‘I’ve munched on some biscuits since then. So not healthy.’ She headed outdoors. ‘Anything interesting happen at work this morning?’
‘Surprisingly quiet really. Suspected stroke, sprained ankle and a couple of broken bones.’
‘You’ll never get away with that. This afternoon will be diabolical with every emergency imaginable.’ Her smile was lopsided. ‘Call me when that happens.’
‘You’re not serious?’
‘Of course not. Even I get that I need to take things slowly, but it’s so frustrating. Getting in the groceries is about as exciting as my day’s going to get. Until Rosie gets home anyway. How come you’re working today?’
‘Braden got called out of town by his family.’ Braden being his second in charge.
Plates and food were set on a tiny wrought-iron table under the pergola attached to her front wall. There was a bottle of water in a bowl of ice and mismatching glasses beside it. Emma winced as she lowered herself onto one of the two metal chairs. ‘Right, help yourself.’
‘After you.’ Suddenly he felt awkward, and, worse, he didn’t understand why. It was a bit like the very first time they’d shared a tea break in the department.
You’re kidding yourself, buster. This is more difficult.
Back then Emma had been just one of the staff he was getting to know by having one-on-one sessions over coffee and cake. Now she’d become a friend as well as a great colleague, and a woman he couldn’t seem to ignore, try as he might. A woman hurting and confused whom he longed to hug and kiss better.
Like it’s that simple. Let alone the consequences. Friendship ruined, working together awkward. Keep the kisses to yourself.
‘Thanks,’ she muttered and picked at a piece of ciabatta without any butter or ham to make it edible.
Putting a thick sandwich together, he placed it on her plate and took the mangled ciabatta away. ‘Eat. Properly.’
‘Yes, boss,’ she muttered.
‘Give yourself a break, Emma. It’s less than twenty-four hours since you gave birth, and it wasn’t, isn’t, the most usual of situations.’
‘I’m fine, just making the most of having a few days off work, that’s all.’ Pick, pick, pick. Her finger moved faster, as if it was trying to destroy something. Him for raising the subject of Grace? It needed raising. How else was she going to move forward?
Nixon slapped some ham between two chunks of ciabatta and bit into it, chewed slowly. There wasn’t a hope in hell Emma was about to start talking freely about what was eating her up. It was beyond her at the moment. She wouldn’t know where to start. ‘Remember the day I arrived in the department? When those two toddlers were brought in after apparently swallowing bathroom cleaner? Crying and screaming?’
Emma nodded slowly, and the eyes that met his said, Where are you going with this?
‘Turned out they’d drunk gin from the mother’s drinks cabinet, not cleaner, and they were tiddly.’
Emma began chewing slowly.
‘The mother wasn’t even embarrassed, more annoyed that the kids had disturbed her afternoon.’ Nixon recalled the thin, young woman with more attitude than parenting skills. ‘You picked up one toddler and handed him to me and said cuddle him as he needed that more than anything. Then you wrapped the second child in your arms and started telling a story, almost crooning to her. Within a couple of minutes both of them were quiet, hanging onto every word you uttered.’ She’d had him thinking what a wonderful mother she’d make, not realising she already had a child.
That look was still fixed on him. ‘So?’
He wasn’t sure what he’d started out to say, only that the memory had suddenly filled his head and he knew he had to share it. ‘Days later I met Rosie when she was dropped off. She was relaxed, funny, cute; well rounded. That came down to her having an amazing mother who knew what a child needed and how to give it. I understood then that those toddlers had had a special moment.’
‘They don’t get enough of them.’
‘You’ve seen them since?’
‘This is Queenstown. We all know each other, or of each other, through business, schools, you name it. The ones who’ve grown up here, anyway.’
‘I’ve seen you give other patients you’ve known in ED hugs that have stopped the crying, or softened pain. Give yourself a big one, Emma. Or I can…’ No, he couldn’t. He might want to but he was not going to hug her. Hugs could be too involved, at least any he had with this woman would be, and involved wasn’t in his vocabulary.
‘I don’t want to cry,’ she snapped as tears burst from her eyes and streamed down her cheeks.
‘Hey.’ Now what? Nixon sat, transfixed.
Through the open window next door came the soft sound of a baby crying. Emma drew a long breath, her hands gripping her sandwich so that the ham slid out and onto the deck.
‘You’ve only seen Grace once today?’
A nod. ‘When we first got home from the Valley.’ Her left leg was bobbing up and down, up and down.
‘You’re not ready to see them again?’ Shut up, Nixon. Keep your sticky beak out of this. No, this was why he was here.
‘Of course I want to,’ Emma continued quietly. ‘I want to drop in and out all the time like Abbie and I always do for each other. But this is different. What if she thinks I’m trying to hog Grace’s attention, or that I can’t let go, or…? I don’t know.’
‘When Rosie was born did you live next door to Abbie?’
‘Yes, Abbie and Michael. Without them and Mum I’d still be trying to work out how to change nappies.’
‘How often did Abbie come in here when you first brought Rosie home?’
‘Seemed like every five minutes.’
‘Did you mind?’ Nixon asked.
‘Of course not. I’d have been upset if she hadn’t.’
‘I rest my case.’
Hope spilled into Emma’s worried gaze. ‘You make it seem simple.’ Then her shoulders lifted, her spine straightening. ‘Thanks. You’re right. I’m being a dope.’
‘You’re dealing with a lot. Go easy on yourself.’ He stood and reached for one of the pastries. ‘Now, I’d better get cracking.’ The guy never seemed to stop working.
Emma turned to him. ‘Nixon? I’m really glad you dropped by.’
‘So am I, Em.’
So am I.
Screech. Tyres on hot tarmac. Screech, screech. Thunk. Bang. Glass tinkling.
The music stopped.
The air was too damned quiet. As if it were poised, waiting in anticipation. Something terrible had happened.
CHAPTER FOUR
NIXON SPUN AROUND to peer down the lawn towards the street. ‘Sounded like a vehicle hitting something solid.’
‘Electricity’s gone off so I’d say a power pole.’ Emma snatched up her phone and charged down the steps and across the lawn.
Nixon was right behind her. ‘Go carefully. There could be electric wires on the ground.’
The wires were still attached to the insulators, swaying in the light breeze, while the pole was at an odd angle, but nothing dangerous for them or bystanders. ‘Call 111. Need power, fire and ambulance,’ Nixon ordered.
‘Already onto it,’ came the calm voice of his very competent nurse.
Screams rent the air. Lifted the hairs on his arms. A young child’s screams, filled more with panic than pain, Nixon thought. Hoped, anyway, and crossed his fingers to make doubly sure.
Very medical, buster.
Reaching the vehicle, he did a quick walk-round, making doubly certain a stray wire hadn’t dropped to touch the metal with arcs of electricity.
‘All good.’
Peering inside, the female driver appeared unconscious, the steering wheel jamming her tight against the back of her seat while the airbag was all but smothering her.
‘Everyone’s on their way.’ Emma was beside him. ‘I’ll see to the wee one.’ She had the back door open and was feeling for the buckles of the belts that had kept the child
safe. ‘Shh, there. I’m going to get you out of the car, sweetheart. I know you’ve had a big fright, but you’ll feel better out on the grass. Shh.’
The screams weren’t abating, but Nixon had to ignore them while he dealt with the woman. If he didn’t get that airbag deflated immediately she might suffocate.
‘What can I do?’ Abbie appeared behind him.