One Night to Forever Family Page 5

  ‘So you were spot on,’ she finished, battling to keep her voice steady. ‘Nick wouldn’t have broken the speed limit, but he was as angry as I was, hurt and hurtful.’

  She waited, praying silently that Andy would understand, wondering why life had to be so complicated.

  But all he did was reach one hand across the table and squeeze her fingers.

  Then he smiled, a weary, tired smile but one that still lit up his eyes.

  ‘Oh, Sam, you shouldn’t still be blaming yourself. I know I made things so much worse for you with my cruel, thoughtless words. And I’ve been wondering for a month how I could apologise to you. I had no right to say that to you—to hurt you further. Of course it wasn’t your fault—you weren’t driving, Nick was, and no matter the provocation he was the one speeding.’

  He took both her hands in his now, and added, ‘Can you forgive me? Can we be friends?’

  She squeezed his fingers.

  ‘Friends,’ she said.

  They sat a little longer, their hands still clasped, until Sam began to feel uncomfortable.

  ‘You should be in bed,’ she told him, needing to get away, to think about what had just happened between them, but first and foremost to remove her fingers, which seemed to be quite happy sitting there in his light clasp.

  * * *

  Andy had been trying to ignore their tangled fingers—ignore the tension rising in his body.

  He stood up, probably a little too abruptly.

  ‘I should, and so should you,’ he said, clamping his lips together as beer and a single glass of wine had weakened his resistance, and the suggestion they could share a bed threatened to escape his lips.

  As if, given how she’d just said she still loved Nick...

  Or had still loved him?

  He brought reality back with talk of work—safe talk.

  ‘I did tell you, didn’t I, that we’ll be working together? Same shifts for the first few days, just until you settle in and get to know our routines and procedure protocols. Basic stuff, but I always found it difficult moving hospitals, so it seemed like a good idea.’

  ‘That’s great!’ Sam said, a bright smile underlining the words. ‘So, what time do we need to leave?’

  Her enthusiasm and the smile made him wonder if it had been all that great an idea, but he battled on.

  ‘We’ll leave about seven-thirty,’ he said, forcing the distraction of this beautiful woman away with practical words. ‘See you then?’

  CHAPTER THREE

  ‘SEE YOU THEN?’

  The words echoed in Sam’s head as she made her way to her bedroom.

  Did he not eat breakfast before he left for work?

  And what was she supposed to do?

  She remembered how she’d hated staying with a friend for the first time, never sure when to get out of bed—would everyone be up, or would she wake them?

  And she’d certainly need breakfast but could she just open and shut cupboards in Andy’s kitchen until she found breakfast-type food?

  Not that she regretted him leaving so suddenly. Something had shifted between them after they’d talked about Nick. It was as if the breeze had strengthened in some way and caused vibrations in her body, a sense so fine she knew it had to be imagined.

  Or hoped it had to be imagined...

  Yet Andy’s abrupt departure had eased that tension at least, although he’d left her wondering just what it was she felt.

  Andy was just Andy—a friend from years back—and his having her to stay was nothing more than a sign of that.

  But, practically, could they get back to the easy friendship they’d had when she’d first met him? From the way he’d spoken, he’d obviously regretted the harsh words he’d said to her after the accident, so she could put that behind her and go forward.

  In friendship... Something, she realised now, she wouldn’t like to lose.

  She closed her bedroom door and was pulling off her T-shirt when there was a light tap from outside.

  ‘I should have said there’s plenty of food in the pantry and refrigerator, or there’s a café on ground level that opens early to do breakfasts.’

  She moved closer to the door, awareness of him just outside prickling her skin.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘The café sounds good!’

  She was close enough now to press her hand against the wood, aware he was just as close on the other side.

  Was his hand also against the door?

  Did she want it to be?

  Did he want it to be?

  She waited, wondering if he’d suggest they eat breakfast in the café together.

  Should she suggest it?

  But all she heard was a shuffle of feet on carpet and a quiet, ‘Goodnight!’

  She stayed where she was, hand on the door, trying to disentangle the various emotions this nothing of a conversation had just stirred up in her.

  Had she wanted him to come in?

  She shook her head to that one, although she wasn’t totally convinced.

  Had he wanted her to ask him in?

  Well, on that point she had no idea at all, but would guess not. Andy was far too...proper, really for something so crass...

  They were going to work together—be colleagues—and relationships with colleagues grew muddled. She and Nick had discovered that.

  Nick.

  She’d thought three years would have made it easier to think about him—even talk about him—but the resentment and anger she’d begun to feel towards the end of their marriage had surfaced again when she’d started talking earlier. Perhaps it was best to leave things as they were...

  She moved away from the door, stripped off her clothes and stepped under the shower in the little en suite bathroom.

  But once in bed, a book propped on her knees, she wondered again about her agreement to stay with Andy—if only for a short time...

  * * *

  She did have breakfast in the café but ate alone—fruit toast and strong tea. No sign of Nick, no sound of him in the apartment before she’d left it.

  But that was explained when she returned, and he was in the kitchen, mixing up some type of green sludge—presumably a healthy smoothie—a beach towel wrapped around his waist and his bare chest still damp in patches from an early morning swim.

  She’d walk to work in future, she decided then and there. That way she wouldn’t have to work out why that bare chest, tanned and sculpted by the swimming and whatever other exercise he did, had caused a hitch in her breathing, and a warmth to fill her body.

  ‘I can walk to the hospital today,’ she said, the words shooting out of her mouth. ‘It’ll do me good.’

  He swallowed a mouthful of his green sludge and shook his head.

  ‘I’ll be five minutes,’ he told her, ‘I’ve had my shower, and—’

  Dear Heaven, he was naked under that towel!

  The warmth became heat, which she knew would be showing in her cheeks.

  ‘No, I need the exercise, and it will be good to get a feel for the place.’

  She grabbed the little backpack, checked the keys were in it, and with a casual wave of her hand escaped out the door.

  What she really needed was a real-estate office or to start searching online for somewhere else to live.

  No way could she continue to live with Andy now he’d started to affect her the way he did. Neither could she really find another man—just a friend with benefits—to ease her frustration, not while she was living with Andy. That would be far too awkward!

  She needed to move out, find somewhere of her own. Somewhere she could think about the future, put Nick behind her for ever, and, in the classic phrase, move on!

  How had she got herself into this?

  But as she walked up onto the top of the next hill and looked
north this time, to the river’s mouth and beyond it to the sweeping, golden beach and brilliant, dark blue ocean, a sense of peace stole over her.

  Coming here had been a good decision.

  And having a friend—for that was all Andy was—to show her around was also a good thing.

  She walked on, breathing in the sea air, her feet beating out a rhythm that echoed in her head—Andy is a friend, Andy is a friend...

  * * *

  Rosa, the three-year-old with measles, was their first stop, after being alerted by a nurse that her condition hadn’t improved.

  ‘In fact, it’s worsened,’ Sam said as she read through the chart, while Andy bent over the cot.

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘The night duty doctor phoned, and we discussed using the cooling pads.’

  Sam had been looking at the small pads on Rosa’s wrists, neck and temples, white against the raw redness of the rash that now covered her body.

  ‘We’re just getting new ones for the inside of her elbows,’ the nurse explained, ‘and her father’s been here all night.’

  She pointed to the big adjustable chair that could be tipped back to allow someone in it to at least doze.

  ‘He’s gone home to see his other children and take them to their local GP for vaccinations, then he’ll be back.’ She paused. ‘He’s devastated,’ she said. ‘Blames himself.’

  Sam took one glance at Andy’s face and stepped into the conversation.

  ‘Some people genuinely believe the vaccination could harm their child. They fear it, no matter how much education we do.’

  Andy shook his head. ‘Were you always Little Miss Sunshine, refusing to see any bad in people?’ he said, but it was more a tease than a sarcastic remark.

  She grinned at him. ‘I try,’ she said.

  They moved on to the boy with the burnt feet, Jonah. He was sleeping, and as Andy studied his chart, Sam looked at the bandages and shook her head.

  ‘How on earth can you burn the bottom of your feet?’ she asked, and it was Andy’s turn to smile.

  ‘He lives near the beach and, apparently, he was clever enough to know he’d probably end up in serious trouble if he started a fire in the scrub on the headland. So he decided to experiment with a small one on a sandy patch hidden in amongst the rocks at the point. Had a great time, then his mother called him for dinner, and he covered it over with sand.’

  ‘And walked on it?’ Sam guessed.

  ‘Worse,’ Andy said. ‘He stamped the sand down to make sure the fire was out.’

  Sam shook her head. ‘His poor parents,’ she said. ‘They must wonder what on earth he’ll get up to next.’

  They discussed his treatment—the worst of the wounds had been debrided, and both feet were now bound in bandages to prevent infection. Given his improvement, he could go into a general children’s ward later that day.

  Together they checked the most seriously ill children, three of them in isolation rooms following chemotherapy. Then Andy excused himself to attend a department heads’ meeting, and Sam was left to visit the other children—twenty-three in all, quite a number for a provincial city’s ICU.

  ‘They come in from all the outlying areas,’ the nurse with her explained. ‘The district hospitals don’t have the specialists or Intensive Care.’

  ‘Certainly not as up to date as this place,’ Sam said, constantly surprised by the facilities in the unit.

  A loud beep took both of them to the small alcove where the child with RSV lay limply in his cot. One glance at the bedside monitor told Sam what was happening. His struggle to breathe, even with the ventilation, had caused his overworked heart to stop beating.

  As the nurse pressed the button for a crash cart, Sam started chest compressions, the heel of her hand on the little breast bone, pressing hard and counting.

  ‘Remove his mask for a minute and suction his trachea, in case the oxygen isn’t getting through,’ she said to the nurse, as Andy, no doubt alerted to the crisis, appeared.

  ‘His chest is rising and falling so the ventilator is keeping him oxygenated.’

  Andy felt for a pulse, shook his head.

  ‘Epinephrine?’ Sam asked, and he shook his head again.

  ‘There are so many questions about the use of it in the long term these days,’ he said. ‘It will probably restart his heart but could also cause brain damage. We’ll shock him. You’ve got his weight?’

  The nurse read it out from the chart and Sam watched as Andy translated it to voltage, using four joules per kilogram. The nurse was already attaching miniature pads to the small chest while Andy set the machine.

  They stood clear and the little body jerked, Sam bending over him ready to begin chest compressions again, although the steady heart-rate lines were already running across the monitor.

  It had been a heart-stopping moment—literally for the child—and the tension had somehow thickened the air in the room, while all eyes remained on the monitor, dreading they’d see that line waver.

  Sam turned to practical matters, beginning compressions again, aware that continuing compressions for a couple of minutes helped the failing heart regain its normal momentum.

  The nurses were cleaning up and wheeling the crash cart away, but Andy continued to study the boy.

  ‘We need to go back in his history to see if there was any suggestion of an abnormality in his heart from birth.’ He shook his head before answering his own question. ‘Surely not. Premmies are always tested every which way, scanned and checked on an almost daily basis.’

  Sam smiled to herself. Back when she’d first met Nick and Andy, and had worked with Andy when she’d been on a month’s student placement and he a junior registrar, she’d often heard him debating his thoughts aloud.

  ‘What about an atrial septum defect?’ she suggested. ‘They can sometimes be so small they’re not picked up until adulthood, although they do affect the lungs as well as the heart.’

  Andy smiled at her, which, given the situation, shouldn’t have had the slightest effect on her, but when he added, ‘I knew I’d got you here for a reason,’ she felt a flush of pride.

  ‘We’ll let the little fellow rest for an hour,’ he continued, while she told herself it really was pride, not something else that had caused the heat, ‘then see what an ultrasound can find.’

  ‘They’re often picked up in adults with a murmur,’ Sam said, concentrating on their small patient and sticking the buds of her stethoscope in her ears. ‘If it was audible it would have been picked up before now, but I’ll just have a listen in case the stoppage made it clearer.’

  She blew on the pad to warm it, then pressed it gently to the little chest, hearing the beat of his heart, steady and regular now, and perhaps just a whisper of something else.

  Andy listened too, but shook his head. ‘We’ll leave it for the ultrasound.’

  He paused, thoughtful again. ‘Although if it does show something up, we then have a decision to make—or the heart specialists will.’

  ‘Operate to close it, or just leave it and watch?’

  He nodded, frowning now at the child who’d had such a bad start to his life.

  They checked the rest of their patients, including a large lad of twelve who looked out of place in the PICU.

  * * *

  ‘He took a knock on the football field, lost consciousness, then had a grand mal seizure,’ Andy explained. ‘The neurologist who admitted him wanted him monitored for forty-eight hours before he does an EEG to see if there’s a likelihood of recurrent seizures.’

  He watched Sam flicking through the lad’s chart, pleased he had such good support from his number two, even though working with Sam felt disorientating in some way. For so long she’d just been Nick’s girl and that’s the way he’d forced himself to think of her from the time they’d started going out together—Nick’s girlfriend, Nick
’s partner, Nick’s wife.

  But Nick had been lost to both of them and now she was just Sam—a woman he’d been attracted to, and, he rather thought, still was...

  And he’d been stupid enough to ask her to stay!

  ‘His CT scan showed no visible damage,’ she said, glancing up at him with a flash of pale green eyes. ‘No bleeds or clots, no abnormalities that could have caused it, so it was likely the result of the concussion.’

  He nodded, aware some response was needed, but—

  You’ve got a patient! an inner voice said sternly, and he turned his full attention on the boy, asking him simple questions, noticing his patient’s growing exasperation.

  ‘And before you ask, I don’t know who the prime minister is, and I didn’t know it before either. It’s a stupid question,’ the lad said.

  ‘So, tell me about your mates instead,’ Andy suggested, and listened while the boy rattled off the names of his friends and gave them brief descriptions of each of them.

  Andy smiled at him. ‘I don’t think there’s much wrong with your brain, and the EEG—that’s just short for electroencephalogram, which you must admit is a bit of a mouthful—will show if there’s likely to be a recurrence, and you’ll need to be on medication to stop it happening again.’

  ‘But that would mean no more football,’ the lad complained.

  ‘No football for four weeks anyway,’ he told the lad.

  ‘Try tennis—it’s much better for your head,’ Sam suggested, but a little frown between her eyebrows made Andy wonder what was bothering her.

  ‘Let’s get a coffee,’ he suggested as they left the boy to his video game. ‘We’ll talk about the children we’ve seen and you can tell me what you think.’

  He led her into the small, comfortable staffroom and turned on the coffee machine.

  ‘You okay?’ he asked, carefully not looking at her but aware of her presence.

  Aware of her...

  Wondering if he’d made a mistake in appointing her when there was a close connection between them and he’d always been attracted to her.