Sydney Harbour Hospital: Zoe's Baby. Alison Roberts

      Finn stared at her back for a moment longer before swinging away himself, to head for the nearest telephone.

      ‘Um …’ Zoe cleared her throat beside Teo. ‘I think your patient’s in cubicle 4. Look … eleven-month-old boy from MVA. His name is Harry.’

      ‘Cool. I’ll go and see what they’ve found.’ He lowered his voice. ‘I might need to pull a few strings and get the little guy admitted.’

      ‘Why would you do that?’

      Teo didn’t have a chance to answer as a nurse came up to the board with an eraser and a pen. She filled in an empty slot to show that a patient had just come back from CT.

      ‘That was the woman from your scene,’ she told Zoe. ‘Good job you immobilised her. She’s got cracked vertebrae C4 and 5. Could have ended up quadriplegic if they’d been displaced.’ Then she smiled. ‘Hi, Teo. We heard you were involved in a bit of action. Your baby’s in cubicle 4 if you want to go and see him.’

      ‘Thanks.’ Teo returned the smile. ‘And it’s only a rumour, Louise. I’m not really the father.’

      Louise giggled. Zoe didn’t even smile. In fact, she was staring at him as if that tiny bit of flirting was just as unprofessional as the spat they’d overheard between Finn and Evie.

      Suddenly, it seemed important to do some damage control. ‘You’re Zoe, aren’t you?’

      ‘Yes. Zoe Harper.’

      ‘We didn’t get the chance for a proper introduction, did we?’ He held out his hand and gave her his best smile. ‘I’m Teo Tuala.’

      Her expression softened. ‘And I didn’t get the chance to thank you for your assistance.’ Her hand was surprisingly soft. And small. It disappeared completely within his huge, brown paw. Teo gave it a gentle, friendly squeeze and let go.

      Behind them, a team of people was swiftly manoeuvring the bed that Michelle Drew lay on towards the internal doors and the lift that would take her up to Theatre.

      ‘How’s she doing?’ Teo asked.

      ‘Touch and go. She really does need to get into surgery.’ Zoe was watching his face. ‘Why did you say that you’d find a way of admitting the baby even if he didn’t need it?’

      Teo rubbed the side of his nose. ‘That’s not what I said.’

      ‘It sounded like it was what you meant.’

      He smiled at her again. ‘OK, I confess. I want to make sure he’s got family to go to while his mum’s in here. It’s no secret that I’m not a fan of foster-care.’

      Zoe’s gaze flicked away. She was looking over his shoulder. ‘Tom. You ready to hit the road?’

      ‘Absolutely. Hi, Teo. You’ll be happy to know that little Harry’s been cleared. His dad’s on the way here now. And his grandma, apparently.’

      ‘Couldn’t be happier,’ Teo nodded. ‘I’ll go and see him now before I get any later for my rounds. Good to meet you both.’

      Zoe watched him walk away, heading for cubicle 4.

      She was trying very hard to suppress a niggly sensation in her gut that had the potential to undermine how good her first day back at work had been promising to be.

      She recognised the niggle all too well.

      Guilt, that’s what it was.

      Good grief. Teo Tuala was prepared to cross professional boundaries if necessary to prevent a child going into temporary foster-care.

      What would he think if he knew that she had considered foster-care as an option for her own child?

      That she’d gone even further than that and considered giving up her child for adoption?

      He’d think she wasn’t fit to be a mother.

      And maybe she’d have to agree with him.

      CHAPTER TWO

      ‘OH …no!’

      The baby’s face puckered in dismay at the tone of Zoe’s voice. Hastily, she picked her up and held her, patting the tiny back. ‘It’s OK, Emma. Don’t cry. Please don’t cry.’ She alternated the pats with some soothing circles. ‘Come on, we’ll find a clean suit for you and we can still be on time for our appointments.’

      It took no time at all to find what she needed in Emma’s room. Stretchy suits and singlets were folded and sorted according to size and colour in the dresser drawers. The change table was clean to the point of sterility with the wipes, creams and disposable nappies neatly encased in the plastic partitions of the slide-out drawer.

      ‘No more spit-ups,’ Zoe commanded, snapping the fasteners on the clean, pink suit.

      Emma waved chubby fists and grinned up at her mother. Zoe sighed but stretched out to smooth back wisps of golden hair from the baby’s forehead. ‘At least you look like someone really loves you.’

      Zoe loved her. She did. The only problem was that the realisation was in her head and not in her heart. She knew she loved her daughter. She just couldn’t feel it.

      There was no time to change her own shirt. Zoe dabbed at the milky stain with a wet cloth and then abandoned the attempt. Emma had an appointment at the paediatric clinic for a routine check-up. Zoe had an appointment with her psychologist, John Allen, which was hopefully also routine but being late for either appointment was not an option. She had to convince everybody that things were going brilliantly on the home front otherwise John might change his mind about it being a good idea for her to be back at work part time.

      And it might have been only a few days since she’d started work again but Zoe already knew that it was the way forward for both herself and Emma. She wouldn’t survive being a full-time mother on her own. Not now, when she’d been reminded of the person she’d once been. Not while the memories were still so fresh of how hard it had been in the mothering unit when she’d had support available 24/7.

      With the confidence that stepping back into her old life for limited periods was providing, she was getting stronger. She could leave her failures behind her when she was on the road and, when she was at home, she could go through the motions of being a perfect mother and only she knew that she was counting the hours until she could be away from her child again.

      Besides, she wanted to be a mother that someone could be proud of. There was nothing wrong with that, was there?

      Emma’s car seat had a handle with several brightly coloured toys attached by elastic cords. When the soft toys were tugged they made noises. The yellow duck quacked and the lime-green frog croaked. The cow bell was proving popular this morning and it jingled at regular intervals as Zoe drove towards Sydney Harbour Hospital. The noise could have become irritating but Zoe had other things to worry about.

      Pulling up at a set of traffic lights, she checked the nappy bag on the passenger seat beside her. Had she remembered the bottle of formula? After spitting up half her breakfast, Emma could well be hungry again by the time they got to the paediatric clinic’s waiting room. The last thing Zoe needed was having to try and cope with a fractious baby under the watchful gaze of all the other mothers who would be there.

      Mothers who would probably all be like that dreadful support group John had talked her into going to on one occasion. Women who adored their babies and knew what they were doing. Women who never ever felt an inkling of the panic and despair that Zoe had lived with every day since Emma’s birth five months ago.

      Before that, even. Well before that. Right back in the earliest stages of this whole nightmare when she had agonised over whether even to continue with the pregnancy or not. And when it had all become too much and James had simply walked away. Not that she could blame him. They’d been doing no more than dating casually when she’d become pregnant and while they’d