THE NEXT THREE days were some of the longest of Nya’s life, and she didn’t know how she would have got through them without Theo’s calm strength.
‘Severe bronchiolitis,’ the paediatrician diagnosed. ‘Without a history, it’s difficult to say exactly why she was so susceptible, or why it presented with such rapid onset. Right now, we’re making sure she remains oxygenated and hydrated.’ He hesitated for a moment, glancing from Nya to Theo, then back again, before continuing, ‘We’re monitoring her oxygen levels and lung function carefully. Hopefully we won’t have to intubate.’
It was only when she felt Theo’s arm around her waist that Nya realised she’d sagged at the knees, joints made watery by the thought of just how very ill Hope was.
The hospital staff had Hope in a special cot, where she could receive humidified oxygen and a saline drip. It had taken everything Nya had inside not to cry the first time she was allowed into the room and saw Hope with the tubes and monitors attached to her tiny frame.
‘It looks worse than it is, Mum,’ the nurse said, patting Nya’s arm.
How many times had she said something similar to a patient over all the years she’d worked as a nurse, without understanding just how devastating seeing a child that way was? Oh, she knew, intellectually, but now she was experiencing it with her heart, and it was almost too much to bear.
As she sat in the chair the nurse put for her next to Hope’s cot, all Nya could do was stare at the baby, noting her pallor, the still laboured breathing. Occasionally glancing at the monitors to check her oxygen levels, heart rate and blood pressure, praying, bargaining for them to improve—willing Hope to get better.
Mum came each day, to offer her support and bring both Nya and Theo food. And the day after Hope had been admitted, Hazel had shown up during evening visiting hours. When Nya had hugged her, and thanked her for coming, the receptionist had burst into tears.
‘You don’t think she caught that virus from me, do you?’ she’d sobbed, clinging to Nya. ‘I would have never offered to take care of Hope if I knew I’d be exposing her to a virus.’
‘I’m sure you didn’t make her sick, Hazel. Viruses, like the one they think Hope has, take up to two weeks to incubate, so she was probably already infected when she came to us.’
Hazel’s relief had been palpable, but neither that nor her misplaced guilt had truly penetrated Nya’s mental fog.
It took everything she had just to put one foot in front of the other. Everything inside her was focused on Hope, and each precious breath the baby took.
But she understood Hazel’s guilt. Only too well. She’d known that a baby less than a month old, with an unknown history, should be protected. Now, she knew she hadn’t done enough. That she’d possibly made things worse by her lack of care—exposing Hope to the clinic and a variety of people. Taking her out and about, when they should have kept her indoors.
Well, she was paying the price now, wasn’t she?
She didn’t need to look up to know when Theo came into the nursery. Somehow, over the last few days, she’d developed a type of radar attuned just to him. So, when he sat down beside her and reached for her hand, all she felt was relief as she curled her fingers around his.
‘Your turn,’ he said quietly, but with that hint of steel in his tone. ‘Go and get something to eat.’
‘I’m really not hungry.’
‘Then at least go and walk around for a little. Get some fresh air. You’ll be of no use to Hope if you collapse from hunger and exhaustion.’
They’d been allowed to stay past visiting hours for the last two nights, returning to Theo’s Falmouth flat for a little while. Then, as soon as was feasible, they’d returned to the hospital to keep vigil.
Nya knew Theo was suffering too. It was there in his eyes, and in the deepening lines bracketing his mouth and creasing his forehead. There was also the fact that, as she lay in the guest bedroom at his flat, fitfully dozing, she could hear him quietly pacing back and forth in the living area. Knowing he too was unable to sleep through worry increased her own tension. That was the only other thing Nya felt—the need to make sure he was okay.
It was strange to have someone to support and be supported by. Yet, whenever she thought of getting up and joining him, she hesitated. The only things he asked of her was that she stay fed and hydrated and get some rest. If he knew she wasn’t sleeping, he’d worry even more.
And now, not wanting to increase his stress levels, she gave in.
‘I have my phone,’ she said as she got up. ‘Call me if there’s any change.’
Theo had stood up too, and he squeezed Nya’s fingers, tugging gently at her hand until she looked up at him.
‘I will. Keep the faith, Nya. She’ll get through this. We’ll get through it.’
From what felt like the depths of her belly she dredged up a smile, although she knew it was a weak effort at best.
‘Yes.’
But after she walked away what stayed with her, along with the fear of losing Hope, was the thought that his statement that they’d get through it was untrue.
In the final analysis there was no ‘we’.
They were united now through their separate love of Hope, but once she was no longer in their lives, whatever this union between them was would also dissolve. Theo would be moving on, hopefully to build a good new life for himself.
And just now Nya couldn’t help being glad. Even if Hope pulled through, the entire situation had reiterated how fragile life was, and how much it hurt to think of losing someone else she loved...
Loved?
She meant Hope, right? Just Hope.
Her brain shied away from the thought that it was more than that.
There was too much on her plate right now to consider otherwise.
As Nya left the nursery Theo sank back into his chair and, being alone with the baby, allowed himself to rub his hands over his face, weariness weighing him down.
He was trying so hard to keep it all together for Nya, but inside he was falling apart, bit by bit, each day that Hope didn’t improve.
Nya seemed to think, because he was a father, this was a situation he’d been in before—or that these were emotions he’d already experienced. But his son and daughter had been healthy children. The worst he, as a parent, had experienced was when Gillian broke her collarbone at eleven.
But this—watching Hope struggle to breathe, not even having the energy to cry properly when they suctioned her nasal passages—was something far different.
Heartbreaking.
Terrifying.
And seeing Nya struggle, that shell-shocked expression in her eyes, was even more devastating.
He couldn’t recall a time when he’d felt more powerless.
Theo looked up at the light tap on the glass to see Iona outside looking in at him. With a jerk of her chin, she let it be known that she wanted to speak to him and, since the hospital was only letting Nya and him into the nursery, he got up to go and speak to her.
‘Will you be in the room for a while?’ he asked the nurse, who was checking Hope’s lines and nappy. ‘I shouldn’t be gone long.’
‘I’ll be here until you get back, Dr Turner. Take your time.’
As Theo closed the nursery door behind himself, it came to him that Iona looked as if she had aged ten years over the last few days. There were stress lines at the corners of her eyes, and the skin of her face above her mask had lost its lustre, making it seem dull and pale.
‘How is Hope?’ she asked.
‘Still the same.’ He couldn’t tell her that the doctors were taking about intubating—the words sticking in his throat.
‘Oh, Theo.’ Iona’s eyes glistened, and he knew she was holding back tears. ‘Isn’t there any medication they can give her? Something more they can do to help?’
‘They’re doing all that they can, Iona.’
He said it gently, even though he wanted to shout. Ask if she didn’t think he was monitoring Hope himself, making sure everything possible was being done. But he knew Iona was just as concerned as he and Nya were.
‘Where is Nya?’
‘I sent her to get something to eat, although I’m not sure she’ll take my advice.’
Iona lifted her glasses and rubbed her eyes.
‘Nya tends to retreat into herself when she’s sad, or frightened.’ Iona sighed and settled her glasses back in place. ‘And she’s had so much loss in her life, I can only imagine what’s going on in her head.’ She was staring straight into Theo’s eyes, when she continued, ‘I’m glad you’re here, with her. You’ll keep her from shutting down completely.’
Would he, though?
It felt as though, in this too, he was failing.
Nya was there, physically, but she had, as her mother said, retreated to the point where Theo felt there was an emotional chasm between them. When he reached out to her, trying to impart what strength he had to offer, there was no sign that she recognised or accepted it.
Once more he was left impotent to make things right—for Hope, or for Nya—and that failure cut him to the depths of his soul.
‘Theo,’ Iona said. ‘Don’t give up on her because she seems unreachable. All I ask is that you see her through whatever happens, as best you can.’
Before he could reply, he heard Nya’s distinctive footsteps approaching, and he turned to watch her walk towards them.
How stiffly she held herself, as though relaxing even a little would cause her to fall apart. Seeing her like that made him want to take her in his arms and hold her close. Give her everything and anything he had, so as to make it all better, even though he knew it wouldn’t really help.
‘Mum. What’re you doing here so late? Did you drive all the way from Carey Cove?’
‘No, love.’ Iona leaned forward and, holding her daughter’s shoulders, pressed her cheek against Nya’s. ‘I’ve been staying in Penzance, to be a little closer. Have you eaten? Got any rest today?’
Nya looked as though she didn’t know what those words meant, and she shook her head.
‘I’m fine, Mum. I just took a little walk and got a cup of tea.’
Iona’s chin came up, and she gave her daughter a stern look.
‘Nya, you look dead on your feet. Go with Theo. Have some dinner and get some rest. You have to take care of yourself.’
‘That’s what Theo’s been saying,’ she replied, almost absently. ‘But how can I leave her?’
‘She’s in the best of hands. You running yourself into the ground isn’t going to help her. It’s almost the end of visiting hours, so go. I’m sure they’ll call you immediately, if there’s any change.’
Theo found himself holding his breath, and when Nya looked at him, all he could do was nod, silently willing her to let him in, and let him take care of her.
Nya took a deep, shuddering breath and, as she released it, she nodded.
‘Okay.’
Theo let out the breath he’d been holding.
‘I’ll tell the nurses what we’re doing, and meet you downstairs,’ he said, wanting Iona to walk Nya out, so she didn’t have a chance to change her mind.
‘Agreed,’ Iona said briskly. ‘Come, Nya.’
Now, at least, there was a plan to follow—some action to take.
Get Nya to eat, to get some rest.
Somehow, in some small way, help her relax.
He’d order some food and pick it up on the way home. Instead of sitting at the dining table, he’d turn on the gas fire and they’d eat in the living room, casually and comfortably.
Going downstairs, he found Nya and Iona in the lobby of the hospital. Outside, the grey, rainy day had morphed into a cool, damp, windy night. As he approached the two women, he saw the way Nya twisted the straps of her knitting bag between her fingers in a physical manifestation of her restless agony of spirit.
She’d carried the bag back and forth from the flat to the hospital, but rarely took her needlework out. There was a disconnected air about her, which now made sense in light of Iona’s explanation of how Nya reacted to emotional pain by retreating into herself.
‘Ready?’ he asked as he joined them. ‘Iona, will you have some supper with us?’
Perhaps with her mother there, Nya would actually eat something, rather than just pushing the food around her plate.
‘No, thank you. I’m going to go back to Penzance, but I’ll be back in the morning.’
She walked partway to Theo’s car with them, and then veered off to go to her own.
Once they’d picked up the food and got back to the flat, Theo got Nya settled on the couch and the fire going. Taking off her shoes, she curled up in the corner of the sofa, and closed her eyes.
Making up two trays with their fish and chips, he carried them through to the other room.
‘Here you go.’
Nya sat up, taking the tray from him.
‘Thank you.’ Placing the tray across her lap, she stared down at the food for a moment.
‘I know you don’t feel like eating,’ he said gently. ‘But you need to keep up your strength.’
Her gaze was surprisingly fierce when she looked up at him. ‘I’m getting tired of being told that.’
He shrugged, not looking away. ‘Then eat, and I won’t say it again, this evening.’
And, after narrowing her eyes at him, she seemed to give in, and began to eat.
They’d finished, and Theo had taken the dishes into the kitchen, when he heard Nya sigh.
‘I hate to admit it, but I needed that.’
‘I’m glad you had some.’ She’d eaten more than he’d expected. ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’
‘I would, thank you.’
He turned on the kettle and put out the cups. Then, before the water could boil, his phone rang. He didn’t recognise the number, but his heart started racing anyway, as he answered, ‘Theo Turner.’
Nya was somehow right there beside him, by the time the person on the other end of the line spoke.
‘Dr Turner, Dr Porter asked me to call and let you know that baby Hope’s fever has broken, and the mucus in her lungs has started to thin. She’s not out of the woods just yet, but it appears she’s on the mend.’
Theo had no idea what he said—whether he thanked the caller or not—but as he hung up the phone he was aware of his hand shaking, and the sensation of his head being about to float off his neck.
‘What—?’
He didn’t give Nya a chance to say anything more, but punched the air. ‘Yes! Hope has turned the corner.’
‘Oh!’ Nya sagged at the knees, and Theo instinctively caught her around the waist and pulled her into his arms.
‘Our baby’s going to be okay,’ he said, holding her close, feeling the way she trembled.
Her face lifted to his, shining with joy, her smile making his heart sing, and Theo could no longer resist.
With a groan of surrender, he kissed her.