Trust Me - Sheryl Browne Page 0,38

to a christening, he opened it warily, the furrow in his brow deepening as he scanned the simple white card with a cracked silver heart on the front. It was a sympathy card, he realised. His own heart caught in his chest as he read the verse:

Babies who are taken too soon

Are never touched by fear.

It stopped beating altogether as he read the inscription beneath: Was yours, Zoe? So sorry you had to have an abortion. Dean must be devastated.

Thirteen

Jake

Jake was going through Joyce Simpson’s rheumatologist’s report with her, now that he’d finally persuaded her to come in for an appointment. She seemed to think she was bothering him if she requested a consultation. An intelligent, capable woman, she was coping well, but he worried that she might not understand all the technical terms in the letter she’d been sent from the hospital, and the importance of tapering the steroids down slowly. She was responding to treatment well, still having the odd temporal headache, meaning they had to keep an eye on the giant cell arteritis, but she’d had no recent flare-ups of her polymyalgia rheumatica, which was a good sign.

‘You’re doing well, Joyce.’ Digesting the report, he looked up at her with a smile. ‘Your ESR is slightly raised, but everything else is looking good. Your angina is under control, too. I reckon you’re healthier than I am.’

Joyce chuckled at that. ‘Make sure to step aside for me when you’re out jogging. I’ll be whizzing past you in no time. Mind you, I’ll be needing one of those electric commuter-scooter things that are all the rage.’

Jake’s smile widened. It sounded like she’d already looked into getting one. ‘There’s no stopping you, is there, Joyce? Hold your horses,’ he added as she raised herself from her chair. ‘I just want to check for any scalp tenderness and have a quick feel of your temporal arteries before you go.’

‘Now there’s an offer a girl can’t refuse.’ Arching her eyebrows in amusement, Joyce settled back down.

Examining her gently but efficiently, Jake assured her everything seemed fine, and then offered her a hand to assist her up. ‘Such a gent.’ She batted her eyelashes theatrically. ‘I would say I can manage, but it’s not often I get to hold a good-looking young man’s … Oh dear.’ She stopped, her gaze going to the door, beyond which there seemed to be a commotion in reception. ‘Sounds as if there’s a bit of a rumpus outside.’

‘It certainly does.’ He braced himself as he walked her to the door. If he wasn’t mistaken, the raised voice he could hear belonged to Dean Miller, Zoe’s husband, and he sounded upset.

They’d almost reached the door when it was banged open from the other side, narrowly missing them. ‘I need to speak to you,’ Dean said, his gaze gliding between Jake and Joyce. From the palpable fury in his eyes, it was clear he wasn’t going anywhere until he had.

Jake’s heart sank. He knew what it was Dean wanted to talk about. ‘Okay.’ He spoke evenly. ‘Can you just give me a minute to—’

‘Now.’ Dean wiped the back of his hand across his mouth.

Jake’s gaze drifted past him to where Nicky bobbed into view, her face pale and clearly worried. ‘Emily’s calling the police,’ she said – for Dean’s benefit, he guessed.

‘No,’ he said quickly, noting the flash of thunder in the man’s eyes. He was close to exploding. That would do no one any good. ‘Tell her there’s no need.’

‘They wouldn’t let me see you,’ Dean said, as Nicky disappeared back to the desk. ‘Kept telling me I had to make an appointment. I told them I don’t need a fucking appointment. I need information. And I need it—’

‘Whoa.’ Jake held up a hand. ‘Calm down, Dean. Take a seat.’ He indicated a chair. ‘Let me make sure Mrs Simpson is safely on her way, then we’ll have a word.’

Dean didn’t move. Swiping a hand agitatedly over the back of his neck, he glared hard at Jake. ‘You need to tell me,’ he demanded. ‘Was it a miscarriage?’

‘Dean, wait.’ Jake’s heart dropped. ‘This isn’t a conversation you want to have here. Just give me a minute and—’

‘It’s a simple enough question, Doctor Merriden.’ Dean’s voice was full of contempt. ‘Was it a fucking miscarriage or did she have an abortion?’

Christ. Concerned for Joyce’s safety, Jake was relieved to see Emily skidding through from reception. ‘Sorry,’ she said, her cheeks flushed with a combination of frustration and embarrassment. ‘He