You, Me and a Family
Шрифт:
Alex stood, shaking, clutching the hot mug in both hands, and staring down at the tugboats manoeuvring a freight ship through the narrow cut leading from Tasman Bay to the sheltered harbour. Day and night, boats came and went according to the tides. Now, in early June, they’d be loading the last of the kiwifruit destined for the other side of the world. Men looking like midgets worked ropes and machinery. A tough job. An honest job.
‘Stop it.’ There was nothing easy or dishonest about the work she did with sick children. ‘You did not cause Jordan’s death. The pathologist proved that, exonerated you.’
Tell that to Jordan’s father.
Behind her eyes a steady pounding built in intensity. Alex cautiously sipped the steaming tea, her gaze still fixed on the wet scene below. Why had the nightmares returned tonight? Exhaustion? Or the nagging need to slot back into her role as head of paediatrics at Nelson Hospital as quickly and effortlessly as possible?
The job was more than a job—it was her whole life, a replacement for the family she wouldn’t otherwise have. Lots of staff to mentor, harangue, watch over and care about. Oodles of children to care for in the only way she knew how—medically—and to love safely from the sidelines. Involved, yet not involved.
The fruity scent of her tea wafted in the air, sweet and relaxing. ‘You shouldn’t have taken the four-month sabbatical. It put you under pressure to again prove how good you are.’
But all those American hospitals and their savvy specialists showing how brilliant they were had actually boosted her confidence and made her understand once and for all she was up with the play, had joined the ranks of the best in the business of paediatrics. Everywhere she’d gone she’d been applauded for her paper on premature births. The job offers had been overwhelming. An awesome charge for her fragile ego. Even the nagging need to constantly prove to herself that she was good had taken a hike.
In San Francisco, when her old mentor from specialising days had offered her an incredible position at his new private paediatric clinic, she’d been beside herself with pride.
And that, she thought with grim satisfaction, should earn her stepfather’s grudging respect. Except, of course, she’d turned it down.
Draining the mug Alex turned away from the window. Time to try for some more sleep. Jet lag, exhaustion from her hectic time in the States, the inability to relax while away from home. All reasons to explain why she ached with tiredness and her mind ran riot with yearnings for what seemed doomed forever. A family of her own to love and cherish.
Alexandra sighed through her throbbing headache as she dropped her handbag into the bottom drawer of her desk. Home, sweet home. Nelson Hospital Paediatric Department. The place she spent most of her life. Her stomach flip-flopped like a fish on dry sand. Nerves? Why? She was happy to be back. Wasn’t she? Yes, but what if there’d been too many changes on the ward in her absence? Which regular patients had got well and left? Had any of them passed away?
She shivered. What was wrong with her this morning? To be feeling out of sorts was not the best way to start back on the job.
She’d been determined not to think too much about this job while she’d studied with the best of paediatricians in California and Washington, or when she’d presented her paper to countless meetings and conventions. During that time she’d pretended she wasn’t worried about staffing levels and the ever increasing numbers of wee patients entering Nelson Hospital. Instead she’d tried to absorb all she could from her mentors and share her own experiences and knowledge. She’d been entertained, courted and tutored. And all she’d wanted to do was return here. Home. Where she felt safe.
She glanced around the familiar room at the paintings she’d bought at the annual summer art show in the Queen’s Gardens downtown. They looked tired. Like her. Dusty. Not like her. She smiled reluctantly. It was great to be back—dust, or no dust.
Then reality crashed in on her. Her desk should be littered with stacks of files, notes, memos and all the other detritus that accumulated on a daily basis. Instead there was one small, neat pile in the centre of her desk. The acting HOD from London must’ve decided to give her a break on her first day back, despite having warned her during their Skype interview he’d be a better doctor than pen-pusher. ‘Thanks, John. I owe you.’
Stepping closer she spied a note at the top of the pile and picked it up.
Miss Alexandra Prendergast. Welcome back. I’ve done the rosters for the next month, signed off the patient reports to date and answered all the mail apart from two letters regarding intern rotations you might like to deal with yourself. I hope you find everything in order.
The scrawled signature read something like Maria Forreel.
Who was Maria Forreel? And why was this woman working in her office? So much for thinking John had done all this. Forreel? What kind of name was that? Was it—? Her smile stretched into a grin. Seriously, was it for real? Alex peered closer. Forell? Forelli, that was it. Forelli. It made no difference. The name meant nothing to her.
Alex tugged the chair out from the desk and sank down on it. She had been excited about coming back and yet today felt like the first day at school—terrifying. Worse, she didn’t even know why. ‘Probably jet lag.’ How many things could she blame on that?
‘There you are. How was your trip? Did you do lots of shopping in all those swanky boutiques?’ The charge nurse on her ward stood in the doorway with a wide, welcoming smile on her dear face.
‘Kay, it’s great to see you.’ A welcome distraction. ‘And yes, I found time to add to my wardrobe. A lot.’
‘I’m so-o jealous.’ Kay gave the most unjealous grin possible.
Alex reached into the drawer where she’d placed her handbag and pulled out a small package. ‘I hope you like these.’
Kay gaped. ‘You bought me something? Oh, you big softy. What is it?’ The paper tore under her fingers. ‘Oh, my gosh. They’re beautiful.’ She held up the silver earrings, turning them left and right so the light gleamed off the polished metal. ‘I love them. Thank you so much. But you shouldn’t have.’