The Surgeon's Marriage. Maggie Kingsley

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      ‘Life’s too short,’ she insisted. ‘Tom, I’ve been thinking—why don’t we hire a babysitter the next time we both have a weekend off? We could head off somewhere romantic like the Isle of Skye. We haven’t been anywhere alone for ages, and—’

      ‘Do you think you could be hitting an early menopause?’

      Her jaw dropped. ‘Do I what?’

      ‘I know you’re only thirty-two,’ he continued thoughtfully, ‘but it would certainly explain your mood swings, your abstraction and fatigue—’

      ‘Tom, I am not starting the menopause,’ she snapped. ‘If I look tired, maybe it’s because I am tired. Tired of cooking and cleaning. Tired of constantly tidying up after you and the kids, and tired of being expected to be a super-efficient SHO into the bargain.’

      The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them, and she bit her lip. She hadn’t realised she’d been feeling so put upon and taken for granted lately, but now she’d said it she knew it was true. It might have been better, though, if she’d couched her complaint in less confrontational language. Her husband clearly thought so, judging by the dull flush of colour sweeping across his face.

      ‘Tom—’

      ‘Sorry to interrupt you, Doctors,’ the department secretary declared, ‘but it’s twenty past nine, and your clinics were supposed to start at nine.’

      ‘Our clinics will start when we’re ready to start,’ Tom replied, his voice uncharacteristically brusque. ‘Until then I’d be obliged if you’d allow us some privacy.’

      Doris looked crushed. She also looked curious. Very curious.

      ‘That wasn’t the smartest thing in the world to do,’ Helen protested the minute the woman had gone. ‘Doris is the biggest gossip in the hospital, and just because you’re angry with me—’

      ‘I don’t think this is the time or the place for a discussion about our private life, do you?’ he said stiffly.

      Oh, really? she thought. Well, she wasn’t the one who’d started it with all this stupid talk about the menopause. She wasn’t the one who hadn’t been pulling her weight at home.

      ‘Fine,’ she said, her voice every bit as taut and cold as his. ‘Then perhaps you could consult your diary and pencil me in for a day when it would be convenient.’

      And before he could reply she walked into his consulting room and slammed the door shut.

      The menopause. He had the nerve to suggest that her tiredness and irritability might be due to the menopause. That would teach her to marry a gynaecologist. One mention of being tired and fed up, and her husband’s mind had immediately gone into diagnostic mode.

      Well, his mind could just come right out of diagnostic mode, she decided, sitting angrily down at his desk. She might not have known how aggrieved she’d been feeling, but now that she did know she could see it was time he pulled his weight at home—way past time.

      And way past time for her clinic to start, she realised with a muttered oath as she caught sight of the clock on the wall.

      ‘Forget it, Helen,’ she told herself, pulling the stack of files on the desk towards her and hitting the intercom button. ‘Think about it later, but right now forget it.’

      And she managed to until her last patient turned out to be Jennifer Norton.

      ‘I’m feeling fine, thank you, Doctor,’ Jennifer said as she eased herself up onto the examination table. ‘In fact, now I’ve got over the morning sickness, the only thing I want is for my husband to stop fussing over me.’

      Lucky you, Helen thought, but she didn’t say that.

      ‘You can’t really blame him for fussing,’ she said instead, wrapping the blood-pressure cuff round Jennifer’s arm. ‘You gave us all a big fright back in February.’

      Jennifer had. At just eight weeks pregnant she’d been rushed into the department with vaginal bleeding, and as her pregnancy was the result of her fourth IVF treatment the signs weren’t good. Luckily the bleeding had stopped, but Jennifer still had a long way to go.

      ‘You’re fourteen weeks pregnant now, aren’t you?’ she murmured, watching the blood-pressure gauge.

      ‘Fourteen weeks gone, only another twenty-six to go.’ Jennifer laughed a little nervously. ‘Is it OK—my blood pressure?’

      ‘It’s up a little, but that might just be because you knew you were going to be examined today. Unless you’ve been doing something really silly, of course, like redecorating the whole house.’

      ‘Chance would be a fine thing. If I so much as look at a duster my husband’s down on me like a ton of bricks, saying I’m doing too much, putting the twins at risk.’

      ‘I’d enjoy the pampering while you can,’ Helen said with more of an edge than she’d intended. ‘Speaking as the mother of twins myself, you’re going to need all the energy you’ve got once they arrive. Twelve bottles a day to sterilise and prepare. Two dirty bottoms to change. Two little bodies that suddenly sprout six arms and legs when you’re trying to get them dressed to go out.’

      Jennifer smiled. ‘But I bet you never regretted having them.’

      ‘On good days, no. On bad days…’ Helen rolled her eyes heavenwards, and Jennifer laughed. ‘OK, I see from your notes that you’ve already had your spina bifida scan, so I just need to take a blood sample and then we’ll do a quick scan to check on how your babies are doing.’

      To Jennifer’s clear relief the scan revealed that the twins were the correct size and development for their gestation.

      ‘I hate having these scans,’ she admitted as she wiped the conductive gel off her tummy and pulled up her trousers. ‘I know they’re necessary, but I’m always terrified you’re going to tell me something’s wrong.’

      ‘It’s understandable to worry after all you’ve been through,’ Helen said gently. ‘Now, we’d like to see you again in a month’s time—’

      ‘Another scan?’

      ‘’Fraid so. Hey, look on the bright side,’ Helen continued as Jennifer groaned. ‘It will give you the chance to see how much your babies have grown, and we’ll be able to check on your blood pressure at the same time.’ She flicked through Tom’s diary. ‘How does the second of May sound?’

      ‘Fine by me. Brian and I aren’t exactly living a wild social life at the moment. Not that we were ever great party-goers even before I got pregnant,’ Jennifer said ruefully. ‘My husband’s the original stick-in-the-mud, stay-at-home bloke.’

      Helen smiled, but when the woman got to her feet she suddenly said on impulse, ‘How long have you been married, Jennifer?’

      ‘Fifteen years. Cripes, that’s longer than the average sentence for murder, isn’t it? Not that I’ve ever felt like murdering him—at least, not often.’

      ‘Husbands do drive you mad sometimes, don’t they?’ СКАЧАТЬ