How the hell was she going to break the news to Freddie? More to the point, how was she going to break the news to her mother? And her nan would be livid. At least Mum had a ring on her finger before she’d had kids, even if the man who’d put it there was nothing but a waster who had absconded once the reality of having a wife and children had sunk in.
Were all the women in her family doomed to play the same broken record over and over again?
She thought of the little soul developing inside her, and prayed it was a boy.
Her, a mother? She couldn’t believe it. This wasn’t the way she’d imagined her life would play out (she’d expected marriage to come first), and here she was lacking a man, as well as the wedding. But… she was going to be a mother. She’d have a little person to nurture and love, and to guide and teach. If it was a girl, she’d dress her up in ribbons and tutus, take her to ballet lessons, have princess-themed birthday parties, braid her hair and—
Reality struck with the force of a wrecking ball on a pre-fab house. The truth was, she’d be a single mother, with no home, and no job, and little prospect of getting either. An employer would take one look at her round belly and say “thanks, but no thanks”.
Daisy felt sorry for the little mite she was about to bring into the world. What kind of a future would it have? And she also felt scared, not just because of the problems she faced, because although she’d always imagined herself being a mother, the reality was terrifying. She might be nearly thirty, but she still felt about fifteen, twenty at a push, on a good day, when she was seriously trying to adult.
She really wasn’t ready for this.
‘Well?’ Dr Hartley was staring at her enquiringly, when Daisy came out of her shock-induced fugue.
‘I’ll pass,’ she said. She needed to get her head around being pregnant first. Time, that’s what she needed, and a lottery win wouldn’t go amiss, either. Neither would a double vodka, but she suspected she wouldn’t be drinking alcohol for the foreseeable future.
Get a grip, she said to herself, as her mind went off on a tangent again. She had a grieving sister-in-law to consider, and the last thing the poor girl needed to hear was the news of another woman’s pregnancy, especially since Daisy felt so ambivalent about it.
The doctor’s piercing blue eyes drilled into hers, and Daisy blushed furiously. She put a finger to her lips, pointed to her stomach, and shook her head.
He shook his in return, and she couldn’t quite fathom his expression. Was it disbelief? Disgust? Disdain? He must think her a dreadful mother for not taking the opportunity to listen to her own baby’s heartbeat when offered it, but this news was such a shock, such a bolt out of the blue that—
‘Daisy?’ Zoe’s voice was weak.
Daisy jumped. ‘I’m here,’ she said, hoping Zoe hadn’t heard or seen the odd exchange between her and the doctor.
‘How long will David be?’ her sister-in-law asked.
Daisy pushed thoughts of babies (her own baby) out of her head and tried to focus on the woman who needed her now.
‘A couple of hours. Three at the outside, if the traffic is bad,’ she replied.
And it probably would be bad at this time of year, and who in their right minds held a conference between Christmas and the New Year, anyway? What a bloody stupid time to have it, when most normal folk wanted to be at home with their families, nursing their hangovers.
‘Is David supposed to be staying overnight?’ she asked Zoe.
‘No, it’s a one-day thing,’ Zoe said, her eyes still closed. ‘I was going to go with him and spend the day in London, but I’ve been feeling so ill lately,’ she added with a shudder.
Daisy shuddered, too, imagining poor Zoe on her own in the centre of London, and suffering a miscarriage. It didn’t bear thinking about.
‘I’ll arrange for you to be admitted,’ Dr Hartley said to Zoe. ‘You,’ he glanced at Daisy, ‘can stay with her until she’s sent to the ward. Then I expect you to leave.’
What was wrong with this guy? Her sister-in-law had just been given terrible news and Dr Hartley (Dr Heartless, more like it) wanted Daisy gone. Surely, rather than being distressed, Zoe would be comforted by having a family member with her? Unless, Daisy was toxic because of that sixpence, and if she was, what damage might it be doing to her own unborn child?
‘Can I speak with you?’ she asked the esteemed doctor, sotto voce.
He jerked his head, in a follow-me gesture, and they stepped outside the cubicle. Conscious that the curtained little boxes were far from soundproof, Daisy took the doctor’s elbow and led him down the corridor.
A bolt of electricity travelled through her hand and up her arm when she touched him, and she gasped. He shook her hand off, and the feeling dissipated, leaving Daisy to wonder if she’d imagined it.
‘Did I cause Zoe to lose her baby?’ she asked, without preamble, ‘and will the coin hurt mine?’
‘The coin? No, it’ll have no effect on your baby. As for Mrs Jones, stress may have contributed to it,’ he said. ‘We’ll never know.’
Daisy’s heart plummeted to her feet. This was all her fault. She’d caused Zoe more than enough stress on Christmas Day with her near-choking experience. It wasn’t fair that by saving Daisy’s life, Zoe lost one of her babies.
‘I didn’t mean to,’ she murmured, wondering how she was going to live with herself. If only she hadn’t put that bloody sixpence in the pudding. How stupid had she been?
‘I doubt many people do,’ was the doctor’s dry response.
‘She was there when it happened,’ Daisy said.
‘I bet that was cosy.’ Another dry remark.
‘I wouldn’t describe it as cosy; she saved my life. Do you really think the stress of seeing me almost choke to death made her miscarry?’ Daisy put a hand to her mouth.
The doctor blinked. ‘I thought…’ He cleared his throat. ‘It could have been a contributing factor, and under the circumstances…’
‘What circumstances?’ What the hell was the man on about?
The doctor glared at the zipper on her rather-tight jeans.
‘Oh, that. No.’ She shook her head emphatically. ‘She doesn’t know about my baby.’ Daisy almost choked again at the thought of a little human inside her.
‘What about her husband? Will he say anything?’ Dr Hartley asked.
‘Hardly!’ How could he, when Daisy had only found out herself. No one knew.
‘I’d like to keep it that way, for a while,’ Dr Hartley said, ‘until Zoe’s pregnancy is a little further along. Twelve weeks is a common time for a less-viable foetus to be lost. Can you do that for her?’
‘Of course I can.’ At the moment, keeping her secret wouldn’t be much of a hardship, certainly not until she’d come to terms with the situation herself. And she needed to tell Freddie first, before she spread the (good?) news. As the baby’s father, he had a right to know, but how he’d react was anyone’s guess.
‘Who’s your doctor?’ Dr Hartley asked, abruptly.
Here goes, she thought, anticipating rounds of surgery and hospital visits. ‘I’ll need to make an appointment, won’t I?’
‘You haven’t seen your GP yet?’
Daisy couldn’t believe the handsome, sexy man (yeah, she could still admire a good-looking bloke, even if she was in the “family way” – it was a bit like admiring a nice painting, even if you didn’t want it hanging above your fireplace) could look more disapproving of her than he already did.
‘How could I have?’ Daisy said, ‘when you only just told me I was pregnant a few minutes ago.’
‘I told you?’
‘Yes, you did.’ For a doctor, the man had an appalling memory.
‘I didn’t say you were pregnant.’
‘You did, too! You asked if I wanted to listen to my baby’s heartbeat.’
‘That’s because I thought you were pregnant. Aren’t you?’
‘You tell me.’
‘How can I tell when I haven’t examined you?’
‘I thought you could tell by looking at me,’ Daisy said.
‘Hardly,’ he said, echoing her. ‘I would never presume to think a woman was pregnant – it could lead to all kinds of problems.’
Daisy sighed in frustration. ‘Then why did you presume I was? Is it because I’ve got a fat stomach?’
‘See, that’s the kind of problem I’m talking about, and no you haven’t got a fat stomach. Zoe’s husband told me.’ He practically sneered when he said the word “husband”.
‘He didn’t.’ Daisy was absolutely, positively certain.
‘He did.’
‘When?’ she demanded, crossing her arms.
‘When you came to A&E on Christmas Day.’
Why would David say such a ridiculous thing – wait a minute. Daisy thought back, trying to recall the conversation. She closed her eyes, then opened them again slowly.
‘He didn’t say I was pregnant,’ she said. ‘He said Zoe was.’
It was Dr Hartley’s turn to close his eyes. She noticed the little pulse at the base of his throat and had an insane urge to kiss it.
‘I think I may have got the wrong end of the stick,’ he said, after taking a deep breath and opening his eyes to stare earnestly at her. ‘I was under the impression that David had announced you were having a baby, then you choked on the coin. Isn’t that what happened?’
‘Not quite. He did say he was having a baby, but I’m not the one who is pregnant.’
Or was she? It would explain a lot – her bloated stomach, her insane appetite – and now that she’d been given a glimpse of potential motherhood, she was strangely reluctant to let go of it.
‘But you are having an affair with him,’ Dr Hartley said.
Daisy choked for the second time in less than a week. Gasping for breath, she cried, ‘Water,’ and the good doctor rushed off to get her some, making her sit down before giving her the plastic cup.
When she stopped spluttering, she scowled at him. ‘I can’t believe you thought that. It’s disgusting!’
‘I wouldn’t call him “disgusting”, he’s quite a good-looking guy.’
‘He’s my brother!’
Another deep breath from one of the medical professions finest, when what she’d revealed sunk in.
‘My apologies.’ He managed to look sheepish and haughty at the same time. ‘That would explain why all three of you have the same surname.’
It most certainly would. ‘Do all doctors jump to the wrong conclusions, or only you?’
‘You did list him as your next-of-kin.’
‘You should have checked.’
‘You’re right, I should have. I can only apologise, it was coming to the end of a very long shift and—’ He stopped. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said again.
Daisy thrust the empty cup back at him. ‘If you don’t mind, I’d like to get back to my sister-in-law.’ She emphasised the last word. ‘I expect she’s wondering where I am.’
‘Of course, can I say again how sorry I am, it was an honest mistake.’
‘It was a stupid mistake,’ Daisy countered. She couldn’t believe it. The insufferable man! She was prepared to forgive him for thinking her and David were husband and wife when they’d rocked up on Christmas Day, but to then think she was David’s mistress and that he had gotten both her and Zoe pregnant at the same time… He was like something out of one of the soap operas her mum loved.
‘Bet you watch Eastenders,’ she muttered, pushing past him. ‘Or Jeremy Kyle.’
As she marched off down the corridor, Daisy was furious, both with him and what he’d made her think. Clearly she wasn’t pregnant. It had all been a figment of Dr Jekyll’s fevered imagination. Wasn’t it?
Hurried footsteps sounded from behind her, and the doctor grabbed hold of her arm. ‘I don’t blame you for being angry,’ he said. ‘I would be too. But can I give you a word of advice?’
She stopped and glared at him. He removed his hand, but the heat of his fingers through her blouse lingered on her skin. She crossed her arms. ‘What?’
‘Take a pregnancy test,’ he said. ‘Sooner, rather than later.’
‘Why?’
‘Because you didn’t seem too surprised when you thought you were pregnant,’ he said.
And deep down, she hadn’t been, had she…