Sue MacKay - You, Me and a Family

Dear Reader

I’m often asked where the ideas for my stories come from and I have to say I haven’t got a clue. They just arrive in my head. Yes, it’s chaos in there sometimes.

So where did Mario and Alexandra come from? In the sunshine by the marina at a restaurant in Nelson, celebrating a friend’s birthday earlier this year, I found my story. Sitting at another table was a very big, gorgeous, Italian-looking guy.

And that’s how it began. What if this man was a doctor? What if he were bringing up a child alone? Why? What kind of woman would take his heart? It was easy to visualise a tiny but strong woman with him. And how perfect it would be to make her his boss.

We had a great lunch that day, and I didn’t spend all my time on the story, preferring to enjoy the celebrations. But during the hour and a half drive home my mind worked overtime. I hope you like the result.

Cheers!

Sue MacKay

www.suemackay.co.nz

sue.mackay56@yahoo.com

Also by Sue MacKay:

EVERY BOY’S DREAM DAD

THE DANGERS OF DATING YOUR BOSS

SURGEON IN A WEDDING DRESS

RETURN OF THE MAVERICK

PLAYBOY DOCTOR TO DOTING DAD

THEIR MARRIAGE MIRACLE

These books are also available in eBook format from www.millsandboon.co.uk

Sue MacKay

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Dad and Mum. No matter what, you were always there for us as we grew from little hellions to adults. I miss you .

‘ALEXANDRA KATHERINE PRENDERGAST, how do you plead? Guilty …?’

The judge paused, drawing out the excruciating moment, forcing her heart to clench with pain.

Just when Alex thought she’d scream with frustration and humiliation, he added in a disbelieving taunt, ‘Or not guilty?’

Her mouth was drier than a hot summer’s day. Her tongue felt twice its normal size. Tears oozed from the corners of her eyes to track down her sallow cheeks. ‘Guilty,’ she tried to whisper. Guilty, guilty, guilty , cried her brain, agreed her knotted belly.

‘Speak up, Alexandra,’ the man standing on the opposite side of the operating theatre table growled. His eyes, staring out at her from under his cap, were cold, hard and demanding. Their hue matched the no-nonsense blue of the scrubs they both wore. ‘Did this child die in your care or not?’

‘I did everything within my power to keep him alive, your honour. The other doctors told me there was nothing I could’ve done, that I did nothing wrong. I wanted to believe them, but how could I? He was totally reliant on me and I failed him.’ The familiar, gut-twisting mantra spilled over her sore, cracked lips. The old pain and despair roiled up her throat. ‘I failed Jordan.’ The words flailed her brain.

‘Jordan died because of you. Have you done everything within your power to prevent the same thing happening again?’

‘Yes,’ she croaked. ‘Every day I try to save other babies.’

‘I sentence you to a lifetime of looking after other people’s ill children.’ Her judge’s eyes were icy, his voice a perfect match.

Alex gasped, shoved up from her pillow and clamped her hand over her mouth. Sweat soaked her nightgown, plastering it to her breasts and shoulders, making it pull tight against her skin as she moved in the bed. Moist strands of hair fell into her eyes, stuck to her wet cheeks. ‘I will not throw up. I will not.’ The words stuck in the back of her throat as she blinked her way back from the nightmare.

The all too familiar nightmare.

Her fingers shook as she reached for the bedside lamp switch and flooded her bedroom with soft yellow light. Tossing the covers aside she put her feet on the floor and pushed up. Despite the heat-pump being on, the winter air was chilly on her feverish skin. But cold was good. It focused her. Brought her completely back from the nightmare and her guilt. Made her concentrate on the here and now, on today and not the past.

Tugging on a thick robe and slipping her feet into fluffy slippers she trudged out to the kitchen and plugged the kettle in to make a drink of herbal tea. Shivering, she stood staring into her pantry, unable to decide what flavour to have. Her eyes welled up as the floodgates opened, and she blindly reached for the nearest packet and plopped a tea bag into a mug.

The oven clock read 3:46. She’d had little more than three hours sleep before the nightmare hit, slamming into her head in full technicolour. Accusing. Debilitating. Painful. Reminding her that her position as head paediatrician at Nelson Hospital was, in her mind, as tenuous as whatever her next patient threw at her. Taunting she was a fraud and that it was only a matter of time before she made a dreadful mistake with someone’s child that would expose her as incompetent.

She had to draw deep to find the belief she was a good doctor, a very good one. The ever expanding numbers of sick children coming to see her, not just from the top of the South Island but all over New Zealand, showed that. Unfortunately the nightmare always undermined her fragile belief in herself.

It also reinforced the truth about her not being mother material, how totally incompetent she’d be in that role. Not that she’d be contemplating that ever again.

Click. The kettle switched off. Boiling water splashed onto the counter as she filled her mug. Strawberry vapour rose to her nostrils. Taking the drink she crossed through the lounge to the wide, floor-to-ceiling window showcasing the lights of Rocks Road and the wharves of Nelson Harbour. Rain slashed through the night, falling in sheets to puddle on the surface ten storeys below.

Alex stood, shaking, clutching the hot mug in both hands, and staring down at the tugboats manoeuvring a freight ship through the narrow cut leading from Tasman Bay to the sheltered harbour. Day and night, boats came and went according to the tides. Now, in early June, they’d be loading the last of the kiwifruit destined for the other side of the world. Men looking like midgets worked ropes and machinery. A tough job. An honest job.

‘Stop it.’ There was nothing easy or dishonest about the work she did with sick children. ‘You did not cause Jordan’s death. The pathologist proved that, exonerated you.’

Tell that to Jordan’s father .

Behind her eyes a steady pounding built in intensity. Alex cautiously sipped the steaming tea, her gaze still fixed on the wet scene below. Why had the nightmares returned tonight? Exhaustion? Or the nagging need to slot back into her role as head of paediatrics at Nelson Hospital as quickly and effortlessly as possible?

The job was more than a job—it was her whole life, a replacement for the family she wouldn’t otherwise have. Lots of staff to mentor, harangue, watch over and care about. Oodles of children to care for in the only way she knew how—medically—and to love safely from the sidelines. Involved, yet not involved.

The fruity scent of her tea wafted in the air, sweet and relaxing. ‘You shouldn’t have taken the four-month sabbatical. It put you under pressure to again prove how good you are.’

But all those American hospitals and their savvy specialists showing how brilliant they were had actually boosted her confidence and made her understand once and for all she was up with the play, had joined the ranks of the best in the business of paediatrics. Everywhere she’d gone she’d been applauded for her paper on premature births. The job offers had been overwhelming. An awesome charge for her fragile ego. Even the nagging need to constantly prove to herself that she was good had taken a hike.

In San Francisco, when her old mentor from specialising days had offered her an incredible position at his new private paediatric clinic, she’d been beside herself with pride.

And that, she thought with grim satisfaction, should earn her stepfather’s grudging respect. Except, of course, she’d turned it down.

Draining the mug Alex turned away from the window. Time to try for some more sleep. Jet lag, exhaustion from her hectic time in the States, the inability to relax while away from home. All reasons to explain why she ached with tiredness and her mind ran riot with yearnings for what seemed doomed forever. A family of her own to love and cherish.

Alexandra sighed through her throbbing headache as she dropped her handbag into the bottom drawer of her desk. Home, sweet home. Nelson Hospital Paediatric Department. The place she spent most of her life. Her stomach flip-flopped like a fish on dry sand. Nerves? Why? She was happy to be back. Wasn’t she? Yes, but what if there’d been too many changes on the ward in her absence? Which regular patients had got well and left? Had any of them passed away?

She shivered. What was wrong with her this morning? To be feeling out of sorts was not the best way to start back on the job.

She’d been determined not to think too much about this job while she’d studied with the best of paediatricians in California and Washington, or when she’d presented her paper to countless meetings and conventions. During that time she’d pretended she wasn’t worried about staffing levels and the ever increasing numbers of wee patients entering Nelson Hospital. Instead she’d tried to absorb all she could from her mentors and share her own experiences and knowledge. She’d been entertained, courted and tutored. And all she’d wanted to do was return here. Home. Where she felt safe.

She glanced around the familiar room at the paintings she’d bought at the annual summer art show in the Queen’s Gardens downtown. They looked tired. Like her. Dusty. Not like her. She smiled reluctantly. It was great to be back—dust, or no dust.

Then reality crashed in on her. Her desk should be littered with stacks of files, notes, memos and all the other detritus that accumulated on a daily basis. Instead there was one small, neat pile in the centre of her desk. The acting HOD from London must’ve decided to give her a break on her first day back, despite having warned her during their Skype interview he’d be a better doctor than pen-pusher. ‘Thanks, John. I owe you.’

Stepping closer she spied a note at the top of the pile and picked it up.

Miss Alexandra Prendergast. Welcome back. I’ve done the rosters for the next month, signed off the patient reports to date and answered all the mail apart from two letters regarding intern rotations you might like to deal with yourself. I hope you find everything in order .

The scrawled signature read something like Maria Forreel.

Who was Maria Forreel? And why was this woman working in her office? So much for thinking John had done all this. Forreel? What kind of name was that? Was it—? Her smile stretched into a grin. Seriously, was it for real? Alex peered closer. Forell? Forelli, that was it. Forelli. It made no difference. The name meant nothing to her.

Alex tugged the chair out from the desk and sank down on it. She had been excited about coming back and yet today felt like the first day at school—terrifying. Worse, she didn’t even know why. ‘Probably jet lag.’ How many things could she blame on that?

‘There you are. How was your trip? Did you do lots of shopping in all those swanky boutiques?’ The charge nurse on her ward stood in the doorway with a wide, welcoming smile on her dear face.

‘Kay, it’s great to see you.’ A welcome distraction. ‘And yes, I found time to add to my wardrobe. A lot.’

‘I’m so-o jealous.’ Kay gave the most unjealous grin possible.