Alison Roberts - A Life-Saving Reunion

Rebecca let her gaze shift to the windows, as well. She stepped closer, in fact, and looked down. The protesters were still in place, with their placards, outside the gates. They’d been there for months now, ever since the threat of closure had been made public. It hadn’t just been the staff who had been so horrified that the land value of this prime central London spot was so high that the board of governors was actually considering selling up and merging Paddington Children’s Hospital with another hospital, Riverside, that was outside the city limits.

Thanks to the incredible donation a month or so ago from Sheikh Idris Al Khalil, who’d brought his daughter to Paddington’s for treatment, the threat of closure was rapidly retreating. The astonishing amount of money in appreciation of such a successful result for one child had sparked off an influx of new donations and the press were onside with every member of staff, every patient and every family who were so determined that they would stay here. Even so, the protesters were not going to let the momentum of their campaign slow down until success was confirmed. The slogans on their placards were as familiar as the street names around here now.

Save Our Hospital

Kids’ Health Not Wealth

The knowledge that that announcement couldn’t be far off gave Rebecca a jolt of pleasure. Things were looking up. For Paddington’s and maybe for Penny, too.

‘It is a good option.’ She nodded. ‘I’d love to see her out of that wheelchair for a while.’

‘It would put her at the top of the waiting list for a new heart, too. Hopefully a donor heart will become available well before we run into any complications.’

The wave of feeling positive ebbed, leaving Rebecca feeling a kind of chill run down her spine. Her muscles tensed in response. Her head told her that she should murmur agreement and then excuse herself to go and see her patient, maybe adding a polite request to be kept informed of any developments.

Her heart was sending a very different message. An almost desperate cry asking where the hell had the man gone that Thomas used to be? Was there even a fragment of him left inside that shell?

‘Yes,’ she heard herself saying, her voice weirdly low and fierce. ‘Let’s keep our fingers crossed that some kid somewhere, who’s about the same age as Penny, has a terrible accident and their parents actually agree to have him—or her—used for spare parts.’

She could feel the shock wave coming from Thomas. She was shocked herself.

It was a pretty unprofessional thing for a transplant surgeon to say but this had come from a very personal place. A place that only a parent who had had to make that heartbreaking decision themselves could understand.

She was also breaking the unspoken rule that nothing personal existed between herself and Thomas any more. And she wasn’t doing it by a casually friendly comment like ‘How are you?’ or ‘Did you have a good weekend?’ No. She was lobbing a verbal grenade into the bunker that contained their most private and painful history.

In public. During working hours.

What was she thinking? Being angry at the distance Thomas was keeping himself from his patients and their parents was no excuse. Especially when she knew perfectly well why he had become like that. Or was that the real issue here? That she had known and tried so hard to help and had failed so completely?

‘Sorry,’ she muttered. ‘But, for me, it’s never an anonymous donor organ that becomes available. I have to go and collect them so I get involved in both sides of the story.’

Thomas’s voice was like ice. He really didn’t want to be talking about this.

‘You choose to do it,’ he said.

He didn’t even look at her as he fired the accusation. He was staring out of the damned window again. Rebecca found that her anger hadn’t been erased by feeling ashamed of her outburst.

‘And you choose to shut your eyes.’ The words came out in a whisper that was almost a hiss. ‘To run away. Like you always did.’

There was no point in saying anything else. Maybe there was nothing more to say, anyway.

So Rebecca turned and walked away.

CHAPTER TWO

‘THE LINE HAS been crossed.’

‘Oh?’ Thomas had opened the file he needed on his laptop. He clicked on options to bring his PowerPoint presentation up and sync it to the wall screen he had lowered over the whiteboard in this small meeting room. ‘What line is that, Rosie?’

He certainly knew what line had been crossed as far as he was concerned. It had been a week since Rebecca’s astonishing outburst and he still hadn’t recovered from the shock of how incredibly unprofessional she had been.

What if someone had overheard? Members of the press were still all over any story coming out of Paddington’s. Imagine a headline that revealed that the leading transplant surgeon of Paddington Children’s Hospital described her donor organs as ‘spare parts’?

Anyone else could well have taken the matter elsewhere. Filed a formal complaint, even. And was Rosie now referring to it? Had it somehow made its way onto the hospital grapevine?

No. Her expression was far too happy to suggest a staff scandal. He tuned back in to what she was saying.

‘...and now that the bottom line’s been crossed, thanks to the flood of donations, the government’s stepping in to make up any shortfall. It only needs the signature of the Minister of Health and Paddington’s will be officially safe. There won’t be any merger.’

‘That’s good news.’ Thomas reached for the laser pointer in its holder on the frame of the whiteboard. ‘Very good news,’ he added, catching sight of Rosie’s disappointment in his lack of enthusiasm.

‘Mmm.’ Rosie looked unconvinced. ‘Apparently there’s going to be a huge party organised in the near future as soon as everything’s finally signed and sealed but some of the staff are planning to get together at the Frog and Peach over the road on Friday to celebrate early. Guess we’ll see you there?’

She was smiling but didn’t wait for a response. Other people were arriving for the meeting now and there were bound to be far more acceptable reactions from anyone who hadn’t heard the big news of the day. One of the physiotherapists, perhaps. Or Louise, who was the head dietician for Paddington’s. One of the staff psychologists had just come in, too, and Thomas nodded a greeting to the head of the cardiac intensive care unit, who came through the door immediately after her.

Everybody in the team who had—or would be—directly involved in Penelope Craig’s case had been invited to this meeting, including Rosie as one of the nurses that had provided so much of her care over the many admissions the little girl had had. One of the only people missing as the clock clicked onto the start time of eleven a.m. was her surgeon.

Rebecca Scott.

He hadn’t seen her all week, come to think of it. Not that he’d wanted their paths to cross. The shock of their last interaction hadn’t been only due to her lack of professionalism. Or that she had so unexpectedly crossed the boundaries of what their new relationship allowed.

No. Thomas had not been able to shake the echo of that vehement parting shot. That he chose to shut his eyes. To run away. And that he had always made that choice.

Did she really think he was such a coward?

He wasn’t a coward. Had Rebecca had no understanding of how much strength it had taken to deal with what they had gone through? How hard it had been to keep putting one foot in front of the other and keep going?

Obviously not.

No wonder their marriage had fallen apart so easily.

No wonder he had been left feeling such a failure. As a husband and as a father.