she’d never see again. She would just have tortured herself that bit longer.
And anyway, she was sworn off men for life, remember? No more. Never again. Even if he hadn’t just done a runner.
She hesitated, then deleted the text and the call history.
There. Sorted.
Except it didn’t feel sorted. It felt wrong, leaving a hollow ache inside, but it would pass. She knew that from long and bitter experience.
Too tired to fret over it any longer, she crawled into bed and fell asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.
An hour later she woke to a wave of nausea, a raging headache and stomach cramps, and the depressing realisation that she had the bug that had swept through the department...
* * *
It was five days before she went back to work—days in which she lost weight, grew to hate the sight of her flat and finally tackled the laundry as she waited the statutory forty-eight hours after symptoms subsided before she was allowed to return to work.
She was straight back in at the deep end, as one by one the team were hit by the virus, but after a few challenging weeks the worst of the crisis seemed to be over. It was just as well, as she hadn’t really recovered her appetite and kept feeling light-headed and queasy. She staved off the light-headedness by eating endless chocolate, but she couldn’t do anything about her dreams.
Too much chocolate? It had never given her any problems before, but now Sam was haunting her every night.
At first she’d been too ill to think about him, and then too busy, but it clearly wasn’t as easy as all that to put him out of her mind. He was there every time she got into bed, reminding her of those few short hours she’d spent with him, making her ache with regret because she hadn’t phoned him to apologise and explain.
But she hadn’t, and she’d ditched his number, so regret was pointless and she was grateful when they were so busy that she was too tired even to dream about him.
And then, at the beginning of April, just over two months after her night with Sam, she went into Resus to restock and found Annie Shackleton slumped over the desk with her head in her hands.
She and the consultant often worked closely together on trauma cases and they’d become good friends, so right from the beginning she’d been privy to the blow-by-blow development of Annie’s pregnancy. Because of her husband Ed’s inherited Huntington’s gene she’d had IVF, so Kate had been one of the first to know the wonderful news that both embryos had taken, then that both of them were boys.
But this morning Annie had gone for a routine antenatal check, and now Kate knew something was wrong.
‘Hey, what’s up?’ she asked softly, and Annie looked at her, her eyes red-rimmed and tight with strain.
‘I’ve got pre-eclampsia,’ she said, her voice uneven, and Kate tutted softly and crouched down beside her.
‘Oh, Annie, I’m so sorry, that’s such tough luck. What are they doing about it?’
‘I’ve got to stop work. Like—now.’
‘Well, of course you have, but you’ll be fine! You just need to rest. Are they going to admit you?’
‘Not immediately, but it’s going to be so hard to take it easy. Who’s going to look after the girls? I can’t expect my poor mother to do any more, she’s been helping me since the girls were born because I was on my own, but I only work three days a week. This’ll be all day, every day, because it’s the Easter holidays—and because it’s the holidays Ed can’t take any time off, either, because of the staff with their own children to think about. The timing just couldn’t be worse—’
Her voice cracked, and Kate reached out and hugged her.
‘Annie, your mum will be fine with it. She’s lovely, she adores the girls and they’re no trouble. They’ll be falling over themselves to look after you, and Ed’ll be around to get them up and put them to bed, and you know he thinks of them as his own and they love him to bits. It’ll be OK, Annie. Really. You and the babies have to come first and the rest will sort itself out.’
Annie nodded slowly. ‘I know that, I know it’ll be fine, but it’s not just Mum and the girls I’m worried about. I’ll be leaving the department in the lurch. Andy Gallagher’s on holiday next week with his kids, and I have no idea how they’re going to get a consultant-grade locum at such short notice—I was going to work till I was thirty-six weeks, and I’m only thirty-two.’
‘So? They’ll find someone. It’s not your problem, Annie. It’s James Slater’s problem. He’s the clinical lead, let him sort it out, and you look after yourself and the babies. Have you told him yet?’
She pushed herself to her feet. ‘No, but I have to. You’re right, the locum’s not my problem—and even if it was, I don’t have a choice. I’ll go and tell him.’
‘You do that. And go straight home, OK? I’ll sort your locker out.’ Kate straightened up, hugged her again and then watched her go, a lump in her throat. She loved working with Annie, and she’d miss her warmth and gentle humour. Not that the other doctors were difficult to work with, but—well, Annie had been a good friend to her, and it wouldn’t feel the same without her, and she had a horrible feeling she wouldn’t be coming back.
And she was being selfish. It wasn’t about her.
She’d just finished restocking the drugs cupboard when James put his head round the corner. ‘Annie’s going home.’
‘I know. She’s worried about leaving you in the lurch.’
‘Tough. She hasn’t got a choice, and we’ll cope. I’ll cover it if necessary. She said something about you clearing out her locker for her. Can you put the things in my office, please, and I’ll drop them off at their house on my way past tonight.’
‘Will you be able to get a locum?’
He shrugged and ran a hand through his hair. ‘Maybe. Connie’s got a friend who seems to be kicking his heels at the moment, so he might agree. I’ll get her to ring him and twist his arm. It might also mean he gets his blasted boat off our drive while he’s here. Why he bought it I can’t imagine, but hey. Who am I to judge? I just want it gone so we can get the house sold before the new baby comes.’
But Kate had stopped listening at the word ‘boat’. Coincidence? Sam had gone to look at a boat. And his friends had gone to a party, on the same night that James and Connie had been at Zacharelli’s for a fortieth. The same party?
But Sam wasn’t a doctor—was he? He hadn’t exactly said what he did for a living, apart from mentioning unmeetable targets—and they were the bane of most doctors’ lives...
‘How long’s it been there?’ she asked casually, her heart pounding.
‘Oh, I don’t know, a couple of months? It seems like for ever. Right, got to get on. Don’t forget Annie’s locker.’
‘I’ll do it now.’
Two months? That fitted. So was Sam a doctor? And if so, how would he feel about
