The Nurse's Reunion Wish (HQR Medical Romancel) Read online

  ‘Exactly.’

  * * *

  Except Rachel felt her nostrils tighten and pinch, for she loathed the thought of him with someone else. Lots of someone elses.

  She hated herself for it, but couldn’t help asking, ‘When you say a lot...?’

  ‘I’m single,’ Dominic said, ‘and I’m staying that way. But that doesn’t mean I’ve taken a vow of celibacy.’

  ‘That’s your choice.’

  ‘Yes, it is,’ Dominic said, ‘and one that I’ll continue to make even if my ex-wife is working in the same building.’

  ‘About that...’ Rachel said. ‘I think it would be better if we don’t tell anyone we were married.’ She registered his quick swallow. ‘You haven’t told anyone, surely?’

  ‘I said something to Richard—my boss. I didn’t say that it was you...just that I’d run into my ex-wife.’

  ‘Why would you do that?’

  He answered with a question of his own. ‘Will you tell your fiancé that your ex-husband is working at The Primary?’ Dominic asked.

  She glanced up, a little stunned by the question. ‘That’s different...’

  ‘Not really,’ Dominic said. ‘Aside from the fact we work together all day, Richard’s a good friend. He knew something was up and he asked.’

  Rachel let out a breath.

  ‘So?’ Dominic persisted. ‘Will you tell your fiancé?’

  ‘Yes,’ Rachel said, though she wasn’t so sure.

  There was a knot in her chest—a whole matted knot of emotions that she wasn’t sure she wanted to dissect. Of course the answer should be yes. After all, she and Gordon didn’t keep secrets. He knew about her past.

  ‘Rachel, there is one other thing I’d like to say.’ Dominic interrupted her thoughts. ‘And not just because we’re going to be working together. It’s something I’ve wanted to be able to say to you for a long time...’

  He shifted in his seat and then those velvet brown eyes met hers.

  He took a breath and looked right at her. ‘I’m sorry that I wasn’t able to adequately support you.’

  She frowned, and then gave a sort of half-laugh. ‘We were eighteen, Dominic. We got by. Well, barely... But—’

  ‘I’m not talking about financially. I know I didn’t handle things as well as I could have when you lost the baby...’

  It had been her dad who’d alerted Rachel to the fact that her period was late. Not through conversation—they were far too awkward to talk about that type of thing. She’d taken a break from her studies to make lunch for her dad when he’d come back from doing the weekly shop. And there on the bench was a bag just for her, containing her ‘bits’—pink deodorant and pink razors, tampons and pads. Enough for an entire pack of Girl Guides, because her dad got embarrassed buying them so got a job lot every couple of months.

  And it was then she’d realised that she was late.

  A few days of silent panic later she had taken a test and then curled up on her bed and wished, more than ever, that her mum was alive—for she would surely have known what to do.

  Her exams had been awful. Everything Rachel knew, everything she had learnt, had flown out of the window as she’d panicked at the prospect of telling her dad.

  And Dominic.

  She’d waited outside the school, where he’d been sitting a physics exam, and he’d come out wearing a wide relieved smile—which had soon faded when she’d shared her news.

  ‘I’ve got a doctor’s appointment this afternoon,’ Rachel had added, when Dominic had said nothing.

  ‘So it’s not definite, then?’

  ‘The test says I am.’

  ‘But we’re always careful.’

  And they had been. They’d used condoms every single time. But a dull flush had come to her cheeks as they’d walked.

  One time.

  One time they’d dozed and then started fooling around again. When he’d entered her for a second time, they’d lingered a while before putting the condom on.

  But that had been ages ago.

  Months...

  ‘I think my dad’s guessed,’ she’d admitted as they walked through the park. ‘I keep on being sick. I told him it was just exam nerves, but now the exams are over...’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me when you first found out?’ he’d demanded.

  ‘Because I wanted at least one of us to pass the exams!’

  Rachel had wanted to hide it for as long as possible, but Dominic had faced it head-on.

  His parents had been appalling, and had made it clear what a disappointment their son was, and later they had even told Rachel that she was bringing their son down to her working-class level.

  Her father’s reaction...

  Well, Rachel would never know what his initial reaction had been.

  Dominic had insisted he would deal with it, so she had sat in a bar, nursing a grapefruit juice, while he had spoken to her father alone.

  ‘Was he angry?’ she’d asked when Dominic had joined her.

  ‘More worried than angry,’ Dominic had said. ‘He asked what I intended to do about it. I told him that I’ll take care of you both...that we’ll get married.’

  ‘Married?’ She’d shaken her head. Because in her most private thoughts, before the pregnancy, she’d dreamt of that.

  Just not like this.

  Never like this.

  ‘Your dad’s offered me a job.’

  ‘But you’re going to university. That’s what you’ve always wanted.’

  ‘Rachel, we’re having a baby!’

  That was when, for the first time, it had started to sink in. They had sat there, staring at each other, both a little stunned as reality hit.

  ‘I’m going to defer,’ Dominic had told her. ‘Assuming I get the right results...’

  ‘You’ll get them.’

  ‘I’ll work my backside off this year,’ Dominic had gone on. ‘And maybe next year, once the baby’s here...’ His voice had trailed off, but then he’d rallied. ‘We’ll get there.’

  A month later they’d been married at Sheffield Town Hall. Her family had been there to cheer them on, dressed in suits and wearing wide smiles, whereas his family had refused to attend and hadn’t sent so much as a card.

  His family, who would have happily supported him through his degree, had cut Dominic off at the knees in an attempt to force him away from Rachel.

  Her dad had offered them a place to live for a while—at home with him. But Dominic had refused.

  ‘I can’t live and work with him, Rachel.’

  ‘Meaning...?’ She had been instantly defensive, but Dominic had refused to elaborate.

  After a little celebration in her dad’s back garden they had headed for the tiny flat they had rented.

  For the first couple of months of their marriage it had felt a little like a game. Back then, as they’d realised they were a married couple—a real married couple—they’d enjoyed the freedom and privacy of having their own place, with no parents to check on them or tell them to leave the bedroom door open.

  ‘You can do your exams again,’ Dominic had told her when the results had come in.

  Dominic had aced his, yet he’d deferred his studies, as he’d promised, and taken the job with her father and her brothers.

  ‘Just till we get sorted,’ he’d said.

  But they had never got themselves sorted, no matter how hard they’d tried.

  And now here they were, face to face in a hospital canteen, looking back on their lives, with Dominic trying to speak to her about the most difficult part: their baby.

  ‘I really don’t want to discuss it here, Dominic.’ She snapped the top down on her little sandwich box and screwed the lid on her water bottle.

  ‘You’re the one who suggested the canteen.’

 
‘Yes—and now I have to get back.’

  They were all caught up. What more was there to say that could be said in a place like this? That she would ever want to say?

  ‘But you haven’t eaten your frittata.’

  That made her smile.

  ‘It’s no fun without the pastry.’

  It was a tiny joke, yet it smacked of them, of how they’d used to be, of how easy it had once been between them. And when he gave a low laugh her regret was instant.

  She’d missed that laugh.

  She’d missed him.

  Missed them.

  Oh, Houston, Rachel thought, we have a problem!

  * * *

  Rachel let herself into her flat and with a sigh of relief closed the door on a wretched day.

  Gordon had texted to say he’d be late and it had come as a relief.

  Should she tell him that Dominic was working at The Primary?

  Of course she should.

  It was no big deal.

  She took off her coat and kicked off her shoes, but instead of putting them away, instead of flicking on the kettle or turning her mind to dinner, she padded through to the bedroom and closed the curtains. Half an hour of sleep might get rid of the headache that had been building all day.

  Or rather, the heartache. The ache of the scar tissue wrapped around a heart that had had to learn to beat again.

  She had deeply mourned both the end of her marriage and the death of their son, and for a long time her grief had felt insurmountable.

  And now, on this particular evening, Rachel stared at the wall and watched her own private screening of the best and worst times in her life.

  There she was at the start of their short marriage, standing on the gorgeous staircase in Sheffield Town Hall, so happy to be Dominic’s wife.

  So very, incredibly happy.

  She’d worn an ochre dress, and there had been just the hint of her bump, but it was her smile that stood out, and it had been captured in a photo.

  But then she’d turned to her new husband and seen his smile, and she had known he was faking it—or at the very least not as delirious with joy as she was on their wedding day.

  Of course they’d made love on their wedding night. After all, they were very good at that. But despite the ring on her finger, despite the baby inside her and despite the passion between them, for Rachel there had been something missing.

  She’d waited for those words as she’d lain there in the dark, needing to be told by her husband that he loved her.

  Those words had never come.

  It hadn’t been her imagination, and it hadn’t been her making a big deal of things. She’d known that Dominic didn’t love her the way she loved him.

  But love would grow, she had told herself.

  Once the baby had arrived, once they’d got on top of things, his feelings would deepen and change.

  And so, knowing that he didn’t quite love her, Rachel had chosen not to tell him that she loved him.

  Ever so, ever so much.

  As their school pals had all headed off to university, or for a gap year trekking in Nepal or building houses in Africa, Dominic had taken the job in her father’s removals business and together the two of them had attempted to make a home in a flat above a shop.

  Rachel had got a job in a hairdresser’s, washing hair, sweeping, tidying and making drinks, and Dominic had taken an extra job in a local bar in the evenings.

  They had lived for a while in that little idyll, working hard, saving hard for the baby.

  And, as Dominic had often said, sex didn’t cost a thing...

  Until one sleepy morning, a couple of weeks before her due date, his hand had come to rest on her stomach, waiting for a little kick before he headed to work.

  Waiting...

  ‘He’s still asleep,’ Dominic had said.

  They’d already found out they were having a boy.

  ‘Did he kick last night?’ Rachel had turned and rolled onto her back. ‘Dominic, I can’t remember if he kicked.’

  ‘Of course he did,’ Dominic had soothed.

  She’d moved her hand to her stomach and pushed her fingers down...waiting.

  Waiting...

  Forever waiting...

  The labour had been horrific.

  Even now, thirteen years on, Rachel was unable to relive it. So she pressed fast forward on that part—and fast forward on the funeral as well—to the time they had gone back to their little flat.

  Except they hadn’t known how to be with each other—how to touch, how to sit, how to sleep, how to speak after all that.

  To be fair, Dominic had tried.

  ‘If you want me to stay home I can ask your dad if I can take a few more days,’ he had said, when his alarm clock had gone off two weeks after their loss.

  A few more days?

  The little Moses basket had been returned, as well as all the baby clothes, and the bags of nappies had been donated, but she’d kept a little pair of socks.

  Her dad had paid for the funeral, but Dominic had insisted it was a loan. He’d loathed—loathed—the fact that he hadn’t had the money to bury his son, and he wanted to work to pay every penny of it back.

  ‘Go to work,’ she’d mumbled, and turned away from him.

  Go to work so I can close my eyes on this nightmare, she’d been thinking.

  But Dominic had wanted to talk.

  ‘A book I was reading last night says that you’ll want to speak about him...that we should talk about the baby—’

  ‘His name’s Christopher!’ she’d snapped, and looked into bemused brown eyes that were looking at her as if she were a stranger.

  ‘Talk to me,’ Dominic had said. ‘Tell me how you’re feeling.’

  As if everyone I love leaves. My mum. My baby. And soon you will leave me too, and I can’t bear it. I cannot bear the thought of it all being over. I know you were only with me because of the baby. Christopher. If he’d lived... But I can’t go there, because he didn’t. I lost our baby and now I’m going to lose you. I’m losing you already, and we both know it...

  She’d felt as if her grief were too big to traverse, and she had not known how to share her pain nor voice her fears. She’d been told so many times that her tears and her drama only made things worse.

  ‘Go to work,’ she’d said again, and rolled away from him.

  And so life had hurtled on, when she’d wished it might stop for a while and let her grieve for her terrible loss.

  ‘Come on now, lass,’ her dad had said when he’d come to visit them in their little flat and Rachel hadn’t been able to face getting out of bed. ‘I know it’s difficult, but lying in bed and mooching around the flat is getting you nowhere. When your mum died I had to get back to work, and to tell the truth, it helped.’

  Instead of sympathy cards thudding through the door, it had soon been bills, and even Dominic, with his mathematical brain, had struggled to make sense of them.

  Water bills.

  Gas bills.

  Final reminder notices.

  At the six-week follow-up appointment with her obstetrician, Rachel had been told there was nothing she could have done differently to change the outcome.

  ‘Can we try again?’ she had asked the doctor, because her arms had ached for her baby. Ached to hold her tiny boy, with his little pinched face and slender hands.

  She’d turned when she’d heard Dominic’s sharp intake of breath and had seen his eyes shutter in his shell-shocked face as the doctor had told them that while there was nothing to suggest it would happen again, she would be monitored very closely next time.

  They had walked past the other mothers at their postnatal check-ups, with their carry slings and prams and the wah-wah-wah noise of newborns crying, and Rachel and Dominic had each been in separat
e versions of silence.

  Rachel, bereft.

  Dominic, stunned.

  It had been Dominic who had broken the silence as they’d walked through the park. ‘What did you mean, try again?’

  She hadn’t been able to answer, so Dominic had answered for her.

  ‘Rachel, we are not trying for another baby. I’m going to university next year.’

  She had heard the determination in his voice, as if there was no other option to consider.

  He was already thinking of the future.

  One she didn’t want to see.

  ‘In London?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes,’ Dominic said calmly.

  ‘We can’t afford London—we’re barely getting by here.’

  ‘I’ve already got a place.’

  ‘So I’ve got to follow you wherever you go?’

  ‘Not if you don’t want to,’ Dominic had said. Then, ‘Jesus, Rachel, that pregnancy just about finished you, and seeing you—’ Dominic had halted. ‘Seeing him...’ His lips had turned white and he’d swallowed hard.

  It had incensed her that he still couldn’t bring himself to say their son’s name. ‘His name’s Christopher!’

  ‘I know his name, Rachel!’

  For the first time ever Dominic had shouted, but then he’d reined it in and taken her cold hands in his.

  ‘I know I should have taken better care... I should never have got you pregnant. Look, I’ve done everything I can to make it right, but...’ He’d shaken his head. ‘I’m never putting you through that again. I’m never putting myself through that again. There isn’t going to be another baby.’ He’d paused and shaken his head again. ‘Ever.’

  Back at their little flat, Rachel had gone to bed. Lying on her side in the darkened room, she’d pretended to be asleep when he’d come to check on her. And there she had lain, hearing the doorbell and then the arrival—for the first time—of his parents at their flat, as well as the conversation that had ensued.

  ‘You can put all this behind you,’ Professor Hadley had said.

  ‘Can you please keep your voice down?’ Dominic had asked. ‘Rachel’s asleep.’

  ‘Is she still not working?’

  ‘She’s just lost a baby!’