‘JUST tell her,’ Mary said. ‘Tell her what you told me when you thought I was asleep. Pretend she’s asleep, if it helps.’
Sam’s face flamed. ‘Mum…’
She chuckled. ‘I’m your mother, Sam. I might be old and frail, but that doesn’t mean I’ve lost my marbles—or forgotten what it was like, being young.’
‘You’re not that old,’ he said loyally.
‘Old enough. And if I hadn’t been too proud, too embarrassed to talk to the doctor when you were tiny…’ She shook her head, her face crumpling. ‘I’ll never forgive myself for that,’ she choked.
He took her hands. ‘Don’t, Mum. It was a long time ago, things were different then, and even if you’d taken me to see someone I’d probably still have had the same problem now.’
‘Talk to her, Sam. Don’t make the mistakes I made all through my life—all through your life.’
But I’m the same as you. Frosty when I get scared, Sam thought, and the words just stay inside my head. They won’t come out.
‘Tell her you love her and if she wants a baby you’ll do whatever it takes. Follow your heart.’
And then everything’s going to be all right? I hope so, Sam thought fervently. I hope so.
The best part of a week in Yorkshire, being spoiled by her parents and older brother—who, for once, hadn’t tried to organise her life or make her talk about what was wrong—restored Jodie to the point where she could cope again.
When she returned to the ward, they were in the thick of things. The bronchiolitis epidemic seemed to have tailed off, with only one or two cases left, but Jodie found herself rushed off her feet with another transplant case, two fracture cases where abuse was suspected, a teenage overdose and a septicaemia case—the parents and carers all needed careful handling or long periods of counselling and explanation from her.
Once she’d have complained—albeit good-naturedly—of feeling drained at the end of her shift. Now she was grateful. Work kept her mind off Sam, who still hadn’t returned, and she was too tired to do anything more than fall into bed when she got home at night. And that was just the way she liked it.
Until the day Sarah Ellis was admitted. The same day that Sam came back.
‘Hello, Jodie.’
She almost dropped her notes at the sound of his voice. Part of her wanted to spin round and scream at him, demand to know why he thought she’d even be polite to him after the way he’d walked out on her, but the professional part of her won. Just.
‘Sam,’ she said coolly, not bothering to turn and face him.
‘Jodie, I—we need to talk.’
‘Not now. I’m with a patient.’
‘Who’s asleep,’ he pointed out.
Jodie shrugged. ‘I’m busy.’
‘OK. When you’re off duty, then.’
She shook her head. ‘I don’t think so, Sam.’
‘Jodie—’
‘As you once told me, it’ll pass.’ The sheer bitterness in her voice shocked even her.
He stared at her for a long, long moment.
She turned to face him, hoping that her eyes didn’t betray how near she was to tears. ‘We’re colleagues, Sam. Just colleagues. End of story.’
It was a mistake, facing him. Seeing his face, his eyes that bleak Wednesday morning grey, the deep lines of strain etched into his face. He looked as if he hadn’t slept properly for days. Wherever he’d been, whatever he’d been doing, it had taken its toll on him as much as it had on her.
But she couldn’t reach out to him. Not now. Not when she knew that it would lead to yet another temporary truce, a truce that would last only until Sam’s damaged heart told him to stay away from her again. And then he’d back off, leaving her lonely and aching and miserable with need. She couldn’t go through that again.
‘You look worried about your patient, Dr Price.’
Dr Price. After what had happened between them it was a mockery. But it was also the best way, she knew. No more hurt. Just colleagues. Keep their distance. Hadn’t she told him that herself less than a minute ago?
She handed him the notes.
He read through them quickly, then whistled. ‘Sanfilippo syndrome?’ Sam looked at the sleeping child, then at Jodie. ‘Rare. I’d imagine this must be the first case you’ve had on the ward.’
Jodie nodded.
‘Have you come across it before?’
‘No. There was a case in the hospital where I trained, but that was before my time.’ She paused. ‘I’ve been reading up on it.’ Just like she’d read up on infertility. And this case was just as heartbreakingly hopeless.
Clearly he’d switched into teaching mode and was expecting her to recite all the appropriate details. Well, that was something she could cope with. Anything to keep the emotional distance between them. Anything to stop her flinging herself into his arms and begging him to love her.
‘It’s a mucopolysaccharide disorder, first described in 1963 by Dr Sylvester Sanfilippo and also known as MPS-III; there are four different sub-types,’ she recited. ‘It’s caused by a recessive gene and in the UK it’s thought to affect around one in eighty-nine thousand people.’
‘And what does that mean for Sarah?’
‘She’s missing an enzyme so her body can’t break down the long chains of sugar molecules used in building the connective tissues. The sugars that haven’t been broken down remain stored in the body and cause damage to the cells.’ She sighed. ‘There’s currently a clinical trial in replacing the missing enzymes for MPS-I, but not Sanfilippo. Bone-marrow transplants haven’t worked either, so at the moment there’s no cure. She might live until her twenties, but probably not much later.’
Sam nodded. ‘Symptoms?’
‘It will get progressively worse, but we can’t really give her parents much advice about which symptoms will occur and when, because some children are affected faster than others.’ Jodie thought about what she’d read. ‘There are three main stages—Sarah’s at stage two. Her parents noticed that she was lagging behind in development, but she was always on the go and needed hardly any sleep. She didn’t look any different to her friends—maybe a little smaller—and all preschoolers go through the “into everything” stage and chewing their hands, clothes and books. But they couldn’t get her to be dry at night or by day—by the age of five, that’s pretty rare—and they noticed recently that she’s not talking as much as she did. She’s very active, restless and what they called “a bit difficult”. They wondered if she was hyperactive, but the tests were all negative. Their GP referred her to us and the blood and urine tests show she’s Sanfilippo.’
‘I had a Sanfilippo patient in London,’ Sam said quietly. ‘We referred her to Great Ormond Street, and I think we should do the same for Sarah. In the third phase, she’ll slow down—she’ll fall over a lot and become unsteady on her feet, then eventually lose her ability to walk.’ He sat down on the edge of the little girl’s bed and stroked her hair. ‘Poor kid. She’s going to have a tough time. And so are the parents. They’ll have to cope with a growing child who’s virtually immobile and won’t be able to communicate with them.’
‘They’ve got a new baby as well,’ Jodie told him. ‘They’ve asked for tests in case he’s affected as well.’
‘He’s probably a carrier,’ Sam said. ‘There’s a two in three chance that siblings of Sanfilippo patients will be carriers.’
‘She’s only in for tonight. To be honest, she didn’t really need to stay in,’ she admitted, ‘but there was a bed free and I thought the parents could do with some time to come to terms with it. Not to mention get some sleep.’
‘How long has Sarah been asleep?’ Sam asked.
‘An hour or so. Give it another couple of hours, and I think our whirlwind will be back,’ Jodie said wryly. ‘I’ve made an appointment for her parents to see a genetic counsellor.’
‘Good idea. Do you know which form of Sanfilippo she has?’
‘A, I think,’ Jodie said. ‘I know that B’s sometimes milder and sufferers can live a relatively normal life into their twenties.’
‘But that’s not the case here,’ Sam finished for her.
‘I just hate not being able to do anything.’ The words were out before she could stop them.
‘We’re doctors, but we’re only human,’ Sam told her softly. The same soft tone he’d used when he’d told her he loved her.
She forced the thought away.
‘Every time I come across a case of, say, leukaemia,’ he continued, ‘see some bright, happy child that I know won’t make it to twenty, I ask myself why I became a doctor, why we don’t have a cure yet. And even when we do find a cure, it’s going to be too late for that particular patient…I hate that part of our job, too. But we’re doing the best we can.’
‘Yes.’ Jodie thought of the baby sister she’d had for just a few short days. ‘If Sadie had been born now, she’d have had much more of a chance, with the medical advances over the last twenty-five years.’
On impulse, Sam reached out and squeezed her hand.
She flinched and pulled away.
‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…’ He sighed deeply. ‘Go and get yourself a coffee, Dr Price. I think you need it.’
She forced herself to sound casual. ‘Yes, boss.’
Jodie headed for the small kitchen at the back of the ward and put the kettle on. He was right, she knew—she needed a couple of minutes to get her emotions back under control. Emotions that were threatening to run way over the top. She’d been upset enough about her patient, but to have Sam walking back into her life, unannounced, saying they needed to talk…
But the time for talking was past. Long past.
Sam sat on the edge of the little girl’s bed, staring at the notes without reading them. Maybe he should have stayed in Cornwall. Maybe he shouldn’t have come back at all. Because Jodie wasn’t going to give him the chance to explain anything.
He couldn’t blame her. As far as she was concerned, he’d walked out on her after promising to be back—and he hadn’t even spoken to her in the ten days he’d been away. He could protest his case, tell her how hard he’d tried to contact her, but she’d already judged him and passed sentence: deportation from her life.
But he was sure he’d seen something in her eyes when she’d looked at him. His mother’s words echoed in his mind. Tell her you love her…Follow your heart.
And if she wouldn’t talk to him, well, there were other ways.
‘For me?’ Jodie stared at the florist in surprise. It wasn’t her birthday. Who on earth would send her flowers?
Her lips thinned as the answer hit her. Who else? ‘Thank you, but I can’t accept them,’ she said tightly.
‘I’ve got to deliver them, or my boss’ll have my guts for garters,’ the girl said, looking worried. ‘Please?’
She didn’t want the flowers—but she didn’t want the girl to get the sack either. It wasn’t her fault Sam was the biggest louse in history. ‘OK. I’ll sign,’ she said. But the flowers were going to go straight into the bin.
Ten minutes later, she fished them out again. The hand-tied bouquet of roses and freesias was gorgeous, too beautiful to deserve dumping like that. She’d take it to the hospital for someone else to enjoy.
She wasn’t curious about the card that came with them.
Not a bit.
Not even the tiniest, tiniest bit…
She lasted nearly half an hour after putting the flowers in water before she opened the card. Two words, in Sam’s black script. ‘I’m sorry.’
Sorry for what? Walking out on her like that? Or sorry that it hadn’t worked out? Well, she wasn’t going to ask him. She didn’t want to talk to him, other than on a professional basis. Though common courtesy dictated that she ought to write him a brief note of thanks.
As in just, ‘Thanks for the flowers. Jodie.’ She sealed it in an envelope and, just before she went on duty that afternoon, left it in his pigeonhole. The flowers went up to the geriatric ward—as Jodie told the sister in charge, ‘To someone who’ll enjoy them.’
Sam read the note and smiled. So communication was re-established. Grudging, but it was a start. She’d accepted his apology; now she might listen to the explanation. Or at least read it.
The next morning Jodie found a typed envelope with a Melbury postmark on her doormat. Junk mail? Or…Jodie frowned as she opened it to and found a photograph enclosed.
A photograph of an elderly woman she’d never seen before yet who looked familiar, particularly her grey eyes.
On the back, another note in Sam’s handwriting. ‘Mary Taylor.’
There was also a photocopy of a discharge sheet which also gave the date of Mary Taylor’s admission for bacterial pneumonia. Jodie scanned it swiftly, worked out what Sam was trying to tell her and scowled. Well, now she knew where he’d been for those ten days—and why. So why the hell hadn’t he called her and told her what was happening? Why had he just left her in limbo like that?
She replaced the photograph and discharge sheet in the envelope and shoved it in a kitchen drawer. She wasn’t even going to dignify this with a reply.
The next day, she had an email from Sam. Patient recommendation. Work, this time. OK, she could deal with that. Except the text of the message was blank—there was just an attachment. Recommendation.doc. Well, thanks, Sam, she fumed inwardly. That tells me a lot—I don’t think. Who’s the patient? What’s the case?
She opened it and her eyes widened in shock. He’d sent her an article on the latest research about artificial insemination by donor.
Patient recommendation?
Enough was enough. She stomped down the corridor to his office.
‘Is he in?’ she asked Julianne.
‘Yes, but—’
Jodie ignored Julianne’s ‘he’s busy’ and marched straight in, slamming the door shut behind her to forestall any interruptions. Dragon, beware, she thought—right now she could out-dragon anyone!
Sam looked up from his paperwork. ‘Dr Price.’
She folded her arms. ‘Stop playing games with me.’
‘Games?’
‘The flowers, the photograph, the email—just stop.’
He spread his hands. ‘What else was I supposed to do? You weren’t talking to me.’
‘Are you surprised?’
He sighed. ‘No. But give me five minutes to explain.’
‘One.’
She wasn’t in the mood for negotiating. ‘Fifty-five seconds, starting now.’
‘The hospital in Cornwall rang to say my mother had been admitted with pneumonia and was asking for me, so I didn’t even stop to think—I just drove straight down there. I stopped on the way to ring you and explain but you were out and you don’t have an answering machine.’ He grimaced. ‘Or if you do it wasn’t switched on. I kept ringing and you didn’t answer. I rang you at work and you were too busy to talk to me—with patients, with parents, away from the ward. I asked Julianne to tell you to ring me urgently. You didn’t. I rang again and she said you were on leave.’ He sighed again. ‘I didn’t know where you were or how to reach you. So I stayed with Mum, settled her in for a couple of days after she was discharged and came straight back to you.’
That explained why he’d looked so tired at Sarah Ellis’s bedside. He’d just driven for eight hours or so—to come straight to her.
‘And you made it clear you weren’t going to discuss anything with me.’
‘Do you blame me?’ she snapped.
‘I don’t exactly have a good track record when it comes to talking things over,’ he admitted wryly. ‘But we need to talk, Jodie.’
‘There’s nothing to talk about.’
‘Isn’t there?’
‘Your fifty-five seconds are up.’
‘And?’
‘And nothing!’ She stomped out of the room again.
It was only when she was halfway down the corridor that Sam’s words sank in. He’d asked Julianne to tell her to ring him yet Julianne hadn’t passed on the message.
Her eyes narrowed. Why hadn’t Julianne tried to find her to give her the message? Or she could have paged her or put a note with her post? Was she in love with Sam? Or was she just on some kind of power trip, trying to prove her importance to the team?
Not that it mattered. Because Jodie was not—definitely not—going to get involved with Sam Taylor ever again.
Though it nagged at her for the rest of the day. Patient recommendation. Was Sam trying to tell her that he’d come round to her way of thinking, that he was prepared to try AID if and when they decided they wanted children?
Stop, she told herself firmly. He’s going away. And you’re going to get over him. Not now, not tomorrow, not next year—but some day.
Later that evening, on his way out of the ward, Sam stopped dead in his tracks. He knew that voice. Except this time it wasn’t singing a version of Incey Wincey Spider. This time it was singing an old-fashioned lullaby. ‘Golden slumbers seal your eyes, Smiles awake you when you rise…’
He couldn’t resist it. Even though he knew he should be dealing with the mountain of paperwork in his intray—and even though he knew he should keep away from Jodie—he walked as if spellbound towards that voice and leaned on the doorjamb.
She was cradling a small baby in her arms, one of the last bronchiolitis victims. Baby Madison had touched all their hearts because her fifteen-year-old mother had decided to give her up for adoption and refused to spend any time with the baby. Most of the nursing staff spent a few minutes each day talking to her and letting her hold their fingers, and some of them had gone as far as Jodie, cuddling her during feeds and generally making a fuss of her, giving her the affection her natural mother wasn’t offering her.
Jodie was born to be a mother. The way she was cradling the sick infant, holding her so gently and stroking the soft little cheek…It was how she’d be with her own baby. The baby he desperately wanted with her.
And he’d left it too late. He’d thrown it all away.
He gave a choked sound and her head whipped up. She stared at him, eyes dilated, and he backed away.
‘Sam?’
Her voice was clear and it echoed in the quiet of the evening ward—most visitors had left by now.
‘I’m sorry. I know what you said. Just colleagues.’
‘That’s right.’
Was it his imagination, or was there a slight quiver in her voice?
Well, there was only one way to find out. And this, he knew, was definitely his last chance. ‘Jodie. There’s something I need to say to you.’ he said softly. ‘Please.’
‘I’m on duty.’ Her voice was steady as she put Baby Madison back in her cot, checked the monitor leads and tubes, and gently placed a sheet over her.
‘It won’t take long. Maybe it’s too little, too late—but, please, hear me out.’
She faced him, unsmiling.
‘We never talked in my family. I don’t know why—it was just the way we were. I didn’t get the chance to tell my father how much I loved him.’ He bit his lip. ‘Dad died of a heart attack when I was a student. I didn’t get there in time for the end. So when I heard my mother was in hospital, I had to go. I didn’t know how ill she was and I didn’t want to make the same mistake again.’
She said nothing, but he could see the slight film of tears misting her green eyes.
‘I thought my mother was asleep and I started talking to her—talking to her the way I’d always wanted to but never had. I told her about this woman I’d met. A woman with the eyes of an angel. How she was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. Everyone loved her and I wanted her more than anything in the world, but I couldn’t give her the one thing she wanted. Babies.
‘And then I found out my mother hadn’t been asleep at all. She told me to tell you what I’d just said to her—pretend you were asleep if I had to.’
‘Pretend I was asleep?’ Jodie frowned, not following Sam’s reasoning.
‘So I could find the right words.’ His mouth quirked wryly. ‘I’m no good at talking. You know that. I just freeze and the words won’t come out.’
There was nothing she could say to that.
‘And she told me to follow my heart.’ He spread his hands. ‘You were right all along. There are lots of things we could do. If we had a baby with the help of a donor…’ He took a deep breath. ‘Look at Baby Madison here. She’ll grow up with a mother who isn’t her biological mother and a father who isn’t her biological father—but they’ll still be her parents and they’ll still love her because she’s their child. They’ll have chose her, so she’s special to them. Just as our child would be special to us.’
‘Our child.’ Jodie’s throat worked convulsively. ‘And that’s the be-all and end-all, isn’t it? A baby.’
He shook his head. ‘If we’re lucky enough to have children, that’d be the icing on the cake. But…’ He raked a hand through his hair. ‘Look, I don’t want to finish this conversation in the middle of a hospital ward.’
‘I’m on duty.’
‘We need to talk,’ Sam said. ‘As from now, we’re both off duty.’
‘But—’
‘But nothing. Your bike stays here, you come with me, and we’re going somewhere a bit more private.’
‘The ward’s quiet enough tonight.’
‘According to the duty roster, you should have left two hours ago and I’m supposedly several hundred miles away.’ He smiled wryly. ‘Though I know why you’re still here. From what I’ve heard, I think everyone on the ward wants to adopt this little one.’
Was he suggesting…? Her green eyes were huge as she stared at him. ‘Sam, I didn’t—’
‘There’s only one way to stop you talking, Jodie Price,’ he cut in. ‘And that’s this.’ He curved one hand round her neck and touched his lips gently to hers.
After that first touch, the kiss turned explosive, and it was only when there was a loud cough behind them that they broke apart.
‘Madison’s monitor is going mad,’ Fiona pointed out. ‘And the two doctors in her room—consultant and registrar at that, I might add—are completely ignoring it, so I suppose the nursing staff will have to do something about it.’
‘I…’ Jodie flushed.
‘Get her out of here, Sam Taylor, and sort it out. Pronto,’ Fiona directed.
‘Funny, I thought scary matrons who bossed doctors about died out years ago,’ Sam muttered.
‘I heard that,’ Fiona said, checking the monitor resetting it and adjusting the cuff around the baby’s foot. ‘Go. The pair of you. And don’t come back until you’ve got some good news for us, do you hear?’
‘Yes, ma’am.’ Sam took Jodie’s hand and tugged her out of the room.