Read The Other Child for Free Online Page A

and, with a jerk of his wrist, slots it back in.
    ‘The woman next door – Helena. Haven’t you two been running together?’
    ‘What? I already told you we haven’t. Why would I want a running mate?’ He switches the machine on and the kitchen fills with a whirring sound as it forces thick coffee into the cup.
    Sandra must have seen him talking to Helena in the street and made assumptions. She realizes how paranoid she sounds. The espresso machine cuts out.
    ‘Did you get back really late then, last night?’ she says.
    ‘Yeah,’ he nods and pours milk into a mug, slotting it under the steamer. Once again, the noise makes talking impossible. When the steamer stops he says, ‘Gone midnight. You were sleeping and I had a whole load of paperwork, so I worked down here for a bit, then grabbed a couple of hours in the spare room. I didn’t want to wake you.’
    ‘You look totally exhausted.’
    ‘I’m fine, really.’
    ‘You don’t seem fine.’
    ‘I just have a lot on my mind right now.’ He takes the mug to the breakfast bar and sits on a stool, stirring it.
    ‘What’s on your mind?’
    ‘Oh, lots of stuff. This case . . . a four-year-old . . . some complications . . .’
    She can’t remember Greg ever admitting that he is worried about a patient. She wonders if he has been waiting for her because he needs to talk about this.
    ‘Is that what you were working on last night?’
    He nods.
    ‘What sort of complications?’
    ‘You wouldn’t . . . It’s extremely technical.’ He hands her the mug he’s been stirring. ‘Anyway, here, look, I made you a latte.’
    She takes it. Now would not be the time to remind him she’s trying to avoid caffeine.
    ‘But I want to know. Can’t you try to explain it to me?’
    ‘It would be a bit like trying to introduce you to the rules of baseball, in Mandarin.’
    She feels a prickle of irritation. ‘You should have married a cardiologist.’
    ‘I did date an interventional cardiologist once. It lasted about three weeks. Two type-A egomaniacs who are always right about everything. It was a bloodbath.’ He grins at her, looking more like himself.
    ‘Still, if I was a doctor, at least I’d be able to help with your complicated four-year-old. You’d be able to run things by me and I’d be able help you come up with a brilliant solution.’ The image of Greg and Helena jogging side by side through the woods, sharing medical opinions, enters her head. She shuts it down.
    ‘You wouldn’t,’ he says.
    ‘Why? Because nobody could possibly match your genius?’
    ‘No. Because the boy is dead.’
    She puts the coffee down. ‘Oh no – God, that’s awful.’
    He shrugs, but his jaw is tense.
    ‘What – how? In the OR? With you?’
    He nods.
    ‘Oh, shit. I’m so sorry, love. So that’s why you’re . . .’
    ‘Yeah, well, listen, you know, it happens.’ He straightens his shoulders. ‘There was nothing I or anyone else could have done about it. There’s actually no one better in the States – if not the world – right now for the particular condition this child had. If I couldn’t save him, no one could.’ He looks bigger, suddenly, more confident and healthy, as if reaffirming his expertise, even in the context of this poor dead child, has boosted his blood flow. ‘The parents are angry, but the truth is they should be grateful it was me, not someone else.’
    ‘Grateful?’
    He gives his head an irritable shake. ‘You know what I mean. At some point they’re going to realize that their son had the best shot possible with me – that there’s no one better at this – and ultimately that will help them.’
    He may well be the leading specialist when it comes to this particular defect of a child’s heart, but sometimes he seems to forget that he is also dealing with raw, parental grief. She understands why he has to protect himself, but sometimes his ability to cut off feels chilling.
    As she sips the strong, milky coffee she remembers the first