tutting softly.
‘Oh, Alice. Is this why you’re not married? Why you’re so defensive? Because some idiot didn’t want a wife who couldn’t be sure of giving him children?’
She eased out of his arms, her emotions all over the place, and if she stayed there with her head against him, she’d lose it and blub all over him. ‘No. I’m not married because he didn’t want a wife who was fat and hairy and had more testosterone than he did.’
He sat back on the edge of the desk, his eyes wide. ‘But that’s not you! You’re not fat, and I can’t believe you ever were because you’re far too well controlled. Besides, most people don’t have all those symptoms, if any. It’s rubbish.’
‘You don’t have to tell me that, I know, but he didn’t and once he’d researched it—which he did there and then on his phone, the minute I told him—he didn’t hang around long enough for me to put him right,’ she said, grabbing her pager like a lifeline as it bleeped.
‘Daisy’s here,’ she said, sliding her chair back, and she stood up, picked up the notes and headed for the door, pausing to look over her shoulder. ‘Well, are you coming, or are you going to stay here all day making annoying comments and quizzing me about my medical history?’
He rolled his eyes. ‘Yes, of course I’m coming.’ He straightened up, grabbed the bag of savoury crackers and followed her.
* * *
Polycystic ovary syndrome.
He never would have guessed if he hadn’t pushed her, but now so much of her defensive behaviour made sense, especially in the light of some ignorant—
His thoughts lapsed into Italian, because he had a better grasp of the language he’d need to sum up someone that ignorant and cruel. No matter. He, whoever he was, was in the past, and now was for them. He’d look after her, take care of her and the baby, go to all her antenatal appointments with her and support her in any way she’d let him.
Assuming she’d let him, which was a big assumption.
He fell into step beside her. ‘So, how old is Daisy?’
‘Four. She’s seeing us first and then being admitted to the assessment unit until we have a better idea of what’s going on, and if and when we’ll need to operate. She’s coming in without breakfast ready for the contrast scan, so I don’t want to keep her hanging about long because it’s a slow process and she’ll be hungry.’
‘OK, so we’ll go from there. Do you want me in on the consult?’
She stopped and turned to face him. ‘Yes, because if she needs surgery, I’ll want you in on it, and you’re good with the children. And besides, I value your opinion.’
He resisted the overwhelming urge to smirk, restricting himself to a slight smile and a tiny shake of the head. ‘Did that nearly kill you?’
She looked away, but not before he saw her mouth twitch. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. Your ego’s showing again.’
‘Oh, dear. Me and my ego. We’re always in trouble.’
He swiped his lanyard, held the door open for her and followed her through to the consulting room waiting area.
A couple were sitting there, a small girl with long blonde hair cuddled on the woman’s knee, and he thought they looked uncomfortable, strained. With worry?
‘Mr and Mrs Lawrence?’ Alice said. They got to their feet and she held out her hand to them. ‘Welcome to Hope Hospital. I’m Alice Baxter, the senior gastro-intestinal surgeon, and this is my colleague Marco Ricci. And you must be Daisy,’ she said, bobbing down to the child’s level. ‘Hi, Daisy. You can call me Alice, if you like.’
‘I’m Olive, and this is Dan,’ Mrs Lawrence said, and smiled down encouragingly at Daisy. ‘Daisy, say hello.’
But Daisy had obviously had enough of doctors, and she turned her face into her mother and hid, so Alice straightened up and smiled at her parents. ‘Shall we go on through to the consulting room and talk through what we’re planning to do today? And if it’s all right, I’d like us to have a look at Daisy.’
She ushered them into the room, and Marco scooped up Daisy’s forgotten teddy and followed them into the very room where he’d accidentally got Alice pregnant just over five weeks ago.
Was that really all it was? Thirty-eight days?
Trying not to look at the couch, he let Alice do the talking, taking the opportunity to sit on the floor and prop his back against the wall. Daisy was looking withdrawn and wary, so he hid the teddy behind his back and brought it out in surprising places. Under his other arm, behind his legs, upside down and sideways, and all the time Daisy watched him, warily at first, and then with a glimmer of anticipation.
And then finally she giggled, and he felt as if the sun had come out.
‘Does your teddy have a name?’ he asked her softly, and she nodded and moved a little nearer him—but not too near.
‘He’s called Wuzzle.’
‘Wuzzle? What a lovely name. Hello, Wuzzle. Nice to meet you. I’m Marco. So, Wuzzle, what can you tell me about Daisy?’
‘She’s my best friend,’ he said, pretending to be a ventriloquist and making Daisy giggle again.
‘And what else can you tell me, Wuzzle?’
‘She’s got a sore tummy.’
He put the teddy down and looked at Daisy. ‘Is that right, Daisy? Do you have a sore tummy?’
Daisy nodded and sat down facing him. ‘Sometimes, especially when I’ve had my dinner.’
‘Oh, no. That’s a pity. So do you just have a little bit of dinner then?’ he asked, because she was a skinny, lanky little thing and it could have been because she’d had a growth spurt or because her appetite was off. Especially if she was afraid to eat. And she was pale and wan. Worryingly so.
She nodded. ‘If I eat too much, my tummy hurts.’
‘OK, Daisy, I have an idea. Will you let me and Alice try and find out what’s wrong with your tummy?’ he asked gently. ‘Because we can’t have you hurting, can we, when you eat?’
She shook her head. ‘Wuzzle’s tummy hurts, too.’
‘Does it? Can you show me where?’
Daisy pressed her fingers gently onto Wuzzle’s soft, furry body, around about what would be his epigastric region if he wasn’t a teddy bear. ‘Here,’ she said, and pressed again to the right. ‘And here.’
‘Is that the same place as your tummy?’
She nodded, and snuggled Wuzzle tight against her chest.
‘OK. Daisy, do you mind if I have a little feel of your tummy now? See if I can feel anything wrong? Would that be OK?’
She nodded again, her brown eyes soft and wounded, and he felt his heart
