Family for the Children's Doc

PROLOGUE

CLARA CONNOLLY SMILED and tried to keep the awkward expression plastered on her face as she watched her ex, Harry, affectionately put his arm around the waist of Gerta, his latest girlfriend, and brush a kiss at the side of her temple as they walked into one of the lifts together.

She could sense a few sets of curious eyes turn towards her in the busy main foyer of St Christopher’s Hospital in Edinburgh; hence the plastered smile on her face. She wasn’t quite sure what message she was trying to send. Indifference? Happiness? The truth was either would do. She’d only dated Harry for a few months—and he certainly hadn’t been the love of her life. He’d been more like a pleasant passing phase. In a way she was glad he’d met someone who made his heart leap up and down. And even gladder that he’d managed to tell her, before the rest of the world found out.

That was the trouble with dating someone from work. The constant possibility of running into each other when the relationship ended. And while she was happy enough for Harry and Gerta, it reminded her that the ticking of her biological clock had started to amplify in her head. She pressed her lips together, letting the smile slip from her face as she waited for the next lift to arrive and take her up to the paediatric ward. It was weird. She was only thirty. But just about everyone she knew had met their ‘happy ever after’ by now. Clara just seemed to flit from one unfulfilling relationship to another. No big drama. No heartache. Just a general feeling of...emptiness.

It wasn’t as if there was no one in her life. She had her best friend Ryan—who was just as unlucky in love as she was. She had a good group of friends, most of whom were now married, pregnant or with at least one child. It amplified her feelings. She had her own place—a cottage in a village on the outskirts of Edinburgh, surrounded by gorgeous farmland and countryside. It was usually her saving grace after a busy shift, but in the last few weeks she’d become more conscious of the space around her, and how quiet her life had become. Last night, after a single glass of wine, she’d found herself looking into sperm donation and seriously considering it. She’d always wanted to be a mother. Sure, she might have thought she would find someone to share the joy of parenthood with, but the more she looked, the less she found any real candidates.

Why not? She was a successful woman with her own place and a good job. There was no reason she couldn’t bring up a child on her own. The question was—did she really want to?

Family was important to her—and she had a good one. Her mum and dad had retired to Spain a few years ago and had a better social life than she did. Her brother, Euan, was an engineer in Australia, married with three kids under five. She’d honestly never seen him look happier. Every time she video chatted with either her parents or her brother, there was always that little question—Have you met anyone yet?—and she understood; her family just wanted her to be settled and happy, because they knew she wanted that too. But the question was starting to ruffle her n

ormally good nature. It wasn’t as if she could just magic Mr Perfect out of nowhere.

She knew that her mother had always wanted a large, chaotic family. But pre-eclampsia had put paid to that idea, with Clara being told that both she and her mother were lucky to be alive. It had weighed on her mind throughout her life. With her brother being so far away, it felt as if the pressure was on to provide grandchildren her parents could see frequently. And the truth was, she might have had similar hopes to her mother—a life filled with children was always what entered her brain when she dreamed about the future.

The doors to the lift slid open and a few minutes later she was on her own ward. She could see the city landscape through the windows. The familiar sights of the edge of the castle in the distance and the Scott Monument usually made her feel grounded, but today they just left an uncomfortable feeling in her stomach. She quickly checked over the patients, reviewing the diagnoses for those who had been admitted overnight, and rechecking the children who’d already been on her ward. She had just finished talking to some parents about their baby son, who’d been admitted with a chest infection, when her colleague, Bea, came into the office with coffee in both hands.

She slid one over the desk to Clara. ‘You’ve still got that look on your face.’

‘What look?’ Clara glanced up from the screen where she was ordering tests.

‘That look that seems to say I’m trying to pretend to the world I’m fine when I’m really not.’

Clara took one sip of the coffee then wrinkled her brow. ‘What do you mean?’

She’d worked with Bea, one of the senior nurses here, for the last five years. They were friends. Bea wasn’t known for playing her cards close to her chest. Clara liked straight talkers. It was probably why they got on so well together.

Bea sighed. ‘Ever since we had that kid—Ben Shaw—you’ve had a look about you. One that makes it seem like you come here because you have to—not because you want to. You never looked like that before. Something has to give, Clara. And I’m just worried it’s going to be you.’

Clara swallowed back the immediate lump in her throat. Ben Shaw had been admitted overnight a few months ago. Clara had been out sick with norovirus. Any occurrence for a member of staff meant an automatic ban of forty-eight hours from being in contact with patients, and a locum doctor had covered the shift. Ben had been admitted with abdominal pain, for review in the morning.

But as soon as Clara had stepped onto the ward she’d known immediately what was wrong with the toddler. Bowel obstruction was uncommon in kids—and hard to spot for someone inexperienced.

Ben had been rushed to surgery, but had ultimately lost part of his bowel. The delay in diagnosis had been life-changing, and Clara just couldn’t shake that what if feeling.

Bea reached over and squeezed her hand as Clara stared at the screen in front of her, watching it grow a bit blurry. All the stuff about Ben had affected her, left her feeling a bit numb. Flat, even.

It had happened more than once to her before. She’d first been diagnosed with depression as a teenager and it had remained in her life ever since. Sometimes she was good. Sometimes she was bad. Sometimes she needed someone to talk to, and medication to make her feel a bit better. Most people who knew her had no idea. Clara had always played her cards close to her chest, especially about her mental health. It didn’t matter that one in three of all doctors were supposedly affected by mental health issues at some point in their life, it was still something that wasn’t really discussed. When she’d had to take a few months off from medical school her family and tutors had been extremely supportive; she’d even got to delay an important exam and take it at a later date. But she still didn’t like to tell anyone about it.

She bit her lip and sat back, reaching for the coffee with both hands. ‘It’s just been a hard few months. What with Ben, then the break-up with Harry, and stuff going on with Ryan.’

‘What’s going on with Ryan?’ asked Bea.

Clara ran her hands through her hair. ‘Can you keep a secret?’

Bea nodded. Ryan McGregor was a fellow doctor in the hospital and Clara’s best friend and she knew he liked to keep things low-key about his disastrous love life.

‘He’s having a really hard time. He’s going through a difficult divorce and just can’t seem to get out of the hole he’s dug himself into. He’s having to come and stay at mine for a few days until he gets things sorted.’

Bea frowned and Clara added, ‘They’ve sold the house and he’s having trouble finding someone who will rent to him until he can find something he wants to buy.’

Bea gave a brief nod. ‘Because of his dog?’ She took a sip of coffee as Clara nodded in return. ‘He adores that dog, doesn’t he? But lots of places up for rent around the city won’t allow pets. He might be at yours longer than you think.’

Clara blinked back the tears that had brimmed in her eyes. ‘I just don’t know what to do to help him.’

They exchanged glances and Clara could tell Bea knew she wasn’t talking about the housing situation or the dog.

Bea gave a thoughtful nod and leaned forward. ‘It’s hard to support your friends emotionally, when you don’t feel safe in that place yourself.’

It was as if someone had just thrown a blanket over her and given her a giant hug. The guilt that had been playing on her mind over these last few weeks finally had a little outlet. She could hardly push her pathetic worries onto Ryan, not when he had so much to worry about himself—it would be selfish of her to try and talk about it. But that glance from Bea felt like enough. Even saying the words out loud felt like a slight easing of the dark cloud that had settled around her.

Her mood had been low recently and she hadn’t really wanted to admit it to anyone. But last week she’d done a postnatal depression questionnaire with a young mum she’d been worried about, and some of the answers to the questions had made her stop and think about how she would answer them. Not that she had a baby, or anything. But just that simple act had made her suck in a breath and take a long, hard look at herself.

‘I should be fine,’ she said determinedly. ‘I should be getting on with things and pulling my life together. I’m not dependent on anyone. I have a good job, my own place. I should be happy.’

‘But you’re not,’ said Bea matter-of-factly. ‘Who are you trying to convince—me, or you?’

Clara heaved in a deep breath. ‘No,’ she admitted, ‘I’m not.’

They sat in silence for a few seconds while Clara thought about what she’d just said out loud. It hadn’t been quite as scary as she’d thought. Maybe it was Bea—maybe it was her intuition and understanding, mixed in with her ability to get straight to the point. Bea didn’t know that Clara had actually taken the step of visiting her own GP a few days ago. Her hand went to her pocket and fastened around the packet of tablets she had in there. She hadn’t decided yet whether to take them or not. She recognised that she probably needed them. When life started to seem a bit black around the edges she knew she had to do something. She couldn’t quite believe how much the young mum’s face had mirrored her own. This conversation was giving her a bit of clarity, a sign. The reassurance that she needed. Her fingers tightened around the meds a little more. She could do this. Depression wasn’t a sign of weakness. Lots of her friends and colleagues in similarly stressful jobs had suffered throughout the years. Recognising it, seeing her GP and accepting the prescription were only the first steps. It was time to take the next one. Clara gave a half-smile and gave Bea a grateful look. ‘I love working with you. You don’t let me get away with anything.’

Bea licked her lips and gave a gentle shake of her head. ‘This conversation isn’t over. I’m not going to let you leave it here. We’re friends—it’s my job to tell you that you need to give yourself a bit of space to decide what you really want in life, Clara. You’re young, you’re a beautiful girl. You’re

a great doctor. But is that enough? Maybe you just need a change of scenery. A chance to get away from things.’ She held up her hands. ‘Sometimes we get in a rut. Sometimes we need to try something new.’ She pointed to a flyer on the noticeboard to the side of Clara. ‘Why don’t you think about that?’

Clara wrinkled her nose and turned to look at the slightly crumpled flyer that had been on the board for a few months. She’d seen it but never really given it much thought. It was advertising the opportunity to do a job swap elsewhere in the UK for six months.

She laughed. ‘What are the chances of another paediatric registrar wanting to job swap for six months? And the chances of the job being in a place I might actually want to go?’

Bea stood up and lifted the cups, raising her eyebrows. There was a slight glint in her eye. ‘Well, you won’t know if you don’t try,’ she replied in her mischievous manner, before giving Clara a wink and heading out of the door.

For a few minutes Clara just sat there. She’d actually vocalised how she was feeling, and everything Bea had shot back at her had been true. She wasn’t feeling great, and she couldn’t put her finger on exactly why. There wasn’t one big thing, just a whole host of little things that were bubbling under the surface and giving her a general sense of unhappiness and discontent. She hated that. It made her feel not like herself.

But she didn’t really feel entitled to be unhappy. Most of her friends would give her a list of reasons why she should be delighted with her life, and in most cases they would be right.

But the fact was, she couldn’t help how she was feeling. She slipped the first tablet out of its packaging and swallowed it. There. Baby steps. But maybe she should try something else too?

She bit her lip as she put in all the orders for the tests required for the patients on the ward. Then she opened another window on the computer and automatically typed in the website address from the flyer. She didn’t even have to look up at the poster—it seemed to have imprinted on her brain.