Caroline Anderson - An Unexpected Bonus

‘White, no sugar—thanks.’ His fingers brushed hers as he took the mug, and a shiver of something elemental and thoroughly silly ran up her arm and curdled her brain.

What was it about him? He was just an ordinary man—wasn’t he? So he was good-looking—so were lots of men. She pulled out one of the chairs from under the table and sat down, giving her tea very much more attention than it really merited while she waited for her head to clear. He didn’t help matters. He flipped the chair round, straddling it and resting his forearms on the back, the mug dangling from long, strong fingers.

Ridiculous. Even his fingers drove her crazy!

‘So, tell me about how the obstetrics is arranged,’ he said suddenly, dragging her back to earth. ‘How many of our mums have their babies here and how many in the Audley?’

She latched onto the professional conversation like a lifeline and launched into a barrage of statistics. ‘More and more are having them either here or at home—recently I’ve had one or two who’ve given birth at the Audley and gone into the GP unit for a postnatal period of two or three days, just to get a rest.’

‘Yes, that’s one of the problems of sending them all home so soon—I often wonder if they don’t need more rest, but busy hospitals certainly don’t seem to be the place to get it.’

She set her mug on the table, folding her arms to keep her fingers still. ‘Most of the postnatal cases are mums with other children and just need a break, or their partners aren’t able to take time off, but whatever their reasons we encourage them to use the unit, of course, because otherwise we can’t justify its existence and it’ll be closed.’

‘Is that likely?’

She shrugged and pulled a face. ‘Maybe. Several units in the Suffolk area have closed over the last ten to twenty years, and others are under threat. We use it for obs and gynae post-op as well as just a straightforward delivery unit to maximise the use of the beds, but it’s certainly used to capacity most of the time one way and another and we try and keep it that way.’

He nodded thoughtfully, sipping his tea and gazing absently over the rim of his mug. ‘So how many babies are delivered in the community every year?’ he asked next, trapping her with his eyes.

Were they grey or blue? Hard to tell in this light…

‘In our immediate area about eighty, either in the unit or at home. We refer whenever we feel it’s necessary, and we never take chances. We’ve got fairly strict criteria for the GP unit, although if they don’t comply with the criteria I might still let them have a home birth, but we watch them like hawks. We’re too far from the specialist unit to be able to take risks.’

His eyes searched hers. ‘Does that undermine your confidence?’

She smiled. ‘It used to. Not any more. I think experience counts for a lot. I’m much more willing to let mums have a go now than I used to be.’

‘Are you happy to rely on your professional judgement, or would you like tighter guidelines?’

‘No. I like to be able to take each case on its merits. I rely on instinct as well.’ She waited for the criticism, but to her surprise it wasn’t forthcoming.

‘So do I,’ he admitted, ‘although I’m not sure I always trust my instincts yet. Maybe when I’ve got more experience in general practice. In the meantime, I’d rather check with a colleague. I’m not afraid to admit I don’t know all the answers.’

‘So you won’t mind when I keep you in order?’ she said with a hesitant smile.

He chuckled. ‘I’ll be relying on it.’

She nodded, relieved that they agreed about something so important. Not that she’d meant to be so unsubtle about it, but there you go, she thought, not everyone’s born to be a diplomat.

Her bleeper warbled, and she popped through to Reception, then came back. ‘Got to fly,’ she told him, ‘one of my imminent mums. In fact, are you busy? I’ll need an accomplice—this one’s a home birth. You could gain a bit of that experience you were talking about.’

‘Sure.’ He drained his tea, flipped the chair back under the table and stood, ready and waiting. ‘Your car or mine, or both?’

‘I’ll take mine because it’s got my stuff in—you’re welcome to hitch a ride or take yours, whatever, but I’ll ring her first.’

She went into the office and rang through to Julie Brown, half her attention still on the man lounging on the wall behind her. ‘Julie? Hi—Jo Halliday. How’s things?’

‘Oh, you know—I had a twinge so I finished feeding the sheep and came in, and once I stopped moving I realised things were getting on a bit. I don’t think it’ll be long.’

‘Hang on, then. Is anyone with you?’

‘No. Tim’s down at the other farm and the kids are with Mum.’

‘Right, unlock the back door, shut the dog up and go up to your room. Then lie down and rest !’

Julie chuckled. ‘Yes, Sergeant-Major, sir!’

‘Just do it. I’ll be ten minutes.’

She cradled the phone. ‘Farmer’s wife,’ she said to Ed. ‘She says it won’t be long. She’s had two—I believe her. Are you ready? I’m going now.’

He nodded. ‘Fine.’

‘Are you going to follow? I’ll have to stay two hours after the birth.’

‘No problem. I’ve got nothing else to do and it might be useful. I’ll come with you, if I may? I can ask you questions on the way.’

And distract me, she thought, but in fact he didn’t. He sat very quietly and said not a lot until they’d arrived, and then as they got out she noticed he was a little pale.

‘You don’t take any prisoners, do you?’ he said drily.

‘I said we were in a hurry,’ she said with a grin, and he managed a wan smile.

‘Hmm. I’m not used to being driven. I find it a bit unnerving.’

She laughed, grabbed her bag out of the car and headed round the side of the house. A volley of barking heralded their arrival, and as she opened the back door the big black dog launched itself at her.

‘Brogue, get down!’

The dog subsided, licking her hand, and with a frown she went into the kitchen and found Julie slumped over the table. She lifted her head and gazed at Jo.

‘Couldn’t make the stairs,’ she said breathlessly. ‘Think it’s coming—’

‘Good job you’ve got a decent-sized table in here, then, isn’t it, since the floor’s a bit doggy?’ Jo said with a grin. ‘Ed, give me a hand. Oh, Julie, this is Dr Ed Latimer, our new GP obstetrician.’

Julie peered up at him, and said weakly, ‘Hi.’ She dropped her head again. ‘Oh, here we go again…’

‘She’s having a contraction—come on, let’s clear the table and move her as soon as it’s over so I can have a look.’ Jo scooped papers and mugs off the table, and stacked cushions for Julie to lean against, then glanced at Ed over her shoulder. ‘There’s a big black box in the boot of my car. Could you get it?’

He went without argument, to her relief, and was back in seconds, by which time she’d shut Brogue in the utility room and was back with Julie.

‘Thanks,’ she murmured, lifting the lid off the box. Pulling out the delivery pack and a few inco pads, she spread them out on the top of the big old table and they lifted Julie onto it. Her dress was quickly hitched up, and as they dispensed with her underwear it was obvious the baby wasn’t waiting for anyone.

‘I’ll just wash my hands,’ Jo said, but there wasn’t time to find gloves, because the baby was coming, and coming now. ‘Just pant,’ Jo told Julie, and the baby shot out into her hands in a slippery rush just moments later.

‘Hello, little fellow,’ she said with a smile. Lifting him, she put him down on Julie’s abdomen and grinned at Ed. ‘Three thirty-seven. Remember that. Didn’t need us at all,’ she added over the baby’s indignant squall. Washing her hands again, she dried them on a clean towel from one of the kitchen drawers, put gloves on and checked for any problems.