The Single Dad's Marriage Wish (Bachelor Dads) (2 page)

‘Oh, they’re everywhere!’As blue as her eyes were, as pretty as the mouth was that smiled back at him, she delivered a surprisingly scathing yet very astute response. ‘Young Andy’s just going to have to learn how to deal with them if he wants to get on in life!’

‘He’s eight!’ Hamish said abruptly.

‘Then he’s not too old to learn a few new tricks! Do you think there’s anything going on with his abdomen?’

‘All his tests to date have been normal, but I don’t want to dismiss it,’ Hamish said wisely. ‘It would be all too easy to put it down to social problems but there could well be something going on so I’m going to speak to the surgeons and get him admitted. He could well have irritable bowel syndrome from stress alone. Still…’ Hamish scratched a very nice jaw. ‘He certainly needs admitting for his psoriasis—that has to be brought under control. Kenneth Miller, the hospital’s dermatologist, is quite a leader in psoriasis. I’m surprised Andy hasn’t already been referred to him, considering that’s the worst case I’ve seen.’

‘According to his mum, it’s really flared up in the last few weeks. She’s taken him to the doctor and he’s changed his medication…he’s having all his topical treatments.’

‘Well, it’s clearly not working. I’m going to get Kenneth to come and take a look—’

‘And if he could talk to someone, a child psychologist perhaps,’ Charlotte broke in, quietly delighted that this emergency consultant was thinking along the same lines as her—addressing not just the presenting problem but the bigger picture.

‘To help him learn some new tricks?’ Hamish asked with a distinctly dry note—but his sarcasm didn’t touch her.

‘Let’s hope so! His mum’s saving up for some more fashionable glasses—I know it’s not going to make a
massive difference, but if he could just get a shred of confidence…’

‘Well, he certainly needs some. Though I admit that I saw a different side to him when he opened up in there, I’m sure he’s depressed—and certainly he’s suffering from anxiety.’

‘You know…’ she chewed her lip thoughtfully ‘…just one friend would make such a difference to that little guy. One friend to play with, one party to be invited to…’

‘One magic wand!’ Hamish gave a rueful smile. ‘Can you write down your findings for me?’

‘Done.’ Charlotte smiled. ‘Well, nearly—I’ve just got a few lines to add before I head off.’

‘Thanks.’

More than a few lines, it would seem—she was still there at the nurses’ station, just finishing off, when he came back from a prolonged conversation with young Andy.

‘Here…’ She handed him a page of neatly written notes. ‘I went into a bit more detail, given how much he spoke to me.’

‘Thanks for that.’ Hamish nodded appreciatively, glancing down at her words—his sales pitch to various specialties suddenly made easier by her diligently recorded notes. ‘Well, ’night, Charlotte. Have a nice sleep.’ It was a casual goodbye often made as night staff went off duty, one you normally called out without even looking up, so why didn’t it feel so casual, why, instead of sitting down and writing up his own notes, why, instead of getting on with his
day
, was he listening as Charlotte spoke about hers?

‘Chance of sleeping would be a fine thing! I’ve got an interview at nine.’

‘An interview—oh, was this just a casual shift, then?’

‘No…’ She was pulling off her stethoscope and hair tie and placing them in the largest handbag Hamish had ever seen, running her hands through her hair. He watched as a mass of dark curls fluffed into a cloud, then, without even attempting to hide what she was doing, boldly she whipped out a mirror, sat on a stool in the middle of the nurse’s station and preened herself, adding a dash of mascara followed by a quick coat of lip gloss, chatting all the time. ‘I’m permanent in Emergency—well, as long as I survive my three-month probation period! I started here couple of weeks ago.’

‘So why the interview?’ Hamish asked—and with good reason. The last thing he needed on his team was exhausted nurses juggling two jobs. Not that she looked exhausted, she literally oozed energy and vitality. Now she was popping her make-up back into her bag, yet still she rummaged through it, producing a bottle and adding a squirt of perfume to her neck and wrists, enveloping them both in a cloud of the scent that had first hit him when she’d entered Andy’s cubicle.

‘Charlotte!’ Helen, the charge nurse, scolded as she walked into the work station, her fabulous Dublin accent which had survived unscathed for more than forty years in Australia ringing out for all to hear. ‘You can’t be spraying perfume here—people have allergies.’

‘To a tinsy bit of perfume?’ Charlotte laughed, and
to Hamish’s surprise Helen smiled—Helen, who normally looked as if she’d sucked on a lemon for breakfast, was actually cracking a smile as Charlotte actually answered her back. ‘Surely it’s way better than that awful antiseptic spray.’

‘This is a hospital, not a boudoir! Ooh, look at you, sitting there, putting on make-up and glamming yourself up right where the patients can see—I’m getting too old for all this.’

‘Rubbish.’ Charlotte gave a cheeky wink. ‘You know what they say—you’re only as old as the man you feel!’

‘Take it outside, Charlotte,’ Helen attempted to scold, but to Hamish’s stunned amazement she wasn’t just blushing but laughing as well. ‘You’re shocking!’

‘I’m out of here.’ Charlotte grinned, jumping off the stool and leaving Hamish with his question unanswered.

‘She’s a good girl really,’ Helen said, picking up a can of antiseptic spray and attempting to douse the area, tutting when she realised it was empty. ‘As dizzy as a spinning top and talks non-stop, mind you, but she’s a good worker—got a good few years of experience in the country behind her. They breed good nurses out there. The pan room’s never been cleaner and she’s put away all the linen. And she’s just so much fun. Did you see the notice she put up on the staff board? You should take a look! And patients love her too, she can charm anyone. I’ll go and get another can of freshener. Would you like a drink, Hamish.’

‘Please.’ Hamish nodded, wondering, not for the first time, why emergency nurses
talked
so much as he reached out for the phone when it rang.

‘Emergency. Hamish speaking.’

‘Hi, Hamish, good to have you back. It’s Rita in Pathology here. We were just sent some bloods over—urgent U and Es and triponin level on a forty-eight-year-old named Mark Fylde. I’ll give you the UR number, it’s—’

‘I know the patient,’ Hamish interrupted. ‘He’s the reason I was called early. What’s the results?’ He reached for a piece of scrap paper and clicked on his pen.

‘Sorry…’ Rita winced into the phone as she delivered her by now very familiar line. ‘We can’t run the tests till the right forms are sent up.’

‘The guy’s having a heart attack,’ Hamish snapped. ‘Come on, Rita—just run the tests.’

‘I—I really can’t,’ Rita stammered. ‘Not without
first
having the correct form. Did you see the new memo that just came down from Admin—?’ She didn’t get to finish, just held the phone away from her ear as, one hour back from annual leave, Hamish let rip, right in the middle of Emergency, right there where everyone could see…before slamming down the phone and reaching out for a
new
pad and practically gouging out his orders on the
correct
piece of paper.

‘I’ll get the porter to take it up to the lab now,’ Helen said, reaching out her arm, retrieving the form and then stepping back slowly. ‘Honestly, Hamish, I’ve had all my nurses going through every drawer and every cupboard in the place, I’ve even been through them myself…’ She paused as the phone rang, wrote down the message and handed it to Hamish. ‘That was Rita—
because it’s
you
she’s done them, but she’s warning you it’s the very last time—I’ll page Cardiology for you.’

‘Got something for the lab?’ Mike, the ancient porter, came over and Hamish handed him the form, then, after a moment’s thought retrieved it, added the word ‘Thanks’ and dug out a couple of dollars from the nearly empty pockets of his white coat, which he handed to Mike.

‘Could you stop at the vending machine on the way and bung in a bar of chocolate for Rita?’

‘I’ll go and check the cubicles again for those blessed forms…’ Helen started.

‘It was my mistake.’ Hamish stopped her. ‘They were still in my pocket from before my annual leave.’

‘Well, then, you’d better get rid of them!’

‘Done!’

Dragging in a deep breath to calm down, he got the last dot of Charlotte’s fragrance that was still lingering in the air and for the first time in the longest time he wasn’t thinking about work, or his son, or any of the other things that usually crowded his mind. Instead, and rather disconcertingly, it was a woman who filled his thoughts.

A woman who wasn’t Emma.

Charlotte Porter was the most contrary, confusing person he had ever met, dizzy and happy, yet shrewd and incredibly wise.

Andy was right…

As Helen placed a mug in front of him he snapped to attention, speaking with the cardiologist, then scribbling furiously on the page in front of him, even
chatting as Helen bemoaned the bed state and the new computer system. But no matter how he quashed it, no matter how much he attempted to ignore the thought, like a blow—fly it buzzed around him until he acknowledged it and even elaborated…

Charlotte Porter was seriously beautiful.

‘Hey!’ Many cups of tea and a whole lot of work later, Hamish looked up as his sister knocked and came into his office. ‘You’re looking very smart.’

‘Thanks.’

‘No Bailey?’ Hamish frowned, peering behind her as if he expected his son to come running towards him, his frown deepening as he realised his sister’s usual sunny smile was markedly absent. ‘Is he—?’

‘Bailey’s fine,’ Belinda quickly reassured him. ‘He’s still in crèche—I just wanted to have a quick chat before I head home and think about dinner.’

‘No wonder I’m hungry,’ Hamish said, glancing up at the clock and grimacing. ‘I haven’t even had lunch. Bel, can this wait? You can imagine how behind I am—I’ve been off for two weeks—’

‘It can’t wait.’ Taking a seat at his desk, she sat silent for the longest time, opening her mouth a couple of times to speak then stopping—almost waiting perhaps for Hamish to jump in, to smooth the way, to make this easier.

Only he didn’t want to.

It wasn’t the mountain of paperwork that had piled up during his absence that made him evasive to her request for a chat—it was the chat itself. Hamish had
known this conversation was coming—for the past few days, weeks even, deep down he’d know that this moment would arrive and, like it or not, he had to face it. Staring over at his sister, seeing her anguished expression, his features softened—she’d done so, so much for him this past eighteen months, the very least he could do was help her a little bit here.

Even if he didn’t want to.

‘Am I right in assuming that the suit you’re wearing isn’t just because you fancied a change from jeans?’

Biting down on her lip, Belinda nodded.

‘And would I be right again if I said that that folder on your lap contained a résumé and some references?’

Staring at his sister, so smart, so efficient-looking, her face made up, her hair beautifully styled, she looked a world away from the jeans-clad and T-shirted housewife and mum he’d been so reliant on recently.

‘You’re going back to work?’

‘I didn’t want to say anything till I was sure. I know I should have…’

‘You don’t have to run your career by me, Belinda—you’re a doctor just as much as I am. Of course, once Alicia started back at school you’d be looking to go back.’

‘Only part time,’ Belinda said quickly. ‘I’ll be working in Outpatients mainly and doing a few A and E day shifts, a sort of fill-in really…I’ll still be able to help loads with Bailey, just…’

‘Not as much,’ Hamish finished for her. ‘It’s fine—I’ll manage.’

‘How?’ Belinda’s question mirrored exactly what
Hamish was thinking—now was not the time to tell her that Elsie, his faithful but completely past it, live-in housekeeper, thanks to Hamish’s pull with the theatre waiting lists, had had her knee construction brought forward to this week. But Belinda, as usual, was two steps ahead of him.

‘Elsie’s having her knee operation in a couple of days,’ Belinda said helplessly. ‘And you’re always being called in to work at night…’

‘I’ll sort something out.’

‘They want me to start immediately. There’s actually a shift they want me to fill tomorrow. I’ve told them I can’t…’

‘Well, go back down and tell them that you can,’ Hamish said firmly. ‘I’ll ring the hospital crèche now and extend Bailey’s hours…’

‘You need more help than just day care, Hamish.’

‘Fine—then I’ll ring the nanny agency and I’ll…’He paused for a moment, trying and failing to fathom how, on top of everything else, he was going to manage to slot in interviewing a live-in nanny for Bailey. And not just conduct interviews—the spare bedroom was more like a store cupboard, in desperate need of decorating…

‘I’ve already found someone.’

‘What?’ Dragged out of his introspection, Hamish blinked at his sister. ‘A nanny?’

‘Not a nanny,’ Belinda gave a nervous smile. ‘It would cost a fortune to have a full-time live-in nanny and there’s no need. Bailey’s happy here at the hospital crèche—especially with you popping into see him now
and then. I’ll be able to as well. You just need someone who can share the workload a bit, take him and pick him up when you or I can’t, someone to get dinner started, someone who will be there if you’re called in at night…’

‘And who’s going to do all that?’ Hamish tried to keep the edge out of his voice. ‘I can’t employ someone to work two hours here and there…’

‘She’s a nurse,’ Belinda broke in. ‘She’s got lots of experience with children. I interviewed her this morning. In return for babysitting she gets your spare room…’

‘It’s a bit more than babysitting…’

‘And it’s a bit more than just the spare room.’ Belinda smiled nervously. ‘The stables, too—she comes with a horse and a pony.’

‘No!’ His response was instant—the conversation absolutely closed—but Belinda was desperate.