The Rebel Doc. Susan Carlisle

functioning. Maybe it was the worry about her mum …

      After she watched him pull away she went to find her mother, feeling empty and bewildered, her own heart bruised and broken enough too. There was so much between them that needed to be said, that she wanted to fix but wanted to avoid at all costs.

      The hospital corridors were silent as she walked to the reception desk, a grey-haired lady pointing her in the direction of Cardiac Care. Darkness outside the windows penetrated her heart. She’d been talking about her mum and then something bad had happened. What did that mean?

      She didn’t want to rail at her, to blame her for the crappy upbringing she’d had—it was too late for that. All Ivy had ever wanted was recognition that she was important in her mother’s life. But, in the end, she supposed, it didn’t matter a jot. Ivy’s mother was important to her and if love only went one way, then so be it. It was too late for recriminations.

      One of the nurses greeted her and showed her to her mother’s bed with a stern warning to be quick and quiet.

      ‘Ivy.’ Her mum looked frail and old, lying on pale green sheets that leached colour from her cheeks. Tubes and wires stuck out from under the blanket, attached to a monitor that bleeped at reassuringly regular intervals. A tube piped oxygen into her nostrils, but she sucked in air too, pain etched across her features. ‘Thank you for coming, I said not to bother you. I know you’re busy—too busy to have to come all this way to see your old mum.’

      ‘Mum, you’ve had a heart attack—since when was that not enough to bring me to see you?’ Guilt ripped through Ivy, as she’d known it would. It was what happened every time she saw her mum—whatever Ivy had done it had never been enough to make her mother love her and she just didn’t know how to make things better. She gave her a hug, which was always difficult, and this time it was hindered by the tubes. Movement made her mother’s monitor beep, and consequently made Ivy’s heart pound—loudly—and so she quickly let go. The space between them seemed to stretch.

      ‘How are you feeling?’

      ‘Lousy.’ Breathless and wheezing, her mum settled back down and the beeping stopped. ‘I had … an angioplasty. They’ve cleared the occlusion … put in a stent … so I just need a short stay in here … then do some rehab … as an out-patient.’

      It was fixable. Just faulty plumbing. Relief flooded through her as she held her mum’s hand. But once again she felt very much like their roles had been reversed, that she was the one taking the care, being the parent. ‘That’s great news. I was … I was worried about you.’

      ‘Thanks, love. I’m glad you came. You’re all I’ve got now. Can you stay … you know, a while?’

      Responsibility tugged Ivy in every direction. Her job, everything, could be put on hold. Couldn’t it? She’d only been there a few weeks—but they’d understand. Wouldn’t they? She had a nagging sensation that things weren’t going to be easy, that she’d have to fight to take time off—time she hadn’t yet earned. And she had that upcoming sexual harassment case that was so important for everyone involved. She needed to be in London all clued up for that.

      And she needed to be here with her mum. Someone who had never been there for her. Maybe she could trust the case to a junior? Maybe she could teleconference with them all. Maybe, surely, they’d understand? What would happen if they didn’t? She didn’t want to contemplate that. She’d finally got her dream job, and now … She looked at her mum, frail and anxious. ‘I’ll stay here with you as long as you need, Mum.’

      ‘I’d appreciate it. I don’t have anyone else.’

      ‘You have me.’ Even though it had never seemed enough. ‘Is there anything you need? Once they have you settled …’

      ‘I’ve been thinking, Ivy. About everything … We need to talk. I need to …’ Her mum’s eyes drifted to a spot just behind Ivy and as her skin prickled in response to an external stimulus, also known as Dr Delicious, she turned. Her mum’s voice suddenly sounded a lot more healthy. ‘Who’s this?’

      ‘Oh. Yes. Mum, this is Matteo, my …’ What the hell was he? Other than a giant pain in the backside and a damned fine kisser? And, okay, so he was wearing her down a little with his huge generosity of spirit and the four hours’ of driving on a soggy spring evening through interminable traffic on a motorway that had been as clogged as her mother’s arteries. He was also messing with her head. ‘He’s my colleague at St Carmen’s. He drove me here.’

      ‘All the way from London? Lucky you.’

      ‘Yes, well …’ She’d never introduced a man friend to her mother before. ‘He’s just helping me out.’

      Ivy shot Matteo a look that she hoped would silence any other kind of response. Because it was late and she was frazzled, her mum was sick and this wasn’t the time or place for explanations. I met his bottom first, the rest came later, and I have no idea what any of it means.

       And, truth be told, I’m scared. Right now, of everything. Of you dying. Of him becoming too much to me. Of losing myself in either grief or love.

       Of not being able to let go.

      The nurse bustled over and fiddled with an IV line attached to a large bag of fluid. ‘Hello, there. Look, I know you’ve come a long way and I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but visiting hours finished a long time ago. I let you sit with her for a while but, really, she needs to get her rest and so do my other patients …’

      ‘It’s okay, Ivy. You go.’ Her mum’s eyes were already closed, but she squeezed Ivy’s hand. A gesture that was the simplest and yet most profound thing Ivy had received from her mum in a very long time. Tears pricked her eyes.

      ‘Of course. Yes. Of course. I’m so sorry. I’ll be back tomorrow, Mum.’

      ‘Good. Bring me some toiletries, will you? A nightgown. Make-up.’

      ‘Make-up? What for?’

      ‘Standards, darling.’ Typical Mum. But it did make Ivy smile—she couldn’t be at the far end of danger if she wanted to put on mascara.

      ‘Let’s go, Ivy.’ Matteo touched her arm and he drew her away from the ward and out into the silent corridor of eternal half-night. That was how hospitals felt to her—places where reality hovered in the background, and time ticked slowly in an ethereal way.

      It was good to have him there, despite the strange unbidden feelings he provoked. Emotions washed through her—elation that her mum wasn’t going to die, sadness about the gulf between them, and then, interlaced with all of this, the comfort of being with Matteo. A comfort that pulsed with excitement and sexual attraction. Which seemed really inappropriate and out of place right now. But there it was. Maybe she just needed another human being to metaphorically cling to. There was, after all, a first time for everything.

      He waited until they were outside before he spoke. ‘So it’s good news, then? She’s going to be okay?’

      A long breath escaped her lungs. ‘Yes, it would seem so. She’s had an MI and angioplasty and the outlook’s good.’

      ‘So why the sad face?’

      She tried to find him a smile, because it was good news. ‘I don’t know … I’m really pleased she’s okay. I just feel terrible for saying those awful things about her, for thinking bad things when she was so sick. She could have died and I’d never have forgiven myself.’

      He stopped short and looked at her. ‘Ivy, her only job was to love you. If she didn’t do that then you’re right to be angry at her.’

      She got the feeling that he was talking from personal experience, that there was something that had happened to him. That he understood what she felt because he’d felt it too. ‘Matteo, do you have a good relationship with your family? Were things okay when you were growing up?’ It was so not her way to ask direct questions like