Maybe This Christmas…?. Alison Roberts

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      He might well give her that cuddle himself, Gemma thought, and the fresh shaft of misery told her exactly who it was that she felt most sorry for here.

      Andy.

      No wonder she had felt that edge of anger when she’d told him she’d come rushing back from Australia to step into the terrible gap left by her sister’s death.

      Andy had been the one who’d wanted a big family. For Gemma it had come well down the list of any priorities. A list that had always been headed by her determination to achieve a stellar career.

      The irony of what she was throwing in his face tonight was undeserved. Cruel, even.

      Andy was the one with the stellar career now. The grapevine that existed in the medical world easily extended as far as Australia and she’d heard about his growing reputation as a leader in his field.

      And her career?

      Snuffed out. For the last six months and for as far as she could see into the future, she would be a stay-at-home mum.

      To a ridiculous number of children. The big family Andy had always wanted and she had refused to consider. In those days, she hadn’t even wanted one child, had she?

      Sophie’s exhausted cries had settled into the occasional miserable hiccup as Andy completed his initial examination, which included peering into her ears with an otoscope.

      ‘I don’t think it’s meningitis,’ he told Gemma finally.

      ‘Oh… thank God for that.’ The tight knot in Gemma’s stomach eased just a little, knowing that Sophie might not have to go through an invasive procedure like a lumbar puncture.

      Andy could see the relief in Gemma’s eyes but he couldn’t smile at her. He knew she wasn’t going to be happy with what he was about to say.

      ‘I’m going to take some bloods.’

      Sure enough, the fear was there again. Enough to show Andy that Gemma was totally committed to this family of orphans. Their welfare was her welfare.

      ‘Her right eardrum is pretty inflamed,’ he continued, ‘and otitis media could well be enough to explain her symptoms but I’m concerned about that rash. We’ve had a local outbreak of measles recently and one or two of those children have had some unpleasant complications.’

      Gemma was listening carefully. So was Hazel.

      ‘Kirsty’s got measles,’ she said.

      ‘Who’s Kirsty?’ Andy’s voice was deceptively calm. ‘A friend of yours?’

      Hazel nodded. ‘She comes to play at my house sometimes.’

      Andy’s glance held Gemma. ‘Have the other children been vaccinated?’

      ‘I… don’t know, sorry.’

      ‘We can find out. But not tonight, obviously.’ Andy straightened. He could see the nurse preparing a tray for taking blood samples from Sophie but it wasn’t something he wanted the other children to watch. He’d ask Gemma to take them all into the relatives’ room for a few minutes.

      She could take them all home. Even Sophie. He could issue instructions to keep them quarantined at home until the results came in and that way he’d be doing his duty in not risking the spread of a potentially dangerous illness. Gemma was more than capable of watching for any signs of deterioration in the baby’s condition but… if he sent them home, would he see any of them again?

      Did he want to?

      Andy didn’t know the answer to that so he wasn’t willing to take the risk of losing what little control he had over the situation. And even the possibility of a potentially serious illness like measles made it perfectly justifiable to keep Sophie here until they were confident of the diagnosis.

      To keep them all here, for that matter.

      Quarantined, in fact.

      ‘I’ll be back in a minute,’ he excused himself. ‘I’ve got a phone call I need to make.’

      Thirty minutes later, Gemma found herself in a single room at the end of the paediatric ward. Already containing two single beds and armchairs suitable for parents to crash in, the staff had squeezed in two extra cots and a bassinette.

      ‘Just for a while,’ Andy told her. ‘Until we get the results back on those blood tests and we can rule out measles.’

      Sophie was sound asleep in the bassinette with a dose of paracetamol and antibiotics on board. The twins were eyeing the cots dubiously. Jamie and Hazel were eyeing the hospital-issue pyjamas a nurse had provided.

      ‘I want to go home,’ Hazel whispered sadly.

      ‘I know, hon, but we can’t. Not yet.’

      ‘But it’s Christmas Eve.’

      Gemma couldn’t say anything. The true irony of this situation was pressing down on her. An unbearable weight that made it impossible to look directly at Andy.

      She heard him clear his throat. An uncomfortable sound.

      ‘Will you be all right getting the kids settled? I… have a patient in the PICU I really need to follow up on.’

      ‘Of course. Thanks for all your help.’

      ‘I’ll come back later.’

      Gemma said nothing. She couldn’t because the lump in her throat was too huge.

      It was Christmas Eve and Andy was going to the paediatric intensive care unit.

      The place it had all begun, ten years ago.

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