Fairytale With The Single Dad. Alison Roberts
we don’t know what to do and…’
Nathan could see Sam’s eyes reddening as he fought back tears. Could hear the tremor in his patient’s voice. He understood. Receiving a diagnosis for something such as Huntington’s was very stressful. It changed everything. The present. The future. His own diagnosis of multiple sclerosis had changed his life. And Anna’s. It had been the final axe to fall on his farce of a relationship.
‘What did your consultant say?’
Sam sniffed. ‘I can’t remember. Once he said the words—that I had Huntington’s—I didn’t really hear the rest. I was in shock… He gave us leaflets to take home and read. Gave us some websites and telephone numbers of people who could help, but…’ He looked up at Nathan and met his eyes. ‘We wanted to start a family! We wanted babies! And now… Now we don’t know if we should. Huntington’s is a terrible disease, and I’m not sure I want to pass that on to my children.’
Nathan nodded. It was a difficult thing to advise upon as a general practitioner. He didn’t have a Huntington’s specialty. He didn’t want to give Sam the wrong advice.
‘I hear what you’re saying, Sam. It’s a difficult situation and one that you and your wife must come to an agreement about together. I’m sure your consultant could discuss giving you two genetic counselling. A counsellor would be able to advise you better about the possibility of passing Huntington’s to your children and what your options might be in terms of family planning. Have you got another appointment scheduled with your consultant soon?’
‘In a month.’
‘Good. Maybe use the time in between then and now to think of what questions you want to ask him. Just because you have Huntington’s, and your father did too, it does not mean that any children you and Jenny have, will develop it. It’s a fifty per cent chance.’
‘They could be carriers, though.’
‘That’s a possibility, yes. Your consultant will be much better placed to talk this over with you, but if I’m right CVS—chorionic villus sampling—can be used to gain some foetal genetic material and test for the disease. And I believe there’s also a blood test that can be performed on Jenny to check the cell-free foetal DNA, and that would carry no risk of miscarriage. How are you coping on a day-to-day level?’
‘Fine, I guess. I have a chorea in my hand sometimes.’ A chorea was a hand spasm. ‘But that’s all, so far.’
Nathan nodded. ‘Okay. What about sleeping? Are you doing all right?’
‘Not bad. I’ve lost some sleep, but I guess that’s down to stress. My mind won’t rest when I go to bed.’
‘That’s understandable. If it gets difficult then come and see me again and we’ll look at what we can do.’
‘How long do you think I’ve got, Dr Jones? My dad died young from this; I need to know.’
Nathan wanted to reassure him. Wanted to tell him that he would live a long life and that it would all be fine. But he couldn’t know that. He had no idea how Sam’s Huntington’s would affect him. It affected each sufferer differently. Just like multiple sclerosis did.
‘It’s impossible to say. You’ve just got to take each day as it comes and live it the best you can. Then, whenever the end does arrive, you’ll know you lived your life to the fullest.’
Sam smiled. ‘Is that your plan, Doc?’
Nathan smiled back. It certainly was. Living his life and trying to be happy was his number one aim. And he wanted the people around him to be happy too. The fact that he’d upset Sydney the way he had… Perhaps that was why he had asked her to coffee.
‘It is.’
Sydney stared at her reflection in the mirror. ‘What on earth am I doing?’ she asked herself.
Her make-up was done to perfection. Her eyeliner gave a perfect sweep to the gentle curve of her eyelid. The blusher on her cheeks highlighted her cheekbones and her lipstick added a splash of colour, emphasising the fullness of her lips. Her eyelashes looked thicker and darker with a coating of mascara, making her grey eyes lighter and clearer. Her normally wavy hair had been tamed with the help of some styling spray, and the earrings in her ears dangled with the blue gems that had once belonged to her grandmother.
She looked completely different. Done up. Like a girl getting ready for a date. Like a girl who was hoping that something might happen with a special guy.
It’s just coffee! Why have you put in this much effort? Is it for him?
Grabbing her facial wipes, she rubbed her face clean, angry at herself, until her skin was bare and slightly reddened by the force she’d used upon it. She stared back at her new reflection. Her normal reflection. The one she saw every day. The one bare of pretence, bare of cosmetics. Mask-free.
This is me.
She was not getting ready for a date! This was coffee. Just coffee. No strings attached. They were just two people meeting. Associates. She did not have to get all dressed up for a drink at The Tea-Total Café.
So she pulled the dress off over her head and put on her old jeans—the ones with the ripped knees—slipped on a white tee and then an oversized black fisherman’s jumper and scooped her hair up into a scruffy bun, deliberately pulling bits out to give a casual effect. Then she grabbed her bag, thick coat and scarf and headed out, figuring that she’d walk there. It wasn’t far. The wind might blow her hair around a bit more. She would not make any effort for Dr Jones.
Striding through the village, she hoped she looked confident, because she wasn’t feeling it. She had more nerves in her stomach now than she’d had taking her driving test or her final exams. Her legs were weak and her nerves felt as taut as piano strings.
It was all Dr Jones’s fault—that charming smile, those glinting blue eyes, that dark chestnut hair, perfectly tousled, just messy enough to make it look as if he hadn’t touched it since rolling out of bed.
She swallowed hard, trying not to think of Dr Jones in bed. But Sydney could picture him perfectly…a white sheet just covering his modesty, his naked body, toned and virile as he gazed at her with a daring smile…beckoning her back beneath the sheets…
Stop. It.
She checked her mobile phone. Had the surgery been in touch? A last-minute patient? An emergency surgery, maybe? Something that would force her to attend work so she didn’t have to go? But, no. Her phone was annoyingly clear of any recent messages or texts. She was almost tempted to call the surgery and just check that things were okay—make sure no cows on the nearby farms were about to calve. Right now she’d be much happier standing in a swamp of mud or manure with her arm in a cow’s insides. Instead she was here.
She stood for a moment before she entered, psyching herself up.
The bell above the door rang as she went inside and she was met by a wall of heat and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and pastries. Praying he wouldn’t be there, she glanced around, ready to flash a smile of apology to the staff behind the counter before she ducked straight out again—but there he was. Dashing and handsome and tieless, dressed in a smart grey suit, the whiteness of his shirt showing the gentle tan of his skin.
He stood up, smiling, and raised a hand in greeting. ‘Sydney. You made it.’
Nervous, she smiled back.
Dr Jones pulled a chair out for her and waited for her to sit before he spoke again. ‘I wasn’t sure what you’d like. What can I get you?’
He seemed nervous.
‘Er…just tea will be fine.’
‘Milk and sugar?’
She nodded, and watched as he made his way over to the counter to place her