Carrying The Single Dad's Baby

She called her mother ‘Mummy’? Posher still. Beatrice Lindford was way, way out of his league.

Not that he was thinking of asking her out.

The attraction he felt towards her needed to be stifled. The sooner, the better.

She looked at the drawing again. ‘Why am I wearing a crown?’

‘Iain says you talk like the Queen and you’ve got hair like a princess, so he’s decided you must be a princess and therefore you also know the Queen and Prince Harry.’

She laughed. ‘That’s cute.’

‘I tried to tell him you’re not a princess.’

‘Absolutely not.’

‘Are you sure? Because... Well...’

‘Because I have a posh accent and most of my family have unusual names? That’s a bit of a sweeping generalisation. It’d be like me saying you’re from Glasgow so everything you eat must be fried.’

‘True, and I didn’t mean to be rude.’

* * *

Beatrice definitely wasn’t going to tell Daniel that she had grown up in a castle. Or that actually her father was a viscount, making her family minor royalty. He didn’t need to know any of that. All he needed to know about her was that she was a doctor, and she was good at her job.

‘Apology accepted. And I love Iain’s drawing.’ She smiled at him. ‘He’s a nice boy.’

‘And he hasn’t stopped talking about you, or asking when you can come to tea. I’ve told him you’re busy and you’re probably married to a prince.’ Daniel rolled his eyes. ‘That’s what started all the Prince Harry stuff. His mum likes Prince Harry.’

So Daniel had clearly split up from his partner rather than being a widower. It was unusual for a dad to have custody of the child, but asking him about the situation felt like prying. ‘Prince Harry is gorgeous,’ she said. ‘Your wife has good—’ She stopped dead. Uh-oh. Good taste. That was tantamount to saying that she fancied Daniel.

Which she didn’t.

Well, a little bit.

Well, quite a lot.

But things were complicated. She had the job he claimed he hadn’t applied for but which everyone thought had had his name on it. He had a son who was clearly the focus of his life, and dating would be tricky for him. Plus she didn’t want to tell him about her past and see the pity in his face.

Better to keep this professional.

‘Good taste in princes,’ she finished.

‘I’ll tell her that. Because Iain’s going to tell her all about you when he sees her this weekend.’ He sighed. ‘You wouldn’t believe how much a four-year-old boy can talk.’

Or girl. She thought of Taylor and her heart squeezed. Would her little girl have been a chatterbox?

Not here. Not now.

‘Oh, I would. George could talk the hind leg off a donkey. He’s four,’ she said. A month younger than Taylor would’ve been. And how hard it had been to walk into her sister-in-law’s hospital room and hold that baby in her arms for the first time. She’d had to force herself to smile and hold back the tears. ‘George is the youngest of my nephews, and his big thing is dinosaurs. You wouldn’t believe how many complicated names he can pronounce. Give him a bucket of wooden bricks and he’ll build you a stegosaurus in two minutes flat.’

‘Iain loves dinosaurs, too. And rockets. My mum painted a mural in his bedroom of dinosaurs in a rocket heading for the moon, and he loves it.’

‘I bet.’ She glanced at her watch, knowing that she was being a coward and cutting this short. But she couldn’t afford to get emotionally involved with Daniel Capaldi and his son. ‘Better get back to the ward. Please thank Iain for his drawing. It’s lovely.’

‘I will.’ He looked relieved, as if she’d let him off the hook.

So did that mean he felt this ridiculous attraction, too?

Well, even if he did, they weren’t going to act on it. They were going to be professional. Keep things strictly business between them. And that was that.

CHAPTER THREE

OVER THE NEXT couple of days, Daniel’s determination to keep things strictly professional was sorely tested, particularly when he and Beatrice were rostered on together in Resus.

Their first patient of the day was Maureen Bishop, an elderly woman who’d slipped and fallen backwards off the patio, and was badly injured, enough for the air ambulance to bring her in.

‘Thankfully her neighbour had arranged to pop round for a cup of tea, couldn’t get an answer and went round the back of the house and found her,’ the paramedic from the air ambulance explained. ‘She was unconscious, so the neighbour called the ambulance—who called us to bring her in. She’s come round now, but she’s got a nasty gash in the back of her head from falling against a pot, plus fractured ribs, and we’re a bit worried she might have a crack in her skull or a bleed in her brain.’

‘Have you given her any pain relief?’ Beatrice asked.

The paramedic nodded and gave her full details. ‘We’ve put her on a spinal board with a neck brace.’

‘Great. Has anyone managed to get in touch with her family?’

‘Yes. Her daughter’s on the way in.’

‘That’s good.’ She went over to the trolley with Daniel. ‘Hello, Mrs Bishop, I’m Beatrice and this is Daniel,’ she said. ‘We’re looking after you today. May we call you Maureen?’

‘Yes, love,’ Maureen said.

‘Can you remember what happened?’

The elderly woman grimaced. ‘I slipped and fell.’

‘Can you remember blacking out, or do you have any idea how long you were unconscious?’ Beatrice asked.

‘No,’ Maureen whispered. ‘I’m sorry.’

Beatrice squeezed her hand. ‘No need to apologise. You’ve had a nasty fall. I’m going to send you for a scan because we need to check out that bump to your head, and also for X-rays so we can have a better look at your ribs, because we think you might have broken a few. Your daughter’s on her way.’

‘I didn’t want to worry her. I told them not to call her at work,’ Maureen said.

‘If you were my mum,’ Beatrice said gently, ‘then I’d want to know you’d been taken to hospital. I’d be more upset if they didn’t call me. And I’m betting it’s just the same for your daughter.’

The CT scan showed a bleed to the brain; by the time Beatrice had liaised with the neurology team and persuaded them to admit Maureen, her daughter Jennifer had arrived.

‘What happened?’ Jennifer asked.

‘Your mum slipped off the patio and banged her head against a pot. We know she was unconscious for a while, but not for how long. Fortunately her neighbour found her and called the ambulance,’ Daniel explained.

‘We sent your mum for a scan and X-rays,’ Beatrice said. ‘I’m pleased to say there’s no evidence of any bones broken in her neck, so we can take the spinal collar off now, but she has fractured a couple of ribs, and when she hit her head it caused a bleed in her brain. She seems fine at the moment, but a bleed is a bit like a stroke in that sometimes it takes a few days for us to see what’s happened. We’re going to admit her to the neurology ward, so she’s going to be monitored for the next day or so.’

‘But she’s going to be all right? She’s not going to die?’

‘She’s holding her own at the moment,’ Beatrice said, taking Jennifer’s hand and squeezing it, ‘but we want to keep an eye on her in case that bang on the head causes a problem. She’ll be in good hands and we can treat her straight away if anything happens.’ She smiled at Jennifer. ‘Your mum was a bit worried about the paramedics calling you at work.’

‘I got someone to cover my class,’ Jennifer said. ‘I’d be more upset if they hadn’t called me.’

‘That’s exactly what I told her,’ Beatrice said. ‘I’ll take you through now. It’s going to look a bit scary because your mum’s on a spinal board with a neck collar on, but that’s absolutely standard when someone’s had a fall and we think there might be any damage to the back or the neck. I’ll let you say hello to her, and then we’ll take off the collar and make her a bit more comfortable before she goes up to the ward.’

* * *

It was the first time Daniel had worked with Beatrice, and he could see for himself why Josh had sung her praises. Beatrice was very clear when she was managing Resus; everyone knew what they needed to do, and she was completely approachable. Josh had said that one of the nurses hadn’t quite understood her instructions, the other day, and Beatrice had taken the time afterwards to go through the case, explaining exactly why she’d made certain decisions. And he really liked the way she was calm and kind to their patients.

The more Daniel worked with her, the more he liked her.

And, worse still, the more attracted he was to her. He couldn’t seem to get a grip and push the unwanted feelings aside. Instead, he found himself wondering how soft her hair would be against his skin, and how her arms would feel around him. How her mouth would feel against his own.

For pity’s sake. He was thirty-four, not seventeen. He had responsibilities. He didn’t have time for this. He couldn’t keep wondering what it would be like to date Beatrice.

If he didn’t manage to sort his head out, he thought grimly, he’d need to have a word with whoever was doing the roster next month, to make sure he and Beatrice weren’t working together.

* * *

Late on Thursday afternoon, Beatrice had to steel herself slightly when the paramedics brought in a woman who’d taken an overdose.

‘I brought her in for the same thing, a month ago,’ Dev, the lead paramedic, told Beatrice quietly. ‘And another team brought her in a fortnight ago.’

‘Three times in a month.’ Beatrice frowned. ‘I’ll check her notes to see if anyone’s referred her for counselling, but if they haven’t then I definitely want to bring the psych team in. She needs help with the root cause. We can’t just patch her up and send her home so she takes another overdose and comes back in again. That isn’t fair to anyone.’

Dev spread his hands. ‘Mental health. You know the situation there as well as I do.’

‘Overstretched. I know.’ Beatrice sighed. ‘But I’ll push as much as I can for her. Thanks for your help, Dev.’

She went over to the bed. ‘I’m Beatrice, and I’m part of the team looking after you today,’ she said to her patient. ‘May I call you Sally?’

The young woman nodded.

‘The paramedics tell me you took an overdose of paracetamol.’

Sally hunched her shoulders, and Beatrice sat down and took her hand. ‘I’m not here to judge you, Sally, I’m here to help you. But I do need to know how many tablets you took, when, and over how long a period, so I know the best way to look after you.’

‘A dozen tablets,’ Sally whispered. ‘An hour ago.’

‘What did you take them with?’ Beatrice asked, really hoping that alcohol wasn’t involved.

‘Water.’

That was one good thing; she didn’t have to worry about complications from alcohol. ‘OK. Normally paracetamol’s safe to take as a painkiller, but if you take too much you can risk damaging your liver and your kidneys. I need to take some blood tests, and the results will tell me what the best treatment is for you. Is that OK?’

Sally nodded, and Beatrice took the bloods. ‘Can I get you a cup of tea or something while we’re waiting for the results?’

Sally shook her head. ‘I’m all right.’

‘I’ll need to see some other patients while I’m waiting for the results, but I’ll be back very soon to see you,’ Beatrice said. ‘If you’re worried about anything, just press this buzzer to call one of us and we’ll come in to see you, OK?’

Sally didn’t ask for help while Beatrice called the psych team and asked for an urgent referral, or while Beatrice checked a set of X-rays for Josh and dealt with a nasty gash on an elderly man’s arm where he’d slipped and knocked against a gatepost. But finally the blood test results came back, and Beatrice went into the cubicle where Sally was waiting quietly. The poor woman looked as if a huge weight was about to drop on her.

‘I’ve got the test results back,’ Beatrice said. ‘We do need to treat you, to stop any damage happening to your liver, so I’m going to give you a drug through a drip—that’s a line that goes straight into your vein. It means you’ll need to stay with us another day while we give you the drug. Is that OK with you?’

Sally looked worried again. ‘I felt so bad, last time. I was sick everywhere.’

‘This is a different drug from the one you had last time. It’s a special trial, but I used it in my last hospital and it’s really good,’ Beatrice said. ‘It means you’re less likely to have side effects, like being sick or itching. Tomorrow we’ll do another blood test to see how you’re doing, and we’ll be able to let you go home if we’re happy that there’s no damage to your liver.’

Sally bit her lip. ‘I’m so sorry.’

Beatrice squeezed her hand. ‘You really don’t have to apologise. You’re not well and it’s my job to make you better.’

‘I know you’re all busy here and you should be saving lives that matter, not bothering with me.’

‘We are saving a life—yours,’ Beatrice said gently. ‘You’re important, too.’

‘I know I shouldn’t have done it.’

‘We all make mistakes.’ And Beatrice had made this particular one herself. She could still remember how low she’d felt when she’d opened the box of paracetamol and popped the tablets out of their foil packaging. How hopeless.

‘It seemed like the only way out.’

Just as it had for Beatrice. ‘There’s always another way,’ she said, squeezing Sally’s hand again. ‘Though sometimes you need someone else to help you see it. Is there anyone we can call for you to let them know you’re here? Your family, a friend?’

‘Nobody.’

Beatrice remembered that feeling, too. Once she was out of Resus and in cubicles, she hadn’t wanted the emergency staff to call her husband or her family, because she knew they’d blame themselves for not picking up on the signs. And she hadn’t wanted to burden any of her friends with how low she was feeling. She’d just been grateful that she hadn’t been treated in her own department so she hadn’t had the sheer embarrassment of having to face them all afterwards.

‘I just don’t want to be here,’ Sally said, her voice shaking.

‘I know, sweetheart, but I really can’t let you go until you’re better,’ Beatrice said, still holding her hand. ‘I need to be sure you’re not going to collapse with liver damage.’

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