Thank you to all the lovely people who have taken the time to review this or make it a favourite story. I do appreciate the encouragement. Special thanks as always to Callie and Anny for always being there to discuss ideas with even in the early hours. It seems writing and sleep deprivation go together especially if you work full time which alas I do. I know this part has been a long time in coming over a month and I'm grateful for people's patience. As always real life keeps getting in the way of fiction. I hope you enjoy this and think it was worth waiting for.
H
12. The Inquisition
She wasn't aware how long she cradled the baby against her, but eventually she was aware of Dylan appearing behind her.
"Thought you'd got lost," he remarked sliding an arm around her shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze. "Zoë said you had a rough afternoon."
She gave him a wan smile "You could say that."
"SIDs babies are always hard," he said reassuringly stroking her hair.
"I know but somehow it was worse this time. It's not so long ago I was scared we'd lose Davey and I...I couldn't bear it." She admitted turning her face into his chest to hide the tears
"It didn't happen Sam, he's fine." Dylan comforted her. "Come on put him down and come back to work. You've another hour before you finish and Nick's patience won't last forever."
"Did he send you to get me?" she asked. For all Zoe had said he wouldn't mind maybe Nick had decided she wasn't pulling her weight.
"No, last thing he wants is to be a second doctor down. I slipped out while his back was turned. Wanted to make sure you were all right." Dylan produced a rather crumpled tissue "I'll put his Lordship back in the cot and you'd better mop up. You've got mascara on your nose."
She pulled away and while Dylan put the sleeping baby back in the cot she scrubbed inelegantly at her face with the tissue. "It's on your shirt too – sorry."
"I'd make a complaint if I were you," he suggested.
"Sorry?" Sam was totally puzzled.
"Trades descriptions act. Didn't that stuff claim to be waterproof?" Dylan replied.
Sam managed a faint giggle "I'm surprised there was any left for your shirt. I thought I'd lost it all already."
"Come on lets go back before Nick sends out a search party." Dylan put an arm round her waist and steered her out of the door and back towards the ED where he knew the waiting times were getting out of hand. Hopefully by now Lenny would have managed to console Linda and they'd both be back doing their jobs.
Early one Saturday morning in June, Sam was out with Davey walking Dervla along the tow path to give Dylan a chance to sleep. He'd rolled in at 7:30 after what was supposed to be the worst shift of all 3pm to 3am – the one they all fought not to work (and she was mostly excused now because of the difficulties of getting anyone to look after Davey for such anti social hours) and only paused to throw all his clothes on the floor before rolling into bed without bothering to eat or drink.
Sam had been in the kitchen giving Davey his breakfast and feeding Dervla. She was trying not to mind that Dylan had barely deigned to say two words to her. She knew it was silly to feel hurt because he'd had the shift from hell and was too exhausted to string a sentence together and he had attempted to kiss her cheek even if he had missed and kissed her ear instead. She had her work cut out with Davey who was inconsolable because Dylan had not picked him up and swung him high in the air when he'd got home. In Davey's world his Uncle always stopped to play with him and he was totally confused when he didn't. As a result he fussed and whined and Dervla was sulking because Dylan had ignored her too. In despair Sam had decided to take both her petulant charges out for a walk in the hope it would improve their mood and failing that at least the boat would be quiet enough that Dylan could get some sleep and might wake up in a more amenable mood.
They strolled along the tow path for about an hour, Dervla had perked up as soon as she got outside and Davey was small enough that he quickly forgot that he was upset and enjoyed being outside. He gurgled away happily in his baby sling and was clearly delighted when on impulse she tried putting him in the baby swing in the small children's playground further along the path. He was a little too small for the swing so she had to keep a firm hold on him; aside from anything else although he was trying hard to sit up he still couldn't manage it without support, but he loved the motion of the swing and whinged when it was time to go home.
Sam's mood had improved with the fresh air and exercise too so she was feeling more benign towards Dylan, after all he had worked hard all night and he was exhausted. She popped into the Marina Deli on the way home and bought ground coffee, fresh rolls, cheese and Parma ham for a late lunch. It was one of his favourite meals and afterwards she'd try and coax him to go out for the afternoon. Dylan was always more amenable when he was well fed. He and Davey were pretty similar in that respect.
When she got close to the boats she saw an unfamiliar car and a smartly dressed woman clutching a briefcase and file walking down their gangplank. Sam hurried over wondering who was visiting at such an unearthly hour on a Saturday morning.
"Mrs Keogh?" the woman asked.
"Yes." she replied wondering who the hell she was calling her Mrs Keogh, hardly anyone called her that and what she was doing on the doorstep at before 9am. Normal people didn't make calls at that time and if they'd been working she'd have found everybody was out anyway.
"I'm Jennie Murray from Holby Social Services I'm here to carry out a home visit and assessment," she explained. "You should have got a letter last week."
"We didn't" Sam said shortly. "As you can see we weren't expecting anyone. You'd better come in."
She led the social worker into the sitting room and immediately wished she hadn't. The curtains weren't open yet and it smelt of last night's takeaway. She switched on the light and ushered her to the sofa, tipping three magazines and an empty diet coke can on to the floor in the process.
She carefully put Davey into his bouncy chair and handed him his favourite rattle in the hope it would keep him quiet while she woke Dylan.
"I'm afraid my husband worked all night last night." Sam apologised wondering as she did so why she was apologising for the fact that Dylan had been patching up the cream of Holby after their drunken Friday night out. "Excuse me one moment while I go and wake him up."
Dylan was sprawled right across the bed sound asleep, he still looked exhausted and she really didn't want to wake him. He'd not had much more than an hour in bed. Very gently she put a hand on his shoulder and shook him. "Dylan, Dylan. I need you to wake up."
Dylan woke with a start and upset his glass of water on his pillow as he groped for the alarm clock and then when he thumped the snooze button and the noise continued reached for the telephone beside the bed. He swore loudly and knocked the phone onto the floor. He was puzzled when despite being knocked off the hook the noise carried on. Eventually his sleepy brain registered that the noise must be coming from somewhere else. He rubbed his eyes in disgust then looked straight at her through sleep clouded eyes.
"Go away Sam." He mumbled groggily "need to sleep."
"You can't sleep," she said urgently "someone from social services is here she wants to interview us and inspect the house. She doesn't seem to get that you worked all night. I think she thinks you're a lazy pig. Please Grumpy get up and be nice."
"Go and make them go away it's the middle of the night." He mumbled sleepily "I'm still tired."
"Dylan you have to get up. This woman is here to see if we're fit to look after Davey. What will she think if you don't get up?" Sam hissed.
Dylan pulled the pillow over his head and mumbled incoherently. "Tell her to come back later. It's too early."
"I can't. Dylan you must get up now," she insisted leaning over him to remove the pillow.
Still half asleep Dylan reached up and made a clumsy grab for her attempting to pull her onto the bed with him. Taken by surprise she overbalanced and fell on top of him. He promptly wrapped a sleepy arm around her and pressed a very inexpert kiss on her nose.
"Stay and have a cuddle," he suggested. "I missed you last night."
"Dylan how many times do I have to tell you, there is a woman from Holby Social Services in the sitting room?" Sam snapped "She gets to decide if we keep Davey or not. The last thing we can do right now is go back to bed in the middle of the morning."
"Just a quick..." he entreated her.
"No!" she said firmly. "Now is not the time."
"Spoilsport," he replied petulantly.
Goaded beyond belief Sam stood up and snatched the covers off him. "Get up – you lazy oaf. If you don't get out of bed right now and behave like a civilised human being instead of a grouch. I swear I will never forgive you." She hissed sibilantly in his ear.
Something in her tone must have got through to her semi comatose husband because he obediently stumbled out of bed and into his dressing gown rubbing his eyes. "Sorry Sam I just need to sleep."
"I know." She said relenting a little. Poor Dylan had barely been in bed for an hour and normally she would have been quite happy to get back into their nice cosy bed and snuggle up with him assuming Davey would let them but not now. It was cruel to expect him to get up and behave but what choice did she have. "Look if you play nicely, maybe when she's gone we can have a cuddle but not now. I'll make you some coffee; I bought some of that extra strong stuff you like."
Sam went back into the sitting room and smiled sweetly at the social worker for all the world as if she had just coaxed her husband out of his bed with a tender kiss and soft words rather than bullying him awake. "Would you like tea or coffee Ms Murray" she asked politely.
"Coffee would be lovely Mrs Keogh," the annoyingly nice woman murmured.
Sam squirmed she was well aware that the woman's eyes were all seeing. Doubtless she had already clocked the chaos from the previous night. It had been the shift from hell and she'd been so tired by the time she'd got Davey to sleep she'd ordered a takeaway then quite literally fallen into bed herself and done nothing about the mess meaning to sort it out this morning. God knows what social services would say about the standard of her housekeeping. It wasn't as if she'd ever been domesticated but she did usually manage a minimum level of cleanliness and tidiness but today the room fell far short of even that.
She opened the curtains as she spoke and let daylight flood the room, bright sunlight poured in and the full horror of the mess she'd not bothered to tidy last night hit her afresh. Last night's Indian takeaway was still in evidence on the table together with at least two days of unwashed crockery and the floor was littered with shoes, medical journals, clothes some clean and some not and a selection of Davey's toys. This was no way for social services to see their home. She'd have preferred at least a week's warning to attack the place or possibly engage contract cleaners. Dylan had never really been one for housework either and Davey had just added to the chaos of their lives.
Deciding to make the best of it she hurried into the kitchen to make the coffee. If only she'd bought some cakes or nice pastries when she was at the Deli but she and Dylan had decided in the week they were eating far too many of the Deli's nice baking and agreed they'd only buy it on Sundays from now on. She hunted out some biscuits instead, which she hastily arranged on a plate, sure that eating them straight from the packet as she and Dylan usually did was not the done thing in polite circles. She found herself wishing for possibly the first and only time in her adult life that she had a doily to put them on. She was fairly sure that was the kind of thing proper housewives did.
She racked her brains trying to remember how her aunt had served the coffee at the committee meetings and Bridge parties she was forever holding. She'd spent many school holidays with Aunt Veronica and her aunt had always coerced her into handing round at the interminable events. She found a tray (Aunt Veronica would have had a tray cloth but Ms Murray would just have to do without) and carefully placed the coffee pot, plate of biscuits, three of the best cups and saucers and suddenly recalling her aunt's beautifully laid table found a jug and sugar basin instead of putting the milk bottle and packet of Tate and Lyle on the tray. She had a suspicion it was the first time she'd ever used the porcelain coffee service one of Dylan's Great Aunts had given them as a wedding present. Doubtless when Ms Murray usually interviewed potential adoptive parents the houses shone and smelled of lemon or lavender polish and she was plied with homemade cake. Ms Murray would be lucky to get an indifferent plain supermarket biscuits here. She and Dylan had eaten all the chocolate ones in front of the TV on Wednesday night and she hadn't been shopping for ages.
She was serving Ms Murray's coffee regretting that she had no cream which she remembered from Aunt Veronica's bridge parties was what she should be offering with coffee when Dylan ambled into the room looking distinctly the worse for wear. Sam was acutely aware that he had simply tugged yesterday's jeans and shirt on, his feet were bare, his hair was standing up on end and he hadn't shaved.
"Dylan this is Jennie Murray from social services. Ms Murray this is my husband." Sam made the introductions quickly.
"Pleased to meet you Dr Keogh," the social worker replied politely.
"Wish I could say the same," Dylan said sourly. "Do you normally visit people without warning?"
"I'm sorry," Sam put in hastily "Dylan's been working all night he didn't get home until an hour and a half ago. I'm afraid he's not very awake yet."
"I don't quite understand why you're here," Dylan said bluntly.
Sam winced this was not the way to impress the social worker. They needed her to write a favourable report or they might just as well give up. There were going to be enough black marks from the tip in here and if she saw the kitchen and bathroom… She made up her mind there and then that tomorrow she was finding a cleaner. Although she too was wondering what the social worker was doing there? Much as it went against the grain, they'd taken the solicitors advice and waited to apply to adopt Davey.
"We were advised by your sister's solicitor that you had parental responsibility for Davey. You know of course that it is a legal requirement for anyone with parental responsibility for a child to notify social services that the child is residing with them."
"Of course," Dylan replied smoothly. "Mr Torley our solicitor assured us he would see to all the formalities. He sent me a copy of the letter he sent you months ago. Didn't you receive it?"
"We did," Ms Murray replied "it arrived with us some weeks ago but as I am sure you will appreciate we have a heavy case load and must prioritise those cases where we know the child is at risk."
Sam decided it was time to intervene before Dylan said something very rude and alienated the woman completely. "Of course," she agreed with a weak smile hoping that social services leaving Davey with them for nearly five months without supervision or intervention was a good sign. At the back of her mind she couldn't stop thinking about the battle Linda had had to get custody of her niece and nephew and Linda had done nothing wrong.
"Remind me, how long has ... excuse me I don't seem to have a note of baby's name" Ms Murray asked consulting her records in a perplexed way
"David" Dylan said coldly "his name is David but we call him Davey."
"How long has Davey been living with you?" the woman continued having the grace to look slightly embarrassed.
"Davey was a day old when Mollie died." Sam said emphasising his name "he's been with us ever since so almost nineteen weeks."
"So you didn't anticipate having to care for a baby?" the social worker said sweetly.
"No," Dylan said baldly "I didn't know my sister was pregnant let alone that she was dying."
"So it was a shock." Ms Murray asked.
"Of course it was a shock," Dylan retorted "The first I knew of it was when her consultant met me in the hospital and told me she was end stage and I had a nephew."
"Didn't you have a good relationship with your sister?"Ms Murray probed a little more.
"Mollie disapproved of conventional medicine." Dylan replied "I suspect she didn't tell me because I would have tried to persuade her to make different choices."
"But she asked you to care for her son anyway" the social worker said - there was a faint hint of disbelief in her tone.
"She knew we would look after him," Sam interjected before Dylan could say a word. "And of course we have. He's been ours ever since Mollie gave him to me in the hospital."
"Would you say you are managing well?" Ms Murray probed again.
"As well as anyone does." Sam said trying to work out what this woman's agenda was. "I think anyone finds it a culture shock when they have a new baby to look after for the first time. The only difference is most people get nine months to get used to the idea and we didn't."
"But you think you're coping." This time there was a definite hint of disbelief in the social workers voice.
"Of course we are." Sam said indignantly.
"Dr Keogh I understand you work very long hours. Does that mean that Mrs Keogh is David's primary carer?" asked Me Murray turning to Dylan.
"Sam had three months off when Davey first came to live with us but she's back at work now so we look after him between us." Dylan replied aware that he was stretching the truth. He was far more hands on with Davey now than he had been but Sam still did the lion's share of looking after him.
"What do you do Mrs Keogh?" Ms Murray said turning to Sam.
"I work with Dylan. That's how we met." Sam answered longing to tell this nosey so called professional to get out of her home and stay out. Didn't she have any children who were actually in danger to look out for.
"Are you a nurse?" she asked fatuously
No I'm a specialist registrar in emergency medicine, before that I was an Army medic." Sam answered more calmly than she felt.
"Oh are you a doctor too" the social worker asked unnecessarily.
"Yes." Sam responded irritated that the other woman would assume that just because she was a woman she was a nurse.
"Why did you leave the army?" Ms Murray asked.
"Because I didn't want to risk any long unaccompanied postings now we have Davey." Sam replied truthfully "I'd hate to be aware from him for months at a time and it would confuse him."
"So it was mostly for Davey's benefit?" the nosey social worker went on.
"I did it for all of us," Sam insisted. "Being apart all the time wasn't good for our marriage. I hated being posted away from Dylan. He could only go with me when I had accompanied postings in the UK and it meant him working as a GP not in A&E which he prefers."
"I see. When you're both working who looks after Davey during the day?" Jennie asked Sam.
"He attends the Hospital nursery if we are both working at the same time. I'm sure you'll know of it it's registered and has an outstanding Ofsted report." Dylan informed her shortly.
"Davey was unwell enough to be admitted to the Special Care Baby unit when he was six weeks old. Can you tell me about that?" the social worker asked again.
Sam bristled sure she was being judged and found wanting.
"He had pneumonia which was caused by Respiratory Synctial Virus," Dylan said coldly. "It's very common in babies. Most are simply unwell for a day or two Davey was unlucky."
"Do you think he would have been less unwell if the illness had been picked up on sooner?" Ms Murray asked her voice full of concern.
"No," Dylan said his voice was icy and Sam knew he was hanging onto his self control by a thread. "My wife was worried and brought him into A&E the previous afternoon. He was seen by a specialist paediatrician – there were no clinical signs of pneumonia then. When he deteriorated Sam brought him straight back."
"Did you examine him yourself?" The social worker continued.
"No it would be inappropriate and in any case I am not a paediatrician." Dylan was clearly close to the end of his tether.
"Inappropriate?" the social workers words hung in the air.
"It's not ethical for doctors to treat their relations except in an emergency." Sam explained. Surely the stupid woman knew that. "Dylan and I weren't allowed to treat Davey while he was ill."
"I see. And he's quite well now?" Ms Murray asked.
"Of course," Sam beamed suddenly she was proud of how well Davey was doing. "He's doing really well."
"As I understand it you have not always had the most stable of relationships." The social worker changed the subject unexpectedly.
"What do you mean?" Dylan asked her and Sam was aware that he was about to snap.
"I believe you were separated for some time," Ms Murray clarified smiling sweetly.
"We have always had long periods apart, it went with my job." Sam replied trying to stay calm. "We did have a bit of a rocky patch before my last posting to Afghanistan. That's why I asked the Army to second me to Holby and why I resigned."
The questions went on and on and on. Sam had to be at her most diplomatic to prevent Dylan from blowing it as he grew more and more annoyed by the intrusive questions. He was seething when she started asking exactly why they had separated and then reconciled. They'd mostly managed to gloss over it all with half truths being careful not to reveal anything that wasn't already known. Sam couldn't help seeing her lips tighten at mention of Dylan's former drinking problem. She hoped that didn't mean what she thought it might. She also wondered how much they could keep secret. If the woman started digging around in her medical records she might find out things she hadn't even told Dylan.
She tried to stay calm and serene gazing adoringly at Dylan and fussing Davey trying to distract her grouchy husband every time she sensed he was about to put his foot in it. Dylan being Dylan and an exhausted Dylan thus even more bad tempered than usual that was every two minutes. It didn't help that he wasn't properly dressed as it put him at rather a disadvantage.
"Well I think that's enough for now. I'll write a report giving my recommendations and I'll be in touch." Jennie Murray concluded "I'll see myself out."
Sam accompanied her to the door partly for politeness and partly to make sure that she left, sighing with relief as she shut the door behind her.
"That woman was born in the wrong century" Dylan burst out the moment he heard her pull away from the curb.
"I'm sorry?" Sam looked at him wondering what on earth he meant.
"The Spanish inquisition would have welcomed her talents... I was waiting for her to ask how often we had sex." Dylan replied in disgust.
"We'd have shocked her, if you'd answered." Sam couldn't help grinning.
Dylan grinned back. "We would, although she'd probably have decided we were sex mad and definitely not suitable parents."
"I wonder how she thinks most people become parents," Sam said thoughtfully.
"Speaking of which, you promised me if I behaved myself..." he reminded her hopefully.
"I'm not sure that you did," she replied
"Oh come on I could have been a lot worse," he said optimistically.
"I suppose you could have. Maybe if Davy has a nap after lunch," she acquiesced; there was no need for Dylan to know she'd planned to agree all along.
"He'd better," Dylan replied "I've had next to no sleep and I want a nice peaceful afternoon nap with my wife so if he's sensible Davey will sleep."
"He's too little to bribe," Sam told him laughing "anyway I'm not sure social services would approve of bribery."
"I approve of anything that works," Dylan told her calmly.
"What do you think she'll say in that report of hers?" she asked suddenly anxious again.
"I've no idea," he answered. "We'll find out when she sends her report."
"Do you think she thought we were good enough?" Sam asked again her anxiety levels rising as she spoke.
"Sam. I don't know what she thought. I'm not psychic and I don't have a crystal ball." Dylan said in exasperation.
"What if..." Her voice trailed off.
"Sam, stop upsetting yourself trying to second guess everything." he exclaimed "Davey's happy, he's healthy and he's safe here. Judging by the children we see every day at work I'd think Holby Social services have far higher priorities than taking a five month old baby away from the only family he's ever known. Plus they don't have to pay us to look after him if they put him in foster care it would cost an arm and several legs."
"I hope you're right," she said nervously "I couldn't bear to lose him."
"I told you it won't ever come to that. We'll take him and go somewhere else first. Stop worrying please," he begged her.
"It's not that easy." She replied trying to get a grip on her nerves. She knew Dylan hated it when she worked herself up into a state about something he couldn't do anything about. Like all men he hated anything he couldn't fix.
"I know." Dylan gave her a quick hug "Let's have lunch – I'm famished and then we can all have a nap I need to sleep at some point. I really am knackered."
"I really should clean the boat this afternoon. It's in a state didn't you see that Ms Murray looking. Goodness knows what she thought of me?" Sam answered fretfully.
"Too late to worry about that now, the dust can wait." Dylan said calmly "We'll book a cleaner on Monday."
"Are you sure?" Sam gaped at him in amazement she'd never imagined it being that easy to get him to agree to a cleaner.
"Of course, I hate housework and so do you." He pointed out "why waste time on it when we could be doing other things. I should have sorted it ages ago. You have enough to do and we both know I never clean willingly."
"Thank you," she said "Do you think it matters?"
"What matters?" Dylan sounded very puzzled by the non-sequiter.
"To Davey that I'm not the domesticated sort. I mean I'll never be the kind of mother who bakes biscuits, knits gloves and socks or makes jam," Sam asked doubtfully.
"I don't suppose he gives a damn you daft woman," Dylan told her clearly exasperated.
"Are you sure?" she said fearfully."I'm never going to be a domestic goddess."
"Sam, all Davey or I care about is that you're here," he reassured her. "For goodness sake, Marks and Spencer's makes excellent biscuits and jam and you can buy socks there. Why should you bother with baking or knitting if you don't want to? Please can we stop talking about this and eat lunch before I fade away."
"Shall we go out later?" Sam asked tentatively, "when you've had some sleep I mean."
"When we've had some sleep," he reminded her "We could go down to the coast if you like. Play your cards right and I might treat you to fish and chips - Nothing but the best for my wife."
I hope you enjoyed this part if you did please let me know. Actually if you didn't please tell me why too. Thanks
