200 Harley Street: The Proud Italian. Alison Roberts

caused. What we didn’t know was whether the T cell therapy was really working.’

      ‘And…’ It looked as though Rafael was having to swallow a large lump in his throat, judging by the way the muscles in his jaw and neck were working. ‘It’s looking good?’

      That was more like it. The doctor would want the exact figures. A copy of the test results, like the one Abbie had ready for him in her bag. But for a father? Knowing that the results were good would be enough to create such a wash of relief and hope for the future that the numbers were irrelevant.

      Abbie nodded. It took a moment to trust her voice. ‘She still needs protection for her immune system and she’ll need another bone-marrow biopsy at the three-month mark but…’ She took a deep breath as she blinked back tears. ‘It’s looking good, Rafe. As good as I hoped it would. The treatment’s worked.’

      As good as she’d hoped?

      The choice of pronoun pushed him away. Just as Rafael had been about to pull Abbie into his arms so that they could celebrate this miraculous milestone together as Ella’s parents.

      To rush into the room they were standing outside and see for himself that Ella wasn’t the critically ill baby she’d been the last time he’d seen her.

      But it was true. He deserved to be dismissed as having been one of the hopeful parents. As soon as Abbie had heard about the experimental treatment that took T cells from the blood and reengineered them in a laboratory so that they could be put back into the body to find and kill the cancerous leukaemia cells, the hope had been born on her side.

      All Rafael had been able to see had been how experimental the treatment was. That the success rates with adults had not been consistent and it had never been tried in a baby. That the risks were enormous and going through with the treatment would only cause so much more suffering that would probably still end in Ella’s death. And he’d been right. The new T cells had caused an illness that had come within a heartbeat of killing Ella. She’d hovered between life and death in a paediatric intensive-care unit for weeks.

      And he should have been there but he hadn’t been able to bring himself to travel so far in order to watch his baby die. And, yes…even though it shamed him to admit it, part of what had kept him here had been that it seemed like a fitting punishment for Abbie for taking his beloved child away from him.

      So much pain. On both sides.

      What would Abbie do if he tried to take her in his arms right now? Push him away? Flinch?

      He couldn’t bear it if that happened.

      But somehow he had to try and find a way to bridge this awful gap between them.

      ‘It’s been so long, Abbie. So…hard…’

      So hard. It had been a nightmare ever since their precious baby had hit the headlines at becoming one of the rare cases of ALL being diagnosed at such an early age. Gruelling months of chemotherapy that had failed to produce remission, let alone a cure. And having them both disappear from his life had only plunged him deeper into his personal hell, especially in the wake of the fights over whether it was the right thing to do.

      Missing his wife every day but being so angry at the way she’d made things so much worse. Missing his child with an ache that had gone even deeper than his bones. Sleepless nights and days waiting for the phone call that would deliver the dreaded news that the battle had been lost. Days when a fierce focus on his work had been the only thing that had kept him sane.

      He heard the way Abbie’s breath left her lungs in an incredulous huff. The pain he could see in her eyes hit him like a physical blow.

      ‘How would you know, Rafe? You weren’t there.’

      Would they ever be able to get past this?

      ‘I’m here now.’ His voice sounded as raw as it felt. ‘Isn’t that enough?’

      Abbie just stared at him for the longest time. He could see her lips tremble as her hands gripped the opposite arms, crossed over her breasts as if she was defending her heart.

      ‘No,’ she whispered. ‘I don’t think it is.’ She took a ragged, inward breath. ‘We…needed you, Rafe. And you…you weren’t there.’

      Dio, but this was hard. Did they have to go through it all again? Every impassioned fight? He’d never felt this tired in his life.

      ‘You know why.’

      ‘Yes.’ Abbie’s voice was tight. ‘I know why. But I still don’t understand. How could you not be there if you really love someone?’ There were tears on her face now but Rafael couldn’t move to brush them away. He’d lost the right to offer comfort because he’d caused the pain.

      ‘You weren’t there,’ Abbie said again. ‘For me or Ella. And…and it was awful, Rafe… You have no idea…

      ‘That’s not true.’ He couldn’t help the hard edge that made the words clipped. But it seemed like they did have to go over the old ground just to get to a place where they could talk to each other again. ‘I have a very good idea. That’s why I didn’t want you to go. To put Ella through that.’

      Flashes of pain from other, long-ago cases were never far away. Especially cases like little Freddie…. Years ago, now, but it was still an effort to push the memory of that particular little boy away. Rafael had started in paediatric oncology determined to beat death for those innocent children but he’d learned the hard way that there had to be limits. That fighting too hard could only make things worse for everyone involved. Including the surgeon. He’d had to leave the specialty in the end because the toll it had taken on him personally had been too great.

      ‘And if I hadn’t, we wouldn’t be here now. Ella wouldn’t still be alive.’

      ‘No…’ The word was a weary sigh.

      This was also true. And suddenly nothing else mattered. Ella was still alive. She was in the room right beside him. He couldn’t stay out here a moment longer. Taking a step closer to the door brought him a step closer to Abbie, but she moved a little. And now Rafael could see through the window of the room.

      He could see Ella.

      Sitting in a cot and playing happily with a toy.

      A toy he recognised. Called Ears. A soft pink rabbit with disproportionately long legs and ears. A silly toy he’d bought when she’d first been sick and been admitted here, which had fast become her ‘cuddly.’

      Ella was holding Ears in one hand as she knelt in the cot and then pulled herself up using the side of the cot. He could see the nasal prongs supplying oxygen taped to her face and one arm was bandaged, keeping the IV line that went to the port beneath her collarbone safe from being tugged. It didn’t stop her getting to her feet, though.

      Dio…she was strong enough to stand?

      It didn’t stop Ears being dropped over the side of the cot either, but Ella didn’t burst into instant tears, like most children her age would. She just looked down at the floor and then up, perfectly confident that help would not be far away.

      And then Rafael could really see her face for the first time. Those big, dark eyes were looking straight at him.

      For a long, long moment they stared at each other. Rafael could remember the first time he’d held this baby and the overwhelming need to protect her. He could remember the feel of her downy skin. The smell of her when she’d been freshly bathed and fed. The sound of her voice when she’d been learning her own baby language.

      But would she remember anything at all about him?

      It seemed that she did. Her eyes got even bigger and those rosebud lips curled and curved into a smile. And Ella held up her little arms, which was enough to make her lose her balance and sit down on her padded bottom with a thump, but she was still smiling.

      Still