One Tiny Miracle... by Carol Marinelli Read Free Book Online Page B

people is part and parcel of nursing,’ she said calmly.
    ‘I don’t see that it can hurt to take a few more precautions,’ he muttered.
    ‘I can’t walk around in a spacesuit,’ Celeste said, ‘and neither can the nurses on the children’s or oncology wards, neither can the nurses or radiographers who don’t even know that they’re pregnant but might be…’ She could see his frown descending as the grad nurse gave the registrar a stern talking to. ‘And all we can be is sensible, all the time, not just when we’re visibly pregnant, so thank you for your concern and, no, I won’t be using this…’ she pushed back the bottle of alcohol scrub ‘…because I happen to be allergic to it.’
    ‘Fine!’ Ben snapped, more annoyed with himself than her. If her doctor was happy to let her keep working, and the hospital was still employing her, if Celeste wanted to keep working—well, it wasn’t his concern.
    So why was he so worried about her?
    It niggled at him all day and later into the evening when, confused, he stood at the supermarket, basket in hand, and chose organic steak, because it was better for the baby—which, again, wasn’t his concern, but he just stuffed it in his basket and added a carton of orange juice with added iron. He knew he was overreacting and he had every reason to. It was the anniversary of Jen’s death in a couple of days, so it was no wonder he was upset. But then he did what he always did—and chose not to think about it.
    A very vague routine had developed—not every day, not even every other day but now and then. He’d wander down and ask if she fancied dinner, or he’d hear her watering the sunflowers at his front door and pop hishead around and ask her if she wanted to watch a movie, or whatever.
    It was company, that was all.
    And she was so-o-o glad of it.
    So glad not to have to be as bright and bubbly as she pretended to be when she was at work—so nice to chat and moan, or sit with her feet up on his coffee table and watch a movie.
    And never, not once, did he lecture her, or question her decision to keep working.
    Till at the end of thirty-three weeks, till that night, when, full from organic steak and salad washed down with orange juice with added iron, she heaved herself off the sofa, and Ben glanced at his watch.
    ‘It’s only eight-thirty.’
    ‘I just fancy an early night.’
    ‘You’re on a day off tomorrow.’ Ben frowned, reluctantly seeing her to the door. His own company was the last thing he wanted over these next few nights. ‘Are you sure you’re okay?’
    ‘I’ve got a doctor’s appointment tomorrow. I want to—’
    ‘Make sure that you look well rested, so you can fool him,’ Ben said, and then stopped, his jaw muscles clamping, because it was none of his damn business what she did.
    ‘I need to work for a few more weeks,’ Celeste said, and Ben said nothing. He just forced a smile, and opened the door, telling himself that she didn’t need a lecture, just a friend, but it was getting harder and harder to hold his tongue.
    Then she burst into tears.
    Celeste, who always smiled, always laughed, always came back with a quick retort, crumpled and gave in.
    ‘I can’t do it any more!’
    All he felt was relief, relief that she’d seen it, relief that she wouldn’t be doing it any more, and he pulled her, sobbing, into his arms and let her weep.
    ‘Then don’t,’ he said gently.
    ‘I can’t afford not to,’ she argued, but with herself now. ‘Only I just can’t face going there again…’
    ‘I know.’
    ‘I’m so tired.’
    ‘I know.’
    ‘And I’m scared of the germs too.’
    ‘Come on.’ He led her back to his sofa, fetched some cold water from the fridge and then gently he spoke with her, just as he would a patient, and explored her options. She had everything in place, even had some savings, but it would only just cover the rent and not much else. There would be a bit more money once the baby came along, but