was the best plan. We got legal advice and medical records as supportive evidence. You signed a consent to have your identity available.’
‘Only in case of a family medical history being needed. Or…a bone-marrow transplant or something.’ Jane stood up again. She needed to move. ‘This is ridiculous. I did not choose to have a child.’
Sophie squeaked more loudly. A grizzle that threatened to turn into a cry. Did she sense the rejection?
‘There’s lots of mothers out there who didn’t exactly choose to have a child.’The outrageous calm of Dylan’s voice showed he had absolutely no understanding of the implications of this situation. ‘They still bond with them when they arrive. They bring them up and they make good mothers.’
‘I have no intention of bonding with this baby.’ Oh, Lord, that sounded callous but it was the truth. ‘And I’m not about to have motherhood forced on me.’
Jane was pacing again. Towards her desk. Her nice tidy desk—as organised and precise as her life. There was the gold clock, the box of pens, a pad of sticky notes, another box with her business cards.
‘Here.’ Jane picked up one of the cards and marched back to present it to Dylan. ‘Here are my contact details. Call me tomorrow when I’ve had time to contact my solicitors. We’ll sort something out. A way I can contribute to this child’s welfare.’
‘That’s big of you.’ Dylan took the card and stuffed it into his pocket. He stood up, seemingly oblivious to the steady wail Sophie was now emitting. ‘But wee Sophie needs a bit more than money.’
‘It’s the best I can offer.’
‘I don’t agree.’
‘Look.’ The noise the baby was making was filling Jane’s head and making it impossible to think clearly. She had to escape. Find time to think about this. ‘She’s got you. You’re her uncle and you obviously care about her. I’ll help however I can but—’
Along with the strident sound of a distressed baby came the insistent beeping of Jane’s pager. She was needed. Where she belonged. In the paediatric intensive care unit or the ward or an operating theatre. She had to escape and step back into her real life.
Away from this nightmare.
Jane turned, ready to pick up the telephone on her desk and find out where she was needed.
‘Oi!’
Jane’s jaw dropped. Her astonishment at such an inappropriate command was enough to actually make her turn back.
‘You made a choice,’ Dylan said, his voice low and dangerous. ‘You made it possible for this baby to come into the world. You have to take responsibility for that choice.’
‘But I told you. I—’
‘No.’ He was furious now, the word was ground out from a clenched jaw. ‘I won’t have it. Sophie deserves better than this. Sophie,’ he repeated, holding out the shrieking bundle. ‘Your daughter.’
She had no idea how it happened. It was all too fast and noisy and totally unexpected. There she was, facing an angry man and a baby making a sound that would scramble anyone’s brains, and a heartbeat later—here she was…
Holding that baby and watching incredulously as the man stormed out of her office.
CHAPTER THREE
HOW could he have done that?
Walked out and left her—literally—holding the baby?
An incredulous huff left Jane’s lungs as she scanned the now deserted corridor outside her office.
‘Shh!’ She jiggled the baby but, if anything, the decibel level increased.
Jane stepped back into her office and shut the door with her foot. Perhaps it was lucky the corridor was deserted. What would her colleagues think of this?
Jane Walters—dedicated paediatric surgeon who was letting nothing interfere with her meteoric rise through the consultant ranks. An accidental mother? Without ever having had sex with the baby’s father or having been pregnant?
There would be an endless stream of jokes about immaculate conceptions and stress-free pregnancies. People would be sniggering at her instead of giving her the respect she had worked so hard to earn.
With an inward groan, Jane recognised the kind of single-minded focus she had given her career taking over yet again. This was rather bigger than being labelled a nerd because she wanted to study instead of partying, however. She was turning the spotlight on herself and her career instead of what actually mattered in this moment of time.
Izzy…
No. She couldn’t go there and imagine a world without the person she loved the most. Falling to pieces here and now wasn’t going to help anyone, and if it became known it might do more damage to her credibility than producing an unexpected baby.
Izzy’s baby.
One that she had wanted desperately enough to beg her for help. What if Izzy could see her now? It was too easy to imagine her friend’s passionate expression. To feel the bond that had made them so close.
Please, Izzy would say. You have to help me here, Janey. You’re the only person who can.
‘Shh!’ Jane tried to push away the echo of Izzy’s voice. She looked down at the tiny, screwed-up face amongst the folds of fuzzy blanket. ‘Goodness, you’re red!’ she exclaimed. ‘Is there something wrong with you, baby?’
She could deal with that. Jane sat on the edge of the chair and leaned forward to lay the bundle down carefully on the floor. She peeled back the blanket.
Izzy’s baby, she reminded herself as she looked at tiny starfish hands and a miniature body in a soft, stretchy, pink suit.
‘Maybe you’re too hot.’
It certainly felt hot. And damp. And the smell was a lot less than pleasant. Jane found herself automatically looking up, half expecting a nurse or parent to step in and deal with this.
Jane diagnosed things. She saw babies when they were clean and awake. Often when they were crying like this, in fact. She saw them later, when they were sedated and quiet and again when they were recuperating and, of course, the time she almost loved the most—when they were completely asleep.
Anaesthetised.
A time when she could use her not inconsiderable powers of concentration and learned skills to fix whatever was wrong and make life a whole lot better for them.
Jane Walters did not change dirty nappies. Or feed babies. She cuddled them sometimes. Once she got to know them—inside and out—they were a part of her professional life and she cared passionately about those children. So much so that she’d never once regretted her decision not to have children of her own. She didn’t have the time or need for them. Being able to go home and have a complete break was what enabled her to give everything she had—and more sometimes—to her patients.
This baby had sprung from her personal life, not her professional one. Jane didn’t cuddle babies like this. Not when they needed the kind of attention a nurse could deliver much more effectively. Not when they needed their mothers.
Oh….God!
Jane stared down at the miserable scrap of humanity on her floor.
Was it really possible she was the closest thing to a real mother this child would ever have? No. Being a mother had far more to do with what happened after the biological chemistry took place. She wasn’t a mother. She couldn’t even begin to feel like a mother. She didn’t want to!
The ringing of her desk phone took a while to penetrate both the noise of Sophie crying and Jane’s stunned thought processes. By leaning