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An Unexpected Bonus
Caroline Anderson


P.S. I’M PREGNANT! When ex-army doc Ed Latimer arrives to run her Suffolk GP practice, senior community midwife Jo Halliday is astonished at her reaction to him. She hasn’t been interested in a man for years—not since her now teenage daughter was born! But there’s just something about Ed that she can’t quite resist… A night of passion soon leads to a very surprising consequence—especially for Ed, since he can’t have children. But Jo is definitely pregnant, and Ed is definitely the father! Can she convince him that this little miracle is an unexpected bonus in more ways than one?












An Unexpected Bonus

Caroline Anderson





www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




Table of Contents


Cover (#u815c115a-de69-5727-bab2-ea9a0dba553a)

Title Page (#uf217b631-7edb-58b4-81d8-479ab24adfa6)

Chapter One (#u66ce1652-4b54-5649-ad7e-f8046d674df0)

Chapter Two (#u79088d71-5759-572e-9d59-814608b8b876)

Chapter Three (#uc164a96f-f7d4-59cd-93d1-581841a011eb)

Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)




CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_8622eb61-720c-52d3-8982-c37e07011315)


‘HE’S gorgeous!’

Jo looked down at the baby girl in her arms and smiled. ‘Mmm—but he’s a she.’

Sue propped her arms on the edge of the crib and laughed softly. ‘Not the baby, idiot. Him. Our Dr Latimer.’

‘Oh, him. He’s come in, has he? Such dedication to duty on New Year’s Day.’ Jo laid the baby down on her side, covered her up and straightened. ‘I was just tucking up our first baby of the year. I nearly missed her arrival—in a bit of a hurry, weren’t you, sweetheart?’

The baby ignored her, and so did Sue.

‘You ought to see him—six foot something, dark hair, laughing grey-blue eyes…’

‘Sounds like a cliché.’

Sue gave an exasperated sigh. ‘Look, Jo, he’s perfect. Just what you need—’

‘Whoa there! Steady on.’ Jo stopped what she was doing and met her friend’s eyes. ‘What I need,’ she pointed out carefully, ‘is calm, stability, security—’

‘Fun, laughter, a social life—’

‘A pension—’

‘Pension!’ Sue exploded. ‘Why do you need a pension? You’re twenty-nine!’

‘Thirty—and because, as I’ve just proved, I’m getting older.’

Sue made a rude noise and bent over the baby. ‘Hi, sweetheart. Welcome to the world of pensions and premature ageing. It’ll be your birthday next week at this rate, you wait and see.’

Jo swatted her with the file and went out into the corridor, hiding her grin. ‘You’re impossible. I’m not interested in Dr Latimer. For all we know he could be married…’

‘Uh-uh. Single—not even divorced.’

‘So why’s he taken a job in a quiet little seaside town in Suffolk? He’s probably got totally unacceptable habits, or halitosis.’

Sue followed her down the corridor to the nursing station. ‘No halitosis…’

‘And of course you got close enough to find out.’

‘Oh, yes. Matron introduced us. I swear, if I wasn’t already married…’ She paused. ‘He’s lovely, Jo, really.’ Her eyes grew serious. ‘He is. You wait till you meet him. He could be Mr Right.’

‘I’m sure he is—for someone, but that someone isn’t me, Sue. I don’t believe in happy ever after.’

Sue propped herself against the wall and watched as Jo dropped the file back into the trolley. ‘So have an affair.’

Jo laughed. ‘In Yoxburgh? Got any more good ideas?’

‘I mean it. It’s time you got out and had a bit of fun. I think it’s amazing that you’re as normal as you are, the life you lead. You’re closeted up like a nun—and what about Laura? Is she going to grow up thinking that men are a bad idea and living alone is the norm?’

Jo shook her head in disbelief and turned towards her friend.

‘Leave it, Sue, please. Laura and I are fine. We don’t need anyone else. I know you’re only trying to help, but we’re quite happy the way we are.’

Sue shrugged. ‘Have it your own way.’

‘I will. We’re fine.’ Jo sighed inwardly. It wasn’t a lie. They were happy, more or less. Sometimes they were happier than others, but most of the time they rubbed along all right, and if there were nights sometimes when the bed seemed cold and empty—well, they were few and far between, and she had plenty of friends to pass the time with.

She didn’t admit to herself that passing the time was all she did, putting one foot in front of the other, taking the days one at a time, shuffling on towards retirement and the hereafter with little enthusiasm for anything but Laura and the mums and babies in her care—

Lord, how maudlin!

‘Stop matchmaking, Sue,’ she told her friend firmly. ‘Anyway, haven’t you got anything better to do?’

‘Oh, tons—all my PNs. You can tell me what you think of him later. See you!’

Jo watched her go despairingly. She had a few postnatal checks to do herself, but first of all, since Dr Latimer was in the building, he could make himself useful.

She quickened her stride, bustling down the corridor towards the entrance, and as she rounded the corner she almost fell over a group of people standing clustered in Reception.

Matron, the receptionist, a nursing sister—and him. At least, she imagined it was him—and, yes, he was gorgeous, she supposed, if your taste ran to that sort of thing.

Tall, dark, handsome, clichéd—the stuff of fiction. As far as Jo was concerned, though, he was just a man like all the others.

Then he looked at her, those storm-grey eyes meeting hers and holding, and, like a display of baked beans in a supermarket, she felt as if someone had yanked out a tin from the bottom row and tumbled her into a heap at his feet.

‘Ah, Jo—perfect timing.’

She blinked, breaking the spell, and looked away. To her astonishment she was still standing, rather puzzled by the strange hiccup in her heart rate and the fizzing in her veins.

Not because of him, surely? Men just didn’t do that to her!

Matron smiled, holding out her arm to welcome her to the group. ‘This is Jo Halliday—she’s the senior community midwife. You’ll be seeing a lot of her, of course, because she runs the antenatal clinics in your surgery as well as the classes here. Jo, come and meet Ed Latimer.’

Come and meet him? She might, if she tried really hard, be able to remember how to walk!

‘Hi, there,’ she said, thankful that her voice at least sounded normal. ‘Pleased to meet you. Actually, I’ve got a job for you, if I could hijack you from the grand tour?’

‘Oh, we’ve finished,’ Matron said airily. ‘He’s all yours.’

He chuckled, a deep, rich sound that for some reason sent a shiver down her spine. ‘At your service,’ he said with a little bow of his head, and the grin that accompanied it made her heart do something crazy and stupid and not entirely normal. ‘What did you want me for?’

She wasn’t sure any longer. Her body seemed to have a hidden agenda all its own. She swallowed. ‘New baby needs a check—I wonder if you’d do the honours.’

‘Sure. Lead the way.’

She did, taking him back down the corridor towards the GP unit, aware with every step of his presence at her side.

‘Here we are, female infant of Angela Grigson, born at eight-thirty this morning.’

‘So, little baby Grigson is the first of the New Year?’

‘Yes. It’s a small unit, so it’s amazing we’ve had one on New Year’s Day. Sometimes it’s days before we get a baby—last year it was the ninth of January.’

‘Normal vaginal delivery, I take it? Was she booked for admission to the GP unit?’

‘No. She was due to go to the hospital, it’s only her first, but she didn’t have time. I was hardly here myself! I’ve checked everything except the heartbeat, but I expect you’ll want to check her again.’

She was running on like a steam train! She shut her mouth with a little snap and stepped back.

Ed Latimer gave her a quizzical little look, then turned his attention to the peaceful baby. ‘OK. Sorry, little one, I’m going to wake you up.’ He looked round. ‘Where’s Mum?’

‘Gone to the loo. She’s very relaxed about it all.’

‘Not to mention hasty! What was the Apgar score?’

‘Ten,’ she replied promptly, glad to focus on the professional rather than the general. ‘She was very alert and vocal at birth, bright pink and flailing furiously!’

‘Excellent. No other problems, I take it, apart from the unseemly speed?’

‘No, everything was perfectly normal, just fast. Mum had the shakes afterwards, but that’s quite common with hasty deliveries.’

Jo watched him undress the tiny scrap, his big hands astonishingly gentle, his eyes scanning the baby for anything out of the ordinary. He checked the eyes, the ears, the mouth and nose, the fontanelles or soft spots on the head, both hands and feet, all the digits, then laid the baby face down over his palm and checked the spine with a big, blunt fingertip.

Then he checked her bottom to make sure that all necessary organs were present and correct, dropped her an inch onto the cot to test her Moro reflex and grunted in satisfaction as the baby flung her arms out and cried. She grasped his fingers and held on as he lifted her, and when he dangled her so her feet just touched the mattress she tried to walk.

‘Good girl. Now the bit you’ll hate. Sorry, poppet.’ He folded her little legs up, bent them up against her sides and wiggled them to check her hip joints.

Predictably she wailed, and he scooped her up and hugged her. ‘Sorry, little one,’ he murmured, cradling her against his chest. Just to get her revenge, she emptied her bladder down his shirt.

‘Well, that answers that question,’ he said with a grimace. ‘Her waterworks function.’

Jo laughed and, taking the baby from him, she put her into a nappy and laid her back into the cot so he could listen to her heart.

‘That’ll teach me to hug them when they’re naked,’ he said ruefully, blotting at his shirt with a paper towel.

‘At least she isn’t a boy. They always pee in your eye.’

He grinned at her, and once again her heart did that stupid thing.

Nuts.

She watched in silence as he checked the baby’s heart for any unusual sounds, and then he folded the stethoscope and tucked it back into his pocket, before dressing the little one again.

‘Can you manage?’ Jo asked, which earned her a wry look.

‘Why do you women think you’re the only ones who get to play with the new babies?’ he said softly, and turned his attention back to the little one in his hands. ‘Can I manage?’ he murmured. ‘The nerve of the woman! Just so cheeky, isn’t she? Yes!’

He was competent, she had to give him that. She wondered if there was a child in his life—or a partner not covered by the standard ‘single/married/widowed/divorced’ categories of the application form.

Very likely. He was the boy next door grown up, and if he was still single it was very odd.

Perhaps he had unspeakable habits after all?

Then he straightened and met her eyes, and there was something sad and lonely lurking in the depths of them—something that tugged at an echo in her heart. She wanted to reach out to him, to touch him, to ask what it was that made him sad, but before she could make a fool of herself there was a shuffling behind her, and a cheery voice said, ‘Hello, there. Everything all right?’

She turned, dragging her eyes from his, and smiled at the young woman in the tatty dressing-gown who climbed up onto the bed and sat down cautiously.

‘Hi, Angela. Fine—just a routine check on the baby. How are you feeling now?’

‘Oh, fine. Bit sore.’ She looked across at Ed and smiled. ‘You must be the new doctor.’

‘That’s me—Ed Latimer. Pleased to meet you. Congratulations on a perfect little baby. I’ve checked her over and she’s all present and correct—lovely. Well done.’ He took her hand in a firm grasp, and Angela Grigson turned to putty. She smiled and dimpled and went all silly, and Jo rolled her eyes and looked away.

The woman was happily married and had been for the past five years, and yet one look at their new GP and she went gaga only hours after the birth of her first child.

Jo predicted a massive rush of minor ailments at the surgery in the next few days, checking out the new doctor. The grapevine would be humming like a guitar string and nobody would be able to talk about anything else!

‘I told you he’d knock your socks off.’

‘He’s just a man.’

‘Pooh. He’s gorgeous.’

‘We’ve done this conversation for the past three days. Can’t anyone talk about anything else? I’m getting sick of hearing his name.’

‘Whose name?’

They both jumped guiltily and turned towards the door of the surgery kitchen. ‘Yours,’ Jo said, not bothering to lie. ‘Everyone in Yoxburgh is talking about you—and it’s only Monday. You’re the sole topic of conversation!’

He gave a short laugh. ‘I hope it’s good.’

‘So far you don’t seem to have irritated the dowagers or killed off their grandchildren so, yes, at the moment it’s good. You might blow it yet, of course, once you start doing a few more surgeries.’

He laughed. ‘Quite probably.’ He propped his lean hips against the worktop and looked hopefully at the kettle. ‘Any chance of a cup of tea?’

Sue scooted through the door. ‘I’m off on my visits. Jo’ll make you tea—she’s the resident mummy.’

He quirked a brow. ‘Resident mummy?’

Jo laughed a little awkwardly and flicked the button on the kettle. ‘I make them look after themselves and eat properly, and I nag a bit.’

‘You sound like an asset to the practice.’

She laughed again. ‘They hate it, mostly—except when I’m dishing out tea and coffee. Then they usually form an orderly queue.’

He chuckled and reached for two mugs from the rack, handing them to her. ‘Is it just us?’

‘At the moment. Were you looking for me, or just the kettle?’

‘You, actually.’ He lounged against the worktop again, looking sexier than he had any right to. ‘I wanted to go over the routine—you know I’m taking over all the obstetrics for the practice?’

‘Yes, I did. Not a problem—we can sit down with our tea and go through it all. It’s quite straightforward.’

‘Have you got time?’

‘Just about. I’m on call but it’s quiet at the moment. How about you?’

He chuckled. ‘I’m on half-timetable this week, just while I settle in. They wanted me to have a nice gentle introduction so I didn’t get the screaming ab-dabs and run off into the sunset before I’d had time to get used to the place. It’s quite a luxury, really, after doing locum work for six months and my GP training and obstetrics before that, but I must confess to being a bit bored.’

‘It won’t last,’ she assured him drily. ‘With this flu epidemic and the worst part of the winter lined up, you can be sure it’ll deteriorate very soon.’

‘I’m so glad. I was beginning to wonder if I’d have enough to do or if it was all a big mistake.’

Jo gave an astonished laugh. ‘Just make the most of it,’ she advised him with a grin. ‘How do you take your tea?’

‘White, no sugar—thanks.’ His fingers brushed hers as he took the mug, and a shiver of something elemental and thoroughly silly ran up her arm and curdled her brain.

What was it about him? He was just an ordinary man—wasn’t he? So he was good-looking—so were lots of men. She pulled out one of the chairs from under the table and sat down, giving her tea very much more attention than it really merited while she waited for her head to clear. He didn’t help matters. He flipped the chair round, straddling it and resting his forearms on the back, the mug dangling from long, strong fingers.

Ridiculous. Even his fingers drove her crazy!

‘So, tell me about how the obstetrics is arranged,’ he said suddenly, dragging her back to earth. ‘How many of our mums have their babies here and how many in the Audley?’

She latched onto the professional conversation like a lifeline and launched into a barrage of statistics. ‘More and more are having them either here or at home—recently I’ve had one or two who’ve given birth at the Audley and gone into the GP unit for a postnatal period of two or three days, just to get a rest.’

‘Yes, that’s one of the problems of sending them all home so soon—I often wonder if they don’t need more rest, but busy hospitals certainly don’t seem to be the place to get it.’

She set her mug on the table, folding her arms to keep her fingers still. ‘Most of the postnatal cases are mums with other children and just need a break, or their partners aren’t able to take time off, but whatever their reasons we encourage them to use the unit, of course, because otherwise we can’t justify its existence and it’ll be closed.’

‘Is that likely?’

She shrugged and pulled a face. ‘Maybe. Several units in the Suffolk area have closed over the last ten to twenty years, and others are under threat. We use it for obs and gynae post-op as well as just a straightforward delivery unit to maximise the use of the beds, but it’s certainly used to capacity most of the time one way and another and we try and keep it that way.’

He nodded thoughtfully, sipping his tea and gazing absently over the rim of his mug. ‘So how many babies are delivered in the community every year?’ he asked next, trapping her with his eyes.

Were they grey or blue? Hard to tell in this light…

‘In our immediate area about eighty, either in the unit or at home. We refer whenever we feel it’s necessary, and we never take chances. We’ve got fairly strict criteria for the GP unit, although if they don’t comply with the criteria I might still let them have a home birth, but we watch them like hawks. We’re too far from the specialist unit to be able to take risks.’

His eyes searched hers. ‘Does that undermine your confidence?’

She smiled. ‘It used to. Not any more. I think experience counts for a lot. I’m much more willing to let mums have a go now than I used to be.’

‘Are you happy to rely on your professional judgement, or would you like tighter guidelines?’

‘No. I like to be able to take each case on its merits. I rely on instinct as well.’ She waited for the criticism, but to her surprise it wasn’t forthcoming.

‘So do I,’ he admitted, ‘although I’m not sure I always trust my instincts yet. Maybe when I’ve got more experience in general practice. In the meantime, I’d rather check with a colleague. I’m not afraid to admit I don’t know all the answers.’

‘So you won’t mind when I keep you in order?’ she said with a hesitant smile.

He chuckled. ‘I’ll be relying on it.’

She nodded, relieved that they agreed about something so important. Not that she’d meant to be so unsubtle about it, but there you go, she thought, not everyone’s born to be a diplomat.

Her bleeper warbled, and she popped through to Reception, then came back. ‘Got to fly,’ she told him, ‘one of my imminent mums. In fact, are you busy? I’ll need an accomplice—this one’s a home birth. You could gain a bit of that experience you were talking about.’

‘Sure.’ He drained his tea, flipped the chair back under the table and stood, ready and waiting. ‘Your car or mine, or both?’

‘I’ll take mine because it’s got my stuff in—you’re welcome to hitch a ride or take yours, whatever, but I’ll ring her first.’

She went into the office and rang through to Julie Brown, half her attention still on the man lounging on the wall behind her. ‘Julie? Hi—Jo Halliday. How’s things?’

‘Oh, you know—I had a twinge so I finished feeding the sheep and came in, and once I stopped moving I realised things were getting on a bit. I don’t think it’ll be long.’

‘Hang on, then. Is anyone with you?’

‘No. Tim’s down at the other farm and the kids are with Mum.’

‘Right, unlock the back door, shut the dog up and go up to your room. Then lie down and rest!’

Julie chuckled. ‘Yes, Sergeant-Major, sir!’

‘Just do it. I’ll be ten minutes.’

She cradled the phone. ‘Farmer’s wife,’ she said to Ed. ‘She says it won’t be long. She’s had two—I believe her. Are you ready? I’m going now.’

He nodded. ‘Fine.’

‘Are you going to follow? I’ll have to stay two hours after the birth.’

‘No problem. I’ve got nothing else to do and it might be useful. I’ll come with you, if I may? I can ask you questions on the way.’

And distract me, she thought, but in fact he didn’t. He sat very quietly and said not a lot until they’d arrived, and then as they got out she noticed he was a little pale.

‘You don’t take any prisoners, do you?’ he said drily.

‘I said we were in a hurry,’ she said with a grin, and he managed a wan smile.

‘Hmm. I’m not used to being driven. I find it a bit unnerving.’

She laughed, grabbed her bag out of the car and headed round the side of the house. A volley of barking heralded their arrival, and as she opened the back door the big black dog launched itself at her.

‘Brogue, get down!’

The dog subsided, licking her hand, and with a frown she went into the kitchen and found Julie slumped over the table. She lifted her head and gazed at Jo.

‘Couldn’t make the stairs,’ she said breathlessly. ‘Think it’s coming—’

‘Good job you’ve got a decent-sized table in here, then, isn’t it, since the floor’s a bit doggy?’ Jo said with a grin. ‘Ed, give me a hand. Oh, Julie, this is Dr Ed Latimer, our new GP obstetrician.’

Julie peered up at him, and said weakly, ‘Hi.’ She dropped her head again. ‘Oh, here we go again…’

‘She’s having a contraction—come on, let’s clear the table and move her as soon as it’s over so I can have a look.’ Jo scooped papers and mugs off the table, and stacked cushions for Julie to lean against, then glanced at Ed over her shoulder. ‘There’s a big black box in the boot of my car. Could you get it?’

He went without argument, to her relief, and was back in seconds, by which time she’d shut Brogue in the utility room and was back with Julie.

‘Thanks,’ she murmured, lifting the lid off the box. Pulling out the delivery pack and a few inco pads, she spread them out on the top of the big old table and they lifted Julie onto it. Her dress was quickly hitched up, and as they dispensed with her underwear it was obvious the baby wasn’t waiting for anyone.

‘I’ll just wash my hands,’ Jo said, but there wasn’t time to find gloves, because the baby was coming, and coming now. ‘Just pant,’ Jo told Julie, and the baby shot out into her hands in a slippery rush just moments later.

‘Hello, little fellow,’ she said with a smile. Lifting him, she put him down on Julie’s abdomen and grinned at Ed. ‘Three thirty-seven. Remember that. Didn’t need us at all,’ she added over the baby’s indignant squall. Washing her hands again, she dried them on a clean towel from one of the kitchen drawers, put gloves on and checked for any problems.

It all looked very straightforward, and after the cord stopped pulsing she clamped and cut it. Wrapping the baby in another towel from the drawer, she handed him to Ed. ‘Hold this,’ she ordered.

‘This,’ he said softly. ‘Is that any way to speak to you, son?’ he murmured and, taking the corner of the towel, he gently wiped the baby’s face.

Jo dragged her eyes away from him and tried to concentrate on the patient and her needs. She was propped on the pile of hastily assembled cushions, and she looked thoroughly uncomfortable on the hard tabletop.

‘I’d like to move you to somewhere more comfy,’ she was saying, when the back door burst open and Tim erupted into the room, his eyes wild.

‘Ah, Julie, love, you could have waited for me!’ he said with a laugh, and hugged his wife.

‘It’s a boy,’ she told him, and he closed his eyes and hugged her again.

‘Everything all right?’

‘Think so,’ Jo told him. ‘We haven’t really had time to check—he’s only just been born a few minutes.’

‘You check Mum, I’ll check the baby,’ Ed said, and she was suddenly reminded that he was a fellow-professional and not just someone she’d dragged along for the ride. She wondered how badly she’d ordered him around, but couldn’t remember.

Too bad. The baby was the first priority, and it was her delivery anyway. ‘Do you want to wait for the placenta, or shall I give you an injection?’ she asked Julie, knowing full well what the answer would be.

‘I’ll wait—I can feel a contraction now, I think.’

Jo laid a hand on Julie’s soft abdomen and pressed down, and she could feel the uterus working. ‘Yes, you’re right. We’ll wait. Are you OK there?’

‘I’ll manage.’

It didn’t take long. She popped the afterbirth into one of the bowls and checked it quickly, filled the other with hot water to wash the mother down, examined Julie for any little nicks or tears and declared her to be fine.

‘Baby, too. He’s got good lungs,’ Ed said ruefully, pulling the earpieces of the stethoscope out of his ears so the bellowing didn’t damage his hearing permanently. ‘I’ll check his heart later when he’s quiet but, judging by his colour, I can’t imagine he’s got a problem.’

‘No. He’s a lusty little chap,’ Jo said, giving him her attention for the first time. She looked at the placenta more thoroughly, lifting up the membranes and checking for any abnormalities, then put it into a yellow clinical waste bag, sealed it and put it inside another one.

‘Want to weigh him?’ Ed asked.

‘Not yet. I want to clear up a little first and then get Julie upstairs. You feeling strong, Tim?’ she asked, bagging up the rest of the clinical waste and popping a pad between Julie’s legs.

He grinned and scooped his wife up in his arms, carrying her up to their bedroom with the others trailing behind. ‘Fancy having him in the kitchen,’ Tim said affectionately as he set her down. ‘You spend your life at that damn table—I might have known you’d have the baby on it!’

‘It’ll be something to tell the grandchildren when they come over for Sunday lunch,’ Julie said with a chuckle.

‘Hmm. Eating off the same table, I have no doubt.’ Jo laughed. ‘Right, we need to undress you and freshen you up, feed the baby, and then after your bath I think you’ll need a rest—I should think you’re exhausted after such a hard labour,’ she said with a smile.

‘Oh, yes—all of about an hour from the first twinge.’

‘You should have rung me on the mobile,’ Tim scolded.

‘I did—you left it switched off,’ Julie pointed out.

‘Now, now, children, don’t fight,’ Jo said. She sent Tim off to clear up the devastation in the kitchen and make everyone a cup of tea while she helped Julie out of her clothes and into a dressing-gown.

Once Julie was undressed she was able to feed the baby, and Jo felt the usual surge of satisfaction as she watched the little baby suckle from his mother. He was the third of their children that she’d delivered or monitored in pregnancy, and it was gratifying to have been involved in the arrival of the whole family.

She looked up at Ed, wondering what he was making of all of this, and surprised a look of sadness and longing on his face again. How strange. He was so good with children—had he lost one? Was that it?

He looked up and caught her eye. His expression became immediately neutral, as if he’d carefully schooled his face to remove the traces of emotion.

‘Teatime,’ Tim said cheerfully, pushing the door open with his foot and carrying in a tray.

Ed stood up. ‘Not for me, thanks. Things seem fine. I think I’ll go for a wander—have a look round outside. I’m still feeling a bit green after the white-knuckle ride—Jo doesn’t exactly hang about. I’ll be back in a while.’

His smile was a little strained. Jo sipped her tea and wondered what had put that look on his face and made him want to run away—because that was what he was doing, she was sure. She didn’t believe he was still feeling queasy for a moment.

The baby dozed off, and Julie put her cup down and smiled wearily at Jo. ‘I could murder that bath now.’

‘Good idea. I’ll run it, you stay there.’

It wasn’t too hot because of the baby, but she made it nice and deep because there was nothing like a good wallow after delivery. Then she helped Julie into the bath, before unwrapping the baby that Tim was holding and lowering him carefully into the water between Julie’s knees.

He woke up a little, blinking in the light and gazing up with those wonderful blue eyes of the newborn, and Julie helped her wash his soft, delicate skin with careful hands.

‘He seems so tiny—you forget,’ Julie said, her voice hushed and full of awe, and Jo looked at him and remembered Laura.

‘You’re right—you do forget. I can’t believe Laura was ever this small.’

‘No. She certainly doesn’t look it now. She’s so tall, isn’t she? How old is she?’

‘Twelve. She takes after me and my mother—we’re both quite tall.’

Jo scooped the baby out of the water and wrapped him in a towel off the radiator, then sprinkled a few drops of lavender and tea-tree oil into the bath and topped up the hot water. Julie sank down for a good wallow and sighed with ecstasy.

‘I can’t believe she’s twelve,’ she said after a moment, sounding stunned. ‘Almost a teenager. I can remember when she was born. I don’t know how you cope alone.’

‘I’ve got Mum. I couldn’t work and look after her without my mother’s help.’

Julie laughed. ‘No, mums are wonderful. I’d be lost without mine during lambing and harvesting.’

Jo took the baby across the landing to the bedroom, leaving the doors open, and took the little spring balance out of the box Tim had brought upstairs. She hooked the nylon sling underneath it, popped the baby naked into the sling and held up the balance.

‘Three point seven kilos—eight pounds three ounces,’ she told the mother. ‘How does that compare?’

‘Heavier than Lucy, about the same as Robert.’

‘What are you calling this one? Does he have a name?’

Tim came upstairs again and into the room. ‘Michael, we’d thought.’

‘Or Anna,’ Julie said from the depths of her bath. ‘I think Michael’s more appropriate. I could kill another cup of tea.’

Tim went through to the bathroom, mug in hand. ‘How did I guess?’ he said, a smile in his voice, and for the millionth time Jo wondered what it would have been like to have a father for her daughter, a man who loved and cherished her and was committed to her, instead of—

She cut off the train of thought and concentrated on the baby. He was gorgeous, a lovely sturdy little chap with everything going for him. She put a nappy on him before he could catch her out, popped him into a vest and sleepsuit and tucked him up in the crib that was standing ready in the corner.

Then she helped Julie out of the bath, and while Tim helped her into her nightclothes and down to the warm kitchen Jo went down ahead of them and tidied up her bag, settled herself at the cleaned-up table and wrote up her notes while they sat by the Aga and chatted about the delivery.

Jo lifted her head as Ed came back in, and Tim grinned at him.

‘You must have heard the kettle boil. Fancy a cuppa now?’

Ed smiled, and the strain seemed to have left his face. Thanks. Don’t mind if I do. Everything all right?’

‘Yup. No problems.’ Jo shut the notes, handed the file back to Julie and slipped her pen back into her pocket, before washing her hands again. ‘Baby’s upstairs in the bedroom if you want to check his heart now he’s quiet.’

‘Sure. Thanks.’

He came down a few minutes later, the baby in his arms, and handed him to Julie. ‘He was chewing his fists and grizzling—I reckon you’re going to have your work cut out feeding him. He’s going to be a real trencherman.’

‘Just like his father, then,’ Julie said affectionately.

The couple exchanged a loving glance, and Jo looked away, staring down into her mug and wondering if Ed was all right now. He seemed fine, though, bright and perky, laughing with the Browns and seeming to enjoy himself while the baby tucked into his first proper meal.

Perhaps he really had been feeling queasy? She had driven rather fast.

Jo checked her watch, surprised to find that it was two hours since baby Michael had been born, and packed up her things. ‘We’ll be on our way now. Don’t overdo it.’

‘Would I?’ Julie said with a smile.

Jo arched a brow, shrugged into her coat and loaded everything into the car with Ed’s help.

Take care, now, and ring me if you’re worried. I’ll check you again before ten, but call if you want anything.’

‘We will, and thanks,’ Tim said, and gave her a hug. He shook Ed’s hand, and then they were off, bumping down the track towards the road.

‘It’s got colder,’ she said, fiddling with the heater controls, and wished she’d got a pair of gloves. Laura had borrowed them, of course, like she borrowed everything these days. Goodness knows if she’d ever see them again.

They turned onto the main road and headed back towards the surgery. Out of deference to his nerves she drove much more slowly, and Ed commented on it.

‘In case you hadn’t noticed, we were none too early,’ she reminded him with a laugh.

‘Yes. I can see why you went fast—did you think she was that far on?’

Jo nodded. ‘There was something in her voice—after a while you get an instinct for the little nuances. She just sounded—well, close, I suppose is the best way to describe it.’

‘She was certainly that!’

He fell silent, and she drove back into Yoxburgh in the dark with her headlights gleaming on the frosty road. As she pulled up at the surgery she turned to him in the dark car.

‘Ed—are you OK?’

He paused, his hand on the doorhandle, and looked at her warily. ‘Fine. Why shouldn’t I be?’

She shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I just thought—what happened back there? My driving isn’t that bad, so what was it all about?’

He gave a wry smile. ‘You noticed. Sometimes…’ He sighed. ‘Sometimes I just get a bit choked. I wonder what it would be like—I expect you do the same.’

She relaxed, relieved that there was apparently no great tragedy hanging over him. ‘I’ve got a daughter,’ she told him. ‘I know all about it—the pluses and the minuses.’

He looked surprised. ‘I didn’t realise you were married.’

‘I’m not. I’m a single parent—always have been,’ she added, so he understood her situation.

‘Oh. I see. That can’t be easy.’

‘My mother helps. I couldn’t manage without her.’

Her mobile phone rang, and she answered it, then turned to him with a sigh.

‘Problems?’ he said.

‘I have to go out again—one of my mums might be in labour, and she wants to see me. I’ll sort the car out, reload my box and go over there. You coming?’

‘Do you need me?’

His voice was soft, and something funny happened in her chest—something she didn’t understand, something that came out of nowhere and left her feeling empty and confused and a little breathless.

‘No—no, I don’t need you,’ she told him hastily, and wondered if it was true…




CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_a487c3c6-68de-536d-8870-4949ba773f76)


‘MUM?’

A door crashed in the distance, and Jo met her mother’s eyes with a rueful grin. ‘So much for our peaceful teabreak.’

‘Mum?’ Footsteps retreated, then returned, attached to a bright smile in a pretty heart-shaped face the image of Jo’s. Long dark hair, again like her mother’s, was scooped up into a band, and now at the end of the day strands escaped, drifting round her soft hazel eyes and giving her a dreamy look.

‘Here you are. Hi, Grannie. Wow, a cake! Yum—can I have a bit?’ She cut a chunk, hitched herself up onto a stool by the breakfast bar and sank her teeth into the cake, without waiting for a reply—or a plate.

Her grandmother slid a plate under the hovering hand and smiled. ‘Good day, darling?’

‘OK, I s’pose. Bit pointless at homework club because the staff hadn’t got round to giving us any homework yet, but that was cool. We talked about Cara’s new boyfriend.’ Her eyes swivelled to her mother. ‘Talking of which, I hear your new doctor’s rather gorgeous.’

Jo nearly choked on her tea. ‘I wouldn’t have gone that far. He’s all right, I suppose.’

‘Cara’s mum said he was really yummy. So’s this cake—can I have another bit?’

‘Will you eat your supper?’

Laura rolled her eyes. ‘Mother, when do I ever not?’

It was true. She ate like a horse, thank God, in these days of eating disorders and unhappy children with appalling self-images and huge expectations hanging over them. ‘OK,’ she agreed, and cut a rather more moderate slice. No point in going to the other extreme. ‘So, let’s hear about Love’s Young Dream, then.’

‘Cara’s boyfriend?’ Laura giggled. ‘Oh, he’s in year nine—the third-year seniors, a year above me, Grannie,’ she explained patiently to her far-from-senile grandmother, ‘and he’s tall and his hair’s streaked blond and he’s got an earring and a tattoo on his bum.’

‘Bottom,’ Jo corrected automatically. ‘And how does Cara know that?’ she added, dreading the answer.

Laura laughed. ‘He had to do a moonie for a forfeit at a party she went to—she says it’s a dragon and it’s really cute.’

‘Let’s hope no one gets the urge to stick a sword in it,’ Jo’s mother said pragmatically, and cleared the breakfast bar while Jo tried not to choke.

‘Can’t I have any more?’ Laura said in her best feel-sorry-for-me voice, watching the cake vanish into a tin, but her grandmother was unmoved.

‘You’ll just be sick. Go and wash your hands and come down for supper in half an hour.’

She disappeared, leaving her coat dropped over a chair and her shoes scattered on the kitchen floor where she’d kicked them off.

‘A tattoo, eh?’ Rebecca Halliday said with a murmur as the pounding footsteps faded up the stairs.

Jo rolled her eyes and picked up the shoes and the coat, tidying them away. ‘Whatever next. I wish I could influence her choice of friends a bit more—she worries me.’

‘She’s fine. She’s a sensible girl. She won’t get into trouble.’

‘You thought I was sensible,’ Jo reminded her pointedly. ‘So did I, come to that, and we were both wrong.’

‘You were sensible. You were lied to. We all were.’

‘You’re very loyal, Mum.’

Her mother hugged her briefly. ‘You’ve come through.’ She dropped her arms and moved away, not given to overt displays of affection, and started scrubbing carrots like a woman possessed.

Jo helped her, and after a moment her mother looked up and met her eyes. ‘So, tell me about this doctor, then. Gorgeous, eh?’

Jo could feel the tell-tale colour creeping up her neck, and busied herself with the casserole. ‘Oh, he’s just a man, Mum. Nothing special.’

‘Married?’

Funny how one word could carry so very many little nuances. ‘No, he’s not married,’ Jo said patiently. ‘He’s thirty-two, single, he started working in hospital obstetrics and decided he wanted to be a GP so he retrained. He’s been doing locum for six months while he looked for a job.’

‘And now he’s ready to settle down.’

Jo put the lid back on the casserole with a little bang. ‘How should I know? He’s only been working since the first of January, we’ve had a weekend when he’s been off and it’s only the fifth now!’

Her mother slid the carrot pan onto the hob and flicked the switch. ‘Don’t get crabby, I was only asking. Anyway, you usually have them down pat in the first ten minutes.’

‘No, that’s Sue. I usually take fifteen.’

Rebecca laughed. ‘Sorry. I stand corrected.’ She deftly changed the subject. ‘I gather Julie Brown had her baby yesterday.’

‘Yes—another boy. Both well. I was so busy I didn’t have time to tell you. It was a lovely delivery—on the kitchen table.’

Her mother smiled. ‘So I gather. That’ll make mealtimes interesting for them. How about a glass of wine?’

‘What a good idea.’

Jo took the proffered glass and followed her mother into the sitting room, dropping into the comfy sofa and resting her head back against the high cushion. It was more comfortable than her own little annexe at the other end of the house where she usually spent her time after work, but tonight her mother had cooked for them and obviously felt a little lonely.

So did Jo so that was fine. Since her father had died they’d found companionship and support in each other, and without her, as she’d told Ed, she wouldn’t have been able to cope with bringing Laura up and keeping her career—

‘It would have been your father’s sixtieth birthday today,’ her mother said quietly into the silence.

Jo’s eyes flew open. ‘Oh, Mum, I’m sorry, I forgot,’ she said, filled with remorse.

‘He was going to retire—funny how you make all these plans and the decisions get taken away from you and changed. I can’t believe it’s nearly four years since he died.’

‘Or nearly thirteen since I had Laura. He really adored her.’

‘Yes. They were great friends.’

Jo swirled her wine round and peered through it at the lights. ‘You must miss him.’

‘I do—every day, but life goes on.’ She sat quietly for a moment, her teeth worrying the inside of her lip, then she met Jo’s eyes. ‘Maurice wants me to go to dinner at the weekend. I said I’d think about it.’

Jo thought of Maurice Parker, the senior partner who was due to retire soon and whose place Ed would fill, and wondered what her father would have thought. They’d been colleagues and friends for years—would he have minded? Would Maurice’s wife have minded, after all the suffering she’d gone through before she died? Would she even have known what was going on?

It was as if her mother read her mind. ‘He had such a difficult time with Betty—Alzheimer’s is such a cruel disease,’ she said. ‘She didn’t know him, you know, not for the last three years. Your father used to say she’d be the death of him.’

‘He aged, certainly. He looks much better now in the last couple of years without all the strain of her illness to weigh him down.’

‘Awful, what love and loyalty can do to you. Must check the carrots and put the broccoli on.’

Jo let her go, sipped her wine and thought about her father. He’d always seemed so fit until the heart attack that killed him. There’d been no warning, no time to prepare. One minute he’d been there, the next he’d gone. Her mother had been devastated, and Laura too. Jo had been so busy propping them both up she’d hardly had time to grieve, and by the time she’d lifted her head above water again it had seemed too late, a little contrived.

She had grieved, though, in the privacy of her own room, shedding huge, silent tears for the man who’d been so fair and so kind to her all her life.

He’d been her best friend, a rock when Laura had been born, and without his support she wouldn’t have been able to train. True, her mother had looked after the baby, but it had been her father who’d encouraged her and supported her financially, bought her a car and paid the running expenses and paid for everything Laura had needed.

They’d turned one end of the house into a separate annexe, giving Jo and her baby privacy but easy access for babysitting, and with their help she’d built herself a career of which she was proud.

Then suddenly, without warning, he’d gone, leaving Maurice, and James Kalbraier, to cope with the practice. Maurice had cut down his hours, taken on another doctor, Mary Brady, and concentrated on nursing Betty for the last few years of her life.

And now Jo’s mother was talking about going out to dinner with Maurice.

Jo considered the idea, and decided it was a good one. They’d both loved their spouses, but they were gone and Maurice and Rebecca were still alive.

Yes. It would do them both good to get out. Who knows, they might—

‘Supper!’

‘Coming!’

She took her wine glass through into the kitchen and put it down by the sink. ‘Mmm, smells good. Have you called Laura?’

‘Well, I did yell, but she’s got that music on so loud…’

‘I’ll get her,’ Jo said with a grin, and ran upstairs. She banged on the door which was vibrating gently with the music her daughter was listening to, and opened it a crack. ‘Supper, darling.’

‘OK.’ The noise vanished, and the silence was deafening.

‘You really shouldn’t have it on so loud,’ she began, but Laura laughed and skipped past her, flitting down the stairs and running through to her grandmother’s kitchen, ignoring the predictable lecture.

‘Hi, Grannie, what’s for supper—? Oh, yum! Can I help?’

Jo smiled and followed her through more slowly. She wasn’t a bad kid—just a little loud, with questionable taste in friends. She supposed she could send Laura to the independent school her mother kept offering to pay for, but that would mean travelling to school, no convenient buses and after-school homework clubs, and her friends would be scattered far and wide.

This way, questionable though some of them might be, they were nearby, and when Jo was working that was very important.

‘We’ve got a panto rehearsal tonight,’ Laura reminded her as she joined them at the table. ‘Will you test me on my lines?’

Jo laughed humourlessly. ‘Just so long as you don’t try and test me—I haven’t had time to look at them since before Christmas.’

‘Mother! Roz will skin you alive!’

‘Don’t I know it! I’ll try and have a quick scan through after supper—perhaps Grannie will test you.’

‘Of course I will, darling. How’s it going?’

Jo laughed. ‘It was awful before Christmas. We’ll see if anyone has spent the last couple of weeks learning their lines or if they’ve all switched off and forgotten what little they did know. I suspect the latter.’

‘Based on personal experience?’ her mother said sagely, and Jo gave a rueful chuckle.

‘You guessed. Oh, well, there’s time.’

‘Have they got anyone else for the chorus yet?’ Laura asked, tucking into her casserole with huge enthusiasm.

‘I don’t know.’

‘You ought to ask Dr What’s-his-name—what is his name? The new guy?’

‘Latimer—Ed Latimer. I doubt if he’d be interested.’

‘You could ask,’ she suggested round a forkful of carrots.

She could—but she didn’t want to. She didn’t want Ed Latimer any nearer her than he had to be, for any more time than was absolutely necessary. He was too disturbing, too masculine. Too male. Just—too much.

She finished her meal in silence, listening with half an ear to Laura and her mother chattering, then she loaded the dishwasher and excused herself for a quick shower before the rehearsal. The water was warm and silky and sensuous, sliding over her naked skin and making her aware of herself in a way she’d almost forgotten.

Her mind turned to Ed again, and she closed her eyes and moaned softly. Why? She’d spent years fending off flirts, and none of them had even so much as ruffled the surface of her peaceful existence.

And now Ed Latimer had come strolling into her life, his hands shoved casually into his pockets, all testosterone and laughing eyes, and her self-control was lying on the floor, belly-up and grinning like a submissive dog!

‘This is awful! What on earth’s the matter with all of you? Two weeks off and you’ve all keeled over and died!’

There was a chorus of feeble protest, and their hard-pressed producer threw down her script and stalked into the kitchen. Jo met Laura’s eyes and smiled encouragingly, then went into the kitchen after Roz, closing the door quietly.

‘Roz?’

‘It’s like this every year! I don’t know why I do it! They screech through by the skin of their teeth, just about pulling the thing together by the final dress rehearsal—sometimes not even then! This is the thirteenth year, you realise that? I knew we ought to give it a rest, but they wouldn’t listen. It’ll be fine, they all said, and now look at them! Corpsed, the lot of them, the second you take their scripts away! Well, that’s it. They’re not having their scripts again, any of them, and they can just manage with the prompt!’

Jo soothed Roz’s ruffled feathers and gave her time to settle down. ‘Perhaps we ought to have our break early and let everyone calm down a bit—the urn’s hot now. Why don’t I make a big pot of tea and open the biscuits and we’ll try again in a little while?’

Roz stabbed her hands through her hair and gave a stifled scream. ‘They drive me nuts,’ she confessed.

‘You love it.’

‘I know. I must be a masochist.’

They shared a smile, and Jo filled the teapot while Roz poured milk into the cups. ‘We still need another man for the chorus—I don’t suppose your new doctor wants to get involved?’ Roz asked her.

She slopped the tea into a saucer and splashed her hand. ‘Damn,’ she muttered, and put down the pot. ‘I don’t know—why don’t you ask him? I expect he’ll be too busy.’

‘Would you ask him for me, as you’ll see him?’

And, just like that, she was forced into a corner from which there was no escape.

‘Hi, there.’

Shivers ran up Jo’s spine and made her hair tingle against her scalp. She turned, groping for a smile that wasn’t completely idiotic, and forced herself to meet Ed’s eyes. ‘Hi, there, yourself,’ she said, and was very proud of the fact that her voice only croaked the tiniest bit.

‘How are things? Any imminent obstetrics for me?’

‘Sorry.’ She shook her head and smiled a more natural smile. ‘They’re all hanging on till their due dates.’

‘Even your lady the other night?’

‘Even her. Sorry. I’ve got an antenatal class at the hospital in a minute—I’ll ask them if they want to get a wriggle on for you, shall I?’

He chuckled and reached out to test the kettle, and the sun slanting through the window caught his hair, gleaming on the red lights in it and turning it a rich, deep chestnut. It was a lovely colour, much more interesting than plain dark brown, and she wanted to reach out and touch it…

There should be enough in there for you,’ she told him, dragging her attention back to the kettle. ‘It’s just boiled.’

Tea for you?’

‘I’m OK.’ She held up her full mug to show him, and he nodded and snagged a mug off the draining-board.

‘No doubt they’ll all produce in the fullness of time,’ he said, going back to their previous conversation. ‘We’ve had two in the past week—I suppose that’s my ration.’

‘Absolutely. I’ve got something to ask you, by the way, talking of producing. The thirteenth annual Yoxburgh panto is short of a male chorus member—Roz asked me to ask you, but I told her you’d be too busy.’

He turned and met her eyes. ‘Why?’

‘Why are they short?’

‘Why did you tell her I’d be too busy?’

She felt a little touch of colour brush her cheeks. ‘I don’t know—I just thought you would be,’ she faltered. ‘It’s quite a punishing rehearsal schedule. It’s up to you. Of course, if you want to do it you’d be more than welcome—I was just trying to give you a way out if you wanted one. It can be pretty tedious.’

She floundered to a halt and looked up at him again, to find him watching her with understanding.

‘If you don’t want me to do it, just say so, Jo,’ he murmured, and his voice was like raw silk, sliding over her nerve endings.

She laughed, a forced little hiccup of sound. ‘Don’t be daft. I just thought you wouldn’t be interested. It’s very amateur.’

‘Are you in it?’

She nodded. ‘Yes—for my sins, I’ve got the female lead. Heaven knows when I’ll get time to learn the lines.’

‘Is it fun?’ he asked, and with a sudden flash of insight she realised he was lonely and would actually like to join in. Good grief, a willing volunteer. That was a first!

It was beyond her to exclude him just for her own selfish reasons.

‘Yes, it is fun,’ she told him, relenting. ‘It would help your patients get to know you as a person as well. It could be good for your image—they’re a bit slow to let you in round here.’

He shot her a quizzical look. ‘I noticed.’

She coloured again, and looked down at her hands. ‘I’m sorry. I just felt that if we had to work together all the time and ended up at the panto rehearsals, well, it might be a bit…’

‘Much?’

She nodded.

‘Does it unsettle you?’ he asked softly. ‘My proximity?’

She looked up into his eyes—those stunningly magnetic storm-grey eyes that seemed to see right to the heart of her—and nodded again, just slightly. ‘A little,’ she confessed.

His mouth tipped in a crooked and endearing grin. ‘That makes two of us. I’m not exactly immune to you, either.’

She stood up, pushing her chair back and trying for a bit of authority. ‘That doesn’t mean we have to do anything about it. We have to work together, Ed. I don’t think we can do that if we’re…’ She ran out of words, unusually for her, but he was there again.

‘Involved?’ he offered. A lazy smile lurked in his eyes.

‘Exactly.’

He shrugged and grinned again. ‘OK. If I promise to keep my distance, can I join the pantomime?’

‘Of course you can.’ She returned his smile. ‘It is awful, though. Don’t say you haven’t been warned.’

He chuckled. ‘OK. When’s the next rehearsal?’

‘Tonight. Quarter to eight, at the community hall. Wear something warm—it can be a bit chilly.’

He nodded, drained his tea and left her. She sat again, as if she were a puppet whose strings had been cut, and buried her face in her hands. So he felt it too—and she’d thought it was just her, being silly. Oh, Lord, this was so much more complicated. If she was the only one—

‘You OK?’

Her head jerked up. ‘Yes, just a bit tired. Did you forget something?’

‘Where’s the community hall?’ Ed asked.

‘Ah. Um—on the main street, nearly opposite the chip shop.’

‘That black and white building?’

She nodded, avoiding those searching eyes. ‘That’s right.’

‘OK. I’ll see you then—unless you’re back in the surgery after your antenatal class?’

‘Antenatal class?’ She gasped and leapt to her feet. ‘I’d forgotten it!’ she muttered, and, scooping up her pager from the table, she headed for the door.

‘See you later,’ he called. Jo ran out to her car, wondering if she’d been totally insane to suggest he should join the pantomime crew. Her brains were scrambled enough as it was!

She arrived at the hospital just about on time, and a couple of the mums were late. She decided to give them a minute or two because they were new. While they waited she ticked the names of those who were there on her register and encouraged them to mix and get to know each other while she set up her equipment.

She had a doll and a plastic pelvis so that they could see the way the baby would emerge through the birth canal, charts and diagrams to show the development of the baby, and lots of information about nutrition, exercise and so on.

The classes didn’t have a beginning or an end, but ran on a continuous loop, with four sessions making up the whole set. In a way it made it harder, but it did mean that someone new to the area or only able to come intermittently didn’t miss out. Each session included a lecture, a discussion and work on relaxation and pain control, and today was about the second stage of labour, the expulsive stage.

The latecomers arrived together, apologising for getting lost on the way, and Jo called all the patients to order, settled them down and started the class, by going round and asking the new members in turn to say a little about themselves, whether it was their first or subsequent child and what sort of delivery they were hoping for.

There were five women out of the ten there who wanted a home birth or who wanted to deliver in the GP unit. Of these five, only three were on Jo’s mental list of possibles. One was a little too old, another had a previous history of stillbirth.

The other three couldn’t deliver in the GP unit on the grounds that only second and third babies were permitted by their scheme, and these were all first-timers. Still, they could, if she thought they were suitable, opt for a home birth with consultant back-up, if necessary, at Jo’s discretion. She still hadn’t decided.

The older mother, however, was aware that Jo didn’t want her to deliver at home, but it didn’t stop her planning a home delivery, and Jo knew full well that when it came to the crunch she’d leave it too late to go to hospital, regardless of what they might say to convince her otherwise.

‘I’d like to have the baby in the GP unit,’ one of the new mums was saying, ‘but I know I can’t because it’s my first, and my husband isn’t happy about me having it at home. I’d like to come back to the GP unit straight afterwards, though.’

Jo nodded. ‘That should be possible if everything goes well, or if you have support at home afterwards you wouldn’t need to come in here at all.’

She looked doubtful. ‘I don’t know if I could cope alone. It’s such a responsibility—what happens if you don’t know why it’s crying?’

Some of the others chorused their agreement, and Jo hastened to reassure them. ‘You struggle on and try everything until you hit on something that works. Babies are remarkably tough and very good at getting their own way—I really wouldn’t worry.’

‘But what if I’m really clueless?’ she persisted.

‘You’ll know what to do. I’ve only had one mum in all my years who genuinely didn’t, and she gradually relaxed and started listening to the baby. You’ll be fine—and, anyway, you wouldn’t be alone. For the first ten days I’ll come whenever you want, and once a day in any case, then the health visitor takes over so you won’t be abandoned.’

She looked round. ‘Right. A couple of you are second- or third-timers along for a refresher and the rest of you are having your first so I think we’ll have input and comments from the old hands after the talk. I want to go through labour and delivery with you, just to make sure you all know or remember what all the stages are and what’s happening at any point.’

They settled down and listened, and after Jo had done her demonstration with the elastic band and the plastic pelvis she invited questions and comments.

This was always a tricky one. Inevitably there would be at least one mother who would revel in going over the more traumatic and memorable moments of her labour, regardless of the dread she was inspiring in the first-time mums, so Jo was on the alert ready to cut off anyone who launched into a counter-productive monologue.

In fact, they were fine, and after a few minutes she got them all to lie down and relax.

‘Think of every part of your body in turn. As you think of it, tense it hard, then hold it, then let it flop. Think about how you make it go floppy, and after a while you’ll be able to home in on tight areas of your body and relax them. Right, start with your feet. Point your toes hard, but make sure you don’t get cramp. Good. Hold—and relax. Totally floppy. Good. Now pull your feet up so your toes are pointing at your head. Tense—hold—and flop. Well done.’

She watched them, looking for the ones who found it difficult and the ones who had probably done yoga or had been to her classes before.

One new girl, thin and dressed in what Jo could only describe as ‘hippy’ clothes, was wonderfully relaxed. Her name was Mel, and Jo flicked through her notes and noticed her address—the travellers’ site in the forest outside Yoxburgh, up on the heath by the edge of the trees.

It was a lovely spot, but Jo had a sneaky feeling, despite what she’d said, that Mel was going to go for a home delivery. The idea of delivering a baby in a converted coach or, worse still, a ‘bender’—a shelter made of tree branches—filled Jo with horror.

What if anything went wrong? It was Mel’s first—there was no reason why anything should go wrong, but what if it did? The baby was bound to be born at night—the more difficult the location the more likely it seemed to be, and there was no power out there, no light, no running water. How would she deliver her safely under those conditions? Jo vowed to have a word to make sure Mel understood the risks. Mel had a few weeks left to go so she’d use them to try and talk sense into her.

Jo led them through the relaxation, then the breathing, and finally she got them to grip each other’s forearms with both hands and twist firmly in opposite directions to pull the skin. Called ‘Chinese burns’, they were a thing schoolchildren did to each other to see who was bravest—harmless but painful, Jo found they were a useful tool to help women practise breathing through the ‘contractions’ and remaining relaxed. When they’d all had a rest for a moment and she’d done the question-and-answer session and they’d put the mats away, she sent them all off.

Still thinking about Mel, she packed up all her stuff, cleared away the cups and made sure the mats had all been stacked properly in the cupboard. They used the maternity day-room for their classes, and she didn’t want to leave the place untidy.

One of the staff midwives stuck her head round the door and grinned. ‘Got time for a cuppa?’

‘I’d love one. Did you see my traveller?’

‘Yes—is she going to be a problem?’

Jo laughed. ‘I hope not, but I suspect so. I think she’s just unconventional, not stupid, but I’ve got a suspicion I won’t be able to persuade her to go to the Audley. I just have a feeling.’

‘Birth in a bender, eh? That’ll be a first, won’t it?’

‘Don’t.’ Jo sipped her tea and sighed with relief. ‘Perhaps I’ll get Ed Latimer to talk to her—see what he’s made of.’

‘I don’t know, but if you can get the recipe, I’d like one the same, please!’

Jo laughed, but inside her stomach the butterflies were working themselves up to a frenzy. The remark had reminded her about Ed, and about the rehearsal. It was panto time in three hours, and she’d have no professional guise to hide behind, no protocol—just herself, and Laura.

That was it! She’d be Laura’s mother. It would make her seem middle-aged and boring—with any luck!




CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_377cd6b1-4775-544b-b249-b7d101dd49e8)


ED PAUSED outside the black and white mock-timbered building that was the Yoxburgh and District Community Hall, and wondered if he was out of his mind.

Jo had made it pretty clear that she found his presence disturbing, and that the sensation wasn’t welcome. In a way he felt the same, and yet there was something about her that drew him so forcefully that he just didn’t seem to be able to ignore it.

He didn’t want to be a nuisance, and he was being very careful not to crowd her at work or flirt with her, but every cell in his body was screaming for more contact—and the pantomime seemed like a gift from the gods.

Anyway, Jo aside, he had to get to know people and make some friends. He couldn’t be GP to all of them—surely there’d be lots of people who’d be happy to be social without fear of compromising their relationship.

His father was a country GP and they’d always had a fairly hectic social life, but Jo had warned him about the locals, not letting newcomers in.

Well, he’d find out, wouldn’t he? He put his hand against the door and pushed, and found himself sucked into a fantasy world. Little bees ran about the floor, giggling and shrieking, a young girl was complaining that her dragon didn’t do up down the back and could the hooks be moved, costumes were piled in heaps on every surface, and in the middle of it all stood Jo in a wedding dress, her hair pinned up and a tiara perched in the dark, gleaming curls, laughing with a tall man in a blue satin suit with floppy lace cuffs.

He bent and said something and Jo laughed, her eyes sparkling at the joke they shared—and Ed wanted to kill him.

She turned just as the murderous thought was being put aside, and he wasn’t sure if he imagined it or if a flicker of panic brushed her eyes. Then she excused herself and came over to him, weaving her way through the crowd.

‘I thought you’d bottled out—you’re late.’

‘I couldn’t get away from the surgery—someone collapsed in the waiting room with a tummy bug and I admitted her to the hospital for fluids and supervision. It took ages. Anyway, I’m here now. Who do I need to see?’

‘Roz—she’s going through a scene. Come with me.’

He followed her, wondering how she could look so radiantly beautiful in what on close inspection seemed to be a set of net curtains skilfully flung together into a wedding dress. ‘Roz, this is Ed Latimer,’ Jo was saying, and he smiled automatically and shook her hand.

‘Oh, you look very useful,’ Roz was saying, eyeing him up with a grin. ‘Can you sing?’

He chuckled. ‘Well enough, I expect. Why?’

‘Because the other male chorus can’t. Go and see Anne for a costume, and we’ll get you kitted up as a villager to start with. It might be tricky—you’re quite big, aren’t you? Then you need to see Mr Music over there—Andrew, we’ve got a new victim for the chorus. Can you give him a music sheet? Here’s a script—you’re a love. Thanks.’

And Roz vanished into a crowd of villagers and the back end of the pantomime horse, leaving him with Jo.

He looked down at the script. ‘Beauty and the Beast, eh?’

‘Yes.’

‘And you’re the Beauty?’

She nodded. ‘Belle.’

‘How appropriate,’ he murmured, and she tutted and gave him a look. ‘You want me to lie?’ he asked, but it didn’t help. She sighed and stepped away from him, looking back over her shoulder.

‘Come on, I’ll take you to Anne,’ she said shortly, and he reminded himself he’d promised to keep his distance. Damn. Why couldn’t he keep his mouth shut?

They were crossing the room towards the back when a girl of about twelve skidded up to them and slithered to a halt. ‘Hi—I’m Laura. Are you the new GP?’

He eyed her with interest. She was unmistakably Jo’s daughter, from the tip of her pert little nose to the soles of her stocking-clad feet, and she was eyeing him very, very frankly.

‘Yes, I am,’ he replied, wondering why she was so interested.

‘This is my mum,’ she told him unnecessarily.

‘I guessed. Pleased to meet you, Laura.’

‘So, are you going to be in the panto?’ she asked, her head on one side in a gesture so reminiscent of her mother it was almost comical.

‘Looks like it,’ he told her.

‘Good—Mum thought you wouldn’t want to, but I think you’ll like it. It’s a laugh.’

‘Laura! They need you for song practice!’ Jo said.

‘Oops—have to fly. See you.’

She shot off across the room to the man at the keyboard, and without any further incident Ed was introduced to Anne, measured and sized up and offered an armful of musty clothes to try at home later.

Breeches, a full-sleeved white shirt, a waistcoat, long socks—he was going to look a peach! Ah, well, it was all in a good cause…

Jo tried to concentrate, but every time she looked across at Ed the air seemed to crackle between them and she forgot her lines.




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