An Unexpected Bonus

‘You love it.’

‘I know. I must be a masochist.’

They shared a smile, and Jo filled the teapot while Roz poured milk into the cups. ‘We still need another man for the chorus—I don’t suppose your new doctor wants to get involved?’ Roz asked her.

She slopped the tea into a saucer and splashed her hand. ‘Damn,’ she muttered, and put down the pot. ‘I don’t know—why don’t you ask him? I expect he’ll be too busy.’

‘Would you ask him for me, as you’ll see him?’

And, just like that, she was forced into a corner from which there was no escape.

‘Hi, there.’

Shivers ran up Jo’s spine and made her hair tingle against her scalp. She turned, groping for a smile that wasn’t completely idiotic, and forced herself to meet Ed’s eyes. ‘Hi, there, yourself,’ she said, and was very proud of the fact that her voice only croaked the tiniest bit.

‘How are things? Any imminent obstetrics for me?’

‘Sorry.’ She shook her head and smiled a more natural smile. ‘They’re all hanging on till their due dates.’

‘Even your lady the other night?’

‘Even her. Sorry. I’ve got an antenatal class at the hospital in a minute—I’ll ask them if they want to get a wriggle on for you, shall I?’

He chuckled and reached out to test the kettle, and the sun slanting through the window caught his hair, gleaming on the red lights in it and turning it a rich, deep chestnut. It was a lovely colour, much more interesting than plain dark brown, and she wanted to reach out and touch it…

There should be enough in there for you,’ she told him, dragging her attention back to the kettle. ‘It’s just boiled.’

Tea for you?’

‘I’m OK.’ She held up her full mug to show him, and he nodded and snagged a mug off the draining-board.

‘No doubt they’ll all produce in the fullness of time,’ he said, going back to their previous conversation. ‘We’ve had two in the past week—I suppose that’s my ration.’

‘Absolutely. I’ve got something to ask you, by the way, talking of producing. The thirteenth annual Yoxburgh panto is short of a male chorus member—Roz asked me to ask you, but I told her you’d be too busy.’

He turned and met her eyes. ‘Why?’

‘Why are they short?’

‘Why did you tell her I’d be too busy?’

She felt a little touch of colour brush her cheeks. ‘I don’t know—I just thought you would be,’ she faltered. ‘It’s quite a punishing rehearsal schedule. It’s up to you. Of course, if you want to do it you’d be more than welcome—I was just trying to give you a way out if you wanted one. It can be pretty tedious.’

She floundered to a halt and looked up at him again, to find him watching her with understanding.

‘If you don’t want me to do it, just say so, Jo,’ he murmured, and his voice was like raw silk, sliding over her nerve endings.

She laughed, a forced little hiccup of sound. ‘Don’t be daft. I just thought you wouldn’t be interested. It’s very amateur.’

‘Are you in it?’

She nodded. ‘Yes—for my sins, I’ve got the female lead. Heaven knows when I’ll get time to learn the lines.’

‘Is it fun?’ he asked, and with a sudden flash of insight she realised he was lonely and would actually like to join in. Good grief, a willing volunteer. That was a first!

It was beyond her to exclude him just for her own selfish reasons.

‘Yes, it is fun,’ she told him, relenting. ‘It would help your patients get to know you as a person as well. It could be good for your image—they’re a bit slow to let you in round here.’

He shot her a quizzical look. ‘I noticed.’

She coloured again, and looked down at her hands. ‘I’m sorry. I just felt that if we had to work together all the time and ended up at the panto rehearsals, well, it might be a bit…’

‘Much?’

She nodded.

‘Does it unsettle you?’ he asked softly. ‘My proximity?’

She looked up into his eyes—those stunningly magnetic storm-grey eyes that seemed to see right to the heart of her—and nodded again, just slightly. ‘A little,’ she confessed.

His mouth tipped in a crooked and endearing grin. ‘That makes two of us. I’m not exactly immune to you, either.’

She stood up, pushing her chair back and trying for a bit of authority. ‘That doesn’t mean we have to do anything about it. We have to work together, Ed. I don’t think we can do that if we’re…’ She ran out of words, unusually for her, but he was there again.

‘Involved?’ he offered. A lazy smile lurked in his eyes.

‘Exactly.’

He shrugged and grinned again. ‘OK. If I promise to keep my distance, can I join the pantomime?’

‘Of course you can.’ She returned his smile. ‘It is awful, though. Don’t say you haven’t been warned.’

He chuckled. ‘OK. When’s the next rehearsal?’

‘Tonight. Quarter to eight, at the community hall. Wear something warm—it can be a bit chilly.’

He nodded, drained his tea and left her. She sat again, as if she were a puppet whose strings had been cut, and buried her face in her hands. So he felt it too—and she’d thought it was just her, being silly. Oh, Lord, this was so much more complicated. If she was the only one—

‘You OK?’

Her head jerked up. ‘Yes, just a bit tired. Did you forget something?’

‘Where’s the community hall?’ Ed asked.

‘Ah. Um—on the main street, nearly opposite the chip shop.’

‘That black and white building?’

She nodded, avoiding those searching eyes. ‘That’s right.’

‘OK. I’ll see you then—unless you’re back in the surgery after your antenatal class?’

‘Antenatal class?’ She gasped and leapt to her feet. ‘I’d forgotten it!’ she muttered, and, scooping up her pager from the table, she headed for the door.

‘See you later,’ he called. Jo ran out to her car, wondering if she’d been totally insane to suggest he should join the pantomime crew. Her brains were scrambled enough as it was!

She arrived at the hospital just about on time, and a couple of the mums were late. She decided to give them a minute or two because they were new. While they waited she ticked the names of those who were there on her register and encouraged them to mix and get to know each other while she set up her equipment.

She had a doll and a plastic pelvis so that they could see the way the baby would emerge through the birth canal, charts and diagrams to show the development of the baby, and lots of information about nutrition, exercise and so on.

The classes didn’t have a beginning or an end, but ran on a continuous loop, with four sessions making up the whole set. In a way it made it harder, but it did mean that someone new to the area or only able to come intermittently didn’t miss out. Each session included a lecture, a discussion and work on relaxation and pain control, and today was about the second stage of labour, the expulsive stage.

The latecomers arrived together, apologising for getting lost on the way, and Jo called all the patients to order, settled them down and started the class, by going round and asking the new members in turn to say a little about themselves, whether it was their first or subsequent child and what sort of delivery they were hoping for.

There were five women out of the ten there who wanted a home birth or who wanted to deliver in the GP unit. Of these five, only three were on Jo’s mental list of possibles. One was a little too old, another had a previous history of stillbirth.

The other three couldn’t deliver in the GP unit on the grounds that only second and third babies were permitted by their scheme, and these were all first-timers. Still, they could, if she thought they were suitable, opt for a home birth with consultant back-up, if necessary, at Jo’s discretion. She still hadn’t decided.

The older mother, however, was aware that Jo didn’t want her to deliver at home, but it didn’t stop her planning a home delivery, and Jo knew full well that when it came to the crunch she’d leave it too late to go to hospital, regardless of what they might say to convince her otherwise.

‘I’d like to have the baby in the GP unit,’ one of the new mums was saying, ‘but I know I can’t because it’s my first, and my husband isn’t happy about me having it at home. I’d like to come back to the GP unit straight afterwards, though.’

Jo nodded. ‘That should be possible if everything goes well, or if you have support at home afterwards you wouldn’t need to come in here at all.’

She looked doubtful. ‘I don’t know if I could cope alone. It’s such a responsibility—what happens if you don’t know why it’s crying?’

Some of the others chorused their agreement, and Jo hastened to reassure them. ‘You struggle on and try everything until you hit on something that works. Babies are remarkably tough and very good at getting their own way—I really wouldn’t worry.’

‘But what if I’m really clueless?’ she persisted.

‘You’ll know what to do. I’ve only had one mum in all my years who genuinely didn’t, and she gradually relaxed and started listening to the baby. You’ll be fine—and, anyway, you wouldn’t be alone. For the first ten days I’ll come whenever you want, and once a day in any case, then the health visitor takes over so you won’t be abandoned.’

She looked round. ‘Right. A couple of you are second- or third-timers along for a refresher and the rest of you are having your first so I think we’ll have input and comments from the old hands after the talk. I want to go through labour and delivery with you, just to make sure you all know or remember what all the stages are and what’s happening at any point.’

They settled down and listened, and after Jo had done her demonstration with the elastic band and the plastic pelvis she invited questions and comments.

This was always a tricky one. Inevitably there would be at least one mother who would revel in going over the more traumatic and memorable moments of her labour, regardless of the dread she was inspiring in the first-time mums, so Jo was on the alert ready to cut off anyone who launched into a counter-productive monologue.

In fact, they were fine, and after a few minutes she got them all to lie down and relax.

‘Think of every part of your body in turn. As you think of it, tense it hard, then hold it, then let it flop. Think about how you make it go floppy, and after a while you’ll be able to home in on tight areas of your body and relax them. Right, start with your feet. Point your toes hard, but make sure you don’t get cramp. Good. Hold—and relax. Totally floppy. Good. Now pull your feet up so your toes are pointing at your head. Tense—hold—and flop. Well done.’

She watched them, looking for the ones who found it difficult and the ones who had probably done yoga or had been to her classes before.

One new girl, thin and dressed in what Jo could only describe as ‘hippy’ clothes, was wonderfully relaxed. Her name was Mel, and Jo flicked through her notes and noticed her address—the travellers’ site in the forest outside Yoxburgh, up on the heath by the edge of the trees.

It was a lovely spot, but Jo had a sneaky feeling, despite what she’d said, that Mel was going to go for a home delivery. The idea of delivering a baby in a converted coach or, worse still, a ‘bender’—a shelter made of tree branches—filled Jo with horror.

What if anything went wrong? It was Mel’s first—there was no reason why anything should go wrong, but what if it did? The baby was bound to be born at night—the more difficult the location the more likely it seemed to be, and there was no power out there, no light, no running water. How would she deliver her safely under those conditions? Jo vowed to have a word to make sure Mel understood the risks. Mel had a few weeks left to go so she’d use them to try and talk sense into her.

Jo led them through the relaxation, then the breathing, and finally she got them to grip each other’s forearms with both hands and twist firmly in opposite directions to pull the skin. Called ‘Chinese burns’, they were a thing schoolchildren did to each other to see who was bravest—harmless but painful, Jo found they were a useful tool to help women practise breathing through the ‘contractions’ and remaining relaxed. When they’d all had a rest for a moment and she’d done the question-and-answer session and they’d put the mats away, she sent them all off.

Still thinking about Mel, she packed up all her stuff, cleared away the cups and made sure the mats had all been stacked properly in the cupboard. They used the maternity day-room for their classes, and she didn’t want to leave the place untidy.

One of the staff midwives stuck her head round the door and grinned. ‘Got time for a cuppa?’

‘I’d love one. Did you see my traveller?’

‘Yes—is she going to be a problem?’

Jo laughed. ‘I hope not, but I suspect so. I think she’s just unconventional, not stupid, but I’ve got a suspicion I won’t be able to persuade her to go to the Audley. I just have a feeling.’

‘Birth in a bender, eh? That’ll be a first, won’t it?’

‘Don’t.’ Jo sipped her tea and sighed with relief. ‘Perhaps I’ll get Ed Latimer to talk to her—see what he’s made of.’

‘I don’t know, but if you can get the recipe, I’d like one the same, please!’

Jo laughed, but inside her stomach the butterflies were working themselves up to a frenzy. The remark had reminded her about Ed, and about the rehearsal. It was panto time in three hours, and she’d have no professional guise to hide behind, no protocol—just herself, and Laura.

That was it! She’d be Laura’s mother. It would make her seem middle-aged and boring—with any luck!

CHAPTER THREE

ED PAUSED outside the black and white mock-timbered building that was the Yoxburgh and District Community Hall, and wondered if he was out of his mind.

Jo had made it pretty clear that she found his presence disturbing, and that the sensation wasn’t welcome. In a way he felt the same, and yet there was something about her that drew him so forcefully that he just didn’t seem to be able to ignore it.

He didn’t want to be a nuisance, and he was being very careful not to crowd her at work or flirt with her, but every cell in his body was screaming for more contact—and the pantomime seemed like a gift from the gods.

Anyway, Jo aside, he had to get to know people and make some friends. He couldn’t be GP to all of them—surely there’d be lots of people who’d be happy to be social without fear of compromising their relationship.

His father was a country GP and they’d always had a fairly hectic social life, but Jo had warned him about the locals, not letting newcomers in.

Well, he’d find out, wouldn’t he? He put his hand against the door and pushed, and found himself sucked into a fantasy world. Little bees ran about the floor, giggling and shrieking, a young girl was complaining that her dragon didn’t do up down the back and could the hooks be moved, costumes were piled in heaps on every surface, and in the middle of it all stood Jo in a wedding dress, her hair pinned up and a tiara perched in the dark, gleaming curls, laughing with a tall man in a blue satin suit with floppy lace cuffs.

He bent and said something and Jo laughed, her eyes sparkling at the joke they shared—and Ed wanted to kill him.

She turned just as the murderous thought was being put aside, and he wasn’t sure if he imagined it or if a flicker of panic brushed her eyes. Then she excused herself and came over to him, weaving her way through the crowd.

‘I thought you’d bottled out—you’re late.’

‘I couldn’t get away from the surgery—someone collapsed in the waiting room with a tummy bug and I admitted her to the hospital for fluids and supervision. It took ages. Anyway, I’m here now. Who do I need to see?’

‘Roz—she’s going through a scene. Come with me.’

He followed her, wondering how she could look so radiantly beautiful in what on close inspection seemed to be a set of net curtains skilfully flung together into a wedding dress. ‘Roz, this is Ed Latimer,’ Jo was saying, and he smiled automatically and shook her hand.

‘Oh, you look very useful,’ Roz was saying, eyeing him up with a grin. ‘Can you sing?’

He chuckled. ‘Well enough, I expect. Why?’

‘Because the other male chorus can’t. Go and see Anne for a costume, and we’ll get you kitted up as a villager to start with. It might be tricky—you’re quite big, aren’t you? Then you need to see Mr Music over there—Andrew, we’ve got a new victim for the chorus. Can you give him a music sheet? Here’s a script—you’re a love. Thanks.’

And Roz vanished into a crowd of villagers and the back end of the pantomime horse, leaving him with Jo.

He looked down at the script. ‘Beauty and the Beast, eh?’

‘Yes.’

‘And you’re the Beauty?’

She nodded. ‘Belle.’

‘How appropriate,’ he murmured, and she tutted and gave him a look. ‘You want me to lie?’ he asked, but it didn’t help. She sighed and stepped away from him, looking back over her shoulder.

‘Come on, I’ll take you to Anne,’ she said shortly, and he reminded himself he’d promised to keep his distance. Damn. Why couldn’t he keep his mouth shut?

They were crossing the room towards the back when a girl of about twelve skidded up to them and slithered to a halt. ‘Hi—I’m Laura. Are you the new GP?’

He eyed her with interest. She was unmistakably Jo’s daughter, from the tip of her pert little nose to the soles of her stocking-clad feet, and she was eyeing him very, very frankly.

‘Yes, I am,’ he replied, wondering why she was so interested.

‘This is my mum,’ she told him unnecessarily.

‘I guessed. Pleased to meet you, Laura.’

‘So, are you going to be in the panto?’ she asked, her head on one side in a gesture so reminiscent of her mother it was almost comical.

‘Looks like it,’ he told her.

‘Good—Mum thought you wouldn’t want to, but I think you’ll like it. It’s a laugh.’

‘Laura! They need you for song practice!’ Jo said.

‘Oops—have to fly. See you.’

She shot off across the room to the man at the keyboard, and without any further incident Ed was introduced to Anne, measured and sized up and offered an armful of musty clothes to try at home later.

Breeches, a full-sleeved white shirt, a waistcoat, long socks—he was going to look a peach! Ah, well, it was all in a good cause…

Jo tried to concentrate, but every time she looked across at Ed the air seemed to crackle between them and she forgot her lines.

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