Falling For The Foster Mum

The wounded look in his usually sparkling green eyes instantly made her regret being such a cow to him when he’d been nothing but kind to Simon since the accident. His smile was quickly back in place but it no longer reached anywhere past his mouth.

‘It’s no problem. I can do both. I’ll see you soon, kiddo.’ He ruffled Simon’s hair and turned to leave. ‘Can I have a word outside, Ms Grady?’

As he brushed past her, close enough to whisper into her ear, Quinn’s whole body shivered with awareness. A combination of nerves and physical attraction. Neither of which she had control over any longer.

‘Sure,’ she said although she suspected he wasn’t giving her a choice; she felt as though she was being called into the headmaster’s office for misbehaving. A very hot headmaster who wasn’t particularly happy with her. Unsurprising, really, when she’d basically just insulted him on a professional level.

She promised Simon she’d be back soon and took a deep breath before she followed Matt out the door.

‘I know you’re having a tough time at the moment but I’d really appreciate it if you stopped questioning my dedication to my job in front of my patient.’

It was the first time Quinn had seen him riled in all of these weeks. He was always so calm in the face of her occasional hysteria, so unflappable through every hurdle of Simon’s treatment. Although it was unsettling to see the change in him, that intense passion, albeit for his work, sent tingles winding through her body until her toes curled, knowing she was the one who’d brought it to the fore. She found herself wondering how deep his passions lay and how else they might manifest...

He cleared his throat and reminded her she was supposed to speak, to argue back. She questioned what he was doing, he pulled her up on it and claimed rank when it came to Simon’s health care—that was the way this went. It kept her from going completely round the bend imagining the worst that could happen when she’d be the one left dealing with the consequences on her own. She was supposed to be the overprotective mother voicing her concerns that everything being done was in her son’s best interests, just as he was the one to insist he knew what he was doing. Fantasising about Matt in any other capacity, or his emotions getting the better of him, definitely wasn’t in their well-rehearsed script.

‘Yeah...well...I’d appreciate it if you didn’t give Simon false hope that everything will go back to normal. We’ve both had enough of people letting us down.’ Not that she knew what normal was, but although he deserved a break, they had to be realistic too.

‘I’m not in the habit of lying to my patients...’

‘No? What about this miracle spray-on skin which was supposed to fast-track his recovery? It’s been two months and his burns are still very much visible. I should’ve known it was too good to be true when you would only use it to treat his facial burns and not the ones on his arm. I mean, if it was such a wonder cure it would make sense to use it everywhere and not make him go through these skin grafts anyway.’ She was aware her voice had gone up a few decibels and yet she couldn’t seem to stop herself when something good she’d believed was going to happen hadn’t. This time it wasn’t only her hopes that were being dashed.

Matt simply sighed when Quinn would’ve understood if he’d thrown his hands up and walked away. Deep down she knew he’d done his best, and yet, they were still here going through the same painful process.

‘I can only reiterate what I told you at the start. It will take time. Perhaps the progress we have made isn’t as noticeable to you because you see him every day, but the scars are beginning to fade. It’s as much as we can hope for at this stage. As I explained, this is a new treatment, not readily available everywhere in the UK, and funding is hard to come by. The burns on Simon’s arm are full thickness, not suitable for the trial, otherwise I’d have fought tooth and nail to make it happen. But he’s young—his skin will heal quicker than yours or mine. Besides, I’m good at what I do.’ There wasn’t any obvious arrogance in his words or stance. It was simply a statement of fact. Which did nothing to pull her mind out of the gutter.

‘So you keep telling me,’ she muttered under her breath. However, despite his conscientious efforts, Simon no longer resembled the child she’d been charged with minding, either physically or mentally.

‘I meant what I said. I’m not in the habit of lying to sick kids, or their beautiful mothers.’ His forehead smoothed out as he stopped being cross with her.

The renewed smile combined with the reassuring touch of his hands on her shoulders sent those shivers back Irish dancing over her skin. She was too busy squealing inside at the compliment to correct him again about being Simon’s foster mother.

Unfortunately, in her experience she couldn’t always take people’s word as truth. It wasn’t that long ago Darryl had sworn he was in this thing with her.

‘I hope not,’ she said, the cold chill moving to flatten the first fizz of ardour she’d felt since her ex abandoned her and the future they’d planned together.

Simon’s fate was entirely in this man’s hands. Matt’s skills on the operating table would determine his long-term appearance and probably his self-esteem along with it. It was too much to expect her to put her faith entirely in the word of a virtual stranger. Especially when the men closest to her had littered her life with broken promises and dreams.

* * *

Quinn Grady was a grade-A pain in the backside. In the most understandable way. Matt had seen his fair share of anxious parents over the years. His line of work brought people to him in their most fragile, vulnerable state and it was only natural that emotions ran high, but she’d spent most of the last couple of months questioning his every decision, seemingly doubting his ability to get Simon through the other side of his injuries. It was exhausting for all of those concerned. Normally he outlined his treatment plan and got on with it but somehow this case had drifted off course.

The spray-on skin was a relatively new treatment. Instead of these painful skin grafts, a small sample of healthy skin was removed from the patient and placed in a processing unit where it reproduced in a special suspension solution which was then sprayed over the damaged area where it continued to grow and multiply. There was no risk of the patient’s body rejecting it because it was from the patient’s own cells. The regenerative nature of this process meant the wounds healed rapidly in comparison to traditional techniques, such as the one he was performing now. If it wasn’t for the extensive burns on Simon’s arm, where he’d defended himself from the flames, he wouldn’t have to go through the skin grafts or worry about scarring because the spray-on skin would stretch with him as he grew.

He’d expected Quinn to be wary; he’d had to convince her as well as the board that this was worth trialling, but the constant clashing had tested him. Naturally, she wanted instant results, for the burns to fade and heal overnight, but that wasn’t how it worked. Almost every day she demanded to know ‘Why?’ and he couldn’t always give her the answer she wanted. He knew the results were favourable compared to some he’d seen, and indeed, Simon’s facial burns were exceptionally better healed than those on his arm but he was still disfigured. For now. Until the boy resembled his pre-fire self, Matt was going to take the flak, and so far he’d been happy to do so.

He knew he’d probably become too involved with Simon’s case, more so than the other children he’d seen at Paddington’s as a result of the fire at Westbourne Grove Primary School. Perhaps it was because his burns had been so extensive, or perhaps the reason was closer to home. The single foster mum reminded him a lot of himself and the hand he’d been dealt once upon a time.

Although he assumed she’d voluntarily agreed to take on the responsibility for other people’s children. His role as a stand-in father had been thrust upon him when his dad had died and left him in charge of his younger siblings.

Matt recognised the fear in Quinn’s brilliant blue eyes, even when she was giving him grief. He’d spent over a decade fretting about getting his sisters through their childhood in one piece with much the same haunted expression staring back at him in the mirror.

It was only now that Bridget, the youngest of the brood, had gone off to university he was able to relax a little. Of course, that didn’t mean he wasn’t still handling relationship woes or doling out crisis loans, but at least he could do most of his parenting over the phone these days, unless they came to visit him in London.

It meant he had his life back, that he’d been able to leave Dublin and take this temporary contract. When his time was up here he would have no reason to feel guilty about moving on to somewhere shiny and new and far from Ireland.

Quinn wouldn’t have that luxury for a long time with Simon being so young. As his foster mother, she was probably under even more pressure to get him through his injuries, and naturally, that had extended to his surgeon. If fostering authorities were anything like social services to deal with, she’d have to jump through hoops to prove her suitability as a parent.

Life was tough enough as a substitute parent without the added trauma of the fire for her and Simon. Especially when she appeared to be doing this on her own. He hadn’t spotted a wedding ring, and to his knowledge there hadn’t been any other visitors during Simon’s hospitalisation. When the cancer had claimed his father, Matt had been in much the same boat and being a sounding board for Quinn’s frustrations was the least he could do to help. Unless her comments were in danger of unnecessarily upsetting Simon.

A boy needed a strong mother as much as a father. Matt’s had been absent since shortly after Bridget’s birth, when she’d suddenly decided family life wasn’t for her. With his father passing away only a few years later, there had been no one left for them to turn to. For him to turn to. He’d had to manage the budget, the bills, the parent/teacher meetings and the numerous trips to A&E which were part and parcel of life with a brood of rambunctious kids, all on his own. Most of the time it had felt as though the world was against him having a life of his own.

He knew the struggle, the loneliness and the all-encompassing fear of screwing up and he would’ve gone out of his way to help anyone in a similar situation. At least, that’s how he justified his interest. It wasn’t entirely down to the fact he enjoyed seeing her, or the sparks created every time they had one of their ‘discussions.’ Attraction to single mothers wasn’t something he intended to act upon and certainly not with the parent of one of his patients.

He’d only just gained his freedom from one young family and he wasn’t ready, willing or able to do it again. As it was, he would be in young Simon’s life for a long time to come. Perhaps even longer than Quinn. There were always going to be more surgeries as the child grew and his skin stretched. Treatments for scar tissue often took months to be effective and new scar contractures, where the skin tightened and restricted movement, could appear a long way down the line in young patients who were still growing.

‘He’s out.’ The anaesthetist gave the go-ahead for the team to begin.

Time was of the essence. Generally they didn’t keep children under the anaesthetic for more than a few hours at a time in case it proved too much for their small bodies to cope with. Hence why the skin grafts were still ongoing months later. Before they could even attempt the graft they had to clean the wound and harvest new skin from a separate donor site.

And Quinn wondered why recovery was taking so long.

‘Saline, please. Let’s get this done as quickly and accurately as we can.’ Despite all the support in the operating theatre from the assisting staff, Matt had never borne so much responsibility for a patient as he did now.

Simon was completely at his mercy lying here, lost among the medical equipment surrounding the operating table. The slightest slip and Matt would have to face the wrath of the Mighty Quinn.

He smiled beneath his surgical mask at the thought of her squaring up to him again, her slight frame vibrating with rage as the mama bear emerged to protect her cub. She was a firebrand when she needed to be, not afraid of voicing her opinion if she thought something wasn’t right. Matt didn’t take offence; he was confident in the decisions he made on his patient’s behalf and understood Quinn’s interference came from a place of love. That didn’t mean he wanted to give her further reason to berate him or challenge his authority.

He was as focused as he could be as they debrided Simon’s wounds, cleaning and removing the dead tissue to clear the way for the new graft so it would take. As always, he was grateful for his perfect eyesight and steady hands as he shaved the thin slices of tissue needed for the graft. His precision as he prepared this skin before placing it on the wound could impact on Simon for the rest of his life.

No pressure.

Just two vulnerable and emotional souls relying on him to work his magic.

CHAPTER TWO

IF WAITING WAS an Olympic event, Quinn would never make it through the qualifying rounds.

Although she’d had enough experience to know to come prepared, she hadn’t been able to sit still long enough to read her book or make any lesson plans for her tutored students. She’d even added an extra body to the picket line outside to save this hospital from closure in the hope it would take her mind off Simon going under the knife again. It was hard to believe anybody thought it was a good idea to merge this place with another outside the city when so many walked through the doors every day, and she was happy to wave a placard if it meant Simon’s treatment continued here without any disruption.

The kids called it the Castle because of the beautiful architecture, and the story-like turrets and spires certainly gave it more character than any modern glass building could hope to replicate. Quinn had actually found it quite an imposing place at first but that could have been because of what she’d had to face inside the walls. These days it had almost become their second home and the people within were now all so familiar she didn’t want anything to change.

‘How’s Simon?’

‘You poor thing...’

‘And you’re out here? With us?’

‘Have you heard how Ryan Walker is?’

‘He’s still an inpatient. I don’t think there’s been any real improvement. Even if he gets to go home I think the family are going to need a lot of help.’

‘And they have a toddler to look after too. It’s such a burden for them. For you too, Quinn, with Simon.’

The other Westbourne Grove Primary parents on the picket line had been well-meaning but the chit-chat hadn’t helped her paranoia. Ryan, who’d suffered a serious head injury during the fire, was still critical and he and Simon were among the last of the children still receiving treatment. The raised eyebrows and exchanged glances at her presence anywhere other than Simon’s bedside made her wonder if she had done the right thing in participating in the event and she’d abandoned her post in a hurry. Perhaps a real mother would’ve acted differently when her son was in surgery and she worried people would think she wasn’t compassionate when that couldn’t have been further from the truth.

That little boy meant everything to her. He might only be with her for a short time but she was as invested in him as if he was her own flesh and blood. All she wanted was for him to feel safe and loved and she’d failed on both accounts, if his continued apathy towards her was anything to go by. Perhaps when these operations became less frequent, and without the constant disruption of hospital appointments, they might actually find the time and space to bond.

She tossed her uneaten, soggy ham sandwich back into the crumpled aluminium foil. Not even the chocolate biscuit nestled in her pre-packed lunchbox could tempt her into eating. She had no appetite for anything other than news on Simon’s condition. It might be a standard procedure for the staff but she knew there were risks for any surgery under general anaesthetic—breathing difficulties, adverse reaction to medication, bleeding—she’d done her Internet research on them all. Of course, none of these had occurred thus far but that didn’t mean they couldn’t happen.

In a world so full of danger she wondered how any parent ever let their offspring over the doorstep alone. It was taking all of her courage just to let Simon get the treatment recommended by the experts. At the end of the day, parental responsibility had been handed over to her and it was her job to keep him safe until adoption took place with another family.

That permanent knot in her stomach didn’t untangle even when she saw him safely wheeled back onto the ward.

‘How did it go?’ she asked the first person who walked through the doors towards her. Of course that person had to be Matt.

Deep down she was grateful; the surgeon was the best person to keep her informed. It was just...he was always here, disturbing her peace of mind, reminding her he was doing a better job of taking care of Simon than she was.

Matt saw no reason to prolong Quinn’s misery any longer. ‘It all went well. No complications or unforeseen problems. Now we just have to wait for this young man to come around again.’

It had been a long day for him with surgery and his outpatient clinic but Quinn had every right to be kept in the loop and he’d wanted to end the day on a high for all of them by coming to speak to her. He wanted to be the one to smooth out the worry lines on her brow. Besides, he’d rather she torture him for information than take out her frustrations on the rest of the staff. He could handle it better because he understood it better. After being thrown in at the deep end and having to learn on the job, he hadn’t exactly been a model parent either when he’d fought his siblings’ battles.

‘Thank goodness.’

The fleeting relief across her face and the glimpse of the pretty, young woman beneath the mask of combative parent was Matt’s reward for a job well done.

She followed the bed into the private cubicle with him, never letting go of Simon’s hand although he was still drowsy from the anaesthetic.

‘Once he comes around and he’s ready for home, we’ll make sure you have painkillers to take with you. If there’s any further problem with itching or infection let us know.’

‘I think I’ve got the number on speed dial,’ she said with the first sign of humour of the day.

Matt knew they’d been through this routine countless times but it was part of his duty to make sure the correct treatment was followed up at home. Quinn’s co-operation was just as important as his in the recovery.

‘As usual, we’ll need you to try and keep the dressings dry until you come back to have them changed. You’ve got an appointment with the child psychologist too, right? It’s important that Simon has help to process everything he’s going through.’ Never mind the fire itself, the surgery alone could be traumatic enough for someone so young to get past. He already seemed so withdrawn and Matt wanted to make sure they were doing all they could as a team to make him better.

‘The psychologist, the physiotherapist, the dietitian—we’ve got a full house in appointment bingo.’ Her voice was taking on that shrill quality which was always an indication of an impending showdown.

‘I know it’s a lot to take on but it won’t be for ever. It’s all to ensure Simon recovers as quickly and effectively as possible so you can both go back to your normal routine outside of these hospital walls.’ He didn’t know what that included since she seemed to spend every waking moment here. Almost as if she was afraid to go home.

These days he had an entirely different outlook on his personal time. There was nothing he loved more than reclaiming the peace and quiet of his apartment and the freedom of doing whatever he felt like without having to fit around other people’s schedules.

‘Don’t.’ Her small plea reached in and squeezed his insides, making him wonder how on earth he’d managed to upset her in such a short space of time.

‘Don’t what?’ He didn’t understand the sudden change in her body language as she let go of Simon’s hand to wrap her arms around her waist in self-comfort.

‘Don’t make any more promises you have no way of keeping.’

Matt frowned. He was supposed to be the harbinger of good news, not enemy number one. ‘Ms Grady, Quinn, I’ve assured you on many, many occasions we are doing everything in our control—’

‘I’ve heard it all before but there always seems to be one thing after another—infections, fevers, night terrors, haemo-wotsit scars—’

‘Hemotrophic.’

‘Whatever. Life is never going to be normal when every surgery creates further problems.’ Her voice, now reaching levels only dogs and small unconscious children could hear, brought a murmur from Simon before he drifted off to sleep again.

This wasn’t the time or the place for one of her dressing-downs about how nothing he did was good enough. Venting or not, Simon didn’t need to hear this.

He placed a firm hand under Quinn’s elbow and, for the umpteenth time since they’d met, he guided her out of the room. Whatever was going on he couldn’t continually let her undermine him in front of his patient. If Simon didn’t believe he could help him he might lose hope altogether.

Quinn dug her heels in but it only took a pointed glance back at the bed and an extra push to get her moving again.

‘I’m not a child,’ she insisted, shaking him off.

‘Then stop acting like one. This is a conversation that needs to be held away from impressionable young ears.’ His own temper was starting to bubble now. Why couldn’t she see he would do anything to help them? She seemed determined to make this situation more difficult than it already was. Perhaps it was time he did back off if his presence here was partly to blame for getting her riled. Once he’d said his piece today he’d go back to his official role of reconstructive surgeon and nothing more.

She huffed into the corridor for another round of their battle of wills. He waited until the door was firmly closed behind them and there was no audience to overhear what he was about to say.

‘The graft was a success. That’s what you should be focusing on here.’

‘That’s easy for you to say. You’re not the one he runs away from crying when it’s time to bathe him, or the one who has to rock him back to sleep when he wakes from the nightmares, screaming.’ Quinn’s eyes were shimmering with tears, the emotions of the day clearly coming to a head.

He kept an eye out for a female member of staff who’d be in a better position to comfort her. For him to hug her was stretching the boundaries of his professionalism a tad too far. Whilst he sympathised, at the end of the day, she wasn’t one of his siblings and not his direct responsibility.

‘Perhaps it would help to talk to one of the other parents? I know they’re bound to be going through the same struggles right now.’ He didn’t doubt she was having a tough time of it personally but he really wasn’t the one to guide her through it.

This was why he should treat all patients exactly the same and not let sentiment, or physical attraction to a parent, cloud his judgement.

‘They probably are but I’m not part of the clique. I’m the new kid on the block as much as Simon. Most of them have known each other for years through the Parent Teacher Association and I haven’t even been around long enough to organise a playdate for Simon, much less myself. Even if I did, I’d probably have to make sure they all had background checks done first. Not the way to start any budding friendship, I’m sure you’ll agree. No, we’ve managed this far on our own without inviting strangers in to witness our misfortune. I think we can persevere a little longer.’