Laura Iding - Snowbound With The Single Dad

He’d make it up to Jess.

He would. And he’d try to get to the bottom of the haunted look in her eyes.

He just had to get his son through this first.

Jess pressed her head against the cool white tiles in the theatre changing room. It was no use. She couldn’t take the burning sensation out of her skin.

Thank goodness this place was empty. As soon as she’d slammed the door behind her the tears had started to fall.

It was so unfair. Callum had a son the same age as Lewis. Or the age Lewis would have been if he’d survived. A little boy he got to cuddle every day. To read stories to.

What kind of conversations did a five-year-old have with their parent when they were lying in bed at night, talking about their day?

A little boy he’d got to dress in his school uniform and photograph on his first day of school.

All the memories that Jess wished she had.

All the memories she’d been cheated out of.

Just when she’d thought she was getting better.

Just when she’d thought she could finally take a few steps forward.

Of course she had friends who had children the same age as Lewis would have been. She hadn’t cut them out of her life. She couldn’t do that.

She was a paediatrician, for goodness’ sake. She couldn’t spend her life avoiding children of a certain age. That would be ridiculous.

But sometimes it was difficult. And they were good enough friends to sense that. To know when to hold her close. To know when to give her a little space. It was a difficult path, a careful balance.

But this was different.

This was Callum.

An old friend, who was evoking a whole host of memories.

First Callum had appeared in her life. Then he had kissed her.

He’d raised her hopes, given her a glimmer of expectation that there might be something else out there.

And now this.

She was hurt. She was upset.

Upset that Callum hadn’t told her about his son.

But the horrible coiling feeling in her stomach was something else.

She was jealous.

Jealous that Callum had a son and she didn’t.

It was horrible realisation.

She’d seen the interaction between them. The stress in Callum’s face when he was worried sick about his son. The slight tremor in his hand after she’d explained the surgery and the possible complications and he’d signed the consent form. The trust in his little boy’s eyes, for him, and, more worryingly, for her.

She gave herself a shake. Children looked at her like that all the time.

The doctor who could make them better. The doctor who could take their pain away.

So why was it different that this was Callum’s son?

An appendectomy was routine to her. Even though Drew’s appendix was on the opposite side of his body. It shouldn’t complicate the procedure for her. It was just a little unusual.

Maybe it was something else?

Callum was trusting her. Trusting her with his son.

And although she was worthy of that trust, it terrified her.

Because she knew what it was like to lose a child.

Other people in this world had lost a child. Other parents in this hospital had lost—or would lose—a child. She’d had the horrible job of losing paediatric patients and dealing with the bereaved parents herself.

But this felt very different.

No one in her circle of friends had lost a child.

She wouldn’t wish that on anyone. Ever.

No parent should outlive their child.

No parent should spend the rest of their life looking at the calendar and marking off all the milestones that their child had missed.

She started to open packs and change, putting on a fresh set of theatre scrubs and tucking her hair up into the pink theatre cap. She had to get her head away from those thoughts. She had to get her head back into surgeon mode.

She walked through to Theatre and nodded to the anaesthetist, who was poised ready to start scrubbing at the sink.

Her registrar appeared at her side. ‘I was just looking at the chest X-ray of the little boy for the appendectomy. Fascinating, I’ve never seen a case of situs inversus before—have you?’

She shook her head. ‘No, I haven’t.’

Alex started scrubbing next to her.

He was staring ahead at the blank wall as he started automatically scrubbing his hands, nails and wrists. ‘I’ll probably never see one again in my career. This might be interesting to write up.’ He turned sideways, ‘Can’t there be complications in these kids? Heart defects and other problems? Some kind of syndrome?’

He was starting to annoy her now. He was clinically excellent, but a little too removed from his patients for Jessica’s liking. In her book caring was an essential component of being a paediatrician.

‘Yes, there can be a syndrome—Kartagener syndrome. People with situs inversus may have an underlying condition called primary ciliary dyskinesia. If they have both they are said to have Kartagener syndrome.’ She started scrubbing her nails with a little more ferocity. Just what she needed—a registrar who permanently thought the glass was half-empty.

She preferred the other approach—the glass half-full approach. Especially when it came to children.

‘You know, Alex, I’ve got a really sick little boy out there. His dad only brought him to our A and E department because he’s a friend of mine, and the GP has been fobbing off his son’s symptoms for days.’ She shook her hands to get rid of some of the water then started to dry them on a sterile towel.

‘I’d like you to think about that before we start. I’d like you to stop thinking about this little boy as a case for a medical journal. Think about him as a little boy who loves playing football, watching cartoons and eating chocolate cereal for breakfast. Think about him as the light of someone’s life. Because the patient comes before the disease in every set of circumstances.’

She pointed to the door.

‘Out there we have a father who is worried sick about his little boy. And even though I’ve been clear with him and given him the rundown of the surgery and the complications, he’s sitting out there right now, wondering if his little kid will have peritonitis, develop septicaemia or be the one in a million who will have a reaction to anaesthetic.’

The theatre nurse came over and held out her gown for her. She thrust her arms into the sleeves and snapped her gloves in place. ‘So let’s make sure that I don’t have to go out there and give him any bad news.’

She glared at him and stalked over to the theatre table.

You could have heard a pin drop.

She knew she’d been harsh.

She never acted like that at work.

And the staff in here all knew her personal set of circumstances. They understood exactly where she was coming from.

Harry Shaw, the elderly anaesthetist—who stood in as Father Christmas every year with his grey hair and beard—gave her a smile.

His voice was low. ‘You can do this, Jess.’ He gave a little nod of his head. ‘It’ll be a walk in the park.’

She watched as the trolley was wheeled in. She could only pray it would be.

‘WOW—JUST WOW.’

‘What are you talking about, Pauline?’

The sister from ITU gave her a smile and pointed behind her at the delivery guy, who could barely be seen beneath the beautiful spray of pink, purple and orange gerberas. Jess was on her feet in an instant, reaching up and touching one of the petals. ‘Aren’t they gorgeous?’

Pauline was quicker, pulling the card from the top of the bouquet. She spun it around. ‘Hmm…“For Dr Jessica Rae.”’ She held the card next to her chest as Jess reached over to snatch it. ‘I wonder who these could be from?’ She took a few steps away. ‘I’m guessing Mr Tall, Dark and Very, Very Handsome. Otherwise known as Callum Kennedy.’