The Pregnant Registrar. Carol Marinelli

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СКАЧАТЬ as was her pulse for a second as Corey’s arm brushed her cheek.

      ‘You’re already in,’ he said, bemused. ‘Did you type in the correct UR number?’

      ‘That must be it.’ Lydia flushed even more as Corey tapped away and Patrick’s results appeared on the screen. ‘They’re still not back.’

      ‘They won’t be till lunchtime.’ Corey frowned. ‘I already told you that.’

      ‘So you did.’

      He obviously wasn’t one for small talk. He made his way back across the ward and resumed whatever it was he had been doing as Lydia stared helplessly at the screen, cheeks flaming, heart pounding, trying to ignore the delicious lingering waft of his after-shave, stunned at the response he’d elicited from her, curiously irritated at her body’s rather unloyal response.

      She was pregnant, for heaven’s sake.

      Wasn’t that supposed to exalt her to some sort of nun-like status?

      Wasn’t her libido supposed to vanish with her waist line?

      Not that it made a scrap of difference. From the black looks Corey flashed at her every now and then, from the rather terse way he addressed her, this was one relationship that was clearly set to stay professional.

      Oh, well, Lydia sighed, pulling out her hair tie at the end of a long and exhausting day, snapping the folders closed and flicking off the light in the cupboard that doubled as her new office.

      ‘I thought you left ages ago.’ Corey looked up as she wandered past his office.

      ‘One day in and I’m already behind on the paperwork.’

      ‘Tell me about it.’ Corey grimaced, gesturing to his overloaded desk. ‘I was supposed to be off at four. Four a.m. more like.’

      ‘You’ve only got yourself to blame.’ When he frowned, Lydia smiled. ‘Most NUMs shut themselves in their offices for the best part of the day.’

      ‘Not my style.’ Corey shrugged.

      ‘Then stop complaining.’

      She was almost smiling and so was Corey, clearly getting her rather dry off-beat humour.

      ‘I’ve been thinking about your problem and maybe you should come into work a bit earlier,’ Corey ventured as Lydia made to go.

      ‘Sorry?’ Turning, it was Lydia’s turn to frown now.

      ‘In this line of work there will always be paperwork. Why not do only the essentials at the end of the day and leave the rest till the morning, come in half an hour earlier?’ When Lydia’s frown remained he addressed her as one would a bemused three-year-old. ‘Your morning sickness—you said it hits you within half an hour of setting foot in a hospital. If you come in early, you can spend a bit of time acclimatising.’

      ‘Oh!’ Lydia blinked a couple of times, the solution so simple she couldn’t believe she hadn’t already thought of it.

      ‘And you’ll have more of the evening to put your feet up and relax.’

      ‘Better and better.’ Lydia smiled.

      ‘And I’m sure your husband will be pleased to see a bit more of you.’

      She couldn’t be sure, the light on his overhead desk didn’t allow for an absolute inspection, but for a fleeting second Lydia swore his cheeks darkened.

      ‘There’s no husband.’ As Lydia swallowed nervously, Corey filled the uncomfortable silence.

      ‘Boyfriend, then.’

      ‘No boyfriend either.’ Another nervous swallow and when her voice came it was strangely high. ‘When I say no husband, what I meant was—’

      Corey put his hand up. ‘You really don’t need to explain. I mean, I just assumed you had…’

      Lydia looked down at her bump, which seemed to be growing like Pinocchio’s nose before her eyes, determined to make her feel as fat and as sexless as it was possible to feel, but dragging her eyes up, meeting Corey’s full on, her bump seemed to fade into insignificance, the cocktail of hormones fizzing through her bloodstream at that very second definitely not maternal. ‘It’s a natural assumption,’ Lydia said softly. ‘So natural, in fact, that I was naı¨ve enough to think it myself. We just got divorced.’

      ‘I’m sorry,’ Corey started, but it was Lydia putting her hand up now.

      ‘Don’t be.’ She gave a small shrug. ‘At least, not on my account. I’m saving all the sympathy for this little one.’

      Putting a hand up to her stomach, Lydia felt the soft swell of her child beneath and for an awful moment she felt the appalling sting of tears on her lashes, struggled with a bottom lip that seemed to be involuntarily wobbling, before forcing a very brittle, very false smile. ‘’Night, then.’

      ‘’Night.’ Either he didn’t notice or politely ignored the slight tremor in her voice. Clicking on his pen, he turned to his notes as Lydia scurried through the unit, blinking back tears as she watched the two-by-two world of the neonatal unit, the mothers and fathers hovering by the cots, staring at the fragile miracles they had created, loving each other, leaning on each other. Not for the first time, Lydia wondered how on earth she could do this on her own.

      As if on autopilot she washed her hands, made her way to the only incubator that didn’t have a parent beside it, stared at the little scrap of life who really knew what loneliness meant for a moment, before slowly putting her hand in and gently soothing the restless, furrowed brow.

      ‘What have I got to complain about, Patrick?’ Lydia said gently, smiling softly as he relaxed under her touch. ‘What have I got to complain about?’

       CHAPTER TWO

      LYDIA hated shopping.

      Correction. Lydia loved shopping, adored trying on clothes, slipping her feet into strappy little sandals and pondering her purchase over a well-earned caffe latte.

      She merely hated food shopping.

      Still, it beat walking into an empty house…Leaning on a trolley that had a mind of its own, Lydia wandered aimlessly along the aisles, staring in utter bemusement at the rows upon rows of nappies and trying to fathom why it had to be so dammed complicated. Some were in kilos, some were in age, some spoke about softer outer, and stay-dry inners with tiny little teddies that faded when the nappy needed changing. Not for the first time, Lydia felt a surge of panic well inside her.

      What on earth was she doing?

      How on earth was she supposed to cope with a living, breathing, crying, demanding baby of her very own when she couldn’t even decide what type of nappies to purchase? Sure, she dealt with babies every day, handled the most fragile infant with skill and confidence, made life-and-death decisions in the blink of an eye, but, and here was the big one…

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