‘So far, so good. I’ve done a quick check and all the obvious bits are present and correct, and Liz is doing really well.’ She smiled up at David, but he didn’t notice. He was staring down in frank amazement at his son.
‘We’ve got a baby,’ he said, his voice faintly incredulous. Lifting his free hand, he stroked one finger gently down the baby’s translucent, downy cheek, still streaked with blood and vernix. The little head turned towards the finger, his rosebud mouth pursing, and Molly smiled, an all-too-familiar lump in her throat.
‘He’s hungry. She can feed him just as soon as she comes round, but in the meantime he just needs a cuddle from his dad. Just hold him and talk to him for a minute. He’d recognise your voice, he will have heard it from the womb. He’s a bit messy, but we won’t wash him until Liz has woken up and seen him, or it could be anybody’s baby.’
He nodded, and she took him through to Recovery to wait for Liz while she herself went back into Theatre to check on her.
‘Apgar up to ten?’ Sam asked, checking on the baby’s progress even as he worked on Liz.
‘Yes—he’s fine now. His colour was a bit off, but it’s not surprising.’
‘You did a good job,’ Sam said softly to her, and she felt her skin warm.
‘You aren’t making too big a fist of it yourself,’ she said with a smile, and he chuckled quietly under his breath.
‘You’re too kind. The placenta’s there, by the way.’
She studied it carefully, making sure no parts of it were missing and likely to cause the mother future problems, and nodded. ‘It’s OK.’
‘Good. Now, could you do me a favour, Molly, if you’re happy with the baby? Can you phone down to A and E and ask about the young woman who was brought in a couple of hours ago—query pregnant, no ID, unconscious in the car?’
‘Sure.’
She used the theatre phone, and discovered that the woman had regained consciousness and discharged herself.
Sam frowned, his brows drawing together in disapproval. ‘Did they scan her?’
She shook her head. ‘Not that they said. She came round just after you left her, and wouldn’t stay another minute. The police think she’d stolen the car, apparently.’
‘How bizarre. Oh, well.’ He shrugged and carried on with closing Liz while Molly checked the baby again. He was snuggled in his father’s arms, blissfully asleep now, and, judging by the look on David’s face, he wasn’t the only one feeling blissful.
Through the glass she saw Sam straighten up and flex his shoulders. He said something and the anaesthetist nodded, and he stepped back, handing Liz over to the anaesthetic team. Stripping off his gloves and mask, he came out to join them.
‘All done, and she’s fine. She’ll be with us in a minute.’ Looking down at the baby, he ran a finger lightly over the back of his tiny hand.
‘Hello, little fellow,’ he said softly. ‘Has he got a name?’
‘I don’t know. Lucy.’
Sam met David’s eyes and smiled. ‘That may not be appropriate, under the circumstances.’
David chuckled, his shoulders dropping with the easing of tension. ‘Perhaps we’d better think again. I don’t know, we were sure she was having a girl. Something about the heartbeat, Liz said. Probably an old wives’ tale.’ He pulled a face and swallowed hard. ‘Um—thanks, by the way. I’m really grateful to you all for getting him out safely. Liz would have been gutted—’
He broke off, and Sam laid a comforting hand on his shoulder.
‘Any time,’ he said. ‘They’ll bring her through to Recovery now, and she can hold him and feed him, then Molly will take you all back to the ward once they’re happy she’s stable. This little fellow seems to be fine, but a paediatrician will come and check him in due course, just as a matter of routine. In the meantime, I’ll leave you with Molly. She’ll look after you both.’
He threw Molly a smile and went to change, and it was as if the lights had gone out.
Oh, damn. And she’d really, really thought she was over him…
CHAPTER TWO
‘HE’S been such a good boy today, haven’t you, Jack?’
The little dark head bobbed vigorously, a smile lighting up his face like a beacon. ‘I did painting, Daddy—see!’
There was a slightly tattered piece of grey sugar paper held to the fridge door with magnets, and Sam studied the wild, multicoloured handprints on it and felt his heart contract with pride. He grinned a little off-key and ruffled his son’s hair.
‘So you did. Well done. What else did you do?’
‘Um—singing, and played in the sandpit. We had fish fingers for lunch—I’m hungry,’ he added, tipping his head back and looking hopefully up at Debbie.
She laughed softly. ‘You’re always hungry. Come on, sit down at the table and you can have your tea while you tell your dad all about your day, and I’ll make him a nice drink. Cuppa, Sam? Mark and I are just having one.’
‘Thank you, Debbie, that would be lovely.’ He shrugged out of his jacket and glanced across at Debbie’s husband. ‘Hello, Mark.’
‘Hi. You good?’
He smiled tiredly. ‘I’ll do. Yourself?’
The big man nodded from his seat by the window. ‘Good. The latest effort’s coming along—what do you think?’
He held up a large square of canvas, and even from across the room Sam could see the wonderfully subtle colours and almost three-dimensional quality of the tapestry Mark was creating. It was a study of leaves, but close up and personal. There was nothing pretty-pretty about it, but there was a vigour in the composition that was the trade mark of all his designs, and this one was no exception.
‘You’re getting a bit good at this,’ Sam said, genuine admiration in his voice, and Mark lifted a shoulder, awkward with the praise.
‘I thought I’d do apples and pears next—you know, a sort of orchard theme. Maybe some plums, or autumn leaves. The country’s really inspired me—let something loose inside. I just hope they sell.’
‘Of course they’ll sell. They always sell. The shops love your designs,’ Debbie said pragmatically, sliding a mug of tea across the table. ‘Sam, take the weight off. You look done in.’
‘Busy day,’ he said. Busy, and emotionally exhausting. He sat down at the big, scrubbed pine kitchen table that filled the centre of the kitchen and leant back in his chair with a sigh. His mind was whirling with thoughts of Molly, and all he could see was her face. He wished he’d got her number, but he hadn’t, so he couldn’t ring her—unless she was in the book?
He reached for it, conveniently at arm’s length on the dresser behind him, and flicked through the pages. Hammond. There. He ran his finger down the list, and found only a few, none of them Molly.
Unless her initials didn’t start with an M. Chewing his lip thoughtfully, he ran his finger down again, and paused. A.M.?
Yes, of course. Annabel Mary, she’d been christened. He remembered now. He remembered a lot of things…
He shut the book. Perhaps he’d ring her later.
But then Jack would be in bed.
Now, then?
He needed to sort out the videos, dig out the photos. Heaven only knows what’s happened to them, he thought. They