Friday's Child (20 page)

“But he kissed you back. He must like you to do that.”

“It’s complicated, Abs. There’s a lot of history.”

Abbie took her hand. “Tell me about when you first met him.”

“All right. I was at university...”

****

Eleanor struggled to hold her books and the Styrofoam cup filled with hot tea with the same hand, while dodging chairs. She was almost at the only free table in the campus restaurant when the strap on her bag broke, sending the contents flying across the floor and the tea smashing down next to it. Her books and papers slithered after them.

Bright red with embarrassment, she dropped to her knees to pick it up. Tea turned her papers into a brown soggy mess, and her brand new textbook would never be the same again.

A tanned hand, with long, sleek fingers and well-manicured nails caught the rest of her books before they slid to the floor. “Oops-a-daisy.”

She followed the hand up the arm to the owner of the chocolate-smooth Irish accent. Wow. Light brown hair, sparkling blue eyes and the most infectious, beaming smile she’d seen since she arrived at Sunderland University, three years previously. His blue V-necked sweater, white shirt, and brown cords showed off an almost perfect body.

“Let me help.”

She blushed harder, his deep voice turning her knees to jelly and her voice to a squeak. “Thank you.”

He knelt in the mess and helped her scoop up tissues, perfume, and assorted bits and pieces from her bag. He grabbed a pile of serviettes and helped dry each item, setting them on the table above him.

Someone else tossed a couple of cloths for the floor. “Thanks, Jerry,” he called and continued cleaning.

Eleanor knelt beside him, tears of embarrassment filling her eyes. She was useless, as always. She gathered the last of her books. There was no way she could replace them. She needed what little money was left in her account for food and rent and there was barely enough there to cover that as it was.

The man, her knight in shining armor, smiled, his hand touched hers, his fingers lingering slightly longer than they should. “May I buy you a drink to replace the one you spilled?”

She blushed again. “There is no need, but thank you.” She just wanted to get out of the café.

“But I would really like to.”

“I don’t…”

“Accept drinks from strange men,” he finished with a cheeky grin and a wink. He held out a hand. “Patrick Page, post-grad history and politics.”

Eleanor shook his hand. His skin was warm and sent shards of heat straight through her. His grip firm, despite the softness of his hands. “Eleanor Harrison. Third year history and politics.

“Pleasure to meet you, Eleanor. So, now I’m no longer a stranger, may I buy you a drink?”

“Thank you. That would be good,” she managed.

He led her to his table and pulled out a chair for her. “What’s your poison?” he asked and then blushed himself. “Sorry, that’s what I say to my brother and sister.”

She managed a smile. “My mother says the same thing. Herbal tea please.” She gave her bag the once over as he crossed to the counter. The strap was irreparable. More money she just didn’t have. She couldn’t ask her parents for extra, they’d say no anyway. Maybe she could get another shift waiting tables this weekend.

“Here you go.” Patrick slid the tea across to her and sat opposite. “So how come I haven’t seen you around before?”

“I don’t usually come here. But I’m meant to be meeting my student mentor for this year in half an hour and didn’t have time to go back home for lunch.”

He nodded pointedly to her cup. “That’s not lunch.”

“It’s all I can afford…” She broke off. “Forget I said that.”

“No.” He stood. “Wait there.”

Eleanor didn’t move. Her mother used that tone when she meant business and she was afraid of what would happen if she left. Part of her immediately rebelled against that idea. She was in a packed cafeteria. What did she think was going to happen? And she wasn’t alone with him. She’d already established that.

Patrick came back with a plate of steaming sausage, eggs, and chips. “Here,” he said.

“I can’t…”

“Thought you’d say that, so I got two forks. We’ll share it.” He paused, his deep penetrating gaze holding hers. “Please. You don’t look like you’ve eaten properly in days.”

She took the fork. “Thank you. No, I haven’t.” She started eating, relishing every mouthful.

Patrick ate as well. “Did your grant money not come through?”

“I don’t have a grant. Just what my parents send me.” She paused. “It’s either pay the rent or eat this week. Next week who knows how I’ll…?” She broke off. “Why am I telling you all this? I don’t even know you.”

“It’s part of my irresistible charm,” Patrick replied. He winked at her. “My brother, Liam, says girls don’t stand a chance around me.”

She withdrew into her shell. “Really?”

“But then he’s far more handsome than I, and has way more girlfriends than anyone I know, including me.” He stabbed the fork into a chip and dipped it into the egg yolk. “Mind you, that isn’t hard. I’ve always concentrated on my studies rather than anything else.”

“Oh?”

His smile lit his eyes. “I like studying and I passed my degree with first class honors.”

“Really? I’m struggling to get a two point two.”

“Probably why they’ve put you on the mentor scheme.” He pushed the plate towards her. “Here, finish it.”

“Are you sure?” She didn’t want to take advantage of him, but she was starving.

Patrick nodded. “I’m sure.”

“Thank you.” She started eating before he changed his mind.

He picked up her drowned textbook. “I’ve still got my copy of this in my room. Do you want to borrow it, save buying a new one?”

“Really? That would be great, I mean…”

“It’s fine. I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t mean it. It’s just sat on the bookcase gathering dust, which is a waste of a book. What time’s your next class?”

She checked her watch. “Three. Right after this mentoring meeting. I’m meant to be getting paired with someone who can help me.”

“I have a free then. I’ll run home and get it and meet you after your class.”

“Only if it’s no trouble.”

He smiled. “No trouble at all.”

Eleanor nodded and finished off the plate of food. For the first time in days, her stomach was comfortably full and she felt warm. “Thank you for that.”

“You’re welcome.”

She shoved as much as she could into her broken bag and tucked it under her arm.

“Let me take the rest. I happen to be going to this mentoring meeting as well. Professor Malcolm is hoping some of my brilliance will rub off on someone. His words, not mine. He thinks I’m some kind of genius.” Patrick gathered his books and balanced hers on top. “Let’s go.” He stood and smiled at her.

Eleanor walked with him. Would she be fortunate enough to be paired with him? Not that anything good ever happened to her. She just hoped her mother never found out she had dinner alone with a bloke. She would be forever condemned for it.

18

Patrick sat outside the counselor’s office. He’d been poked and prodded and had countless scans and x-rays. All he could think of was Elle and Abbie. Now he knew the truth, he wanted to be a part of their lives. Abbie’s life definitely, but would she want a father who suddenly appeared out of nowhere?

Would he be any good as a father? He didn’t know the first thing about raising a child, let alone a young teen. Sure he could interrogate any boyfriend she might have in the future, but what good would he be otherwise? Actually thinking about it, Abbie might never have a boyfriend once word got out her father was armed at all times. Not to mention being a crack shot.

“Mr. Page?”

He glanced up. “Yes.”

“Come on in.”

He rose and followed the woman into the office.

“Take a seat. My name is Corrine Downton. This is Betty Willis, the transplant coordinator and John Brown, consultant surgeon. It’s our job to make sure you understand the risks involved and answer any questions you may have.”

“OK.” He settled uneasily into the plastic chair and crossed his right ankle over his left knee. “I’m assuming that means I’m a match?”

The surgeon looked at him. “Physically you’re a perfect match. There are no indications as to why surgery can’t go ahead.”

“Good. Why do I sense a ‘but’ coming?”

“Being a live donor isn’t as easy as it sounds. It’s major surgery for you as well as for Abbie.”

“I know that.” From the corner of his eye, he could see the counselor scrutinizing his every movement and word. He relaxed his hands, calling on the interrogation aversion techniques he’d had drummed into him. He could do this. It wasn’t as if he was being tortured with buckets of water and electric cables or being beaten whilst blindfolded, was it?

“Surgery itself for you will run concurrently with Abbie’s. It will take approximately seven hours. The surgeon and his team will remove the left lobe of your liver, whilst another team works on Abbie. The donated piece will then replace her liver. You’ll be in intensive care for upwards of twenty four hours, spend another five to seven days in hospital after that. After two, maybe three days post op, you can get out of bed, but will need assistance to begin with. You will be left with three large scars.” The surgeon demonstrated across his stomach. “Here, here and here.”

“OK. What about returning to work?”

“No work or home activities for a month. Then part time for another month after that. No driving for six to eight weeks.”

“I see.” That was going to make protecting Elle impossible.

“The surgery comes with major risks to your health. There is a chance of blood clots and a two percent chance you could die.”

Patrick shrugged, keeping his poker face, despite the way his insides were churning. “I face death on a daily basis at work.”

“This is different.”

“I know that too,” he snapped. “Look, I’ve made up my mind and there is nothing you or anyone can say to make me change it.” He sucked in a deep breath. “Sorry, go on.”

The surgeon continued. “Your liver will regenerate within about six weeks to its original size.”

“What about Abbie?”

“Her surgery will take upwards of ten hours. She’ll spend about five days in intensive care and another three weeks on a general ward. She’ll need to be monitored for rejection, but within about three to six months she’ll be able to do everything she can now. The transplanted liver will grow to the size of her original one within six weeks.”

“OK. Where do I sign?”

The counselor cleared her throat. “Is anyone coercing you to do this?”

“What kind of a question is that?” he asked, shifting in his chair.

“Are you being offered payment for it?”

He sighed. “Abbie is my daughter. I’m exercising my parental right to save my child’s life. Where do I sign?”

The surgeon handed him the form. “The surgery will take place in a week’s time.”

Patrick glanced up from reading. “Can she wait that long?”

“We think so.”

“You
think
so? She has a massive tumor inside her and you
think
it can wait a week?”

“Right now, Abbie isn’t strong enough to survive surgery. She has a fever which we need her to recover from first.”

“And if she deteriorates?”

“We’ll rethink. Until that time we wait until she stands a better chance of surviving than she does now.”

Patrick returned his attention to the form, reading it carefully.
Lord, am I doing the right thing here? Is this why things happened the way they have? Elle comes back into my life so suddenly, in order that I can help Abbie. Would they have found the tumor without the car accident? Are You keeping Your promise in Romans of working everything for good?

A sense of peace filled him and, knowing he was doing the right thing, he signed the form and handed it back to the surgeon. Once Elle was safe, he could run the desk at work for the time being. That wasn’t exactly strenuous. Nor was protecting her while sitting next to her on the sofa. “Now what?”

“Now, I go and talk to Abbie and Miss Harrison and explain to them what will happen.”

“I don’t think Elle said anything to Abbie yet. She doesn’t want her told.”

“Abbie is thirteen, old enough to understand how sick she is. Without the transplant she’ll die.”

Patrick jerked as if stabbed. He recalled Elle saying that, but she’d been hysterical at the time. “I’m sorry?”

“Abbie’s dying. She’s got a month, maybe two.”

“And you want to wait a week before surgery?” Panic filled him. “If she’s dying anyway, then surely it’d be better to operate sooner rather than later, fever or no fever.”

“Mr. Page, I understand your concern, but right now, Abbie wouldn’t survive the anesthetic never mind the surgery. For yourself, you need to take care over the next few days. Avoid getting sick or injured as much as you can.”

Patrick nodded. “OK.”

The surgeon looked at his notes. “I’ll book a tentative date for Friday.”

“The tenth?” Patrick asked looking at his personal phone.

“Yes. You’ll need to come in the day before for a final set of x-rays and blood tests.”

He shook the surgeon’s hand and left the room, his mind whirling. First he didn’t know about her at all. Then in a few short hours he’d been given a daughter and now he was losing her.

He fumbled for his phone and dialed Liam. The answer phone picked up and he sighed. “Li, it’s me. I really need to talk to you, Ni and the parentals. Give me a call when you get this. See if we can all get together tonight for a few. Bring Jared and Jacqui.”

Pressing the button briefly, he dialed the police station in Tannoch. “Can I speak to DI Nemec? It’s Agent Page with MI5.”

There was a brief pause, then the call connected. “Nemec.”

“Sir, it’s Agent Page in Headley Cross. I don’t have much time, but things are moving a pace down here. I really need to see those files.”

“What’s up?”

“Turns out the woman I’m protecting, Elle, was adopted. Her mother was Rachel Foster…”