle that was their child.

It had taken them twenty-seven hours, but finally, mother and son were getting acquainted, her crisis had passed and they could look to the future—a brighter future than he'd dared to imagine.

Where it would take them, though, he still had no idea…

 

Amy didn't quite know what to do with Matt.

He'd taken the baby back to the neonatal unit after she'd finished feeding him, and once he'd changed his nappy and he was settled, he came back to see her.

She was lying down again, exhausted with emotion and effort, and the first thing he did was stick up the photos of the baby on the side of her locker right in front of her, so she could see them.

‘OK now?' he asked gently, and she nodded tiredly.

‘I'm fine. Bit sore. I could do with going to sleep, and you look as if you could, too. Why don't you go back to Ben and Daisy's and get your head down? Or mine,' she added, and then wondered if that was really such a good idea, but he latched onto it instantly.

‘That might be better. They're getting little enough sleep as it is. I think Thomas has his own idea of a schedule and I don't think night-time features yet.'

She smiled at that. ‘Babies don't do schedules—well, not at three days old or whatever he is now.'

‘Day three today, which started about half an hour ago. It's just after midnight on Sunday. You had the baby on Friday night.'

She frowned. ‘So long ago? How long was I out?'

‘A long time. Over twenty-four hours.'

She reached out her hand, and he took it, his fingers wrapping firmly round hers and squeezing gently. ‘That must have been awful for you,' she murmured, and his mouth twitched into a fleeting smile.

‘I don't think you were enjoying it much either.'

She frowned again. ‘No.'

‘You're OK now, and so's he. And you're right, I could do with getting my head down. It's been a tough week at work and I haven't had any sleep to speak of since Thursday morning.'

He got to his feet, and hesitated. ‘Are you sure you're all right if I leave you?'

‘Absolutely sure,' she promised, really tired now. ‘I need to sleep, too. My head's killing me.'

‘It'll be better soon. Give it another few hours. You sleep well, and I'll see you in the morning. Get them to call my mobile if there's anything you want—anything at all.'

And as if he knew the only thing she really wanted was a hug, he leant over and gave her one, a gentle squeeze as his stubble brushed her cheek and he dropped a feather-light kiss on the corner of her mouth.

‘Sleep tight,' he murmured, and kissing her hand again, he folded up her fingers and left her alone with her thoughts.

 

When he got back to the hospital in the morning, it was to find that Amy had been moved out of HDU into a single room on the postnatal ward, and he went to find her.

‘Hi there,' he said, tapping on the door and pushing it open with a smile. ‘How are you?'

‘Much better. My hands and feet feel as if they might be mine again, and my headache's easing.' She frowned, and tipped her head on one side, eyeing him searchingly. ‘Just how bad was it, Matt? Nobody seems to want to tell me and the consultant's not around, conveniently.'

‘No. Well, I think Ben's sort of overseeing your care.'

‘You mean you aren't?' she asked, only half joking.

Curiously, he hadn't felt the need to interfere, and he told her so. ‘I think it's because I was keeping a pretty close eye on what was going on, and they were doing what I would have done, so there was no need.'

‘You haven't answered the first question,' she pointed out, and he grunted softly and sat down on the chair beside her.

‘You—uh—you fitted. In HDU, after the delivery.'

Amy was stunned. ‘I fitted?' she said, thinking that it explained a lot about her headache. ‘So what was my blood pressure?'