LITMIR.BIZ

      Oliver called in to one of the side rooms to see Hestia Blythe; he’d delivered her baby the previous evening by Caesarean section, after a long labour that had failed to progress and then the baby had started showing signs of distress.

      ‘How are you both doing?’ he asked with a smile.

      ‘Fine, thanks.’ Hestia smiled back at him. ‘I’m a little bit sore, and I’m afraid I made a bit of a fuss earlier.’ She grimaced. ‘I feel so stupid, especially because I know how busy the midwives are and I should’ve just shut up and let them get on with helping people who really need it.’

      ‘You’re a new mum who needed a bit of help—you’re allowed to make a fuss until you get used to doing things,’ Oliver said. ‘Nobody minds.’

      She gave him a rueful look. ‘I needed help to get my knickers on this morning after my shower and it was so, so pathetic. I actually cried my eyes out about it. I mean—how feeble is that?’

      ‘You’re not the first and you definitely won’t be the last. Remember, you had twenty-four hours of labour and then an emergency section,’ Oliver said. ‘I’d be very surprised if you didn’t need help with things for a day or two. And the tears are perfectly normal with all the hormones rushing round your body.’

      ‘That’s what that lovely midwife said—Ella—she was so kind,’ Hestia told him. ‘She said it was the baby blues kicking in early and everything will seem much better in a couple of days.’

      ‘She’s right. When you’ve had a bit of sleep and a chance to get over the operation, you’ll feel a lot more settled,’ Oliver agreed. And, yes, Ella was lovely with the patients. He’d noticed that even the most panicky new mums seemed to calm down around her.

      ‘May I have a look at your scar, to see how you’re healing?’ he asked.

      Hestia nodded. ‘You kind of lose all your ideas of dignity when you have a baby, don’t you?’

      He smiled. ‘We do try not to make you feel awkward about things, so please tell me if anything I say or do makes you uncomfortable. We want to make your stay here at Teddy’s as good as it can be.’

      ‘I didn’t mean that,’ she said, ‘more that you don’t feel shy or embarrassed about things any more—you get used to people looking at all the bits of you that aren’t normally on view!’

      ‘There is that,’ Oliver agreed. He examined her scar. ‘I’m pleased to say it looks as if you’re healing very nicely. How’s the baby?’

      ‘He’s feeding really well,’ Hestia said. ‘I found it a bit tricky to manage at first, but Ella sat down with me and showed me how to get the baby to latch on. She was really patient with me.’

      ‘That’s great. May I?’ He indicated the crib next to the bed.

      ‘Of course.’

      Obviously she saw the goofy smile on his face when he looked at the baby because she said, ‘You can pick him up and have a cuddle, if you like.’

      ‘Yes, please.’ Oliver grinned. ‘This is one of my favourite parts of the job, cuddling a little one I helped to bring into the world. Hello, little man. How are you doing?’ He lifted the baby tenderly and stroked the baby’s cheek.

      The baby yawned and opened his gorgeous dark blue eyes.

      It was always a moment Oliver loved, when a newborn returned his gaze. But today it felt particularly special—because in a few months he knew he’d be doing this with his own baby. ‘He’s gorgeous, Hestia.’

      ‘You’re a natural at holding them,’ Hestia said. ‘Is that from your job, or do you have babies of your own?’

      ‘My job,’ he said. Though now he was going to have a baby of his own. And, the more he thought about the idea, the more it brought a smile to his face.

      A baby.

      His and Ella’s.

      Right now they weren’t quite seeing eye to eye, but he’d make more of an effort. Because this really could work. He liked Ella and he knew she liked him. They were attracted to each other, or Hallowe’en wouldn’t have happened. And love…? Oliver had stopped believing in that a long time ago. But he thought they could make a good life together, for the baby’s sake.

      He just needed to convince Ella.

      ‘I was wondering,’ Hestia said. ‘My husband and I were talking, this morning, and you were so good with us last night. If it wasn’t for you, we might not have our little boy now. And we’d like to name the baby after you. If that’s all right?’ she added.

      ‘I’d be honoured,’ Oliver said. ‘Though I wasn’t the only one in Theatre with you, so it’d be a bit greedy of me to take all the glory.’

      ‘You were the one who saved our baby,’ Hestia insisted. She peered over at his name tag. ‘Oliver. That’s such a lovely name.’

      Oliver stared down at the baby. If Ella had a boy, would she want to call him Oliver? Or maybe Oliver as a middle name?

      The baby started to grizzle and turn his head to the side. ‘It looks as if someone’s hungry.’ He handed little Oliver over to his mum. ‘Are you OK latching on now, or would you like me to get one of the midwives?’

      ‘I’ll manage—you’ve all been so great,’ Hestia said.

      ‘Good. If you need anything, let us know OK?’

      ‘I will,’ she promised. ‘But right now all I can think about is my little Oliver here. And how he’s the best Christmas present I could’ve asked for.’

      Oliver smiled at her and left the room.

      The best Christmas present I could’ve asked for.

      In a way, that was what Ella had given him.

      Needing to see her, he went in search of her.

      ‘She’s writing up her notes from her last delivery in the office,’ Jennie, one of their trainee midwives, told him. ‘The baby had shoulder dystocia.’

      Which meant extra forms, Oliver knew. ‘Did everything go OK?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘Good.’ He headed for the midwives’ office. Ella was sitting at the desk; as usual, she’d dictated something first into her phone, and it looked as if she was listening to her notes and then typing them up a few words at a time. Oliver knew from reading Ella’s file that she was dyslexic; he assumed that this was the way she’d learned to manage it, and it was also the reason why she wore coloured glasses when she was reading notes or sitting at a computer.

      He rapped on the glass panel of the door to get her attention, then opened it and leaned round it. ‘Hi. I hear you just had a baby with shoulder dystocia.’

      She nodded. ‘There were absolutely no signs of it beforehand. The baby weighed three and a half kilograms and the mum didn’t have gestational diabetes.’

      ‘Prediction models aren’t much help, as they’re based on the baby’s actual weight rather than the predicted weight, so don’t blame yourself for it. In half of shoulder dystocia cases, we don’t have a clue in advance, plus not all of them are big babies or from diabetic mothers,’ Oliver said. ‘How did it go?’

      ‘Fine. As soon as I realised what was happening, I asked Jennie to get Charlie, the anaesthetist and the neonatal specialist. The McRoberts manoeuvre didn’t quite work so I had to give her an episiotomy and guide the baby out, but the baby was fine and there’s no sign of a brachial plexus injury. I’m going to keep an eye on Sophie—the mum—for

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