out and touch it…
There should be enough in there for you,’ she told him, dragging her attention back to the kettle. ‘It’s just boiled.’
Tea for you?’
‘I’m OK.’ She held up her full mug to show him, and he nodded and snagged a mug off the draining-board.
‘No doubt they’ll all produce in the fullness of time,’ he said, going back to their previous conversation. ‘We’ve had two in the past week—I suppose that’s my ration.’
‘Absolutely. I’ve got something to ask you, by the way, talking of producing. The thirteenth annual Yoxburgh panto is short of a male chorus member—Roz asked me to ask you, but I told her you’d be too busy.’
He turned and met her eyes. ‘Why?’
‘Why are they short?’
‘Why did you tell her I’d be too busy?’
She felt a little touch of colour brush her cheeks. ‘I don’t know—I just thought you would be,’ she faltered. ‘It’s quite a punishing rehearsal schedule. It’s up to you. Of course, if you want to do it you’d be more than welcome—I was just trying to give you a way out if you wanted one. It can be pretty tedious.’
She floundered to a halt and looked up at him again, to find him watching her with understanding.
‘If you don’t want me to do it, just say so, Jo,’ he murmured, and his voice was like raw silk, sliding over her nerve endings.
She laughed, a forced little hiccup of sound. ‘Don’t be daft. I just thought you wouldn’t be interested. It’s very amateur.’
‘Are you in it?’
She nodded. ‘Yes—for my sins, I’ve got the female lead. Heaven knows when I’ll get time to learn the lines.’
‘Is it fun?’ he asked, and with a sudden flash of insight she realised he was lonely and would actually like to join in. Good grief, a willing volunteer. That was a first!
It was beyond her to exclude him just for her own selfish reasons.
‘Yes, it is fun,’ she told him, relenting. ‘It would help your patients get to know you as a person as well. It could be good for your image—they’re a bit slow to let you in round here.’
He shot her a quizzical look. ‘I noticed.’
She coloured again, and looked down at her hands. ‘I’m sorry. I just felt that if we had to work together all the time and ended up at the panto rehearsals, well, it might be a bit…’
‘Much?’
She nodded.
‘Does it unsettle you?’ he asked softly. ‘My proximity?’
She looked up into his eyes—those stunningly magnetic storm-grey eyes that seemed to see right to the heart of her—and nodded again, just slightly. ‘A little,’ she confessed.
His mouth tipped in a crooked and endearing grin. ‘That makes two of us. I’m not exactly immune to you, either.’
She stood up, pushing her chair back and trying for a bit of authority. ‘That doesn’t mean we have to do anything about it. We have to work together, Ed. I don’t think we can do that if we’re…’ She ran out of words, unusually for her, but he was there again.
‘Involved?’ he offered. A lazy smile lurked in his eyes.
‘Exactly.’
He shrugged and grinned again. ‘OK. If I promise to keep my distance, can I join the pantomime?’
‘Of course you can.’ She returned his smile. ‘It is awful, though. Don’t say you haven’t been warned.’
He chuckled. ‘OK. When’s the next rehearsal?’
‘Tonight. Quarter to eight, at the community hall. Wear something warm—it can be a bit chilly.’
He nodded, drained his tea and left her. She sat again, as if she were a puppet whose strings had been cut, and buried her face in her hands. So he felt it too—and she’d thought it was just her, being silly. Oh, Lord, this was so much more complicated. If she was the only one—
‘You OK?’
Her head jerked up. ‘Yes, just a bit tired. Did you forget something?’
‘Where’s the community hall?’ Ed asked.
‘Ah. Um—on the main street, nearly opposite the chip shop.’
‘That black and white building?’
She nodded, avoiding those searching eyes. ‘That’s right.’
‘OK. I’ll see you then—unless you’re back in the surgery after your antenatal class?’
‘Antenatal class?’ She gasped and leapt to her feet. ‘I’d forgotten it!’ she muttered, and, scooping up her pager from the table, she headed for the door.
‘See you later,’ he called. Jo ran out to her car, wondering if she’d been totally insane to suggest he should join the pantomime crew. Her brains were scrambled enough as it was!
She arrived at the hospital just about on time, and a couple of the mums were late. She decided to give them a minute or two because they were new. While they waited she ticked the names of those who were there on her register and encouraged them to mix and get to know each other while she set up her equipment.
She had a doll and a plastic pelvis so that they could see the way the baby would emerge through the birth canal, charts and diagrams to show the development of the baby, and lots of information about nutrition, exercise and so on.
The classes didn’t have a beginning or an end, but ran on a continuous loop, with four sessions making up the whole set. In a way it made it harder, but it did mean that someone new to the area or only able to come intermittently didn’t miss out. Each session included a lecture, a discussion and work on relaxation and pain control, and today was about the second stage of labour, the expulsive stage.
The latecomers arrived together, apologising for getting lost on the way, and Jo called all the patients to order, settled them down and started the class, by going round and asking the new members in turn to say a little about themselves, whether it was their first or subsequent child and what sort of delivery they were hoping for.
There were five women out of the ten there who wanted a home birth or who wanted to deliver in the GP unit. Of these five, only three were on Jo’s mental list of possibles. One was a little too old, another had a previous history of stillbirth.
The other three couldn’t deliver in the GP unit on the grounds that only second and third babies were permitted by their scheme, and these were all first-timers. Still, they could, if she thought they were suitable, opt for a home birth with consultant back-up, if necessary, at Jo’s discretion. She still hadn’t decided.
The older mother, however, was aware that Jo didn’t want her to deliver at home, but it didn’t stop her planning a home delivery, and Jo knew full well that when it came to the crunch she’d leave it too late to go to hospital, regardless of what they might say to convince her otherwise.
‘I’d like to have the baby in the GP unit,’ one of the new mums was saying, ‘but I know I can’t because it’s my first, and my husband isn’t happy about me having it at home. I’d like to come back to the GP unit straight afterwards, though.’
Jo nodded. ‘That should be possible if everything goes well, or if you have support at home afterwards you wouldn’t need to come in here at all.’
She looked doubtful. ‘I don’t know if I could cope alone. It’s such a responsibility—what happens if you don’t know why it’s crying?’
Some of the others chorused their agreement, and Jo hastened