And Daughter Makes Three

‘Yes. I’ve just told her you’re living with me now.’

Jane hovered, chewing her lip unhappily. ‘Are you sure you want me?’ she asked tentatively. ‘I make your life so complicated.’

He couldn’t deny it. His life had been complicated by her presence ever since she had been conceived fourteen years before, when he was just a green medical student with more hormones than sense, but want her? Oh, yes …

He held out his arms. ‘Come here, sweetheart.’

She watched him for a second, then shrugged away from the doorpost and crossed to him, curling up on his lap the way she had as a little girl, her head nestled on his shoulder, her fragrant hair tickling his nose, her light frame angular now and leggy like a foal’s.

He snuggled her deeper into his arms, rested his chin against her head and sighed. ‘Love you, JJ.’

‘Love you too, Dad,’ she mumbled, and he felt her slim arms creep round his chest and squeeze.

Anger rose in him, anger at his ex-wife for so callously and selfishly following her own path to the detriment of Jane’s happiness, anger too at her money-grubbing plea about the maintenance.

‘Don’t be angry with her, Dad. She can’t help it. It’s just the way she is.’

He sighed and stroked the sweetly scented hair. ‘It just makes me angry when she hurts you.’

Jane sat up on his lap and shook her head. ‘She doesn’t hurt me.’

‘She disappoints you.’

Jane nodded. ‘Yeah.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘For what? Not choosing my mother more carefully?’ She ruffled his hair affectionately. ‘Don’t be silly. Are you going to work?’

‘I have to. I’ve got a new registrar and she got flung in a bit at the deep end yesterday.’

‘Mmm. Frankie. I like her; she’s got nice eyes.’

His mouth quirked in a fleeting smile. ‘Yes—yes, she has. She’s probably got bags under them by now. I’d better go and give her the day off, I think.’

He patted Jane’s shoulder, and she slid off his lap and stretched, her nightshirt rising up to show endless skinny legs. She’s grown even more, he realised with a start, and she’s turning into a woman. Dear God, can I cope?

He stood up and hugged her briefly, dropped a kiss on her soft hair and let her go. ‘Will you be all right?’

She rolled her eyes. ‘Dad, for God’s sake! I got here from London all right.’

‘Yes, well, we won’t talk about that. There’s food in the fridge and Mrs Bailey will be in later to clean up a bit and cook supper for us.’

‘I could do that.’

He chuckled. ‘Jane, when you were last here a week ago you couldn’t even make your own bed. I think we’ll let Mrs Bailey do it—maybe she’ll teach you how to cook if you ask her nicely.’

Jane rolled her eyes again. ‘Dad, I know how to cook. What do you think Mum eats in the holidays when her boyfriends aren’t allowed to take her out for dinner?’

He smiled, but inwardly he seethed again that she should be so cynical so young. Damn Jackie. When he caught up with her he’d have a few choice words to say, and out of JJ’s earshot, too, so he didn’t have to pull his punches.

‘I’ll ring you later.’

‘Daddy, I’ll be fine.’

He grinned at her. ‘OK; love. Take care.’

‘You too.’ She reached up on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. ‘Have a good day. Say thank you to Frankie for me for covering for you.’

Frankie was shattered.

It was easy enough to keep up the cheerful, determined ‘I can do it’ front while Robert was around. When she was on her own, however, doubts began to assail her.

His praise on her first day had helped enormously, but all the time she was working she was desperately conscious of being under scrutiny. Not that that mattered. She didn’t worry about being watched—it was a valuable safety net for the patients during her learning process—but she was beginning to wish she hadn’t made the suggestion about being on trial.

After less than a week she was finding the process unbelievably tiring, and every time he moved out of sight her cheery smile slipped.

Apparently it didn’t go unnoticed. She was sitting in the staff coffee-lounge one lunchtime after a gruelling clinic that had had all the subtlety of a finals viva, sipping strong coffee and chewing methodically but without enthusiasm on a Danish pastry, when a shadow fell across her lap.

‘Mind if I join you?’

She looked up to find a man of about her own age, dressed in theatre pyjamas, his dark hair rumpled and untidy, a cautious half-smile on his generous mouth.

‘Do,’ she answered. He looked friendly and approachable and not about to pounce, she thought with relief. She was too damn tired and strung out to deal with Tarzan today.

‘You’re new, aren’t you?’ he asked, settling himself down with his anti-static boots propped on the table and the coffee-cup balanced on his lap.

‘Yes. I’ve been here since Monday.’

His grey eyes assessed her thoughtfully and the cautious smile touched his lips again. ‘Were you tired when you arrived, or has this place got to you already?’

She laughed. ‘A bit of each. I did a silly thing. I talked myself into a job on a trial basis, and now I feel I can’t breathe spontaneously without it being noted down.’

He chuckled. ‘You’re Robert Ryder’s junior reg, aren’t you? I gather he’s excellent.’

‘Yes, he is. Rather too excellent. The shortfall is all the more obvious,’ she said with wry self-mockery.

The young doctor laughed softly and leant forward, his hand outstretched. ‘I’m Gavin Jones—Oliver Henderson’s junior reg.’

She shook the firm, dry hand. ‘Frankie Bradley.’

‘Frankie—that’s unusual.’

‘Frances really,’ she said with a little shudder.

Gavin smiled. ‘Frances is fine but Frankie suits you better. So—you’re on trial. Wow. I remember when I made a foul-up as a houseman and Ross Hamilton came down on me like a ton of bricks. I couldn’t breathe after that either without him watching me!’

‘What did you do?’