swallowed. ‘Does it mean I’ll have to have a general anaesthetic?’
‘Not if you don’t want to. You’ve already got an epidural, so we’ll just top it up a bit for the operation. Your partner can still come in with you to hold your hand all the way.’ She smiled at Clare’s partner. ‘And you can still cut the cord, if that’s what you want to do.’
‘And the baby’s going to be all right?’ he asked.
‘If we deliver soon.’
Clare nodded. ‘All right.’
‘Thank you. I just need you to sign a consent form. And in about thirty minutes, you’ll be holding your baby.’ She smiled again, and signalled to Georgina that she wanted a word outside. ‘I’ll find an anaesthetist to top up the epidural for the section. Can you ring Paeds and ask them to send someone up, please?’
‘Sure.’
Once the anaesthetist was arranged, Saskia had another chat with Clare, explained what would happen in Theatre and answered Clare’s questions.
Just after she’d made the incision, a masked doctor in scrubs walked into Theatre. She recognised his outline immediately, and smiled to herself. The baby was going to be in good hands, then. Toby’s hands.
She worked swiftly but, as she’d dreaded, the baby had passed meconium. Inhaled some, too, by the green staining around his nose.
‘You have a lovely little boy,’ she told Clare. ‘The paediatrician’s just going to check him over, and then you’ll be able to have a cuddle.’
She concentrated on sewing up the wound she’d made, though every so often she glanced over towards Toby. He was good at his job—very good—but the more time passed, the more likely it was that the baby was in trouble.
Finally, to her relief, she heard what she’d been waiting for. A baby’s cry.
‘One perfect little boy.’ Toby brought the wrapped baby over to Clare. ‘He’s lovely. Well done.’
‘Is he all right?’
‘He’s going to be fine,’ Toby reassured her. ‘He did in hale a bit of meconium, but we’ve got rid of it and there won’t be any long-term damage. Congratulations.’
‘My little boy,’ Clare said, and burst into tears.
‘I love happy endings,’ Toby said a couple of hours later, as he unwrapped his sandwich. ‘I think we should have cases like that every day.’
‘Meconium inhalation isn’t my definition of a good day,’ Saskia said dryly. ‘How were the kids?’
‘Fine. They had the play-dough out at nursery, so Billy couldn’t wait to go and make something. You’re still OK to pick them up?’
‘Yep. Did you bring your diary?’
‘You’re such a slave-driver.’ He pulled a face at her. ‘How does your ward put up with you?’
‘They’ve learned how to be efficient,’ Saskia said sweetly.
He pulled his diary from his jacket pocket. ‘OK. I’ve got two days I can’t switch—meetings that can’t be moved—but otherwise I can be flexible.’
Saskia took a quick look at his schedule and compared it with hers on her organiser. ‘Actually, we won’t have to do that much switching. Say it’ll be two weeks until Lyd comes home. If you can change your late to an early on Friday, and I swap my Monday late for an early, we’re about there.’
‘Done. Now can I eat my sandwich in peace?’
‘We haven’t done the cooking rota yet. And, before you say it, no, we are not living on take-aways, Toby Barker.’
‘How about whoever’s home first cooks dinner, and whoever’s on a late has it heated up when they get in?’ he suggested.
‘Fine. I’ll be home first tonight, so I’ll cook.’ She handed him a key. ‘Here.’
‘What’s this?’
‘My spare car key. We’ll need to swap Billy’s seat between our cars, depending on who’s doing the nursery run.’ Helena was still in an infant carrier, which made it easier to transport her.
‘My spare car key’s at home.’ He sighed. ‘And you don’t have to nag me. I’ll make a detour and pick it up after work. And I’ll drop his car seat up to you before you go.’
‘Attaboy.’ Saskia took a sip of her coffee. ‘Ah, bliss.’
Toby had other definitions of bliss that definitely didn’t involve coffee. But he would have liked to put that expression on Saskia’s face.
Maybe one day.
The rest of the day passed without incident. Toby remembered to collect his spare car key and some more clothes. But when he let himself into the house, he stopped dead. Saskia was sitting on the floor in the living room with Helena asleep on her lap, and Saskia and Billy were both waving chiffon scarves around. In the background, a CD of rippling piano music was playing. Billy’s face was bright with excitement and he was chattering away, and Saskia was answering the little boy’s questions, looking relaxed and happy. They looked like any mother and child, clearly adoring each other and enjoying some special time together until Daddy came home.
This was what his life could be like if…
Stop. Don’t rush her, he warned himself. You know her background. She’s pathologically scared of the marriage-and-family bit. Let her get used to this, then maybe, just maybe, she’ll consider trying something like this permanently.
‘Having fun?’ he asked lightly as he walked into the living room.
‘We’re doing seaside music,’ Billy told him. ‘Look, Uncle Toby, we’re making waves.’ The little boy was waving the scarf up and down, in perfect time to the music.
‘Very creative,’ he said to Saskia. ‘Maybe you should switch specialty—we could do with someone like you in Paeds.’
An odd expression—one he couldn’t read—flitted across her face. Then he wondered if he’d imagined it, because she smiled. ‘I can’t take the credit for this. Billy learned it at preschool music class—I’ve taken him a couple of times when I’ve been off duty.’
He hadn’t known that. This really wasn’t what he’d expected from Saskia, but he liked this side of her. The side she kept hidden. It made him wonder what else he had to discover about her after all these years.
‘You can do music with us, Uncle Toby.’ Billy rummaged in a bag and presented Toby with a white scarf.
‘Sure.’ He sat down and joined them. ‘I like this music.’ It wasn’t Saskia’s normal style. She normally listened to rock. Loud and fast. Just like Saskia herself.
‘It’s Ludovico Einaudi—Le Onde. “The Waves”,’ she explained. ‘Think
