Marion Lennox: To the Doctor: A Daughter

‘She named you as the father, using a statutory declaration before the baby was born.’ She gestured to her handbag. ‘She even signed it in front of a Justice of the Peace. Do you want to see?’

‘No!’

‘Suit yourself.’ She rose and proffered the bundle in her arms. ‘But like it or not, this is your daughter, Dr Ethan. Her mother’s dead so that makes her all yours.’

To say Nate was dumbfounded was an understatement. He sat in his chair as if rooted to the spot and his head couldn’t take it in. He opened his mouth and what came out was feeble. ‘I don’t want a baby!’

‘I imagine you don’t. But you have one.’

‘This is ridiculous.’ He rose but he didn’t come around the desk. It was as if he was afraid to come close. This whole scenario was a nightmare. A ridiculous nightmare. And any minute he’d wake up. Please…

‘I told you…we were careful.’

‘Fiona was never careful.’

He took a deep breath, searching for control. Searching for sanity. Glancing down at his appointment list, he registered her name.

‘You’re Gemma Campbell.’

‘That’s right. Fiona’s sister.’ Her tone was almost uninterested and for the first time he realised why. She was here to hand over a baby and leave, he thought with a jolt of sick dismay. She was here to hand over a baby that had nothing to do with her-and everything to do with him.

‘And…and Fiona told you this…this baby was mine.’

‘She did.’ For the first time he saw the glimmer of a smile behind the weariness. ‘Though I might have guessed. Have a look for yourself.’ And she lifted the blanket away from the baby’s head.

It was all he could do not to gasp.

He’d seen baby photos of himself. He’d been born with the burnt red hair he had now. It was unusual hair-dark, tinged with black and curling into a thick mane. He had dark skin and green eyes and eyebrows that were definitely black.

He’d been a gorgeous baby, his mother had told him, and this baby was certainly that. Gorgeous.

She lay in her cocoon of blankets, one fist curled into a tiny ball at the edge of her rosebud mouth. She had tight, tight curls, a deep burnt red in colour, and her tiny, finely etched eyebrows were as black as…

As black as his.

Dark skin and red hair and black eyebrows. Her colouring was really rare.

As was his.

She’d have his green eyes, Nate guessed, and as he stared down at her he felt something twist deep inside. It was a gut-wrenching twist that had him clutching the edge of his desk for support.

‘You still want to tell me she’s not yours?’ Gemma’s eyes rested on his, not without sympathy. But her voice was implacable.

‘Yes… No.’ The world seemed to spin. A daughter. He had a daughter. ‘But-

‘I told you, what Fiona wants… wanted , Fiona got. And it seems that she took one look at you and decided that she wanted your child.’

He stared at her blindly and then sat heavily back down behind his desk.

‘Hell!’

‘Yes,’ Gemma said softly. She sat as well, waiting for him to come to terms with what she’d just said.

‘Gemma, I’m thirsty.’ It was the little boy, speaking for the first time. He was still clutching her T-shirt but he was staring at Nate as if he was afraid of him.

At least this was something concrete. Thirst. He could cope with thirst.

He couldn’t cope with a baby.

He rose, filled a paper cup from the water cooler and handed it to the child. The little boy stared at it as if it might just contain poison, but then his thirst got the better of him and he drank.

It was a respite-albeit a minor one-but it gave Nate breathing space. Space to know one thing for certain.

‘Whether I’m her father or not is immaterial,’ he said flatly. ‘I can’t have her.’

‘Whether you’re her father or not isn’t the least bit immaterial. She’s yours.’

‘I don’t want her.’

‘You’d rather she was adopted by strangers?’

That was another kick to the guts. His eyes flew to hers. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Just that. It’s you or adoption. Take your pick.’

‘But you… You’re obviously caring for her.’

‘Yes. But I can’t keep her.’

‘Why not?’ His voice came out almost as a croak. He sounded sick. Well, why wouldn’t he sound sick? He surely felt like that.

‘I have my own life-’ she started.

He wasn’t buying into this. She’d taken on the baby’s care already. What could be more logical than asking her to keep up the good work? ‘This is your sister’s child.’ He forced his voice to stay steady, despite thoughts that weren’t the least bit steady. His thoughts were close to panic. ‘And you have a child already.’ He took a deep breath, thinking it through.

‘Look, crazy or not… If it’s proven that she’s mine-and I’m not conceding that yet, but if she is-then I guess I’m stuck with child support. I’ll pay you to keep her.’

Her eyes flashed anger at that. ‘Oh, that’s very generous. I don’t think.’

‘Well, what else do you expect me to do?’

‘Shoulder your responsibilities,’ she snapped. ‘And not offload them onto me. I’ve had enough.’

He focused on her then. Really focused.

She’d had enough.

It was true, he thought. Her face was pale with strain and her eyes were dark pools of exhaustion.

What had she said? That Fiona had died in childbirth. It sounded unbelievable. Vibrant, alive Fiona.

Crazy Fiona.

But Gemma had lost her sister.

‘How did she die?’ he asked, his tone softening, and he saw her eyes widen in surprise. She hadn’t expected compassion.

‘I don’t…’

He took a deep breath. ‘Look, maybe we’d better have the whole story. Did she die of eclampsia?’

‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘She died of kidney failure caused by her pregnancy combined with uncontrolled diabetes. She died because she didn’t give a toss for her life-or the lives of her children. Both of them.’

Both of them.

Both…

Wasn’t the little boy hers, then?

Nate stared at the child, stunned, and then he looked at Gemma. There were similarities, he thought. Woman and boy were both dark-haired and pale-skinned. They looked like mother and son. But…maybe there were stronger similarities between the child and what he remembered of Fiona.

And the girl herself reminded him of Fiona. Though there were marked differences. Fiona had been almost ethereal in her beauty. She’d dressed with flamboyance and skill-and considerable expense-and he’d never seen her without make-up.

This girl looked as if she didn’t know what make-up was. And her clothes…! Her clothes wouldn’t be welcome at a welfare shop, he thought. They were dreadful.

But he could still see the resemblance-both to Fiona and to the little boy by her side.

And he remembered what the little boy had said. ‘Gemma, I’m thirsty.’ Not ‘Mummy, I’m thirsty.’

‘This is Fiona’s child?’

‘Good guess.’

‘You don’t want me to take him, too?’ It was a harsh snap and she blinked. And then she smiled. Her arm came out and she hugged the little boy to her.

‘No fear. Fiona was Cady’s birth mother but I’ve been mother to him for over two years now. Cady and I are a team.’

They were, too. Woman and child against the world. He stared at them both and they stared back-and again he felt his gut twist in a recognition of…

Of what? Of something. And he didn’t know what the hell it was.

He took a grip on himself. Sort of. ‘You’re not prepared to take on a second?’

‘No.’

‘You’d better explain.’

Her chin jutted. ‘I don’t see why I need to.’