Annie Claydon - Saved By The Single Dad

‘Do you need any help?’ She looked at him steadily. ‘I’m relying on you, as a medical professional, to tell me if there’s anything the matter with you.’

If he’d thought for one moment that Cass would stay and help him off with his clothes, instead of sending someone else in to do it, Jack might just have said yes. ‘No. I’ll be fine.’

‘Good.’ She turned quickly, but Jack caught sight of a half-smile on her lips. Maybe she would have stayed. Working in an environment that was still predominantly male, Jack doubted that she was much fazed by the sight of a man’s body.

He waited for the door to close behind her before he painfully took off his jacket and sweater. Unbuttoning his shirt, he stood in front of the mirror to inspect some of the damage. It was impossible to tell what was what at the moment. A little blood, mixed with a great deal of mud from the dirty water. He’d shower first and then worry about any bumps and scratches.

A knock at the door and a woman’s voice, asking if she could come in, disturbed the best shower Jack could remember taking in a long time. Hurried footsteps outside the cubicle and then he was alone again, luxuriating in the hot water.

After soaping his body twice, he felt almost clean again. Opening the cubicle door a crack, he peered out and found the bathroom empty; two fluffy towels hung over one of the handbasins. One was large enough to wind around his waist and he rubbed the other one over his head to dry his hair.

He looked a mess. He could feel a bump forming on the side of his head and, although his jacket had largely protected the rest of him, he had friction burns on his arms, which stung like crazy, and a graze on his chest from where the zip on his jacket had been driven against the skin.

‘Coming in...’ A rap on the door and a man’s voice. A slim, sandy-haired man of about forty entered, carrying a pile of clothes and a pair of canvas shoes. ‘Hi, Jack. I’m Martin.’

He was wearing a light windcheater, white letters on a dark blue background on the right hand side, in the same place that Jack’s paramedic insignia appeared on his uniform. When he turned, the word was repeated in larger letters across his back.

‘You’re the vicar, then.’ Jack grinned.

‘Yeah. My wife seems to think this is a good idea, just in case anyone mistakes me for someone useful.’

‘I’d always be glad to see you coming.’ Hope and comfort were often just as important as medical treatment.

‘Likewise. We’re grateful for all you did to get here.’ Martin propped the clothes on the ledge behind the washbasins. ‘They look nasty.’ His gaze was on the friction burns on Jack’s arms.

‘Superficial. They’ll be okay.’ Jack riffled through the clothes. A T-shirt, a grey hooded sweatshirt and a pair of jeans that looked about his size. He picked the T-shirt up and pulled it over his head so that he didn’t have to think about the marks on his arms and chest any more. ‘How’s my patient?’

‘Lynette’s fine. She’s over at the vicarage, drinking tea with my wife and complaining about all the fuss. She seems to have got it into her head that she’s got some say about when the baby arrives.’

‘You were right to call. At the very least she needs to be checked over.’

Martin nodded. ‘Thanks. Cass has gone to get your medical supplies. Goodness only knows how she’s going to manage it, but knowing Cass...’

Even the mention of her name made Jack’s heart beat a little faster. ‘She seems very resourceful.’

Martin nodded. ‘Yeah. Bit too resourceful sometimes. Now, important question. Tea or coffee? I don’t think I can keep the Monday Club under control for much longer.’

Jack chuckled. ‘Tea. Milk, no sugar, thanks.’

‘Good. And I hope you like flapjacks or I’m going to have a riot on my hands.’

‘You seem very organised here.’

Martin nodded. ‘This church has been taking people in for the last eight hundred years. Wars, famine, fires... Now floods. I’ve never seen anything like this, though, and I’ve been here fifteen years. Half the village is flooded out.’

‘How many people do you have here?’

‘Just a couple of families staying overnight. We’ve found everyone else billets in people’s homes. But everyone eats here, and we have an action committee...’ Martin shrugged, grinning. ‘That’s Cass’s baby. I confine myself to tea and sympathy.’

Jack reckoned that Martin was downplaying his own considerable role. ‘And hospitality.’

‘We’ve never turned anyone away before, and that’s not going to start on my watch.’ A trace of determination broke through Martin’s affable smile and was quickly hidden. ‘Anything else you need?’

‘A phone? I’d like to call home.’

‘Yes, of course. The landline at the vicarage is still working; you can use that.’ Martin turned, making for the door. ‘Come to the kitchen when you’re ready and I’ll take you over there.’

CHAPTER TWO

MARTIN OPENED A side door that led out of the kitchen and they walked along a paved path, sheltered by makeshift awnings that boasted a few scraps of soggy coloured bunting hanging from the corners. Then through a gate and into the vicarage kitchen, which oozed warmth and boasted a table large enough to seat a dozen people.

Lynette was red-haired like her sister, her features prettier and yet somehow far less attractive. She was heavily pregnant and Jack’s first impressions were that she was in the best of health. Although she’d been having minor contractions, she seemed stubbornly positive that the baby wasn’t coming yet. Jack begged to differ, but kept that thought to himself.

He left Lynette on the sofa by the kitchen range and sat down at the table, where a cup of tea was waiting for him. ‘I’ll be able to examine you a little more thoroughly when your sister gets back with my medical bag.’

‘Thanks. But there’s really no need to worry. First babies are always late, aren’t they?’

Sue, the vicar’s wife, frowned. ‘Not necessarily. My Josh was early.’ She pushed a large plate of flapjacks across the table towards Jack. ‘If I eat another one of those I’ll be sorry when I get on the scales. I wish the Monday Club would stop cooking...’

Lynette laughed. ‘Not much chance of that. Mrs Hawes doesn’t like to see anyone going hungry.’

Sue sighed, looking up as someone rapped on the glass pane of the back door. ‘It’s open...’

The door swung inwards and two bags were placed inside. Then Cass appeared, her hair wet and slicked back from her face, holding her muddy boots in one hand and her wet jacket and overtrousers in the other. Sue relieved her of them and disappeared to put them in the front porch.

‘You got two across?’ Jack bent to inspect the contents of the bags.

‘Yeah, we got a line over about quarter of a mile down from the bridge. Mimi’s okay and she’s going back to the hospital with what’s-his-name.’ The corners of her mouth quirked into an expression that would have been unfathomable if Jack hadn’t been able to guess the situation. ‘She sends you her love.’

Jack nodded, drawing a stethoscope and blood pressure monitor from the bag. ‘Right, ladies. If you’re comfortable here, Lynette, I’ll get on and do a more thorough examination.’

* * *

He’d given Lynette one last flash of those tender eyes and smiled at her, pronouncing that everything was fine. Lynette hadn’t even noticed what he hadn’t said, but Cass had.

‘She’s in the early stages of labour, isn’t she?’ Cass had shown him through to the small room behind the church hall, which had been earmarked as his sleeping quarters and already boasted a hastily erected camp bed in the corner, with sheets and blankets folded on top of it.