same way, but for him in-utero surgery was more than a side interest. For the last five years he’d been based in the States but he’d travelled the world learning the latest techniques.
The phone call he’d had from Charles Delamere, Victoria’s CEO, had been persuasive, to say the least. ‘Harry’s following a girlfriend to Europe. There’s no one here with your expertise and there’s more and more demand.
‘It’s time you came home. Oliver, right now we have a kid here with a twenty-one-week foetus, and her scans are showing spina bifida. Heinz Zigler, our paediatric neurologist, says the operation has to be done now. He can do the spinal stuff but he doesn’t have the skills to stop the foetus aborting. Oliver, there are more and more of these cases, and we’re offering you a full-time job. If you get here fast, we might save this kid shunts, possible brain damage, a life with limited movement below the waist. Short term, I want you to fight to give this kid a happy ending. Long term we’re happy to fund your research. We’ll cover the costs of whatever extra training you want, any staff you need. We want the best, Oliver, and we’re prepared to pay, but we want you now.’
The offer had been great, but he’d had serious reservations about returning to Melbourne. He’d walked away from his marriage five years ago, and he’d thought he’d stay away. Em had deserved a new life, a chance to start again with someone who’d give her what she needed.
And it seemed his decision had been justified. Seeing her this morning, driving a family wagon, with milk stains on her shoulder, with every sign of being a frazzled young working mum, he’d thought …
Actually, he hadn’t thought. The sight had knocked him sideways and he was still knocked sideways. But he needed to focus on something other than his marriage. After a brief introduction with Charles, he was in the examination room with Ruby Dowell. Teenage mother, pregnant with a baby with spina bifida.
‘At twenty-two weeks we need to get on with this fast,’ Charles had told him. ‘There’s such a short window for meaningful intervention.’
Ruby was lying on the examination couch in a cubicle in the antenatal clinic and, as with all his patients, he took a moment at the start to assess the whole package. Her notes said she was seventeen. She’d been attending clinics in the Victoria’s Teenage Mums-To-Be programme. When the spina bifida had been detected on the scans she’d been offered termination but had declined, although the notes said she intended to give the baby up for adoption after birth. Right now she was dressed in shorts and an oversized T-shirt. Her mouse-blonde, shoulder-length hair was in need of a wash and a good cut. Apart from the bump of her pregnancy she was waif thin, and her eyes were red-rimmed and wide with fear.
She looked like a wild creature trapped in a cage, he thought. Hell, why was she alone? Her notes said she was a single mum, but she should have her mother with her, or a sister, or at least a friend.
It was unthinkable that such a kid was alone. Charles had said that Isla, his daughter and also the Victoria’s head midwife, was in charge of the Teenage Mums-To-Be programme. Why hadn’t she organised to be here, or at least sent a midwife in her place?
But now wasn’t the time to head to the nurses’ station and blast the powers that be for leaving her like this. Now was the time for reassurance.
‘Hey,’ he said, walking into the cubicle but deliberately leaving the screens open. He didn’t need to do a physical examination yet, and he didn’t want that trapped look to stay a moment longer. ‘I’m the baby surgeon, Oliver Evans. I’m an obstetrician who’s specially trained in operating on babies when they’re still needing to stay inside their mums. And you’re Ruby Dowell?’
He hauled a chair up to the bedside and summoned his best reassuring manner. ‘Ruby, I’m here to get to know you, that’s all. Nothing’s happening right now. I’m just here to talk.’
But the terrified look stayed. She actually cringed back on the bed, fear radiating off her in waves. ‘I’m … I’m scared of operations,’ she stuttered. ‘I don’t want to be here.’
But then the screen was pulled back still further. A woman in nursing uniform, baggy tunic over loose pants, was fastening the screen so Ruby could see the nurses’ station at the end of the corridor.
Emily. His wife.
His ex-wife? She’d never asked for a divorce but it had been simply a matter of signing the papers, any time these last five years.
‘I’m scared of operations, too,’ Em said, matter-of-factly, as if she’d been involved in the conversation from the start. ‘I think everyone is. But Dr Evans here is the best baby surgeon in the known universe, I promise. I’ve known him for ever. If it was my baby there’d be no one else I’d want. Dr Evans is great, Ruby. He’s kind, he’s skilled and he’ll give your baby the best chance of survival she can possibly have.’
‘But I told you … I don’t want her.’ Ruby was sobbing now, swiping away tears with the back of her hand. ‘My mum said I should have had an abortion. She would have paid. I don’t know why I didn’t. And now you’re operating on a baby I don’t even want. I just want you all to go away.’
In-utero surgery was fraught at the best of times. It was full of potential dangers for both mother and baby. To operate on a mother who didn’t want her baby to survive …
He didn’t know where to start—but he didn’t need to, because Em simply walked forward, tugged the girl into her arms and held her.
Ruby stiffened. She held herself rigid, but Em’s fingers stroked her hair.
‘Hey, it’s okay, Ruby. We all know how hard this is. Pregnancy’s the pits. You feel so on your own, and you’re especially on your own. You decided not to go ahead with an abortion, going against what your family wanted you to do. That took courage, but there’s only so much courage a girl can be expected to show. That’s why Isla’s been helping you and it’s why I’m here now. I’m your midwife, Ruby. I’ll be with you every step of the way. All the decisions will be yours but I’m right with you. Right now, if you want Dr Evans to go away and come back later, he will. Just say the word.’
She met Oliver’s gaze over Ruby’s shoulder and her message was unmistakable. Back me up.
So Em was this girl’s midwife? Then where the hell had she been when he’d walked in?
Coping with her crashed car, that’s where, and then changing out of her mum clothes into nursing gear. Still, surely she could have made it earlier.
‘We’ve had a drama with a prem birth I had to help with,’ she said, as if he’d voiced his question out loud. She was still holding, still hugging, as Ruby’s sobs went on. ‘That’s why I’m late, Ruby, and I’m sorry. I wanted to be here when you arrived. But I’m here now, and if you decide to proceed with this operation then you’re my number one priority. Do you need some tissues? Dr Evans, hand me some tissues.’
‘You helped with an earlier birth?’ he asked, before he could help himself, and she had the temerity to glare at him.
‘Yep. I had to step in and help the moment I hit the wards. Plus I crashed my car this morning. I crashed my wagon, Ruby, and guess whose gorgeous car I drove into? None other than Dr Evans. It’s his first day on the job and I hit him. It’s a wonder he hasn’t tossed me out of the room already.’
And Ruby’s sobs hiccupped to a halt. She pulled back and looked at Em, then turned and stared at Oliver.
‘She hit your car?’
‘Yes,’ he said. He wouldn’t normally impart personal information to a patient but he guessed what Em was doing, and he could only agree. What Ruby needed was space to settle. He could help with that—even though he had to get personal to give it to her.
‘I have a sixty-four Morgan Plus-4 sports car,’ he said, mournfully, like the end of the world was nigh, which was about how he’d felt when he’d seen the damage—before he’d realised the driver of the other car had been Em.