A Baby Of Her Own

I’ll be just like any other mum…One of each would be nice…

The words echoed round and round in Sam’s head as if his mind were stuck on continuous-loop replay, and he couldn’t stop it, even though it was torture. And the dreams he’d started entertaining about Jodie crumbled into dust.

He sat locked in misery until he realised that Jodie was shuffling in her seat, looking distinctly nervous. Then he realised why: the revue. It had been going on for ten minutes and he hadn’t even noticed.

He forced his attention to the stage. Yes, there was Mr Frosty: a consultant in a formal suit, a white coat and a snowman’s head, with an expressionless mouth, large grey eyes and a big carrot for a nose.

Stuart Henderson, one of the senior house officers, was playing Mr Frosty and had Sam’s mannerisms down to a T. Sam found himself laughing at the way various nurses pretended to be overcome with heat and Mr Frosty cooled them down by blasting snow at them. Jodie visibly relaxed when she saw Sam laugh. He found himself relaxing, too. Maybe he was reading too much into all this, overreacting. Hadn’t Angela always said he was too serious?

Finally there was the pièce de résistance—something Jodie obviously hadn’t expected, by her gasp of surprise followed by a giggle—the pantomime dog. One of the auxiliaries had made herself up like an English springer spaniel and trotted onto the stage, dropping a ball on the patient’s bed and saying, ‘Let’s play!’ She bounded up to every other actor on the stage—‘doctor’ and ‘patient’—saying, ‘Let’s play! It’s good for you. Let’s play!’

‘Hoist with your own petard?’ Sam whispered in her ear.

‘Deservedly.’ Though she didn’t look cross or embarrassed by the lampooning—just amused. In her shoes, Angela would have stormed off in a huff.

When the revue finished, Sam gave some of the loudest applause. He also collared Mick when they’d both helped to shift the chairs out of the way of the dancing area.

‘I…er…hope you weren’t offended,’ Mick said, shuffling his feet slightly.

‘If it weren’t for your impending fatherhood,’ Sam said coolly, ‘I’d be suggesting that you consider a change in career.’

Mick looked completely crestfallen, and Jodie—who’d joined them and had overheard Sam’s comment—was clearly about to jump to his defence when Sam added, ‘Your comic timing’s brilliant and you’ve an eye for detail and mannerisms. But nursing’s a steadier job than scriptwriting, so I’d stick with the day job for now. Besides, we’d all miss you too much on the ward if you went off to London.’

Mick stared at the consultant, open-mouthed. ‘For a minute there, I thought you were going to…’ He tailed off awkwardly.

‘Freeze you?’ Sam gave a rueful smile. ‘Message received and understood.’

‘Thanks for being such a good sport about it,’ Mick said.

‘Hmm. Well, another lesson’s been drummed into me tonight.’ With a sidelong glance at Jodie, he explained, ‘Play’s good for you.’

Jodie’s face clashed spectacularly with her dress. ‘I’m not really that over the top, am I, Mick?’

The other nurse nodded. ‘But the patients love it.’ He looked diffidently at Sam. ‘And they think a lot of you, too, sir.’

‘The name’s Sam, not sir,’ Sam corrected.

‘Sam.’ Mick smiled. ‘Well, have a good time, you two. I’m off to get some banana and anchovy pizza before I dare go home and show the missus this.’ He waved the video camera at them and headed for the exit.

‘Banana and anchovy?’ Sam and Jodie simultaneously pulled faces.

‘Am I really like a spaniel?’ Jodie asked Sam.

He tipped his head on one side, considering. ‘Well, I don’t see any evidence of a wet, shiny nose, big brown eyes, long ears or halitosis.’

Her colour deepened. ‘That isn’t what I meant.’

He smiled. ‘Your enthusiasm keeps everyone going.’

‘Oh.’ Jodie bit her lip. ‘Shall we get something to eat?’

‘As long as it isn’t banana and anchovy pizza.’

‘Definitely not!’ They wandered over to the buffet table and helped themselves to chicken satay, tiny bridge rolls and cheese straws. Jodie eschewed the mince pies in favour of chocolate cheesecake, and ate Sam’s share as well as her own.

‘I had you pegged as a traditionalist,’ Sam said.

Jodie grimaced. ‘I hate mince pies. And Christmas cake. And Christmas pud.’ She screwed up her nose. ‘I don’t care if dried fruit’s good for you, it’s revolting.’

Sam’s lips twitched. ‘So you have chocolate instead?’

Jodie spread her hands. ‘Chocolate’s actually quite healthy.’

‘That report about catechins was referring to top-quality plain chocolate,’ Sam said, surprising her. ‘And it didn’t say you should eat industrial-sized quantities of the stuff.’

‘You weren’t eating your cheesecake,’ she pointed out, ‘and it’d be a shame to waste it.’

‘Huh.’ Sam gave a mock grimace and the corners of his eyes crinkled.

Jodie felt her pulse accelerate and looked away. Not now. No, please, she couldn’t develop a huge crush on the man now. She was supposed to be getting him out of his shell, that was all. Though a part of her wanted to do much, much, more…

As the band started, Sam looked round and raised an eyebrow. ‘Is that Stuart Henderson again, on vocals?’

‘And air guitar. A man of many talents,’ Jodie said. ‘Not to mention a string of nurses desperate for his attention.’ She shrugged. ‘He’s young.’

Sam burst out laughing. ‘You’re starting to sound like me.’

‘You mean, old?’ she teased.

‘Listen, you, I’d hardly started at infant school when you were born.’

‘Uh-huh.’ Jodie tapped her nose meaningfully. ‘I believe you.’

To his surprise, Sam was thoroughly enjoying himself. How long had it been since he’d had some fun? Excluding Mario’s…too long, he thought. When his marriage had disintegrated, he’d buried himself in work and avoided the social side of hospital life completely.

Right now, he wanted to have fun. And if Jodie thought he was an old fogey, she was about to learn something! ‘Come on. Let’s dance,’ he said to her.

‘Dance?’

‘Move your feet, wiggle about a bit in time to music, that sort of thing.’

Was this really Sam Taylor, Mr Frosty, talking? Jodie thought. But the offer was too good to resist. ‘Let’s go,’ she said, putting her plate down on a convenient table.

Dance. She’d expected him maybe to do what everyone else at the party was doing—as he’d put it, ‘move your feet, wiggle about a bit’. But, no, Sam Taylor could really dance. When Stuart’s band switched to a rock ’n’ roll number, Sam was spinning Jodie round and getting her to do all sorts of complicated things that would have had Matt goggling at his clumsy kid sister’s performance.

When the music stopped, she was out of breath. And then she became aware that she and Sam were the only two on the floor—everyone else was standing watching them, applauding and cheering. Yet again that evening Jodie’s face clashed with her dress, and she retreated to the table where she’d left her plate.

‘Come on. Play’s good for you,’ Sam teased.