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She dropped her head to her daughter’s. She’d do anything to protect her baby from anyone who could hurt her, mentally or physically.
Almost in response, Imogen reached up and grabbed Evie’s cheeks in her chubby little hands, smacking loud kisses onto her mother’s face before burying her head into Evie’s neck and nuzzling.
Evie’s heart swelled. It was a feeling like no other. It hadn’t bypassed her that although Max was clearly comfortable holding a baby from his time as a surgeon, skilled enough to be able to keep them calm and confident enough to examine them, he was detached about it. His daughter might as well have been any baby in his care. There was no bond.
Was it just a question of time? Or would there never be a special father-daughter bond there?
What would happen when she was in hospital? In this particular unit? Between going in for the pre-op and the transplant itself, she would be kept in a sterile environment where Imogen wouldn’t be allowed to visit for at least a week. Maybe longer.
Her daughter had spent her life being showered with love, kisses, constant affection. From herself, her brother, Annie, even her nephew. Evie had no doubt that Max would meet Imogen’s physical needs. But what about those emotional needs? She would need to see him soften towards Imogen, to look at her as his daughter rather than just a baby on whom he was going to operate, before she would be comfortable about being separated from her daughter for so long.
She was just going to have to teach Max how to show his emotions. The prospect filled her with both trepidation and exhilaration. How exactly was that going to complicate things between the two of them?
And teaching him how to change a nappy properly wouldn’t be a bad idea, either. She stifled a giggle.
‘Come on, precious girl. Let’s get you sorted out, and find you a pretty baby suit, then we’ll go downstairs and show your daddy how neat and tidy you look.’
* * *
Evie sniffed appreciatively as she entered the kitchen where Max was cooking on the stove.
‘Barely five minutes and something already smells heavenly.’ She grinned.
‘Imogen’s crying,’ Max exclaimed, turning around.
‘Yes, thank you, I can hear that.’ Evie couldn’t help chuckling at his expression of horror.
‘But...she’s with you.’
‘So?’
‘So, I wouldn’t have thought she’d cry with you. I thought it was just me.’
‘I’m not a panacea. Once I got her changed and the nappy contortionist had left, she realised how hungry she was.’
Belatedly she realised that if she wanted to encourage him not just to look after his daughter, but actually interact more with her, then teasing him might not be the best idea. With her transplant looming all too quickly, in a couple of days she’d be in hospital; Max would be all Imogen had. But to her relief he laughed along with her.
‘Glad my efforts weren’t completely in vain—at least they had entertainment value. I can’t believe she was as patient as she was with me.’
‘Depends on the day,’ Evie responded, realising it would be good to show Max there was no magic wand. ‘Some days she might be patient, other days everything might unsettle her. She’s a little person, and just like you or I she has good days and off days. If things aren’t going well one day, don’t assume it’s something you’ve done. There’s no fix-all solution.’
Max looked even more horrified.
‘If she’s fed, burped, slept and has a clean nappy, she’ll be happy, though, won’t she?’
‘Usually. Not every time. All I’m saying is don’t assume you’ve done something wrong. Maybe it’s her teeth, or growing pains, or her tummy. Just be ready just to cuddle her, that’s all I do and that’s what she’s used to. What are you doing?’
‘Getting a pen to write it down.’
‘Max—’ Evie was incredulous ‘—you’re one of the foremost surgeons in your field. You said you looked after babies and young children in Gaza. You don’t need to overthink it.’
‘My field isn’t babies. And, despite Gaza, I’m not a paediatric plastic surgeon,’ he pointed out, pulling a handful of pens and an old envelope from a drawer and proceeding to test the ink. ‘Also, when I do see babies in the hospital, they’re usually unwell.’
She didn’t mean to, but the smile erupted from her before she could hold it back. She’d never seen him anything but authoritative, completely in control of any situation or crisis, the go-to guy for several of his colleagues.
To see him so flummoxed simply by taking care of a baby, his own daughter, was something she hadn’t anticipated. It somehow made him more human.
‘Here, why don’t you take Imogen while I get something ready for her?’
