no time was that more evident than right now as the ever-present nausea twisted through her gut.
Alice popped out a couple of hours later and Maggie sat with Toby as he cried great silent sobs and looked behind him, searching for his mother. She read to him for a bit and then tried to interest him a game of peek-a-boo.
‘Oh, dear, Toby’s not a happy camper.’
Maggie looked up as Nash approached the other side of Toby’s bed. ‘No. He’s not.
Nash reached for a disposable glove. ‘I think Toby needs a pet fish,’ he said.
Scrunching the opening together like the neck of a balloon, he blew into it. The glove, including the five fingers, inflated, looking like an udder. Toby stopped crying and watched the process warily.
Nash tied the end where he’d blown into and then inverted it. He took his pen out of his pocket and drew in some scales and two eyes. It now looked like some bizarre mutant fish with a pointy nose and giant spines. But at least it looked like a fish.
‘Ta-da,’ Nash announced. He watched the mistrust on Toby’s face. ‘Tough crowd,’ he remarked to Maggie.
Maggie smiled. She was touched that Nash, in that special way of his, was trying and had at least halted Toby’s heart-wrenching sobs. ‘I think your fish is lonely,’ she said, looking away from Nash towards Toby. ‘I think he needs a friend.’ And she reached for a glove.
‘Aha.’ Nash nodded. ‘A girlfriend.’
Maggie stopped mid-blow and glanced at Nash, but he was watching Toby so she hastily constructed her own fish.
‘Here, I’ll do the scales,’ Nash volunteered.
Maggie handed it over and waited while he drew kissy, fishy lips, eyes with long curly eyelashes and scales that looked like they belonged on a mermaid. He winked at her as he handed it back. ‘What do you think, Toby?’
Toby’s gaze shifted from one to the other as Nash and Maggie swam the fish through the air, making nonsense noises and silly fishy conversation in funny voices. Toby finally reached for a fish.
‘Progress.’ Nash smiled as he handed his creation over. Toby took it and almost - almost - smiled.
‘Ha! Did you see that?’ Maggie grinned at Nash. ‘He nearly smiled. I’m not giving up on you, young man.’ Maggie wagged her finger playfully at Toby, who frowned at her.
Nash grinned back. ‘We make a good team.’
Maggie’s smile faded a little. Where would he be when their child was fractious? What if he fell ill?
No, no, no. She wouldn’t go there. She could do this on her own. She could. She would not get maudlin on the back of such a sweet, if small, victory.
They watched Toby staring at the fish for a moment or two. He even wiggled it a little and they both gave him encouraging nods. Nash looked over at Maggie, sitting on the opposite side of the bed. She looked happy. Really happy that they’d been able to allay Toby’s misery for a while.
If ever there was a woman fit to be a mother, it was her.
He looked around him for a moment and then turned back to her. ‘You don’t mind about the ball, do you? About Linda asking me to join your table?’
Maggie shifted her attention to Nash. Being near him that night was going to be hell. ‘Of course not,’ she murmured, looking back at Toby. ‘I’m really good with our decision,’ she lied. ‘There’s no reason why we can’t enjoy a social night together. We’re adults, Nash. It’ll be fine.’
After all, she was going to have to get used to him being in her life. As hard as it was - they were inextricably joined.
She may as well start practising her pleasant indifference.
CHAPTER EIGHT
‘One more sleep.’
Maggie rolled her eyes at Linda as she checked her six-o’clock antibiotics. She was glad that she wouldn’t have to hear the countdown again for another twelve months. ‘How old are you?’
‘Oh, come on, Scrooge,’ Linda teased. ‘You love it too.’
Yes. She usually did. But this was not going to be a normal hospital ball. She was pregnant. And the father of the baby was going to be at the same table.
In a tux.
‘They look good to me,’ Maggie said, deliberately changing the subject. She clicked on the medication chart and it opened on the monitor screen, allowing her to sign that she’d checked the drugs.
‘How’s Christopher going?’ she asked as she typed in her password. She was in charge of the afternoon shift and needed to keep up to