Christmas-Eve Baby (10 page)

‘Edith!’ she exclaimed softly, crouching down beside her a little awkwardly and touching her cheek in a gesture of reassurance.

‘Oh, Dr Lucy, I’m so glad to see you. I knew you were coming—it’s the only thing that’s kept me going. I heard the phone ring and ring, and I just couldn’t get to it. I was so hoping you’d come—not just think I was out.’

Lucy felt a huge wave of relief that she hadn’t, in fact done that. She knew many doctors would have, but people in this tight-knit community didn’t let each other down, and if Edith hadn’t been going to be there, she would have told her.

‘Don’t move. Let me check you over. You just stay there. Let me get you a pillow for your head and something to tuck behind your back.’ She ran into the bedroom, came back with a pair of pillows and the quilt off the bed and, after checking that Edith wasn’t experiencing any back pain, she slid the pillows into place and then ran her hands gently over all her limbs.

‘Oh!’ Edith cried when Lucy touched her left leg. ‘Oh, that’s so sore. I think I landed on my knee—I must have tripped over the cat, I think.’

Possibly. There was no sign of a cat, but Lucy was much more worried about Edith. The knee was hugely swollen, a dark purple bruise fanning out from the centre of her kneecap, and she wouldn’t have been surprised to learn it was a star
burst fracture. ‘Any idea how long ago you fell, my love?’ she asked gently, her eyes still scanning over the damaged leg.

‘Hours.’

Hmm. Edith was breathless, obviously in pain, and Lucy knew the first step was to get her over to St Piran and get her checked out. ‘I’m going to call an ambulance and get them to take you to the hospital to get this knee looked at,’ she said, and it was a measure of how serious the pain was that Edith, stubborn and independent as she was, didn’t argue.

Once she’d called the ambulance service, Lucy tucked the quilt around her and gave her pain relief, hooked her up to the portable oxygen and sat back to wait, holding Edith’s hand. It didn’t take long. Paramedic Maggie Pascoe, a familiar face not only to Lucy from her time in the emergency department at St Piran but also to Edith, as she was a local girl, came running up the path to the door, and Lucy quickly let her in.

‘You’re lucky, we were just parked up the road having our lunch,’ she said with a smile. ‘Hello, Edith—what have you done to yourself, you silly thing?’

‘Oh, I know—so stupid. I just fell. And I think I’ve wet myself,’ Edith added in distress, as Lucy handed over to Maggie.

‘Don’t worry, my love, we’ll soon sort you out,’ Maggie said with a smile, and they quickly loaded her onto the trolley and trundled her down the hall. The path from the door was mercifully flat and straight, and Lucy had given her enough pain relief to make the journey bearable.

‘My cat!’ she called, just as they were about to close the doors. ‘Don’t forget my cat! Sarah Pearce will feed it—number 12. She knows about the key.’

‘I’ll tell her—don’t worry.’

Lucy watched them go, closed up the house, put the key back under the pot and went round to see Sarah Pearce, filling her in quickly, then she got back into her car out of the wind and phoned Ben.

‘Lucy, hi. Are you all right?’

‘I’m fine. I’m sending a patient to you—Edith Jones. She’s had a heavy fall in the kitchen and hit her knee on the corner of a cupboard, by the look of it. Might have a starburst fracture, but she’s also wet herself. It might be nothing, but she has congestive heart failure and occasional irregularities of her heart rhythm. Might be worth checking it out to make sure she didn’t have a little stroke or TIA. No other symptoms apart from breathlessness. She’s on her way.’

‘OK, I’ll look out for her. Thanks. Um—I had a call from your father.’

She felt a chill run over her. ‘About the house?’

‘Mmm. He’s not pleased.’

‘No, I know. He came in this morning and had a go—then he ended by saying it was just as well, he wanted a clean break with the house and at least he’d never have to go in it again.’

She felt a sob welling in her chest, and clamped her lips together to stop it coming out, but Ben must have heard something, because his voice was concerned. ‘Lucy, don’t,’ he said softly. ‘Oh, my love, I’m so sorry. I thought I was helping you. I didn’t want to make it worse.’

‘No, you haven’t,’ she said quickly. ‘It’s just me. It’s hormones. I’m just feeling sentimental and I want everything to be perfect and it isn’t. Ignore me. Look out for Edith. I’ll speak to you later.’

‘OK. Take care. Love you.’

She opened her mouth, shut it again, then said, ‘You, too. I’ll see you later.’

You, too, what?

You, too, take care? Or, I love you, too?

Ben stared at the phone, put the receiver down softly and stood there for a second. How long could this go on? How long could Nick continue to persecute his daughter because of his stiff-necked reluctance to accept the facts?

He paused beside Resus. The room was empty, but in his mind’s eye he could see Annabel lying there, blood everywhere, and Nick’s agonised face as he realised that his wife’s life was slipping away and there was nothing anyone could do to save her.

He’d struggled and fought to get to her, had needed to be restrained from sticking his hands into her abdomen to hold the bleeding vessels. No wonder the man was scarred by the events of that day. Anyone would be.

But it seemed that the person who was suffering most and who had had the least to do with it was Lucy, and that tore him apart.

E
DITH
had split her kneecap cleanly in two. It wasn’t a starburst fracture, just a vertical break that needed to be held together so the strain put on it by bending her knee didn’t pull the two sides apart. So it could have been worse, but nevertheless it was a very painful injury, and she’d be immobilised for some time.

And, as Lucy had thought, there was a possibility that she’d had a minor stroke.

Ben watched as Edith was wheeled away for her CT scan. The orthopaedic team would sort her knee out, and it was over to them now to play their part in her recovery. His job was done, and he phoned Lucy and told her what had happened.

‘Oh, dear,’ she said sadly. ‘I hope it doesn’t mean she can’t cope on her own. I do so want her to be able to get back to her bungalow. She’s lived there all her married life, since she and her husband bought it in 1967 when it was first built. He died earlier in the year, and she’s lost without him. She’ll be devastated if she has to move.’

‘Poor woman, she’s got enough on her plate. She was worried about her cat, by the way.’

‘Dealt with. Her neighbour’s looking after it for now. I expect she’ll be in to see her soon. Ben, I’m glad you’ve phoned,
Kate’s had another word with me about this meeting. She said the trust architect can make Thursday at four. Any chance you could do that?’

And no doubt Nick would be there this time. ‘Yes, that’ll be fine,’ he agreed. He’d worry about Nick as and when he had to. ‘What do you want for supper?’

‘On Thursday?’

‘Tonight,’ he said, smiling. ‘How about chicken?’

‘Just had a chicken sandwich and an apple turnover. I ought to have something light and less full of fat. I’m going to be a barrel otherwise.’

‘I’ve got news for you,’ he said with a chuckle. ‘Leave it to me, I’ll sort it. I’ll see you later. Are you staying the night at mine?’

‘No,’ she said, a little trace of regret in her voice. ‘I should be at home.’

It didn’t matter. She needed her rest, and there’d be plenty of time for them to be together in the future. ‘OK. I’ll see you later. Take care.’

He put the phone down and went back to work, whistling softly under his breath. Jo, his registrar, gave him an old-fashioned look. ‘You look happy,’ she said, almost accusingly, and he gave a slightly embarrassed laugh.

‘There’s no law against it, is there? And life’s good.’

Or it would be if Nick Tremayne could only move on. One thing was for sure—Thursday was going to be interesting.

‘So who’s going to be here for this meeting this afternoon?’ Nick asked.

‘The trust architect, someone from the finance department, you, Marco, Lucy, Dragan and Ben Carter,’ Kate said.

‘Him again!’

Oh, here we go, Lucy thought, closing her eyes and letting her father and Kate Althorp argue it out.

‘Why is it that everything that’s mine, everything I hold dear, that man has to interfere with?’

If you only knew the half of it, Lucy thought, and opened her eyes to find Marco and Dragan both watching her thoughtfully. Oh, damn. Double damn, in fact. And then Kate looked at her, concern in her eyes, and she thought, Make that triple damn. With a cherry on top.

‘I’ve got to get back to work,’ she said, hoisting herself out of her chair and heading for the staffroom door, losing her mug on the draining-board on the way.

She shut herself in her consulting room for a moment, gathering her composure around her like a cloak. This afternoon’s meeting was going to be a doozy, she thought, and she was dreading it.

She got through her morning surgery, went out on her visits, grabbed a sandwich, courtesy of Doris Trefussis, and declined the apple turnover in favour of a Cornish fairing brought in by Hazel Furse, the dumpy little head receptionist, who, as well as baking the best biscuits in the county, knew nearly as many people as Doris and ruled the appointments book with a will of iron.

Luckily she was also blessed with a great deal of common sense and, unlike a lot of receptionists Lucy had heard about, she didn’t see her role as protecting the doctors from nagging patients who ought to wait their turn. So when Hazel popped in and said that a farmer, old Charlie Tew, was in Reception and urgently needed an appointment and could Lucy fit him in, she didn’t hesitate.

She didn’t have a surgery at the time, and was just about to see Chloe MacKinnon, the midwife, for an antenatal check, but something in Hazel’s voice alerted her.

She went out into Reception and found him sitting there looking uncomfortable but not so bad that he would ring alarm bells. Not unless you took a really close look. She took him through to her consulting room and sat him down, her eyes making a quick inventory. Pale skin, clammy, sweating. ‘What’s the problem, Mr Tew?’ she asked. ‘You don’t look very comfortable.’

‘I pulled something,’ he said bluntly. ‘Heifer got stuck in the ditch and I couldn’t get the tractor close enough, so we pulled ’er out with ropes. And I got this pain, Doc—right ’ere.’ He pointed to the centre of his abdomen. ‘It’s like backache, only…’

He might have got a hernia. That was the most likely thing, or a ruptured psoas muscle, although that would tend to be at the side. The rectus abdominus muscle? Or…?

‘Could you just slip your trousers down for me and pop onto the couch?’ she asked, and he shuffled out of them and lay down cautiously, exposing a large, hairy abdomen encased in the biggest underpants she’d ever seen. She eased them down and pressed gently, then went very still.

Damn. She was right. The skin of his lower abdomen and legs was pale and mottled, and in the centre of his abdomen was a large, pulsating mass, beating in time with his heart. An abdominal aortic aneurism, she was sure, and if it was, there was no time to mess around. Left for very long, it would rupture. If it hadn’t already, the blood enclosed in the space behind the peritoneum.

‘I’m afraid you’re going to have to go to hospital and have
an operation, Mr Tew,’ she said gently. ‘Stay there. I don’t want you to get up, you just relax and keep still while I call an ambulance to take you to St Piran.’

‘What, now? Only I’ve got a lot to do today. This heifer’s put me right back. I could go in drekly, Doc.’

She smiled, knowing that the Cornish version of ‘directly’ was nothing of the sort.

‘No, I think you need it a little sooner than directly,’ she told him with a reassuring pat to his shoulder.

‘Hernia, is it?’

‘I don’t think so. I think you might have a bulge in the wall of one of your blood vessels. And if you have, you’ll need an operation now.’ If you even get there, she added mentally. ‘I’ll call them straight away. Is there anyone with you?’

‘No, I drove myself.’

She winced inwardly, knowing that if he’d had a collision and hit the steering-wheel or seat belt it would have been enough to finish him off.

‘Stay there,’ she warned again. Covering him with a blanket, she went out to Reception. ‘Can you call an ambulance, Hazel, please? Mr Tew’s got an aortic aneurism, I think. Urgent transfer—blue lights and all that. Cheers. I’ll call the hospital and warn them. Oh, and could you ask Marco or Dragan if they’re free to pop in? I know my father’s got an antenatal class going.’

‘Sure. Oh, there’s your father now.’

‘Thanks. Dad, old Mr Tew’s here.’ She filled him in quickly, then added, ‘He’s your patient. Do you want to examine him?’

He shook his head. ‘No. I trust your judgement, Lucy, and if you’re right he doesn’t need any more poking about. I’ll call the ambulance—fill them in. Hello, Mr Tew,’ he said,
sticking his head round the door. ‘Gather you’ve been overdoing it. I’ll see you in a minute, just going to call you some transport. Lucy, you might want to get a line in,’ he added softly. ‘Large-bore cannula. Two, if you can. And give him oxygen.’

‘I was just about to. Thanks. Right, Mr Tew, I’m going to give you a little oxygen for now, and I’m just going to put a little needle in your arm, all ready for the hospital. It’ll save time later.’ She slipped it in easily, grateful for her time in A and E, then repeated the procedure in the other hand. ‘There—one to let things in, one to let things out,’ she said with a grin. ‘Now, how about your wife? I think I’d better give her a call—can she get to the hospital?’

He frowned and studied her closely, as if the seriousness of it was suddenly dawning on him. ‘How bad is it, Doc?’ he asked. ‘Is it going to finish me off?’

‘I hope not,’ she said honestly, not wanting to worry him but owing him the truth. ‘But it is a major operation, and I think if I was your wife I’d finish you off anyway if you didn’t let me know.’

His weather-beaten old face twisted into what could have been a smile, and he gave a dry chuckle. ‘Well, we don’t want that, do we, my bird? Best give her a call, then.’

Hazel came bustling in with a little tap on the door. ‘Now, Charlie, I’ve phoned Grace and she’s going straight to the hospital,’ she told him, getting there ahead of them. ‘The boy’s going to take her, and she’ll have some pyjamas for you and your wash things.’

‘Good idea,’ he said, and Lucy wondered if he really had the slightest clue how much danger he was in, and hoped, most sincerely, that he didn’t. There was a difference between
knowing that something was serious and realising it could kill you at any second.

She saw the flashing lights coming down Harbour Road, and for the second time that week Maggie Pascoe came to the rescue.

‘Taxi!’ she said with a bright smile, leaving her partner Mike to wheel the trolley in and going over to Mr Tew to pat his hand. ‘Hello, Charlie, my love. What’s this I hear about you pulling heifers out of ditches, you silly old goat? You should be leaving that to the young ’uns and issuing instructions on the sidelines. Should have thought that was right up your street.’

Charlie chuckled, and Lucy realised they must know each other well. Not that that surprised her. Nearly everyone knew everyone, and if they didn’t, they knew someone who did.

‘I s’pose you’re old enough to have your driver’s licence,’ Charlie said drily, and Maggie rolled her eyes.

‘Oh, no, I just stole the ambulance for a bit of fun—felt like a joy-ride. Anyway, I don’t have to drive it, I get to sit in the back and tell you off all the way to the hospital. Right, you stay there, my love, we’ll slide you across. Lucy, let go of that, you aren’t pulling anything!’ she said, and Lucy let go of the sheet and watched as Maggie and Mike pulled him easily, sheet and all, across the Pat-slide and onto the trolley.

In moments he was tucked up in a blanket, strapped down and away, and again Lucy rang Ben and warned him. ‘I’m sending you a patient with a query abdominal aortic aneurism. No known history, but he’s not the complaining sort so he may have had a bit of a bulge for ages. Whatever, it’s a
large midline pulsatile mass, and I don’t like the look of him at all. I don’t know if you’ll still be there or if you’ll be on your way here, but he needs to go straight to Theatre.’

‘Are you certain?’

‘As I can be.’

‘That’s good enough for me,’ he said. ‘I’ll tell them to expect him and get a theatre slot primed. And I’ll see you in an hour for this wretched meeting. Should I wear my stab vest?’

She laughed a little uneasily. ‘I’m sure that won’t be necessary. It’ll be highly civilised. I’ll make sure we’ve got plenty of Hazel’s Cornish fairings to keep us going. We can always throw them at each other if it hots up.’

‘Oh, no, that would be such a waste. I’ve heard about those biscuits of hers, even from this distance. She feeds them to the paramedics, apparently.’

‘Well, don’t get too excited. If Dad’s found them, there may not be any left.’

He chuckled, said goodbye and hung up, and she buzzed through to Chloe. ‘I’m sorry, I got held up with a patient. Do you want me today or not?’

‘Yes, when you’re ready. I’ve just seen my last patient, so come on up. Don’t forget your urine sample.’

‘As if,’ she mocked, and went via the loo. ‘Here—hot off the press,’ she said, handing it over.

Chloe tested it and nodded. ‘It’s fine. Good. And your blood pressure’s nice and low. I haven’t seen you for days, though. I get the feeling you’re doing too much. How are you feeling generally?’

Tired? Stressed? Worried sick that her father and her lover were about to kill each other in less than an hour? ‘I’m fine,
too,’ she said, but her smile couldn’t have been convincing, because Chloe gave a sceptical grunt.

‘You look exhausted. You must be overdoing it. Maybe you should stop work sooner.’

‘I can’t—’ she began, but Chloe just tutted and pointed at the scales.

‘You haven’t gained anything. That’s the second week in a row. I think you should have another scan. They were a bit worried about your placenta with the last one, weren’t they? Thought it was a bit low down?’

‘Not very low. They were talking about another scan at thirty-four weeks to check it, but they were pretty sure I wouldn’t need a C-section.’

‘And what are you? Thirty-two weeks on Saturday? I think you should have it now.’

She sighed, then thought of Ben and how much he’d like to be there. ‘OK,’ she agreed. ‘I’ll give them a call.’

‘No,
I’ll
give them a call—make sure it happens. You take care of that little one, Lucy.’

‘I will.’

‘I’ll book you in for the scan tomorrow morning.’

‘Tomorrow!’

‘Yes. Tomorrow—morning. Get Hazel to reschedule your patients. And get Ben to feed you over the weekend.’

She looked up, startled, into Chloe’s wide and seemingly innocent green eyes. ‘Why should Ben feed me?’

‘Oh, Lucy, come on. You’ve been seen together. People talk. All my patients are commenting this morning—Dr Lucy’s boyfriend is gorgeous, isn’t he? Have you seen him? Beautiful car. Do you think Dr Lucy and her lovely Mr Carter will get married before the baby’s born?’

‘What? That’s crazy!’

‘They saw you at the barbeque, Lucy. Nobody’s seen you with anyone since, and they certainly didn’t before. You don’t date any more than I do. And you’ve been seen with him again recently. And they all know that he’s bought Tregorran House. It’s gone through the village like wildfire, and it’s obvious to everyone but your father why he’s done it.’