How To Save a Marriage in a Million (8 page)

Not that there was anything wrong with nurses, or chattering, or flirting, but if it continued unremittingly he knew it would wear him down. If he’d been ten years younger he would have been flattered but he had matured and was past all that now.

So after the tutorial he’d headed for the public coffee shop, which he knew was rarely frequented by staff. He needed a few minutes time-out before he went back to Matilda to tidy up loose ends and
leave his work in the ward in order for the evening staff. That had always been his way of coping with the stress of never seeming to have enough time in the day—pacing himself; not succumbing to time pressure or being hurried; not leaving a job half-done, hoping others would pick up the pieces.

It was close to closing time so he wasn’t surprised to see he was the sole customer and ordered a flat white—it was the only place you could get a decent coffee in the hospital—and chose a quiet table hidden from the entrance but with a view of the passing parade going in and out of the main hospital block.

When he’d seen Joanna coming out of the nurses’ amenities building and heading his way he’d assumed she was on her way home but Marnie—the woman had introduced herself the first time he’d visited the shop—must have seen him looking at her.

She’d set his drink down and said, ‘She’s one of the few who are brave enough to go all the way.’

He hadn’t quite understood what she meant.

‘Sorry?’

‘The full shave.’

‘Oh, I see what you mean.’

‘She’ll have a cappuccino. I’ll put money on it.’

‘If she comes in and asks for one, let me buy. I work with her and I wouldn’t mind some company.’

The woman’s eyes widened fractionally and then she smiled as if they were plotting a secret revolution together.

‘Okay.’ She sashayed back to the counter.

A few seconds later Joanna
did
come into the shop and although Richard couldn’t see her he could hear the conversation. The muscles of his jaw tightened just a little and he unconsciously began tapping his saucer with his spoon. He seriously wanted to share a drink with Joanna, enjoy her smile and her honey-smooth voice. And if it was only work they talked about, that would be okay. He realised he’d be more than disappointed if she refused. So when Marnie started rambling on about secret admirers he felt he had to show himself. He’d set up the situation, and there was no room for second thoughts.

* * *

There were only a few kids Joanna came back to visit after-hours and she was careful not to give
the impression she had any favourites. She knew how attached many of the sick and frightened children could become to a staff member who gave that little bit extra. She was lucky she had plenty to give but made sure she rationed her off-duty time and energy with care.

She couldn’t help what she felt for young Danny Sims, though. It would take a miracle to cure him; she knew from firsthand experience the odds were stacked miserably against him.

When Sam had been diagnosed with Ewing’s, Richard’s knowledge of paediatrics hadn’t been enough for her. She’d read everything she could get her hands on about the disease that had been threatening the life of her son, from scientific, evidence-based research to personal anecdotes on the internet. Even testimonials about farfetched miracle cures. She remembered one of the few times Richard had become frustrated with her emotional attempts to cling to increasingly fading hopes. He’d accused her of clutching at straws and it had probably been the first tiny step at the fork in the road—where she’d begun to reject him.

If she could turn back the clock…If she knew what she did now…

Richard had been trying to cope in his own way.

She’d seen only one case of Ewing’s since she’d been working on Matilda and the boy, a couple of years older than Sam, who had just turned six when he passed away, had miraculously survived and was in remission.

But Danny Sims’s case was different.

For a start, his chances of getting the disease in the first place were roughly the same as winning Lotto. And if you ticked the boxes of the features of the teenager’s cancer that were associated with a poor prognosis, he would probably score a six or seven out of ten.

But Joanna’s philosophy was that there was always hope, exceptions to those horribly inhuman statistics. Miracles did happen, and if they didn’t, Joanna always tried her best to make the road less bumpy for the unfortunate few in her surrogate brood.

If she couldn’t have children of her own, she’d decided, she’d devote that instinctive maternal part of herself to her job—caring for kids with cancer.

She had completed her nursing degree during her pregnancy and graduated a month before the
baby was due. Then she’d put her career on hold while she’d been a full-time mum. She’d planned to go back nursing when Sam started school, but it hadn’t happened. Her son’s illness had been diagnosed when Sam had been in pre-school and he’d survived only eleven heart-breaking months.

Making the decision to go back to work had been a turning point for her once she’d managed to control her grief and had been sure Richard wasn’t coming back. It had been an easy decision to extend her nursing qualifications to include oncology. The last two years had been immensely satisfying.

And now Richard was back…well…there was no reason anything should change other than formalising their separation with a divorce.

I am a good nurse, I love the children I care for and that’s all that matters
.

‘That’s all that matters,’ she repeated in a whisper to reinforce the words she’d found herself repeating several times over the weekend when troubling thoughts of her husband had kept steam-rolling into the peaceful solitude of her days off.

Thank goodness it was Monday afternoon and she’d finished her shift. She planned to call back
and see Danny and Taylor as well as Raymond, a new admission who’d looked scared to death when he’d come in but she hadn’t had a chance to have a
proper
talk to him. Then she’d buy some take-away for dinner, head home and spend a quiet evening watching a DVD. Relaxing. Unwinding from her hectic day.

She changed into jeans and a T-shirt, slipped out of her sensible black lace-ups and into low-heeled sandals, deciding to head for the hospital shop. She might even treat herself to the luxury of a cappuccino in a real china cup before she hit the wards again. At least once a week she enjoyed checking out the magazines as well, so she knew what was stocked in-house if one of her patients who needed cheering up had a passion for soccer or horseriding or fashion. Small, personal things could make a big difference.

She breezed into the shop.

‘Hi, Jo. Love the five-o’clock-shadow look,’ Marnie, the woman in charge of the coffee shop cum newsagent cum florist said with a smile. Joanna was finally becoming used to her bald look but the comments still came in abundance, especially about the bump that at least now was
reducing in size. She ran her palm across the stubble on the top of her head.

‘Like it? Maybe I’ll keep it this short. It’s certainly easy to care for.’

‘Don’t you dare. You’ve got beautiful hair. Finished for the day?’ she added.

‘Yes, thank goodness. It’s been a long one.’ She wasn’t about to tell Marnie that it was partly due to the trouble she’d had sleeping the last couple of nights.

‘We all have those but in your job you probably get more than your fair share.’

‘Mmm…’

Joanna began flipping through a magazine on home renovation. It had caught her eye because on the cover was a photo of a house that looked uncannily like the house she’d lived in with Richard and Sam; the house she’d loved and had had every intention of spending the rest of her days in.

The best-laid plans, she thought with more than a hint of world-weary cynicism.

‘There’s a special on cappuccino today.’ Joanna could tell her friend was about to come out with a friendly jibe. If the shop was empty Marnie
would sometimes give her a second cup free of charge. That was usually when she couldn’t hide her tiredness or the fact she’d had a particularly difficult day. Perhaps the prison hairstyle made her look gaunt and contributed to the
poor me, I need some comfort
look. She hoped that she wasn’t so transparent that even Marnie could see right through her.

‘Oh, yeah?’ she said with a grin as she placed the glossy on the counter. ‘I’m going to treat myself. What was that about the coffee?’

‘On the house, sort of. I’ve got instructions from a secret admirer.’ The middle-aged woman giggled like a schoolgirl and Joanna wasn’t sure she’d heard correctly.

‘Pardon, what did you say?’

Marnie’s gaze fixed on something behind her and Joanna turned to see, of all people, Richard emerge from behind a large display of dried flowers. If she hadn’t been so surprised, she would have laughed. He and Marnie were looking at each other conspiratorially.

‘What’s all this about?’ Joanna asked, with a sudden urge to turn around and head out the way she’d come in.

‘I’ll leave it to the doctor to explain. Coffee for two, I presume.’

‘Thanks,’ Richard said as he led Joanne to a table by a large window at the back of the shop.

She wondered if it was more than coincidence that she kept bumping into him at every turn.

* * *

‘Richard…er…what a surprise,’ Joanna said with a twinkle of what Richard assumed was amusement in her eyes. She was definitely more relaxed than the last time he’d seen her outside the workplace.

‘Just needed a break and some real coffee for a change. I thought you’d finished for the day.’

She certainly looked different in her civvies. The clingy, watermelon-pink T-shirt, scooped low at the neckline, highlighted the delicious fact that she had generous curves but in all the right places. And she had gorgeous legs, snugly denim-clad and stretching right up to…She was as beautiful as the day he’d met her.

‘Please sit down and join me.’

‘Thanks.’

‘I thought as soon as you downed tools you’d be heading off to relax.’

A wayward hand went up in the direction of
her hair. Nervous? It was the only indication she gave. He smiled.

‘Phantom hair?’ He couldn’t resist the jibe. The conversation was flowing smoothly and he didn’t want the tone to change, not just yet.

‘Pardon?’ she said, obviously not understanding his light-hearted remark.

‘You know, like a phantom leg. A person who’s had an amputation can still experience sensations like itching or pain where the limb used to be.’ He paused, waiting for a response, but her face was expressionless. ‘You have phantom hair,’ he repeated.

‘Oh, I get it,’ she conceded, but concentrated all her attention on making patterns with her spoon in the froth in her cup.

‘So why aren’t you heading off for some down-time?’

She looked up and stared straight into his eyes, as if deciding whether it was worth the effort to reply with the sort of explanation she assumed he wanted to hear, or take the simpler option of telling the truth.

‘Sometimes I visit a particular child, or parent even, as a friend, when I’m off duty. It’s not easy
to spend the time with them they need if you’ve got dressings to do, medications to give. You know what I mean. I particularly wanted to see Danny.’

‘Danny,’ he repeated softly. Of course she’d want to do everything she could for Danny and his family. She would know that his chances of getting through the next year or two were slim. His cancer had already spread.

‘He’s staying overnight…but of course you know,’ she added, flushing slightly.

‘Yes.’

He wanted to ask her if she was okay, but he wouldn’t. It wasn’t the time or place. He guessed no one else in the hospital knew about her past, about Sam. And he had to respect that.

Marnie appeared with more coffee.

‘Sorry I took so long,’ she said with a grin. ‘Everyone decided to come at once.’ She glanced over at a table where a family of four sat with what looked like a mountain of sandwiches, cakes and bottled soft drinks. ‘Can I get you anything else?’

Richard shook his head and glanced at his companion.

‘Nothing for me,’ she said.

He pushed his empty cup out of the way and began absently stirring his fresh one.

Joanna was silent. Uncomfortable maybe?

‘I wanted to have a word with the Simses as well. And Taylor Bryant’s mum seemed…’ He stopped to think for a moment.

‘Depressed?’

Not only was Joanna insightful but she really cared.

‘That’s what I thought too.’

‘She told me she’d had postnatal depression after Taylor was born, and recovered. She’d been doing really well until…’ She was much more comfortable talking about work.

‘The books tell us that parents experience a process of grieving when their child is diagnosed with a chronic illness, and cancer is the worst scenario. But in the real world no case is the same.’ Richard suddenly realised he was talking to someone who had gone through it all. And he’d been there with her. He’d shared the shock and denial, the anger and finally acceptance long after the diagnosis had been made. The knowledge he’d had as a paediatrician in training hadn’t made it any easier. In fact, it had probably made it worse.
And then they’d experienced it all again when Sam had died. He wished he’d kept his big mouth shut.

‘Sorry,’ he added.

She looked at him for a long moment, the pupils of her striking black-brown eyes dilating a fraction before she spoke.

‘Don’t be,’ she finally said. ‘I’m okay with it.’ Her eyes moved to focus on a place in the distance before they returned to fix on his. ‘I’ll never get over it. I don’t think any parent who has to cope with what I…
we
…did does. But we all heal in different ways. I’m sorry I made it so hard for you. I know you tried to be there for me but I just couldn’t believe anyone, not even you, could understand. I needed to work through the whole process on my own.’

She’d been fiddling with her spoon, rotating it on the table, but she stopped and surprised him by reaching over and laying her hand on his.

‘Like you said, people cope in different ways. And that was my way. Alone.’ She paused to take a sighing breath. ‘I’ve got a good but very different life now. And I wouldn’t want it any other way.’
She gave him the same sort of soothing smile she bestowed on grieving parents and confused kids.