Family for the Children's Doc

Right now he wanted to walk away, to try and sort out what was wrong with his head. But his professional mind was listing all the things he should be doing right now. Supporting his team member. Reviewing the patient. Ensuring the correct diagnosis had indeed been made. He also didn’t want to admit that he was dying to pull his phone out of his pocket and read exactly what rat-bite fever was.

He spoke quickly before Clara had a chance to start babbling again. Why was she babbling anyway? Was she nervous around him? Worried he would give her trouble for going behind his back and ordering tests? He didn’t need to say the words out loud—they both knew that was exactly what she’d done. Once, he could let go—particularly when Alan might have been encouraging her—twice would be a reprimand.

‘Why don’t you introduce me to the patient and her family? I’m interested to see Jessica and make arrangements to get her upstairs. Maybe I can do that while you finish your notes?’

She twitched. And he wondered if the words he’d meant to sound helpful had actually sounded as if he was implying she hadn’t done her job. He waved his hand towards her. ‘Dr Connolly?’ He gestured towards the side room.

She gave a nod. ‘Sure, follow me.’ And she walked ahead, leaving a trail of enticing scent for him to follow.

He smiled to himself as the children’s story of the Pied Piper who’d lured children away by playing music came floating into his head. This wasn’t exactly music but it felt close enough, and he shook himself as he followed the trail that she’d laid.

CHAPTER FOUR

THINGS FELT AS if they were settling down. She’d been here a month. The noises from inside the flat and out were annoying her less and less. She’d managed to familiarise herself with all the regular staff at the hospital and her first few on-call shifts had gone well. Children always came in overnight so she’d decided just to stay when she was on-call overnight, sleeping in a comfortable room next to one of the wards.

Joshua was always in promptly the next morning to review all new admissions and seemed to grudgingly agree with all decisions that she’d made. She couldn’t pretend it wasn’t a relief.

Since their first few encounters she’d more or less managed to stay out of his way. But he was a curious kind of guy. Any staff member she met seemed to love him. Unlike most hospitals, people at the Royal Hampstead Free Hospital seemed to work here for years, not quite as transient as other places she’d worked in, and most of the regular staff had nothing but praise for Joshua.

On several occasions she’d come across him sitting with a child. Playing a game with them. Laughing with them. Reading a book to them because he’d sent a weary parent to grab something to eat and they didn’t want to leave their child alone.

Clara had done the same herself on many occasions—she loved those moments with the patients—so she wasn’t quite sure why watching him from afar, rubbing a kid’s hair as they fell asleep against him, had tugged at her heart in a way she didn’t want to admit.

It had been six weeks since she’d started her meds and she definitely felt a little better, not quite so flat as before. She’d registered with a GP here in London, who’d asked her to come in when she needed a repeat prescription.

Her GP had been lovely and readily acknowledged the stress and strains on fellow doctors. She’d offered to also refer Clara to one of the counsellors in the practice and Clara had surprised herself by accepting.

Now, as she pulled her legs up on the chair she’d positioned next to the window at the balcony, she could finally admit to starting to like this place just a little. Sure, there were no sheep banging their noses against her bedroom window, but sitting here watching the sunset spill orange and red light over the water was pretty mesmerising. She cupped her hands around her mug of coffee and reached for a biscuit. There was beauty here, and she wanted to take the time to recognise and enjoy it.

Now she was starting to feel a little better she could recognise that the incident back home with the toddler, Ben, had been the trigger for her. It wasn’t always like this. Sometimes depression just seemed to sneak up out of nowhere; other times, there was some kind of event or trigger that started her down that path. The truth was, it was likely that depression would always be in her life.

A noise at the door made her jerk, spilling coffee down her jumper. She sat up as the main door to her flat opened and a sleepy-looking child walked inside clutching a book in one hand and a card in another.

‘Auntie Georgie,’ she murmured, blinking her tired eyes.

The words made Clara’s limbs unfreeze from their automatic defensive position. She jumped to her feet and moved quickly across the room. Her brain was working overtime. Had she left her door ajar? No.

The card in the child’s hand was a slim key card—the same that opened the door to the flat. Hannah. This had to be Hannah.

Clara dropped to her knees in front of the child. ‘Hannah?’ she said gently.

She wasn’t quite sure if the little girl was sleepwalking or not. She knew better than to suddenly wake a child who was sleepwalking.

The pale-faced little girl blinked. Her eyes were slightly glazed. She was wearing pink and white pyjamas covered in the latest trendy cartoon character and was clutching a popular kids’ book with a bear and a group of kids on the front. Her fine brown hair was mussed. It was clear that at some point she’d been sleeping.

‘Hannah,’ Clara said again softly, not wanting to startle her, but clear that somewhere around here Joshua Woodhouse would be in a state of panic.

She gently took the key card from Hannah’s hand. It made sense that while Georgie lived here Hannah had gone freely between her aunt’s flat and her own. But now? The thought that Joshua Woodhouse owned an entrance card to the flat she was currently staying in left her feeling a little odd. Invaded even.

She looked over at the phone and realised she’d no idea what Joshua’s phone number was. She scanned her brain. Was the whole apartment block a bit like a hotel? Could she just dial someone’s flat number to get them on the phone? Then she groaned. Of course not. All the flats had A, B, C and D after them. She squeezed her eyes closed for a second, willing the number of the space she’d parked in downstairs on the first day to spring into her head. Nope. Nothing. She couldn’t even guide Hannah back up in the lift to her father’s flat.

‘Book,’ said Hannah, holding out her book to Clara.

She hesitated, then took it from Hannah’s hand, leading the little girl gently towards the comfortable sofa that was close to the nearby phone. As soon as Clara sat down, Hannah climbed up onto her knee and settled there, pulling the book down in front of them both.

Now Clara was torn. She wasn’t sure that Hannah was actually sleepwalking. Maybe just not yet fully awake? She opened the first page of the book and had a brainwave. Louie. What had Joshua called him...the happy wanderer?

She picked up the phone and dialled, sighing with relief when Louie answered. ‘What can I do for you, Dr Connolly?’

She spoke quietly. ‘Thank goodness. Louie, Hannah Woodhouse has just wandered into my flat. I don’t have her father’s phone number and can’t remember the flat number either. Do you have a way I can contact him? He must be out of his mind. She seems really sleepy and I don’t want to startle her awake.’

Louie gave an easy sigh. ‘Ah, let me do that. Hannah used to go easily between the two homes. Give me two minutes and I’ll get a hold of him.’

Clara put down the phone, breathing a sigh of relief. Hannah nudged her. ‘Story,’ she said in a still sleepy voice, leaning back and laying her head on Clara’s shoulder.

It was such an easy move for the little girl, as if she did it every day, and it made the breath catch in Clara’s throat. There was an aching familiarity about this little girl.

The heat coming from her body as she sat in Clara’s lap seemed to permeate right through to her soul. She’d t

hought about having kids for a long time. She’d even made enquiries a few months ago about using a sperm donor and having IUI.

Part of her had wondered if it was just how she was feeling, so she’d stalled on the decision. But, even now she was beginning to feel better, the loneliness in her remained, seemed fastened to her in every way.

She’d spent many a long hour and restless night with kids on the wards. She’d seen the tears, the temper tantrums, the heartaches and the pain. She didn’t have an unrealistic view of what being a parent would be like.

But, as this little girl sat on her lap and urged her to turn the pages of her book, Clara couldn’t help but wonder if this was what life could be like. There were always tiny doubts niggling in her brain. Could a person with depression really be a good single parent? Would her mood ever affect her relationship with her potential child? No matter how many doubts she had, just this simple act was filling her with hope.

She started to tell the story in a quiet voice. The words had a rhythm to them, making it easy to get into the swing of the short story. Within less than two minutes they were almost at the end and Hannah’s head was nodding, as if she were falling completely back asleep.

The door banged open and Clara started. Joshua stood in her doorway, his face dark with rage. ‘What are you doing?’ he demanded, striding in as Clara put her finger to her lips.

She took a deep breath, trying to ignore the way her heart was thudding erratically against her chest at the initial fright. He’d crossed the room in a few long strides and stood towering over her.

She refused to let herself be intimidated. ‘Shh,’ she said quite openly now, nodding towards the sleeping Hannah, who’d been unperturbed by the banging door.

Joshua opened his mouth and then stopped, clearly collecting himself. Clara waited. She tried to put herself in his position—realising Hannah was missing from their apartment and being thrown into a blind panic.

She couldn’t imagine how terrified he’d been, and she tried to reassure herself that his blundering into her apartment was just the reaction of a panicked father.