Unsupportive husband. Oh, Natalie knew all about that.
The sympathy must have shown on her face, because Ella added, ‘But I’ll try.’ With the same defensive note Natalie remembered in her own voice when she’d been the one making excuses.
Natalie took the blood sample—following it up immediately with one of Kit’s stickers—and talked Ella through taking the urine sample, then directed her to the reception area to book the next appointment.
‘What are you going to order?’ Kit asked as Natalie labelled the sample.
‘Full blood count, differential, electrolytes, calcium, phosphate, magnesium, iron, ferritin, folate, albumin and total protein, plus renal and liver function.’
He smiled. ‘Perfect.’
‘I didn’t miss anything, then?’
He spread his hands. ‘Maybe the involvement of Social Services?’
Natalie stared at him. ‘You must be joking. You don’t seriously think this is abuse by neglect, do you?’
‘Convince me,’ Kit said, his voice and face completely neutral so she couldn’t even guess what he was thinking.
‘In a month’s time, Ella Byford will have a newborn, a toddler and an under-four. Her partner clearly doesn’t pull his weight with the kids and she’s making excuses for him—sure, she’s having trouble coping right now and she needs a bit of support, but it’s definitely not neglect. Firstly, she’s the one who went to her GP because she was worried—it wasn’t the health visitor or GP prompting the appointment. Secondly, Charlene’s vaccinations are all up to date—which they wouldn’t be if she was being neglected. And, thirdly, Ella’s been meticulous about recording weight measurements. It’s not just the health visitor or GP’s measurements on the chart—some of the entries had Ella’s initials against them. This isn’t a mum who’s neglecting her kids, it’s a mum who’s having a rough time and needs support she isn’t getting from her partner.’
The words echoed between them and she couldn’t meet his eyes.
But Kit’s voice was perfectly level as he said, ‘Good call. I agree with your assessment. But,’ he added, ‘remember that you’re dealing with patients. You need to keep your personal feelings out of it.’
The rebuke stung, the more so because she knew it was merited. She was bringing her personal feelings into it, and it was the wrong thing to do.
‘I’ll bear it in mind,’ she said, matching the coolness of his tone.
‘Good. Next patient, I think.’
They got through the rest of the clinic, and Kit surprised her at the end by saying, ‘You did well.’
‘Thank you.’ Though she didn’t meet his eyes.
He sighed. ‘Tal—’
‘Natalie,’ she corrected swiftly. ‘My name is Natalie.’
‘Natalie.’ He gritted his teeth. ‘Look, we’re going to have to work together for a while. Six months, at least. So maybe we should just…I dunno. Clear the air between us.’
She thought not. Some things couldn’t be cleared. Ever.
‘We’re both due a break. Let’s go and have a coffee,’ he said.
She didn’t want to. How could she possibly sit across the table from Kit and pretend everything was all right? Because it wasn’t all right. Never would be.
He sighed. ‘Natalie, if we leave this, it’s just going to get worse. We need to set some ground rules. And it won’t kill you to sit at a table with me and drink coffee.’ His mouth gave the tiniest quirk. ‘Though I’d appreciate it if you drank it rather than threw it at me.’
‘Since when did you learn to read minds?’
‘It’s written all over your face,’ he said wryly.
At the canteen, she refused to let him pay for her cappuccino, and he didn’t press the point. He still drank black coffee, she noticed—obviously he hadn’t broken the habit from his student days. Or his habit of snacking on chocolate: he’d bought a brownie with his coffee.
‘So what made you become a doctor?’ he asked when he’d taken his first sip of coffee.
She exhaled sharply. ‘What do you think?’
‘The same reason I switched from surgery to paediatrics,’ he said softly. ‘It won’t change the past. But I might be able to help someone in the future. Stop them going through…’
He left the words unsaid, but she knew exactly what Kit was thinking. He could have been speaking for her. His voice had even held that same hopeless yearning when he’d said it—knowing he couldn’t change the past, but wanting to anyway. And wanting other people not to have to go through what they’d been through.
Natalie willed the tears to stay back. She’d cried all she was ever going to cry over Kit Rodgers. No more.
‘You’ve done well,’ Kit said. ‘Lenox was telling me how you were the star student of your year.’
Natalie shrugged. ‘I studied hard.’ And it hadn’t been completely new ground. She could remember some of it from the time when she’d helped Kit revise for his finals.
Tally really wasn’t going to make this easy. Not that he could blame her. He’d let her down when she’d needed him most.
But seeing her again, like this…It made him realise how much he’d missed her. How empty his life had been without her. And why he hadn’t bothered dating very often, let alone having a serious relationship. He’d always claimed once bitten, twice shy, and all that, but now he had to admit there was a little more to it than that.
Simply, nobody had ever been able to match up to Tally.
He understood why she hated him. He’d hated her, too, at one point. Especially the day she’d walked out on him and left him that bloody note saying she wanted a divorce and her solicitor would be in touch. But he’d missed her. Missed the way she’d said his name. Missed her smile, missed her quick wit, missed her touch.
Part of him thought that everything would be all right if he could just touch her, hold her, say he was sorry and ask her to wipe the slate clean.
But he knew that slate could never be wiped clean. And touching her was out of the question. There was a brick wall twenty feet high between them, with an enormous ditch either side filled with barbed wire.
Ah, hell. They were supposed to be clearing the air between them—his idea—and now he was tongue-tied. He made an effort. ‘Where are you living now?’
‘Birmingham.’
She wasn’t giving a millimetre—wouldn’t even tell him where she lived. Birmingham was a city of almost a million people, so she could be living just about anywhere within a radius of twenty miles of St Joseph’s.
‘Me, too. I’m renting,’ he said.
No response—no ‘Me, too’ or ‘I’m in the middle of buying a flat’. She was freezing him out. Frustration made him sharp. ‘I thought about seeing if there was anywhere to rent in Litchford-in-Arden,’ he said, watching her closely.
She flinched at the name of the village.
Good. So she wasn’t entirely frozen, then.
‘I drove through the village yesterday.’ He waited a beat. ‘Past our house.’
She still said nothing, but he noticed she was gripping her coffee-mug and her knuckles were white. She was clearly trying not to react, but he wasn’t going to let her do it. He’d get over the barrier between them, even if he had to make her crack first. He’d make her talk to him.