A Child to Heal Them Read online

  ‘But critical. That’s the bit you’re not saying, isn’t it? I read the notes.’

  He looked away, guiltily.

  She turned back to Abeje. Thinking of how far she’d come. Of all that she had survived. ‘Do you know what her name means?’

  ‘Abeje? No. I don’t.’

  ‘It means We asked to have this child.’ Tasha turned to Quinn, tears in her eyes. ‘She was wanted, Quinn. She was wanted! A precious first child! She wasn’t meant to be an orphan! She wasn’t meant to be in a children’s home, all alone with no one to care for her.’

  ‘But she does have people caring for her. She has us. She has you.’

  Tasha wiped away a tear that had escaped her eye and trickled down her cheek in a lonely waterfall. ‘What if I’m not strong enough?’

  He frowned, lines furrowing his brow. ‘Why wouldn’t you be strong enough?’

  She gazed at him, tears blurring her vision. ‘I’m not. I’m not!’

  She began to cry. Big, snotty sobs—proper, ugly crying—as she thought about all that Abeje had been through and still had to go through. Life was unfair. Seemingly all the good people—her, Abeje—who deserved to have a good life, were given traumatic ones instead. Their lives filled with heartache and pain.

  Abeje wasn’t even a teenager yet and she’d had both parents die, ended up in an orphanage with almost no hope of being adopted and now she was fighting for her life! Tasha thought she’d had it bad as a child, but it was nothing compared to this! She’d never been struck down by a terrible illness. The worst she’d had was the flu.

  Why? It made no sense to her at all.

  Quinn slipped his hand into hers. ‘Come with me.’

  ‘What? No. I can’t leave her.’

  ‘Tasha. Come with me. Please.’

  She looked up at him, sniffing, not caring how she looked, wondering why he wanted her to go with him. ‘But, Abeje—’

  ‘Abeje will be fine for a moment. Please. Come with me.’

  He looked so determined. So certain. So sure.

  Feeling the need to latch on to someone strong, she got up and allowed him to lead her out of the ward and along another corridor. They went down a flight of stairs and he led them to what looked like a maternity ward. There were about five women on the ward. All new mothers. Two of them had their babies in their arms and were breastfeeding.

  Tasha frowned, confused. ‘What are we doing here?’

  ‘I want you to look at these women. At these mothers.’

  She frowned. ‘Why?’

  ‘Because you need to know how strong you are.’

  She shook her head. ‘I don’t get it...’

  He took her hand and gestured at the women on the ward.

  ‘Each of these women thought that they weren’t strong enough to carry on. They were exhausted and spent. And each time they thought they couldn’t handle another second, another contraction, we told them that they had to. Because they did. If they didn’t find that strength—if they chose to stop—something terrible might have happened. So they pushed. And pushed. And when they thought they couldn’t push any more we told them to hang in there. That they could. That they were strong. They kept on because those babies in their arms, those children in their care, are the most important thing in the world and they had to do it. Tasha, you’re a remarkable young woman. You overcame a difficult start in life and you’re here, alone, in a developing country, fighting to improve the lives of children. Don’t you see how strong you are?’

  ‘I’m not a mother.’

  ‘Mothers aren’t necessarily the women who give birth to a child, but those who love them.’

  She frowned, thinking. ‘Like the woman who fostered me?’

  He nodded. ‘Yes. She didn’t give birth to you, but I bet she loved and cared for you like she had.’

  It was true. Tasha had even called her ‘Mum’. Still did to this day. It had been one of the most surprising events of her life, finding a home. People to care for her. Love her. She’d thought all her chances were gone.

  ‘You’re telling me I can do this?’

  His voice was soft and gentle. ‘I’m telling you, you can do this.’

  He reached up to stroke her face, the backs of his fingers tracing the line of her jaw, his gaze focused on her lips.

  She smiled hesitantly, feeling his arms come around her body and hold her close. She soaked up his strength. His belief in her.

  Staring at him, this close, she could almost barely breathe. Time stopped. The air felt thick with tension. She looked at his mouth. The mouth she had once dreamed of kissing. The mouth that belonged to the man she had once loved so much her heart had almost broken in two. She could feel it. Wanted to belong to him again.

  He lowered his head towards hers.

  He was going to kiss her.

  She could protest. She could pull away. She could tell him no.

  But she didn’t want to.

  Tasha closed her eyes and allowed her lips to meet his.

  * * *

  Quinn wished they could stay like that for hours. Tasha in his arms, her body against his. The feel of her, the scent of her hair, her perfume... It was a heady mix.

  He hated the fact that she’d got so upset. He’d felt it. Her pain. Her fear of losing the child. And he’d known he had to give her hope. Because there still was hope. For both of them.

  What he’d said was true. Women were infinitely stronger than men—mentally, physically and emotionally. They had greater depths to dig from.

  Look at Hannah and the way she’d coped with everything thrown at her. She’d had cancer and she had done her level best to protect him from the pain she was in as she strove to grow their child, tried to give him life.

  She’d tried to protect him as well as their son, whilst ignoring her own welfare. Had tried to carry on with life as if everything was normal. She had even made plans for their future, as if she’d believed she had one.

  And he’d gone along with it—hoping and praying that she would be there with him to change nappies and do midnight feeds and watch their child take his first steps. Had he blinded himself? Deliberately made himself naïve to what was going on?

  Desperate people made desperate decisions.

  Hannah had fought till the bitter end, knowing that every minute their son stayed in the womb was an extra chance that he would survive. She had been utterly unselfish, staying alive for their son for as long as she could, fighting for every breath just as he had done.

  And now he found himself with yet another strong woman.

  Tasha had no idea of the depths of her strength. She was frightened, and he understood that, but once she pushed past that fear she would realise just how much she had inside her still, in order to fight and to keep on fighting.

  That was why he had brought her down to this ward. Because being here helped him. Reminded him of what life was all about. Because it wasn’t about death. It was about life. And living.

  Being here also hurt him. Seeing these mothers holding their babies in a way Hannah had never got the chance to do. Seeing these full-term babies when his own had been so small. But he could push past that pain because Tasha was worth it. She needed to see. Needed to understand.

  And now had stood there kissing her.

  Kissing a woman who wasn’t his wife.

  It should have felt awful. Treasonous. An act of betrayal.

  And it did.

  But it also felt amazing and right. And something about Tasha being in his arms, about Tasha being the woman he was kissing, seemed to be a full circle completing itself.

  He hadn’t kissed her because he felt he owed it to her. He hadn’t kissed her to make up for what he had done to her as a teenager. He’d kissed her because he’d needed to. Wanted to.

  And the crevasse in his h
eart was beginning to close.

  No one had ever said life was going to be easy. He’d been through the worst thing anyone could ever experience—the loss of his wife and his baby—and yet he was still here. Still breathing. Still putting one foot in front of the other.

  He knew Tasha could do it, too. Even if he had to hold her hand.

  He liked doing that. Touching her. Holding her. He drew comfort from it—a comfort that he hadn’t realised he’d been missing.

  Tasha gave him a strength that he’d forgotten about. Gave him the need to care about someone. The need to be close to another human being.

  It was not just about friendship, though that was very nice. It was about having that special connection. Something deeper, more primal than friendship. A vulnerability. That was what you got when you opened up your heart and let someone in.

  ‘Are you ready to go back up?’ he asked her, staring into her deep blue eyes.

  ‘One more minute,’ she replied, and laid her head soothingly against his chest.

  * * *

  Tasha sat beside Abeje’s bed, straight of back and rigid of jaw, telling herself sternly that she could do this. Quinn believed in her. All she had to do was believe in herself. Sit by Abeje’s bedside and not freak out.

  Abeje was still breathing. Still alive.

  The worst had not happened. And it might never happen. She had to believe that.

  She cast her mind back to how she’d freaked out like that once before. That day she’d quit being a doctor. She’d sunk to the hospital floor, knowing she was responsible for the death of a child, staring at the tiles, wondering how on earth she was going to be able to call the parents in the middle of the night and tell them they needed to come in.

  Her hands had visibly shaken as she’d picked up the phone, she’d even misdialled twice, her fingers had trembled so much, and then there had been that awful moment when she’d heard the mother, at the other end of the line, picking up even before the second ring and saying hello.

  Her mouth had gone so dry. Her heart had thudded dully in her chest—an ever-present reminder that even though her heart could still beat, this woman’s daughter’s could not. Did not.

  This woman’s daughter was lying in a secluded bay, a white sheet pulled over her face.

  How could she speak? How could she find the words that must be said?

  The mother had begun to sound panicked.

  ‘Hello? Is there anyone there?’

  There was just a blank after that. She wasn’t sure what she’d done in the time from that phone call to the time the parents arrived, dishevelled and red-eyed, at just after three a.m.

  The Family Room had been small. Two sofas, facing each other. A small table in between with a vase of fake flowers and a box of man-sized tissues. There’d been an odd stain on one of the cushions and a frankly pallid painting of a beach scene on the wall.

  The parents had looked at her anxiously, wringing their hands, their faces pale.

  ‘What’s happened? How’s Maddie?’

  ‘I’m sorry...’ she’d begun, and the parents had collapsed in on themselves even before she’d got to the end of her sentence.

  It had been horrific to witness.

  She’d delivered news like that before and had always managed to maintain a professional distance. Stating the facts clearly, telling the family that she was sorry and then leaving them to have some privacy whilst they mourned. Going back in later, after a respectable amount of time, to ask if they’d like to see their loved one?

  But not that time.

  The rawness of those parents’ grief, the keening sound of the mother as she’d collapsed against her husband, the guilt that she’d felt, had ripped Tasha’s heart in two.

  I did this. It’s my fault. Maddie shouldn’t have died.

  She’d fled the room, pulled off her lanyard and thrown it to the floor. Stalked to her locker, taken her things and walked out. Never to return.

  Her mobile phone had rung almost non-stop, Simon’s name flashing up constantly. Her email inbox had overflowed, but she’d answered nothing.

  There’d been an investigation—of course there had. And the coroner had said that no one was to blame for the tragedy—certainly not Dr Tasha Kincaid, who’d had to make an agonising decision in the middle of a busy nightshift on call. But that hadn’t made her feel any better. She’d still felt to blame and the sound of Maddie’s mother’s crying and wailing had woken her most nights.

  Was Quinn right? Did she have the strength to get through this?

  Abeje’s still alive. That’s what I have to cling on to.

  But the insidious thought remained that the tables might soon be turned. That Tasha would not be the doctor delivering the bad news but instead the person taken into a family room and having Quinn in front of her saying, I’m sorry...

  Quinn—whom she’d kissed. And not as a friend.

  What did it all mean?

  She stared hard at Abeje in her hospital bed, willing her to get better.

  * * *

  ‘I’ve brought you some tea and toast.’

  Tasha had slept in the chair next to Abeje’s bed all night, and now it was morning. The fever had come down, and the child’s condition was stable once again. But Tasha looked crumpled and exhausted.

  She took it from him, her face smiling with gratitude. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘You stayed?’

  ‘I did.’

  ‘We have temporary cots, you know. I could have brought you one so that you didn’t have to sleep in a chair.’

  ‘Well, maybe next time.’

  ‘She’s improved a little. I think you might make it home tonight.’

  ‘I have to teach today,’ she said, stretching and wincing at a pain in her shoulder.

  ‘Here—let me.’ And he stood behind her and began to massage the knots out of her muscles.

  She gave a little groan of pleasure and he tried his hardest not to replay that sound in his head. But he couldn’t help it. His mind made him wonder what it would be like to hear her make different noises of pleasure.

  Quickly he admonished himself. Be a professional, Quinn! You’re still at work.

  ‘That feels good,’ she said. ‘Were you up all night?’

  ‘I got forty winks in the on-call room.’

  ‘Lucky you.’

  She could have joined me.

  His body stirred at the thought of that, and he had to let go of her shoulders and walk round to the other side of the bed to create some distance, hoping she didn’t notice that he might look a little flushed.

  Where were all these thoughts coming from? Okay, so they’d kissed once. And it had been amazing. But what had it really meant? Had he just been comforting her? Or had he truly allowed his desires to take over? He’d begun to believe he would never desire another woman ever again, so what was happening to him?

  She smiled her thanks and then picked up a triangle of buttered toast. ‘Mmm. Lovely.’

  ‘Abeje’s doing well. Her fever broke during the night. And the two kids from Mosa are doing well, too.’

  ‘That’s great. Have you got to work today?’

  He nodded.

  ‘Shame. I would have liked to be able to show you my class of kids and how wonderful they are.’

  ‘Maybe I could come over during my lunch break?’

  She beamed. ‘That would be great! Look, thanks for this, but I’d better get back and change. Have a quick shower.’

  ‘Of course. I’ll see you later?’

  ‘I’ll look forward to it.’

  She took a quick sip of her tea and then bolted, and when she’d gone, leaving sweet perfume in her wake, he realised just how much he was missing her already.

  He liked having her around. She was sweet and caring and loving. Tasha had a
big heart. She always had. She fell in love easily.

  Was he capable of the same thing?

  * * *

  He woke with a start, the lingering effects of his bad dream ebbing from his mind as he blinked his eyes to clear them of sleep and tried to slow his racing heart.

  He’d only meant to have a power nap, and normally he didn’t dream—or if he did he didn’t remember. But this one had been fierce in its imagery.

  He’d been with his wife, Hannah. She’d been lying in bed, her hands protectively wrapped around her stomach. He’d been kneeling beside her, talking to the baby in her belly, telling him about how much he was already loved. But when he’d finished—when he’d looked up to smile at Hannah—it wasn’t her any more but Tasha, and she’d been holding Abeje in her arms, crying, screaming at him to save her!

  ‘Save my child! You have to save my child!’

  Quinn rubbed at his eyes and stood up from the bed in the on-call room, stretching. The dream had unsettled him. But for what reason he wasn’t sure. Because Hannah had become Tasha? Because he was worrying about Abeje? Or was it more to do with how connected to Abeje Tasha was?

  He knew he shouldn’t be worrying about this. He was impressed by her dedication as Abeje’s teacher. Clearly she cared for the children in her class. and that was a good thing. But...

  But what?

  What if it all goes wrong and I can’t save her?

  No doctor liked to think the worst, but sometimes you had to consider your course of action. Malaria was contentious. Tricky. You never knew how people were going to react to the meds. Sometimes it came down to how well they’d been before they’d got infected, but they’d done a full work-up on Abeje and hadn’t found anything else wrong.

  Quinn ran his fingers through his hair and then quickly brushed his teeth. It was nearly time for him to go and see Tasha. He said he’d pop down to the school to meet the other kids.

  But maybe he shouldn’t? Maybe he was getting too deeply involved here?

  He liked Tasha. Immensely. He couldn’t deny it and he’d like their relationship to go further. But...

  Perhaps I’m getting cold feet?

  Did he really want to get into another relationship? Another relationship in which the welfare of a child was of primary significance? Did he need that complication? No one could know if Abeje would survive this and he feared Tasha’s reaction if she didn’t.