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‘Yes. And, Libby…’ He sat back in his chair. ‘We need to try and get her to take oral fluids.’
‘I know.’ Libby nodded, well aware of that fact. ‘Now we’ve got the urine sample I’ll concentrate on that. I’ve explained the importance of fluids to the mother.’
‘Is she breast-feeding?’
Libby shook her head. ‘Bottle.’
Andreas finished what he was doing and stood up. ‘Let’s get that drip up.’
‘I’ll get a trolley ready.’
Libby spent the rest of the shift looking after Rachel, reassured by the fact that Andreas was within shouting distance if the baby’s condition worsened. Apart from one trip down to the A and E department to assess a child, he spent most of the day on the ward, getting to know the children and meeting his team.
Libby tried hard to forget what had happened the night before but it was difficult to concentrate with those sexy dark eyes following her round the ward.
He was a man, she reminded herself firmly. Which meant only one thing as far as she was concerned.
Trouble.
Libby was updating Rachel’s charts at the nurses’ station when she glanced up and saw a young girl hovering by the entrance of the ward.
Her eyes widened.
‘Adrienne?’ She recognised Andreas’s niece immediately, dropped her pen onto the desk and walked across to her. ‘Hi, there. Aren’t you supposed to be at school?’
The girl glared at her defiantly but her lip wobbled slightly. ‘I’ve run away. And I’m not going back. Ever. I hate it there.’
Oops.
Her dark hair looked more unruly than ever and there were red rings around her eyes where she’d been crying. She looked very vulnerable and very young.
Libby leaned against the wall, her expression sympathetic. ‘Do you want to tell me why?’
Adrienne shrugged and stared at her shoes. ‘I don’t fit in.’
Libby frowned. ‘In what way?’
Adrienne didn’t look up. ‘I’m…different.’
‘We don’t all have to be the same. Being different can be good,’ Libby said softly, but Adrienne shook her head.
‘It isn’t. It’s horrible.’ Her voice cracked slightly and she rubbed the toe of her shoe along the floor. ‘I’m not trendy. I don’t know how to be trendy. I tried to do my hair differently and wear make-up but Andreas made me wash it before I left the house. I hate him.’
Remembering the badly applied make-up, Libby privately thought that Andreas had made totally the right decision.
‘How old are you, Adrienne?’
‘Twelve. But I’m nearly thirteen,’ she added quickly.
Libby nodded. ‘It can be really tough being thirteen. I remember it well.’
‘You?’ Adrienne looked at her in disbelief and Libby nodded wryly.
‘I had a terrible time. I was skinny as a rake, had a brace on my teeth and I wore glasses. And, to make it worse, my sister was stunning. Trust me—the other kids had a really big choice of names to call me. I know all about being different.’
Adrienne stared. ‘But you’re trendy.’
‘Now maybe, but not then,’ Libby assured her dryly. ‘Who goes shopping with you?’
