Their Very Special Marriage (4 page)

‘Average. Though I had a nasty case of carpal tunnel. Hayley Porter.'

‘Mmm, she had it when she was pregnant,' Rachel said. ‘Poor thing. It's still giving her gyp, then?'

‘I've given her a wrist splint, and told her to take ibuprofen before bed. Hopefully that'll help. If not, the next step's a steroid injection.'

‘Which could itself cause problems—apart from making sure you don't touch the median nerve when you put the needle in, there's a risk of the patient developing a haematoma,' Rachel said. ‘Plus she might need a second injection and splints if it doesn't work. And if
that
doesn't work, you'll have to divide the flexor retinaculum to decompress the nerve.'

‘We can do it by keyhole surgery,' Oliver said.

She shook her head. ‘I know endoscopic techniques—' keyhole surgery ‘—mean that patients recover faster, but there's less risk of a complication with the open technique, and more chance that you'll release the carpal tunnel fully. Half the time with endoscopic techniques you can't see well enough and you have to convert it to an open technique anyway.'

His turn for a peace offering. ‘Want me to refer her to you?' He knew Rachel didn't get to do as much minor surgery as she'd like.

Rachel nodded. ‘Please. Not that you're a bad doctor. She's just really, really scared of needles. Lucy—' the midwife for Hollybridge and the next village ‘—gave up in the end and sent her to me to do the antenatal blood tests.'

‘Then you'd be the best doctor to calm her down. She's used to you and she trusts you.'

‘She trusts
you
, Oliver. Everyone does.'

Did they? He wasn't so sure. Especially where his wife was concerned. ‘Rach, what you were saying yesterday...'

‘Hmm?'

‘About us. I've been thinking.'

She looked nervous; her brown eyes suddenly went very, very dark. ‘What about us?'

‘You've got a point. We don't ever talk about us any more, only about work or the children.'

She nodded. ‘Maybe we should—'

But before she could finish, Rita, the practice receptionist, put her head round the door. ‘Rachel, sorry to interrupt, I've got the hospital on the phone. Says it's urgent.'

‘Hell. I'm expecting some test results. If they're calling, that means bad news,' she said. She gave Oliver an apologetic smile. ‘Sorry, I really need to take that call. Catch you later?'

‘Sure.'

Though he couldn't help wondering. What had she been about to suggest? He had no idea. He didn't know what Rachel was thinking a lot of the time nowadays. Maybe they could try again and talk tonight when the kids were in bed.

Maybe.

CHAPTER THREE

E
XCEPT
things didn't work out quite as Oliver planned. Surgery overran and the florist was closed when he got there, so he had to make do with what was left at the supermarket. Not the ideal choice, but the thought was what counted, wasn't it?

‘Thank you,' Rachel said politely when he handed her the huge bunch of carnations. Then she gave him a suspicious look. ‘What are they for?'

What did she mean? He'd bought them because he knew she liked flowers. ‘Do I need an excuse to buy my wife flowers?' he demanded.

‘No-o.'

But she didn't sound that sure. He tried to remember when he'd last bought her flowers—except for birthdays and anniversaries—and drew a blank. Hell. No wonder she looked leery. She probably thought he was going to tell her that he'd promised to cover someone else's shifts and he'd bought the flowers out of guilt.

Well, he
had
bought them out of guilt.

‘I thought maybe we could, um, spend some time together, tonight. Talk,' he muttered.

‘Oliver, I can't. It's the school PTA committee meeting tonight and I have to be there—I'm the chair. I can't just back out at the last minute and let everyone down.' She sighed. ‘It's been booked for weeks. You know I write everything on the calendar.'

The one that hung by the phone. The one he never really took any notice of.

‘Why don't you ever look at it?' she asked, almost as if she'd read his thoughts.

Because, if there was anything important, Rachel always reminded him. She hadn't bothered this morning. So it wasn't his fault he'd forgotten, was it? ‘Some other time, then. Soon,' he added.

But when? Not tomorrow—that was his trauma medicine course. Thursday was the practice late night. Maybe Friday, then.

When had life become so complicated? When had he and Rachel stopped having time for each other? More to the point, how were they going to fix it? Right now, he didn't have any answers.

* * *

On Thursday morning, Rachel was surprised to see Megan Garner halfway through the morning. The practice antenatal clinics were held on Wednesdays, and she'd seen Megan last week. ‘Hi, Meg. I thought I was seeing you next Wednesday?'

‘You are.' Megan's face was ashen and there were dark shadows under her eyes—more than Rachel expected to see, even though Megan was probably having the usual difficulty sleeping in late pregnancy.

‘What's up?'

‘It's Jasmine. She's got chickenpox.' A tear trickled down Megan's face. ‘I haven't had it. Ever. I played with all the kids in the village and I never, ever got chickenpox. And my mum's friend said chickenpox can—can ki—' She broke off, her breath shuddering, clearly too distraught to say the word, and scrubbed at her eyes with the back of her hand.

‘Hey.' Rachel took her hand. ‘Of course you're worried. And I'm glad you came to see me. First things first, we don't know you haven't had chickenpox.'

‘Mum said I didn't.'

‘It's possible that you had it so mildly, you only had one
or two spots and your mum thought they were gnat bites,' Rachel reassured her. ‘Studies show that eighty per cent of people who can't recall having chickenpox are actually immune. And chickenpox in pregnancy is really rare—only about three in every thousand pregnant women get it.'

‘What about the baby?'

‘Yes, there is a risk of the baby developing problems such as skin scarring, eye problems and neurological problems, but that's only a risk if you get it between thirteen and twenty weeks. So you can stop worrying about birth defects because you're well past twenty weeks.' She paused. ‘When did Jasmine go down with it?'

‘She got the first spots yesterday. She was in the bath and I saw them.' Megan shook her head. ‘I'd heard you can literally see chickenpox spots coming out, but I thought people were exaggerating. But I could see them popping up on her back.'

Rachel nodded, calculating mentally that Jasmine became infectious four days ago. The incubation period was between ten days and three weeks, so if Megan did develop chickenpox it would be somewhere between the end of the following week and the next fortnight. ‘Right. You're due to have the baby in ten days' time. If the baby's late, that could mean you'll deliver the baby in three weeks' time. Jasmine's spots will all have crusted over by the end of next week, so there shouldn't be any risk to the baby from Jasmine.'

‘What about if I have the baby early? Or if I get it?'

‘Let's not panic yet. There's a very high probability that you're already immune—remember, around ninety-five per cent of adults have already had it—so I'll do a blood test and ask the lab to rush it through for me. If you're not immune, I can refer you to the hospital for preventative treatment—they can give you something called VZIG and give the baby the same thing when he's born.' She smiled. ‘That stands for “varicella zoster”—chickenpox to me and
you—“immunoglobulin”. They're antibodies which will protect you and the baby against developing chickenpox.'

Megan was shaking slightly. ‘But if I do get it—or the baby?'

‘If you get it before you have the baby, we can give you an antiviral medication called acyclovir. We can also give the baby antibodies and the antiviral medication.' Rachel thought it prudent not to mention that ten per cent of pregnant women with chickenpox went on to develop pneumonia—Megan didn't smoke, so that cut her risk anyway—or how serious chickenpox could be for newborns. Until they knew whether Megan was immune or not, Rachel didn't want to panic her patient. ‘How's Jasmine?'

‘Miserable.'

‘If she's got a temperature, you can give her some infant paracetamol or ibuprofen to bring it down.'

‘She hasn't said she's hot, just itchy. I keep telling her not to scratch, but she can't help it. Mum says I should put calamine lotion on her.'

‘That'll help to stop the itch—though there's something out now that stops the itch for a bit longer and isn't quite as messy.' Rachel scribbled a note on her pad, tore off the top sheet and handed it to Megan. ‘You don't need a prescription for this. If Ian at the pharmacy doesn't have it, he can tell you who does stock it or what's the next best thing. Putting a bit of bicarb soda in a tepid bath can help, too. If it's affecting her sleep, bring her to see me and I can give her some antihistamines to stop the itch and help her sleep. She might have a sore throat, so give her plenty of cool drinks. Otherwise, I'd recommend keeping Jasmine's nails really short and doing things with her that keep her hands occupied so she can't scratch. Make sure you get enough rest, though.' She smiled at Megan. ‘Do you want a glass of water before I do the scary needle thing?'

Megan shook her head, smiling back. ‘No, I'm OK. At least you don't leave bruises. Lucy does.'

‘Poor Lucy. She's paranoid that half my mums ask her to let me do the blood samples instead of her.'

‘So, has Sophie had chickenpox yet?' Megan asked, looking away as Rachel deftly took the blood sample.

‘No. I saw the notice up at nursery this morning. I'll be watching her for the next couple of weeks.' Rachel put her hand flat on the desk. ‘Touch wood, we haven't had the nits notice up for a while.'

‘Oh, no. Don't talk that up!' Megan groaned.

‘Nits scare me a lot more than they scare Soph. She refuses to let me put her hair in a ponytail. And she hates even a detangling comb in her hair—I dread to think what she'd be like with a nit comb,' Rachel said ruefully. ‘OK, you can press on the cotton wool for a few seconds.'

‘You're done already?'

‘I'm done. Not so bad, was it?' Rachel wrote out the lab form. ‘I'll ring you as soon as I get the results through. It probably won't be until Monday, but don't spend the weekend fretting about it. There's a very, very strong chance that you're immune—and if you're not, we can protect you and the baby.'

‘Thanks, Rachel.' Megan took a deep breath. ‘I feel a bit better now.'

‘Good. If you're worried, talk to me or Lucy, OK? That's what we're here for.' The calmer Megan stayed, the better her blood pressure would be—and the better it would be for the baby.

When Rachel had finished surgery, she checked with Rita that Oliver didn't have a patient with him, then knocked on Oliver's door. At his ‘Come in' she put her head round the door.

‘Good or bad time?' she asked.

He pulled a face. ‘Not brilliant.'

‘OK, then, I'll keep it short. Chickenpox is doing the rounds again. The note's up on the nursery door. If Soph gets it, we're going to need locum cover for one of us where our shifts overlap.' It would probably be her, but she'd give Oliver the option of nursing their daughter if he wanted to.

Oliver rolled his eyes. ‘That's all I need. Good locums are—'

‘Like gold dust,' Rachel finished. She'd heard him say it so often. ‘That's why you're getting advance warning. So you can be prepared. I'm not saying Soph's definitely going to get it.'

‘But it's one of the most infectious viruses, it spreads by droplets in the air, and ninety per cent of susceptible contacts get it.' Oliver sighed. ‘I hope she doesn't get it as badly as Rob did.'

‘Me, too.' Rachel paused. ‘Um, it's Sophie's full day at nursery today. Want to meet me for lunch in the Red Lion for one of their bacon and Brie baguettes?' If that didn't tempt him, nothing would.

‘Sorry, I can't. I've got a pile of house calls, plus I'm seeing a drug rep, and I've already put him off four times.'

‘Right.' So it was nothing, then. She shrugged. ‘Just thought I'd ask.'

‘Rach—'

‘Doesn't matter.' She wanted to get away before the tears pricking at the back of her eyelids got any worse. Stupid, feeling rejected by her own husband. He was
busy
. She knew that. But all the same she wished he'd just grab a little bit of time to spend with her. She forced a smile to her face. ‘See you at home.'

‘Don't forget, it's late surgery tonight for me,' he reminded her.

As if she could forget. Oliver spent more time at the practice
than he did at home nowadays. ‘Sure,' she said, hoping that he didn't hear the wobble in her voice, and left his consulting room.

* * *

When Oliver came home after evening surgery, he handed Rachel a box wrapped in gold paper and a matching ribbon. ‘For you,' he said with a smile.

Belgian chocolates. Her absolute favourites. She knew she ought to throw her arms around him and say thank you, but something stopped her.
Why
was he buying her chocolates? It wasn't the sort of thing that Oliver did.

Unbidden, the words from the magazine article floated back into her mind.
Your partner buys you lots of gifts because he feels guilty about betraying you and showering you with presents makes him feel better.
Before she could stop herself, the words were out. ‘Flowers on Tuesday, chocolates tonight... Is there something I should be worried about?'