Their Own Little Miracle

He frowned. ‘How do you know I’m a doctor?’

‘The stethoscope?’

‘Ah. Yes. Actually—’ He was about to tell the woman why he was there, and then spotted Iona at one of the tables that were arranged in a circle, a man sitting opposite her. OK, she wasn’t just helping, she was actually doing it as well, and if he wanted to see her, he’d have to pay up and queue for his slot. That was fine. It meant she’d have to listen to him for three minutes or whatever it was, which meant he’d have time to apologise for pushing her so far out of her comfort zone in Resus. And having three minutes to look at her was no hardship. He might even persuade her to go out for dinner—

‘Name, please?’

‘Sorry. Joe Baker. I’ve only got a twenty-pound note,’ he said, but the woman just smiled, said, ‘That’ll do perfectly,’ plucked it out of his fingers, stuck a label with ‘JOE’ written on it on his chest and handed him a printed card and a pencil.

So he could score the ladies? Good grief. He wrote her name and ten out of ten, and waited.

There was a gap before Iona, maybe because of the lack of men, so he hovered and then pounced when the bell rang and the man at her table got up and moved on.

He sat down in front of her, and she looked up from her score card and did a mild double take, her eyes widening.

‘What are you doing here?’

He took the stethoscope from round his neck and handed it to her with a rueful smile. ‘I forgot to return this, and when I refused to give it to the nurse who was in Resus because you’d told me in no uncertain terms what you’d do to me, she told me where to find you.’

Her mouth flickered in a smile. ‘Ah. Jenny.’

‘Yeah, that’s right. She wouldn’t give me your address.’

Her eyes widened. ‘I should hope not!’

He gave a little huff of laughter at the outrage in her voice. ‘I might have been insulted if I hadn’t been glad she was so protective of your privacy, but I also wanted to apologise for pushing you out of your comfort zone in Resus.’

‘You don’t need to apologise,’ she said, her clear and really rather lovely green eyes clouding, ‘even though you were rude and patronising—’

‘Rude and patronising?’ he asked, pretending to be outraged, but she held his eyes and a little smile tugged at her mouth, drawing his attention to it. Soft, full, and very expressive. Like her eyes. He wondered what it would be like to kiss her—

‘You were a teeny bit. I was way out of my comfort zone, because I thought you’d need more from me than I could give you. I’ve never led before on a case that critical and I should have appreciated you’d only do what you knew you could, but I was afraid Jim was going to die and I was freaking out a bit. I’m sorry you took it wrong, it really wasn’t meant like that.’

‘Don’t apologise,’ he said wryly. ‘Standing up to me took guts, and you were quite right about the risks. Without image guidance there were no guarantees I could get the guide wire in without causing more damage, but I’d had a good look at the X-rays and I was pretty sure I could do it, and anyway, as I think I pointed out fairly succinctly, Jim had run out of options. He’s OK, by the way. I sorted the bleeds, repaired the entry site and shipped him off to the orthos with a nice healthy reperfusion and well within the time limit. They’ve put an ex-fix on in Theatre and he’s doing OK.’

He saw her shoulders sag slightly with relief. ‘Oh, good. Thanks for the update. I’ve been worrying about him.’

‘No need to worry, he’s sore, he’s broken but he’ll make it. Good stethoscope, by the way. Very good. Your sister must think a lot of you.’

She smiled, her eyes softening. ‘She does. That’s why I was worried about you walking off with it, knowing you’d already lost yours. It didn’t bode well.’

He laughed at that little dig. ‘I hadn’t lost it, it was in my locker, I just failed to pick it up—but I did lose the last one, so you weren’t wide of the mark. You did well, by the way,’ he added, sliding his score sheet across the table to her. ‘It was a tricky case to manage and you’d done everything right. You should be proud of yourself.’

She glanced down at the paper and her eyes widened. ‘Ten out of ten? That’s very generous. You must be feeling guilty.’

‘No, I just give credit where it’s due, even if I am rude and patronising. And I did return your stethoscope, so hopefully that’ll earn me a few Brownie points.’

‘Maybe the odd one.’

Her lips twitched, and he sat back with a smile, folded his arms and held her eyes, trying not to think about kissing her. Or peeling off that clingy little top and—

‘So, anyway, that’s why I’m here. What about you?’

‘Me?’ She looked slightly flustered. ‘Because it’s a good cause?’

He raised an eyebrow at her, deeply unconvinced, and she smiled and shrugged and took him completely by surprise. ‘OK. You asked. I’m looking for a sperm donor.’

Joe felt his jaw drop, and he stifled the laugh in the nick of time. Of all the unlikely things for her to say, and to him, of all people...

‘You’re kidding.’

‘No. No, I’m not kidding. I’m looking for a tall Nordic type with white-blond hair, blue eyes and good bone structure, so you can relax, you don’t qualify.’

‘I might feel a bit insulted by that,’ he said, still trying to work out if she was joking.

She smiled, her eyes mocking. ‘Oh, don’t be, it’s not personal. I have very specific criteria and you don’t fit them.’

He frowned at her, but she was so deadpan he didn’t know whether she was completely off her trolley or winding him up. He turned and scanned the men in the room and this time he didn’t stifle the laugh.

‘OK,’ he murmured in a low undertone. ‘Nor does anyone else in this room. So far you’ve written zero out of ten against everyone, and the nearest candidate is white-blond because he’s twice your age. He’s also about three inches shorter than you and twice as heavy. And the lady on the next table looks utterly terrifying, so frankly I reckon we’re done here. I’m starving, I haven’t eaten since breakfast and I don’t suppose you have, either, so why don’t we get the hell out of here, go and find a nice pub and have something to eat? And that way I can apologise properly for being rude and patronising.’

‘Won’t your wife mind?’ she asked, clearly fishing, and he raised an eyebrow and gave her the short answer.

‘I don’t have one. So—dinner?’

She hesitated for so long he thought she was going to say no, but then the bell rang, the lady at the next table was eyeing him hungrily, and she looked at the man heading to take his place, grabbed her bag and stethoscope and got to her feet.

‘Sorry. We have to go,’ she said, squeezing round from behind the table, and they headed for the door amid a chorus of protests. From both sexes. He stifled a smile.

‘Right, where to?’ he asked, and she shrugged.

‘What do you fancy? Thai, Chinese, Mexican, Indian, Asian fusion, pub grub, Italian, modern British—’

‘Good grief. All of those in Yoxburgh?’

She chuckled. ‘Oh, yes. They might be busy, though, it’s Friday night.’

He had a much better idea. ‘How about a nice, cosy gastro-pub? There’s one right round the corner from my house that comes highly recommended, and we’ll definitely get a table there.’

‘Is it far? Can I walk back? My car’s at home.’

‘No, it’s a bit out of town, but that’s fine, I’ll drive you home. Look on it as a hire charge for the use of your stethoscope.’

Again she hesitated, a wary look in her eyes, but then she nodded as if she’d finally decided she could trust him. ‘OK. That sounds good.’

* * *

To her surprise—and slight consternation—he headed out of town and turned off the main road down a lane so small it didn’t even have a signpost.

‘Where are we going?’ she asked, wondering if she should be worried and trying to convince herself that she shouldn’t, that he was a doctor, he was hardly going to harm her—

‘Glemsfield,’ he said. ‘It’s a tiny village, but it has a great pub and a thriving little community.’

‘It’s in the middle of nowhere,’ she said. Even quieter than where her parents lived, and that was pretty isolated. And it was getting dark. Was she mad? Or just unable to trust any man to have a shred of decency?

‘It is. It’s lovely, and it’s only three miles from Yoxburgh and much more peaceful. Well, apart from the barking muntjac deer at night. They get a bit annoying sometimes but I threaten them with the freezer.’

That made her laugh. ‘And does it work?’

‘Not so you’d notice,’ he said drily, but she could hear the smile in his voice.

They passed a few houses and dropped down into what she assumed must be the centre of the village, but then he drove past the brightly lit pub on the corner, turned onto a drive and cut the engine.

Although it was only dusk the area was in darkness, shrouded by the overgrown shrubs each side of the drive, and the whole place had a slight air of neglect. She suppressed a shudder of apprehension as she got out of the car and looked around.

‘I thought we were going to the pub? You just drove past it.’

‘I know, but the car park’ll be heaving on a Friday night so I thought it was easier to park at my house—well, actually my aunt’s house. She’s in a home and I’m caretaking it for her and trying to get it back into some sort of order. It’s going to take me a while.’

‘Yes, I think it might,’ she murmured, eyeing the weeds that had taken over the gravel drive.

‘I’ll get there. Come on, my stomach’s starting to make its presence felt.’

He ushered her across the road, and as they walked back towards the corner she could hear the hubbub of voices growing louder.

‘Gosh, it’s busy!’ she said as they went in.

‘It always is. I’ll see if we can get a table, otherwise we might have to get them to cook for us and take it back to mine.’ He leant on the bar and attracted the eye of a middle-aged woman. ‘Hi, Maureen. Can you squeeze us in?’

‘Oh, I think so. If you don’t mind waiting a minute, I’ve got a couple just about to leave. Here, have a menu and don’t forget the specials board. Can I get you a drink while you wait?’

‘I’m going to splash out and have tap water, but I’m driving. Iona? How about a glass of Prosecco to celebrate your first REBOA?’

‘It was hardly mine.’

‘Ah, well, that’s just splitting hairs. Prosecco? Or gin and tonic? They have some interesting gins. And tonics.’

She wrestled with her common sense, and it lost. She smiled at him. ‘A small glass of Prosecco would be lovely. Thank you.’

‘And some bread, Maureen, please, before I keel over.’

‘Poor baby,’ Maureen said with a motherly but mildly mocking smile, and handed them their drinks before she disappeared into the kitchen.

‘So, the menu. The twice baked Cromer crab soufflé with crayfish cream is fabulous. It’s a starter but it makes a great main with one of the vegetable sides.’

‘Is that what you’re having?’

‘No. I’m having the beer-battered fish and chips, because it’s absolutely massive and I’m starving.’ He grinned wickedly, and it made him look like a naughty boy. A very grown-up naughty boy. Her pulse did a little hiccup.

Maureen put the bread down in front of him. ‘Is that your order, Joe? Fish and chips and mushy peas?’

‘Please. Iona?’

‘I’ll go with the crab soufflé, please. It sounds lovely.’

‘Have sweet potato fries,’ he suggested. ‘They’re amazing.’

‘I don’t suppose they’ve got a single calorie in them, either,’ she said, laughing.

‘Calorie? No. Ridiculous idea. They do great puds, as well,’ he added with another mischievous grin, and sank his teeth into a slice of fresh, warm baguette slathered with butter.

She couldn’t help but smile.

CHAPTER TWO

‘WOW. THAT WAS so tasty.’

‘Mmm. And positively good for you.’

She used the last sweet potato fry to mop up the remains of the crayfish cream. ‘Really?’ she said sceptically.

He laughed and speared a fat, juicy flake of fish. ‘I doubt it, but one can live in hope. So, what were you doing at the speed dating gig?’ he asked, and she frowned, hugely reluctant to go back to that and wondering why she’d opened her mouth and blurted it out.

‘I told you.’

His eyes widened, the fish on his fork frozen in mid-air. ‘You were serious? I thought you were winding me up.’

‘No. You probably deserved it, but I wasn’t.’

He laughed, then looked back at her, those incredible eyes searching hers thoughtfully. ‘You’re genuinely serious, aren’t you?’

‘Yes. I genuinely am, but it’s not why I was there, not really. I was helping set it up, and they talked me into taking a table, but a bit of me was wondering if anyone appropriate might rock up.’

‘Iona.’ His voice dropped, becoming quieter but somehow urgent and his eyes were suddenly deadly serious. ‘Sorry, I know it’s really none of my business—’

‘No, it isn’t, and I don’t think this is really the time or the place.’

He frowned, nodded and let it go, but only with obvious reluctance. ‘Yeah, you’re right. OK. So—tell me about yourself. Apart from that.’

No way. ‘I’d rather talk about you,’ she said, smiling to soften it. ‘What brings you to Yoxburgh?’

‘Oh, that’s easy. As I said, my aunt lives here in a home and I spent a lot of time here as a child, the hospital has an expanding IR department, they were looking for a specialist registrar, I wanted to broaden my experience and it seemed like a perfect fit. Plus I get a free house to live in,’ he added with a little quirk of his lips that drew her attention back to them.

She wondered what it would be like to kiss them...

‘So, why are you here?’ he asked, and she hauled her mind back into order and edited her answer because the truth was too messy.

‘Oh—similar reasons, really, work-wise. They’ve got a great ED department, I was looking for my first registrar’s job, I’d worked in Bristol up to now but frankly I’d seen enough of it—’ That was putting it mildly, but she wasn’t going into that. ‘And my family are based in Norfolk so it’s not too far from them, and it’s a great hospital, and I love the seaside. Not that I’ve seen much of it because the summer’s been rubbish and, anyway, my shift pattern’s pretty crazy and I haven’t had a lot of time because I’ve been studying, too.’

‘All work and no play, eh? Don’t do that, Iona. Keep your work/life balance. It’s really important.’

She tilted her head slightly and searched his eyes, because there’d been something in his voice...

‘That sounded like personal experience,’ she said, and his eyes changed again.

‘Yeah, kind of. I know what it’s like. My shift pattern’s crazy, too, and on top of that I’ve got a mass of courses and exams coming up in the next year, but that’s IR for you. It doesn’t matter how hard I work, how much I learn, there’ll always be more.’

‘Is that “Do as I say, not as I do”?’ she asked, and he laughed and nodded.

‘Pretty much. Work can easily take over—not that I’m the best person to tell anybody how to run their life since I seem to have trashed my own, but there you go. You could always learn from my experience,’ he said, and went back to his fish and chips.

‘They look tasty. Can I pinch a chip?’

‘Be my guest,’ he said, and she took the last one off the plate as a shadow fell over the table.

‘Was everything OK for you both?’

‘Great, thanks.’ He looked up at Maureen and smiled. ‘Filling. I’ve eaten myself to a standstill.’

‘So you don’t want dessert? That’s not like you.’

‘Not tonight, I don’t think. Iona?’

She would have loved a dessert. She’d spotted one on the specials board, but Joe didn’t seem inclined.

‘I don’t suppose you’d like to share the baked chocolate fondant?’ she asked wistfully, and he just groaned and laughed.

‘There’s my resolve going down the drain.’

‘That’s a yes, then,’ Maureen said with a smile. ‘One, or two? And do you want coffee with it?’

He shook his head. ‘Just one, and no coffee for me, Maureen. Iona?’

‘No, I’m fine, thanks. The fondant will be more than enough.’

It took ten minutes to come, but it was worth the wait and she was enjoying the view and the company.

Maureen put the plate down between them, they picked up their spoons and Iona waited for him to cut it in half, but he didn’t, just dug his spoon in, so she joined in and kept eating until their spoons clashed in the middle.

She glanced up, their eyes locked and he smiled and put his spoon down. ‘Go on. Finish it. It was your idea.’

She didn’t argue, just pulled the plate closer, scraped it clean and put the spoon down a little sadly.

‘That was delicious. All of it. Thank you.’

‘You’re welcome. Shall we go?’

She nodded, and he got to his feet, dropped a pile of notes on the bar in front of Maureen and they headed out into the darkness and a light drizzle.

‘Oh. I didn’t know it was going to do that,’ she said with a rueful laugh, but he just reached out and took her hand in a firm, warm grip and they ran, guided by the light of his phone, and got back to the house before they were more than slightly damp.

‘Coffee?’ he asked, heading for the porch and standing under the shelter.

She hesitated on the drive. ‘I thought you didn’t want coffee?’

‘No, I didn’t want coffee there. I prefer mine, but I can’t say that to Maureen, can I? It would break her heart.’

It made her laugh, as it was meant to, and she suddenly realised she did want a coffee, and she was also curious about the house, and his aunt, and—well, him, really.

And she was getting wet.

She stepped under the shelter of the porch and smiled. ‘Coffee would be lovely. Thank you.’

He put the key in the door, turned it and pushed it open, flicking a switch that flooded the hall with light.

‘Welcome to the seventies,’ he said wryly, and stepped back to let her in.

* * *

It was stunning, and completely unexpected.

The walls were a pale acid green, but that wasn’t what caught her eye, it was the way the ceiling sloped steeply up from right to left, rising along the line of the stairs and over the landing, creating a wonderful, open vaulted entrance hall.

‘Wow! I love this!’

‘Me, too. It goes downhill a bit from now on, mind,’ he said with a low chuckle that did something odd to her insides. ‘Come into the kitchen, I’ll make you a coffee.’

She followed him through a glass door into a large rectangular room that ran away to the right across the back of the house. To the left were double doors into another room, in front of her beyond a large dining table was a set of bi-fold doors, opening she assumed to the garden, and on her right at the far end of the room was the kitchen area.

Not that there was much kitchen.

‘Ahh. I see what you mean.’

He chuckled again. ‘Yeah. It’s a mess. I got the bi-folds put in and the dividing wall taken out, so I lost most of the units, but to be honest I haven’t got the time or energy to decide what I want in here and it’s a big job, starting with taking the floor up and re-screeding it because they weren’t quite level. So I’m learning to love the tiny scraps of seventies worktop and the ridiculously huge sink and the utter lack of storage, but it’s only me so it’s fine. And the pub’s handy when I get desperate,’ he added with a grin. ‘So, coffee. Caf, decaf, black, white, frothy?’

She stared at him, slightly mesmerised by the sight of him propped against the sink with his arms folded, relaxed and at ease. It was gradually dawning on her just how incredibly attractive he was, how well put together, how confident, caring, thoughtful, sexy—

‘Hello?’

She pulled herself together and tried to smile. ‘Sorry. I was just a bit stunned by the kitchen,’ she lied. ‘Um—can you do a decaf frothy?’

‘Sure, that’s what I’m having.’ He flipped a capsule into the machine, put a mug under the spout and pressed a button, put milk into the frother and then propped himself up again and frowned thoughtfully at her.

‘What?’

‘Nothing. Well, nothing you want to hear. You told me to butt out.’

‘Are we back to that?’ she said with a sigh.

‘Yes, we are, because... Iona, if you want a baby, why wouldn’t you look for a partner?’

‘I’ve tried that,’ she said, really not wanting to go there. ‘And, anyway, that’s not what it’s about.’

He looked puzzled, then shrugged. ‘OK, so why not go through a proper sperm bank or clinic? The risks to you are huge if you don’t use a donor regulated by the Human Fertilisation and Embryology Authority. They won’t have had genetic testing, no sperm quality check—it’s a minefield, even if you don’t take into account the risk of picking up a life-changing infection such as Hepatitis or HIV. The screening process is so thorough, so intensive, the physical and mental health screening, sperm quality, family medical history, motivation—and the children have the right to trace their fathers now once they’re eighteen, so nobody’s going to be doing it for anything other than the right reasons. Why on earth would you go anywhere else?’

‘I wouldn’t. I haven’t. I’m not that stupid, so you can relax and stop fretting. I wasn’t serious about picking up a random stranger, I was winding you up, really, but I am looking for a sperm donor. That much was true.’ She studied him thoughtfully. ‘You seem to know an awful lot about it,’ she added, searching his eyes, and something in them changed again.

He looked away briefly, then back, the silence between them somehow deafening in the quiet room.

‘Yeah. I do,’ he said finally, as if it had been dragged out of him. ‘I’ve done it, but that was years ago, before I properly understood the knock-on effect of it.’

Wow. ‘Knock-on effect?’ she asked, still processing the fact that he’d been a donor. Ironic, since she’d mentally given him ten out of ten, but he didn’t need to know that.

‘Yes. Wondering—you know—about the children, if there are any, if they’re OK? That sort of stuff.’

‘Can they contact you?’

‘No, because I did it before the law changed, but I can still provide contact details if I want to via the HFEA, and I could also find out how many children there are, their ages, their genders, but I can’t contact them to find out if they’re OK, and that troubles me. Are they happy? Are they safe? What are their parents like? Are they still together? Are they well? I just don’t know, and it’s unlikely I ever will, and it bugs me.’

‘But it’s not your worry, surely?’

‘Yes, it is,’ he said emphatically. ‘I know they aren’t technically my children, but in a way they are because without me they wouldn’t exist, so morally I feel responsible. What if they’re unhappy? What if someone’s hurting them? It’s unlikely, I know that, but still I worry. Of course I worry.’

‘But as you said, it’s highly unlikely and, anyway, you’ve signed over that right, that responsibility. They’re not your children, any more than this would be my child. I’m doing it for my sister, and I won’t have any rights, I know that because I’ll sign them all over to Isla and Steve when they adopt it, but I’m fine with that. That’s why I’m doing it, not because I want a child.’

His eyes widened and his jaw dropped a fraction. ‘You’re going to give it away?’ he said. ‘Iona, that’s—Will you be able to do that? It’s going to take so much courage. What if you change your mind when it comes to it? Are you able to change your mind?’

Her heart gave a little hiccup, but she ignored it. ‘I won’t change my mind, because there’s no room in my life for a child now, and I don’t know if there ever will be, and this is something I can do for Isla and Steve, and I want to help them because I love them.’

‘Yes, of course you do, but—’ He rammed a hand through his hair, his eyes troubled. ‘I only gave away my DNA and that feels hard enough sometimes. You’re talking about cradling your own baby inside your body for nine months! How will you be able to give it away, even if it is to your sister? I know you love her and you know her very well, so you know the baby will be safe and loved, but—what about you, Iona? How will you feel? And what if they split up? What if their marriage breaks down?’