The Night Before Christmas - Alison Roberts

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not a jigsaw puzzle,’ Misty said. ‘I’m … me.’

      Jack moved back to the bed. He loosened his tie a little more. He even undid the top button of his shirt. ‘You are, indeed,’ he told Misty. ‘And I’m Dr Jack. How are you feeling?’

      Misty said nothing. Was it too general a question for a child? The look he was receiving made him feel as though it had been a stupid question. And maybe it was. Misty’s arm was heavily bandaged and plastic tubes snaked from under the covers to the dialysis machine that was whirring quietly as it did its job to make sure her blood was as clean as possible before tomorrow’s surgery. She was pale and thin and was probably quite used to feeling a lot less than well.

      He tried again. ‘Does anything hurt?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘Are you worried about the operation?’

      ‘No. The nurse showed me all about it with the teddy bear. And Mummy says you and Dr Dave are going to take the best care of me.’

      ‘Did she?’ Jack couldn’t help shifting his gaze to Lizzie. He met a very steady look. One that said she was trusting him but he’d better not let her down.

      Fair enough. He didn’t intend to.

      ‘I’m going to read your chart,’ he told Misty. ‘And see what they tell me about all the tests you had today. Dr … Dave will be here soon so that we can talk about you and Mummy and make sure we’re all set for tomorrow morning.’

      ‘Are you going to read Mummy’s chart too?’ It was Holly who asked the question.

      Jack smiled at her. ‘I’ve already done that.’

      ‘Did I pass?’ Lizzie’s tone was carefully casual.

      ‘With flying colours.’ The atmosphere in the room lightened just a little. ‘And when I’ve read Misty’s I’m going to give her a quick check-up. Unless Dr Dave is back here by then.’

      It took a few minutes to get himself up to speed with the chart and the latest results in Misty’s notes. He was aware of Lizzie moving around the room, straightening things up, and of the twins having a whispered conversation that nobody else could hear.

      When he finished, he nodded in satisfaction and unhooked the stethoscope from around his neck. ‘Can I have a listen to your heart and lungs?’ he asked Misty.

      He had to push aside the memory of how he had avoided doing that for Lizzie this morning. Because he knew it would be unprofessional to be so aware of the warmth that would come from that amazing skin if he got too close? He’d been right to keep his distance. When she’d moved away from the bed, she’d been forced to brush past him rather closely due to the size of the room and he couldn’t help noticing a compelling scent that had nothing to do with any perfume she was wearing. He was still trying to bury the memory of it.

      Good grief. The look he found being bestowed on him by both the twins was identical. If he didn’t know better, he could swear they knew exactly what he’d been trying so hard not to think about. And children could sense things, couldn’t they? Like animals could sense fear.

      In perfect unison, the twins stopped staring at him and looked at each other. For a moment there was a silent communication going on and Jack could feel the intensity. Then they both nodded and looked back at him.

      And smiled.

      CHAPTER THREE

      THERE was no real reason for Jack to go and visit Lizzie the next afternoon.

      Her surgery had been completed this morning and he had been nothing more than an observer. Dave Kingsley’s work on both Lizzie and Misty had been of excellent quality and had needed no intervention of any kind on his part.

      The filming had gone without hitch for both surgeries as well and now all Jack needed to do was edit the footage and write up the notes he would need to accompany the lectures due to start next week. He needed follow-up details for how the patients progressed after surgery, of course, but he could easily get that from talking to Dave. Or reviewing the medical notes.

      He wanted to thank Lizzie again for giving her permission to film but it was hardly appropriate to do it when she was in her immediate post-surgical recuperation. He should wait until a later date. In a few days, perhaps, when she would be on the point of being discharged. Or even later, when he would probably find her visiting Misty and helping to care for the small girl until she, too, was well enough to go home.

      So why had he abandoned the video equipment and half-written notes in the temporary office he’d been assigned in Dave Kingsley’s department? Why hadn’t he paged Kingsley and asked how his patients were doing or made arrangements to accompany the other surgeon when he did his evening rounds?

      He told himself he didn’t want to interrupt anything important. That he might well come across Dave or one of his registrars if he wandered in the direction of the ward. He even convinced himself that, seeing as he was in the vicinity, he might as well pop his head around the door and say hello to Lizzie.

      She was in a small, private room near the nurses’ station. And she was awake. She saw him the moment he came into view and the look on her face suggested that seeing a surgeon associated with Misty’s case might be due to bad news arriving. It had been several hours since her surgery but not so long since Misty had been taken to Recovery and then the paediatric intensive care unit. Had Lizzie been awake long enough to be told the good news? Or, if she had, had her head been clear enough to remember the details?

      He couldn’t very well just stand in the doorway. He had to move closer and find something to say that would take away the flash of fear darkening her eyes and making her lips tremble.

      Jack tried to smile but, weirdly, his lips refused to cooperate. ‘Mission accomplished,’ he said quietly.

      Lizzie burst into tears.

      Oh … God. What was he supposed to do now?

      He didn’t do tears. He could understand them, of course, and even sympathise with the grief or sadness they represented. Unthinkable to indulge in such an outward sign of weakness himself, however, and if he was honest, it was probably the key thing that put him off babies and children so resoundingly. Crying was such a messy process. And noisy. And … and … needy. And crying women always wanted something from him that he couldn’t give them.

      Jack looked hopefully over his shoulder but no nurse materialised to help him out. Where was Lizzie’s mother? Stepping closer to reach for the call bell, he spotted the box of tissues on the bedside cabinet. OK, maybe he couldn’t give Lizzie what she might need emotionally but there was no excuse not to do something practical that might help. He snatched a couple from the box and pressed them into Lizzie’s closest hand. Carefully, because she still had an IV port taped to the back of it.

      ‘It’s good news,’ he reassured her. ‘Couldn’t be better.’

      Lizzie nodded. And sobbed as though her heart was breaking. She blew her nose on the tissues but the tears continued to flow.

      Jack pulled out more tissues. A huge handful. Lizzie pressed them to her face and made some hiccupping sounds. A muffled word emerged between the hiccups.

      ‘S-s-sorry.’

      ‘Don’t be daft.’ Shifting from one foot to the other, Jack was feeling increasingly uncomfortable. Needing to move but knowing he couldn’t possibly leave her alone like this, he perched himself on one hip on the edge of her bed. He would wait it out.

      Lizzie’s leg was under the covers, a solid bar that would be pressed against his hip if he leaned back even slightly. The almost contact seemed to flick a switch inside him and suddenly it was easy to know what to do. He reached over her legs for the hand that wasn’t clutching tissues. Small, delicate fingers curled around his and held on, warm and strong.

      Any moment now Lizzie’s

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