It didn’t take long. She popped the afterbirth into one of the bowls and checked it quickly, filled the other with hot water to wash the mother down, examined Julie for any little nicks or tears and declared her to be fine.

‘Baby, too. He’s got good lungs,’ Ed said ruefully, pulling the earpieces of the stethoscope out of his ears so the bellowing didn’t damage his hearing permanently. ‘I’ll check his heart later when he’s quiet but, judging by his colour, I can’t imagine he’s got a problem.’

‘No. He’s a lusty little chap,’ Jo said, giving him her attention for the first time. She looked at the placenta more thoroughly, lifting up the membranes and checking for any abnormalities, then put it into a yellow clinical waste bag, sealed it and put it inside another one.

‘Want to weigh him?’ Ed asked.

‘Not yet. I want to clear up a little first and then get Julie upstairs. You feeling strong, Tim?’ she asked, bagging up the rest of the clinical waste and popping a pad between Julie’s legs.

He grinned and scooped his wife up in his arms, carrying her up to their bedroom with the others trailing behind. ‘Fancy having him in the kitchen,’ Tim said affectionately as he set her down. ‘You spend your life at that damn table—I might have known you’d have the baby on it!’

‘It’ll be something to tell the grandchildren when they come over for Sunday lunch,’ Julie said with a chuckle.

‘Hmm. Eating off the same table, I have no doubt.’ Jo laughed. ‘Right, we need to undress you and freshen you up, feed the baby, and then after your bath I think you’ll need a rest—I should think you’re exhausted after such a hard labour,’ she said with a smile.

‘Oh, yes—all of about an hour from the first twinge.’

‘You should have rung me on the mobile,’ Tim scolded.

‘I did—you left it switched off,’ Julie pointed out.

‘Now, now, children, don’t fight,’ Jo said. She sent Tim off to clear up the devastation in the kitchen and make everyone a cup of tea while she helped Julie out of her clothes and into a dressing-gown.

Once Julie was undressed she was able to feed the baby, and Jo felt the usual surge of satisfaction as she watched the little baby suckle from his mother. He was the third of their children that she’d delivered or monitored in pregnancy, and it was gratifying to have been involved in the arrival of the whole family.

She looked up at Ed, wondering what he was making of all of this, and surprised a look of sadness and longing on his face again. How strange. He was so good with children—had he lost one? Was that it?

He looked up and caught her eye. His expression became immediately neutral, as if he’d carefully schooled his face to remove the traces of emotion.

‘Teatime,’ Tim said cheerfully, pushing the door open with his foot and carrying in a tray.

Ed stood up. ‘Not for me, thanks. Things seem fine. I think I’ll go for a wander—have a look round outside. I’m still feeling a bit green after the white-knuckle ride—Jo doesn’t exactly hang about. I’ll be back in a while.’

His smile was a little strained. Jo sipped her tea and wondered what had put that look on his face and made him want to run away—because that was what he was doing, she was sure. She didn’t believe he was still feeling queasy for a moment.

The baby dozed off, and Julie put her cup down and smiled wearily at Jo. ‘I could murder that bath now.’

‘Good idea. I’ll run it, you stay there.’

It wasn’t too hot because of the baby, but she made it nice and deep because there was nothing like a good wallow after delivery. Then she helped Julie into the bath, before unwrapping the baby that Tim was holding and lowering him carefully into the water between Julie’s knees.

He woke up a little, blinking in the light and gazing up with those wonderful blue eyes of the newborn, and Julie helped her wash his soft, delicate skin with careful hands.

‘He seems so tiny—you forget,’ Julie said, her voice hushed and full of awe, and Jo looked at him and remembered Laura.

‘You’re right—you do forget. I can’t believe Laura was ever this small.’

‘No. She certainly doesn’t look it now. She’s so tall, isn’t she? How old is she?’

‘Twelve. She takes after me and my mother—we’re both quite tall.’

Jo scooped the baby out of the water and wrapped him in a towel off the radiator, then sprinkled a few drops of lavender and tea-tree oil into the bath and topped up the hot water. Julie sank down for a good wallow and sighed with ecstasy.

‘I can’t believe she’s twelve,’ she said after a moment, sounding stunned. ‘Almost a teenager. I can remember when she was born. I don’t know how you cope alone.’

‘I’ve got Mum. I couldn’t work and look after her without my mother’s help.’

Julie laughed. ‘No, mums are wonderful. I’d be lost without mine during lambing and harvesting.’

Jo took the baby across the landing to the bedroom, leaving the doors open, and took the little spring balance out of the box Tim had brought upstairs. She hooked the nylon sling underneath it, popped the baby naked into the sling and held up the balance.

‘Three point seven kilos—eight pounds three ounces,’ she told the mother. ‘How does that compare?’

‘Heavier than Lucy, about the same as Robert.’

‘What are you calling this one? Does he have a name?’

Tim came upstairs again and into the room. ‘Michael, we’d thought.’

‘Or Anna,’ Julie said from the depths of her bath. ‘I think Michael’s more appropriate. I could kill another cup of tea.’

Tim went through to the bathroom, mug in hand. ‘How did I guess?’ he said, a smile in his voice, and for the millionth time Jo wondered what it would have been like to have a father for her daughter, a man who loved and cherished her and was committed to her, instead of—

She cut off the train of thought and concentrated on the baby. He was gorgeous, a lovely sturdy little chap with everything going for him. She put a nappy on him before he could catch her out, popped him into a vest and sleepsuit and tucked him up in the crib that was standing ready in the corner.

Then she helped Julie out of the bath, and while Tim helped her into her nightclothes and down to the warm kitchen Jo went down ahead of them and tidied up her bag, settled herself at the cleaned-up table and wrote up her notes while they sat by the Aga and chatted about the delivery.

Jo lifted her head as Ed came back in, and Tim grinned at him.

‘You must have heard the kettle boil. Fancy a cuppa now?’

Ed smiled, and the strain seemed to have left his face. Thanks. Don’t mind if I do. Everything all right?’

‘Yup. No problems.’ Jo shut the notes, handed the file back to Julie and slipped her pen back into her pocket, before washing her hands again. ‘Baby’s upstairs in the bedroom if you want to check his heart now he’s quiet.’

‘Sure. Thanks.’

He came down a few minutes later, the baby in his arms, and handed him to Julie. ‘He was chewing his fists and grizzling—I reckon you’re going to have your work cut out feeding him. He’s going to be a real trencherman.’

‘Just like his father, then,’ Julie said affectionately.

The couple exchanged a loving glance, and Jo looked away, staring down into her mug and wondering if Ed was all right now. He seemed fine, though, bright and perky, laughing with the Browns and seeming to enjoy himself while the baby tucked into his first proper meal.

Perhaps he really had been feeling queasy? She had driven rather fast.

Jo checked her watch, surprised to find that it was two hours since baby Michael had been born, and packed up her things. ‘We’ll be on our way now. Don’t overdo it.’

‘Would I?’ Julie said with a smile.

Jo arched a brow, shrugged into her coat and loaded everything into the car with Ed’s help.

Take care, now, and ring me if you’re worried. I’ll check you again before ten, but call if you want anything.’

‘We will, and thanks,’ Tim said, and gave her a hug. He shook Ed’s hand, and then they were off, bumping down the track towards the road.

‘It’s got colder,’ she said, fiddling with the heater controls, and wished she’d got a pair of gloves. Laura had borrowed them, of course, like she borrowed everything these days. Goodness knows if she’d ever see them again.

They turned onto the main road and headed back towards the surgery. Out of deference to his nerves she drove much more slowly, and Ed commented on it.

‘In case you hadn’t noticed, we were none too early,’ she reminded him with a laugh.

‘Yes. I can see why you went fast—did you think she was that far on?’

Jo nodded. ‘There was something in her voice—after a while you get an instinct for the little nuances. She just sounded—well, close, I suppose is the best way to describe it.’

‘She was certainly that!’

He fell silent, and she drove back into Yoxburgh in the dark with her headlights gleaming on the frosty road. As she pulled up at the surgery she turned to him in the dark car.

‘Ed—are you OK?’

He paused, his hand on the doorhandle, and looked at her warily. ‘Fine. Why shouldn’t I be?’

She shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I just thought—what happened back there? My driving isn’t that bad, so what was it all about?’

He gave a wry smile. ‘You noticed. Sometimes…’ He sighed. ‘Sometimes I just get a bit choked. I wonder what it would be like—I expect you do the same.’

She relaxed, relieved that there was apparently no great tragedy hanging over him. ‘I’ve got a daughter,’ she told him. ‘I know all about it—the pluses and the minuses.’

He looked surprised. ‘I didn’t realise you were married.’

‘I’m not. I’m a single parent—always have been,’ she added, so he understood her situation.

‘Oh. I see. That can’t be easy.’

‘My mother helps. I couldn’t manage without her.’

Her mobile phone rang, and she answered it, then turned to him with a sigh.

‘Problems?’ he said.

‘I have to go out again—one of my mums might be in labour, and she wants to see me. I’ll sort the car out, reload my box and go over there. You coming?’

‘Do you need me?’

His voice was soft, and something funny happened in her chest—something she didn’t understand, something that came out of nowhere and left her feeling empty and confused and a little breathless.

‘No—no, I don’t need you,’ she told him hastily, and wondered if it was true…

CHAPTER TWO

‘MUM?’

A door crashed in the distance, and Jo met her mother’s eyes with a rueful grin. ‘So much for our peaceful teabreak.’

‘Mum?’ Footsteps retreated, then returned, attached to a bright smile in a pretty heart-shaped face the image of Jo’s. Long dark hair, again like her mother’s, was scooped up into a band, and now at the end of the day strands escaped, drifting round her soft hazel eyes and giving her a dreamy look.

‘Here you are. Hi, Grannie. Wow, a cake! Yum—can I have a bit?’ She cut a chunk, hitched herself up onto a stool by the breakfast bar and sank her teeth into the cake, without waiting for a reply—or a plate.

Her grandmother slid a plate under the hovering hand and smiled. ‘Good day, darling?’

‘OK, I s’pose. Bit pointless at homework club because the staff hadn’t got round to giving us any homework yet, but that was cool. We talked about Cara’s new boyfriend.’ Her eyes swivelled to her mother. ‘Talking of which, I hear your new doctor’s rather gorgeous.’

Jo nearly choked on her tea. ‘I wouldn’t have gone that far. He’s all right, I suppose.’

‘Cara’s mum said he was really yummy. So’s this cake—can I have another bit?’

‘Will you eat your supper?’

Laura rolled her eyes. ‘Mother, when do I ever not?’

It was true. She ate like a horse, thank God, in these days of eating disorders and unhappy children with appalling self-images and huge expectations hanging over them. ‘OK,’ she agreed, and cut a rather more moderate slice. No point in going to the other extreme. ‘So, let’s hear about Love’s Young Dream, then.’

‘Cara’s boyfriend?’ Laura giggled. ‘Oh, he’s in year nine—the third-year seniors, a year above me, Grannie,’ she explained patiently to her far-from-senile grandmother, ‘and he’s tall and his hair’s streaked blond and he’s got an earring and a tattoo on his bum.’

‘Bottom,’ Jo corrected automatically. ‘And how does Cara know that?’ she added, dreading the answer.

Laura laughed. ‘He had to do a moonie for a forfeit at a party she went to—she says it’s a dragon and it’s really cute.’

‘Let’s hope no one gets the urge to stick a sword in it,’ Jo’s mother said pragmatically, and cleared the breakfast bar while Jo tried not to choke.

‘Can’t I have any more?’ Laura said in her best feel-sorry-for-me voice, watching the cake vanish into a tin, but her grandmother was unmoved.

‘You’ll just be sick. Go and wash your hands and come down for supper in half an hour.’

She disappeared, leaving her coat dropped over a chair and her shoes scattered on the kitchen floor where she’d kicked them off.

‘A tattoo, eh?’ Rebecca Halliday said with a murmur as the pounding footsteps faded up the stairs.

Jo rolled her eyes and picked up the shoes and the coat, tidying them away. ‘Whatever next. I wish I could influence her choice of friends a bit more—she worries me.’

‘She’s fine. She’s a sensible girl. She won’t get into trouble.’

‘You thought I was sensible,’ Jo reminded her pointedly. ‘So did I, come to that, and we were both wrong.’

‘You were sensible. You were lied to. We all were.’

‘You’re very loyal, Mum.’

Her mother hugged her briefly. ‘You’ve come through.’ She dropped her arms and moved away, not given to overt displays of affection, and started scrubbing carrots like a woman possessed.

Jo helped her, and after a moment her mother looked up and met her eyes. ‘So, tell me about this doctor, then. Gorgeous, eh?’

Jo could feel the tell-tale colour creeping up her neck, and busied herself with the casserole. ‘Oh, he’s just a man, Mum. Nothing special.’

‘Married?’

Funny how one word could carry so very many little nuances. ‘No, he’s not married,’ Jo said patiently. ‘He’s thirty-two, single, he started working in hospital obstetrics and decided he wanted to be a GP so he retrained. He’s been doing locum for six months while he looked for a job.’

‘And now he’s ready to settle down.’

Jo put the lid back on the casserole with a little bang. ‘How should I know? He’s only been working since the first of January, we’ve had a weekend when he’s been off and it’s only the fifth now!’

Her mother slid the carrot pan onto the hob and flicked the switch. ‘Don’t get crabby, I was only asking. Anyway, you usually have them down pat in the first ten minutes.’

‘No, that’s Sue. I usually take fifteen.’

Rebecca laughed. ‘Sorry. I stand corrected.’ She deftly changed the subject. ‘I gather Julie Brown had her baby yesterday.’

‘Yes—another boy. Both well. I was so busy I didn’t have time to tell you. It was a lovely delivery—on the kitchen table.’

Her mother smiled. ‘So I gather. That’ll make mealtimes interesting for them. How about a glass of wine?’

‘What a good idea.’

Jo took the proffered glass and followed her mother into the sitting room, dropping into the comfy sofa and resting her head back against the high cushion. It was more comfortable than her own little annexe at the other end of the house where she usually spent her time after work, but tonight her mother had cooked for them and obviously felt a little lonely.

So did Jo so that was fine. Since her father had died they’d found companionship and support in each other, and without her, as she’d told Ed, she wouldn’t have been able to cope with bringing Laura up and keeping her career—

‘It would have been your father’s sixtieth birthday today,’ her mother said quietly into the silence.

Jo’s eyes flew open. ‘Oh, Mum, I’m sorry, I forgot,’ she said, filled with remorse.

‘He was going to retire—funny how you make all these plans and the decisions get taken away from you and changed. I can’t believe it’s nearly four years since he died.’

‘Or nearly thirteen since I had Laura. He really adored her.’

‘Yes. They were great friends.’

Jo swirled her wine round and peered through it at the lights. ‘You must miss him.’

‘I do—every day, but life goes on.’ She sat quietly for a moment, her teeth worrying the inside of her lip, then she met Jo’s eyes. ‘Maurice wants me to go to dinner at the weekend. I said I’d think about it.’

Jo thought of Maurice Parker, the senior partner who was due to retire soon and whose place Ed would fill, and wondered what her father would have thought. They’d been colleagues and friends for years—would he have minded? Would Maurice’s wife have minded, after all the suffering she’d gone through before she died? Would she even have known what was going on?

It was as if her mother read her mind. ‘He had such a difficult time with Betty—Alzheimer’s is such a cruel disease,’ she said. ‘She didn’t know him, you know, not for the last three years. Your father used to say she’d be the death of him.’

‘He aged, certainly. He looks much better now in the last couple of years without all the strain of her illness to weigh him down.’

‘Awful, what love and loyalty can do to you. Must check the carrots and put the broccoli on.’

Jo let her go, sipped her wine and thought about her father. He’d always seemed so fit until the heart attack that killed him. There’d been no warning, no time to prepare. One minute he’d been there, the next he’d gone. Her mother had been devastated, and Laura too. Jo had been so busy propping them both up she’d hardly had time to grieve, and by the time she’d lifted her head above water again it had seemed too late, a little contrived.

She had grieved, though, in the privacy of her own room, shedding huge, silent tears for the man who’d been so fair and so kind to her all her life.

He’d been her best friend, a rock when Laura had been born, and without his support she wouldn’t have been able to train. True, her mother had looked after the baby, but it had been her father who’d encouraged her and supported her financially, bought her a car and paid the running expenses and paid for everything Laura had needed.

They’d turned one end of the house into a separate annexe, giving Jo and her baby privacy but easy access for babysitting, and with their help she’d built herself a career of which she was proud.

Then suddenly, without warning, he’d gone, leaving Maurice, and James Kalbraier, to cope with the practice. Maurice had cut down his hours, taken on another doctor, Mary Brady, and concentrated on nursing Betty for the last few years of her life.

And now Jo’s mother was talking about going out to dinner with Maurice.

Jo considered the idea, and decided it was a good one. They’d both loved their spouses, but they were gone and Maurice and Rebecca were still alive.

Yes. It would do them both good to get out. Who knows, they might—

‘Supper!’

‘Coming!’

She took her wine glass through into the kitchen and put it down by the sink. ‘Mmm, smells good. Have you called Laura?’

‘Well, I did yell, but she’s got that music on so loud…’

‘I’ll get her,’ Jo said with a grin, and ran upstairs. She banged on the door which was vibrating gently with the music her daughter was listening to, and opened it a crack. ‘Supper, darling.’

‘OK.’ The noise vanished, and the silence was deafening.

‘You really shouldn’t have it on so loud,’ she began, but Laura laughed and skipped past her, flitting down the stairs and running through to her grandmother’s kitchen, ignoring the predictable lecture.

‘Hi, Grannie, what’s for supper—? Oh, yum! Can I help?’

Jo smiled and followed her through more slowly. She wasn’t a bad kid—just a little loud, with questionable taste in friends. She supposed she could send Laura to the independent school her mother kept offering to pay for, but that would mean travelling to school, no convenient buses and after-school homework clubs, and her friends would be scattered far and wide.

This way, questionable though some of them might be, they were nearby, and when Jo was working that was very important.

‘We’ve got a panto rehearsal tonight,’ Laura reminded her as she joined them at the table. ‘Will you test me on my lines?’

Jo laughed humourlessly. ‘Just so long as you don’t try and test me—I haven’t had time to look at them since before Christmas.’

‘Mother! Roz will skin you alive!’

‘Don’t I know it! I’ll try and have a quick scan through after supper—perhaps Grannie will test you.’

‘Of course I will, darling. How’s it going?’

Jo laughed. ‘It was awful before Christmas. We’ll see if anyone has spent the last couple of weeks learning their lines or if they’ve all switched off and forgotten what little they did know. I suspect the latter.’

‘Based on personal experience?’ her mother said sagely, and Jo gave a rueful chuckle.

‘You guessed. Oh, well, there’s time.’

‘Have they got anyone else for the chorus yet?’ Laura asked, tucking into her casserole with huge enthusiasm.

‘I don’t know.’

‘You ought to ask Dr What’s-his-name—what is his name? The new guy?’

‘Latimer—Ed Latimer. I doubt if he’d be interested.’

‘You could ask,’ she suggested round a forkful of carrots.

She could—but she didn’t want to. She didn’t want Ed Latimer any nearer her than he had to be, for any more time than was absolutely necessary. He was too disturbing, too masculine. Too male. Just—too much.

She finished her meal in silence, listening with half an ear to Laura and her mother chattering, then she loaded the dishwasher and excused herself for a quick shower before the rehearsal. The water was warm and silky and sensuous, sliding over her naked skin and making her aware of herself in a way she’d almost forgotten.

Her mind turned to Ed again, and she closed her eyes and moaned softly. Why? She’d spent years fending off flirts, and none of them had even so much as ruffled the surface of her peaceful existence.

And now Ed Latimer had come strolling into her life, his hands shoved casually into his pockets, all testosterone and laughing eyes, and her self-control was lying on the floor, belly-up and grinning like a submissive dog!

‘This is awful! What on earth’s the matter with all of you? Two weeks off and you’ve all keeled over and died!’

There was a chorus of feeble protest, and their hard-pressed producer threw down her script and stalked into the kitchen. Jo met Laura’s eyes and smiled encouragingly, then went into the kitchen after Roz, closing the door quietly.

‘Roz?’

‘It’s like this every year! I don’t know why I do it! They screech through by the skin of their teeth, just about pulling the thing together by the final dress rehearsal—sometimes not even then! This is the thirteenth year, you realise that? I knew we ought to give it a rest, but they wouldn’t listen. It’ll be fine, they all said, and now look at them! Corpsed, the lot of them, the second you take their scripts away! Well, that’s it. They’re not having their scripts again, any of them, and they can just manage with the prompt!’

Jo soothed Roz’s ruffled feathers and gave her time to settle down. ‘Perhaps we ought to have our break early and let everyone calm down a bit—the urn’s hot now. Why don’t I make a big pot of tea and open the biscuits and we’ll try again in a little while?’

Roz stabbed her hands through her hair and gave a stifled scream. ‘They drive me nuts,’ she confessed.

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