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pocketed the keys and then driven her home.
    Twenty minutes later he’d reported her to the chief of Anaesthetics and Anton had been hyper-vigilant ever since then.
    Anton looked down the street at the Christmas lights but they offered no reprieve; instead, they madeit worse. He loathed Christmas. Alberto, the baby, had missed out on far too many.
    Yep, Anton reminded himself as he drove home and then walked into his apartment, which had not a single shred of tinsel or a decoration on display, there was a very good reason not to get involved with Louise or anyone at work.
    He took out his work phone and called the ward to check on a couple of patients, glad to hear that all was quiet tonight.
    Anton poured a drink and pulled out his other phone, read an angry text from Saffarella, telling him he should find someone else for the maternity night out, followed by a few insults that Anton knew she expected a response to.
    He was too tired for a row and too disengaged for an exchange of texts that might end up in bed.
    Instead, he picked up his work phone and scrolled through some texts. All the staff knew they could contact him and with texting often it was easy just to send some obs through or say you were on your way.
    He scrolled through and looked at a couple of Louise’s messages.
    BP 140/60—and yes, Santa, before you ask, I’ve read your list and I’ve checked it twice—it’s still 140/60. From your little helper
    He’d had no idea what that little gem had meant until he’d been in a department store, with annoying music grating in his ears, and a song had come on and he’d burst out laughing there and then.
    He had realised then how lame his response at the time had been.
    Call me if it goes up again.
    Her response:
    Bah, humbug!
    Followed by another text.
    Yes, Anton, I do know.
    He must, Anton thought, find out what ‘bah, humbug’ meant.
    Then he read another text from a couple of months ago that made him smile. But not at her humour, more at how spot-on she had been.
    I know it is your weekend off, sorry, but you did say to text with any concerns with any of your patients. Can you happen to be passing by?
    Anton had
happened
to be passing by half an hour later and had found Louise sitting on the bed, chatting with the usually sombre Mrs Calini, who was in an unusually elated mood.
    ‘Oh, here’s Anton.’ Louise had beamed as he had stopped by the bed for a
chat.
    ‘Anton!’ Mrs Calini had started talking in rapid Italian, saying how gorgeous her baby was, just how very, very beautiful he was. Yes, there was nothing specificbut Anton had been on this journey with his patient and Louise was right, this was most irregular.
    Twelve hours and a lot of investigations later, Mrs Calini had moved from elation to paranoia—loudly declaring that all the other mothers were jealous and likely to steal her beautiful baby. She had been taken up to the psych ward and her infant had remained on Maternity.
    Two weeks later the baby had been reunited with Mrs Calini on the psychiatric mother and baby unit and just a month ago they had gone home well.
    Anton looked up ‘bah, humbug’ and soon found out she wasn’t talking about odd-looking black and white mints when she used that term.
    He read a little bit about Scrooge and how he despised Christmas and started to smile.
    Oh, Louise.
    God, but he was tempted to text her now, by accident, of course. In his contacts Louise was there next to ‘Labour Ward’ after all.
    He loathed that she was with Rory but, then again, she had every right to be happy. He’d had his chances over the months and had declined them. So Anton decided against an accidental text to Louise, surprised that he had even considered sending one.
    He wasn’t usually into games.
    He just didn’t like that the games had now ended with Louise.
    Louise checked her phone the second she awoke, just in case Emily had called or texted her and she’d missed it, but, no, there was nothing.
    It had been a