Six months ago I started a chain of events quite unintentionally, I'm not sure what I intended to achieve by doing what I did, I don't know what I was expecting to happen when I suddenly appeared outside the apartment of a certain Joseph Byrne but I did not expect him to answer the door, I did not expect to have him break down in my arms, I did not expect him to invite me to stay for dinner, and I certainly did not expect to find myself accepting. I did not expect him to kiss me, I did not expect to kiss him back, I did not expect him to carry me upstairs and I did not expect to have the best sex of my life on his bed. Yet I did, and this explains why I'm now sitting here six months pregnant, with a baby most of the hospital, and him, believe, wrongly, is my ex husband's or, more wrongly, a certain Samuel Strachan's. Well she's not, she's his, Joseph Byrne got me pregnant and any second now I suspect the most awkward moment of my life will occur, I'll tell him. I hoping writing something down here first will make it easier, I have a horrible suspicion it won't, but I will anyway. And as I am I guess I sure begin in the most sensible place. The beginning.
I was in theatre, pretty much where you'd expect to find me, being a surgeon after all. I wasn't even due in theatre with Joseph, Sam had decided he had something better to do and had asked him to swap, halfway through the operation he asked to be excused, I said no, I mean really what possible reason could he have for needing to leave theatre that urgently, as it turns out he had one, a fairly acceptable one as I later found out. Well it would have been acceptable if it were legal, wasn't at the time, is now thanks to me, who'd have thought it Connie Beauchamp could do that whole understanding caring thing? But I did!
Anyway I digress, a little later his withdrawal symptoms kicked in, I'll admit I didn't realise that's exactly what they were at the time. He suddenly turned a deathly shade of white, his hand started shaking and he couldn't concentrate. Obviously I couldn't have him in theatre in that condition, I figured he was ill sent him out. Trouble was when I got out three hours later he was no where to be seen, gone home ill so I was told. Now for some strange reason, I'll admit I still don't understand it, rather than simply going back to my office and picking up my bag I found myself sitting at my computer, going through his file and looking up his home address. Instead of turning left out of the hospital car park and heading out to the absurdly posh suburb of Holby Michael had decided to call home, I turned right and found myself heading towards the posh dockside development Joseph called home. Instead of driving straight past and going home the long way, I pulled the car over into a space alongside his outside his apartment block. Instead of doing the sensible thing and pulling straight back onto the road, I got out of the car and pushed the buzzer for the penthouse suite. Instead of ignoring the slightly grainy hello, I replied, "Joseph, it's Connie."
He buzzed me in and I entered the lift that would take me to his apartment, yes the thought of pressing the ground button did cross my mind several times as I rose to the fifth floor and yet for some reason my fingers wouldn't move to hit it and before I knew it the doors were opening straight into his apartment. I stepped out, admittedly looking slightly surprised as I saw the minimalist chic he had chosen to decorate his apartment with, more my style than his I would have thought. I digress again, really like this isn't hard enough to explain without my commenting on his taste in décor. He came down the stairs and once again I have to admit to staring in surprise, looking back at me wasn't the pale registrar that had left my theatre but a perfectly healthy looking guy, very good looking guy actually, dressed in jeans and a nice t shirt, clinging in all the right places… once again I've gone off track, but he did look very hot, which I suppose goes some way to explaining why I ended up on my back with my skirt round my waist.
I walked over to him and asked the most stupid question of my career, "are you alright?" I mean how stupid is that question?! Are you alright?! I actually allow myself to feel for a colleague and I go to check on them and the best opener I can come up with is "are you alright?!" Rather unsurprisingly he said "I'm fine" what a bloody pointless conversation, A) I know he's not alright, I had to send him out of theatre and B) I know he's lying! Patients lie all the time, this is why we have tests, and we don't just go on what the patient says. Now as Joseph, being a doctor and all knows this one can only assume he's trying to fob me off. And he's been my registrar for however long he should really know by now I hate being fobbed off. Admittedly my next choice of line may not have been the best ever but I told him to sit down and stop lying, right there in front of my eyes he collapsed onto the sofa and starting sobbing, first thought that just popped into my head "oh crap!" I mean really out of the entire list of things I'd considered this really ranked low, in fact so low it didn't even make the list, I knew he wasn't necessarily the hardest of men, he clearly had his sensitive side but I thought that his strict upper class upbringing would have given him that traditional stiff upper lip every American assumes all Englishmen have. So seeing him there in a heap on his sofa sobbing his little heart out threw me, well and truly completely threw me, and before I knew it I was sitting beside him with my arm around him trying to comfort him to the best of my, albeit limited, ability.
Yes it scared me slightly, it scared me a lot, not just the fact my registrar was sobbing on his sofa, but the fact I was also on his sofa, with my arms around him. My vocabulary instantly reduced to a handful of annoying phrases that normally make me want to scream when I hear them, "shush don't worry everything's ok", completely stupid seeing as how it clearly wasn't but before I, and I suspect he, knew it he was admitting everything to me, from the younger brother in a coma, to the illegal operation on Gina Hope, the triggering of his OCD and the clearly illegal use of Fentanyl in his hope of controlling it. The fact he was now addicted to it and his "illness" in theatre was actually withdrawal symptoms. I found myself telling him it was actually going to be alright, admittedly I couldn't turn back time and save his brother, or perform Gina's surgery myself to prevent this all coming out, but I could get him the drug legally, for the time being at least whilst I helped him get off it.
I couldn't help but laugh slightly as he stared at me in surprise before drying his eyes standing up and asking me what I wanted for dinner. My turn to stare in surprise, and to be even more surprised as I heard the words "pasta would be nice" slip out of my mouth.
To cut a very long boring part of the tale short he cooked, we ate, surprisingly he's a very good cook, I enjoyed it, then we washed up, the two of us together, and I enjoyed that too! I Connie Beauchamp can officially say I enjoyed washing up! There's another turn up for the books, well maybe it wasn't so much the washing up but the fact the entire time we were actually joking around together. So when he led me back to the living room after we'd put everything away I didn't mind, I wasn't eager to leave, I enjoyed the company.
So anyway I was sitting next to him on the sofa watching pointless evening television, when suddenly he kissed me, completely out of the blue, he kissed me just like that! And as surprised as I was I kissed him back. It was quite gentle at first, both of us testing the waters as it were, seeing how far we could push the other before one of us came to our senses and backed away, yet surprisingly neither of us chose to. Instead we kissed each other harder, and my hands some how ended up under his t shirt, tracing out the muscles of his stomach, he has a six pack! Under all that slightly floppy appearance he's actually very hot! So I end up on my back on his sofa with him on top of me and his arms wrapped around me pulling at my top and exposing my torso to him, to his lips, I can't remember what happened exactly, I don't really care, all I know is that he did something with his lips and it felt bloody fantastic!
Then he was standing up and I was looking incredibly disappointed I'm sure, but then he picked me up! He picked me up and I rolled towards his chest and he carried me upstairs. He gently laid me on the bed and moved on top of me pushing up my skirt and pulling down his trousers, then he was inside of me and I was clinging to him, I was enjoying it a hell of a lot, admittedly it could be because I hadn't had it for longer than I care to admit, or alternatively, and a theory I prefer, he was just absolutely fantastic! To be painfully blunt, I came, he came and we ended up asleep in each others arms.
Fast forward 2 months and I'm heaving the contents of my breakfast straight back out of my stomach and into the toilet bowl. Nice imagery there I know, but I said I was being blunt and it's not like anyone is actually going to read this. In fact I'll probably shred it, no point keeping it, I know what happened, Joseph knows what happened, well he's probably tried to block the exact details from his head, but the last thing either of us needs is for our daughter to find this in my things 15 years from now and start asking questions. I suspect that'll be one me and Joseph will attempt to dodge and chances are if she's anything like either of us she won't be fobbed off, or she'll hate it just as much as me and won't talk to either of us for weeks. Admittedly by then it may be a blessing in disguise. And I'm talking as though I and Joseph have a future! I'm talking about our little girl growing up with both of us there for her! I've not even told him yet! He'll probably run a mile as soon as he hears and even if he stays it'll be out of duty, now I'm not good with people doing things for me out of duty so I'd give it until the birth, her first birthday at a very outside chance, so the idea of me and him both being there together when she turns fifteen and starts asking these questions is quite frankly laughable but never the less I am now six months gone and about to tell him, wish me luck! O god now I've hit the cheesy Dear Kate crap that my diaries consisted of when I was 9… o how we change in 30 years, not, well maybe I've swapped tracksuits of designer suits and Tesco value notepads for ridiculously overpriced handmade paper bound in suede, so maybe some things do change after all… another one being the fact that back then I was just overweight, plump, retaining some of my puppy fat, dress it up if you like but back then I was fat, at least now I have an excuse I'm pregnant! And unless I'm very much mistaken the father is about to knock on the door so I can tell him he's the father, so now would actually be a pretty good time to revert back to my nine year old self and ask my little imaginary friend to wish me luck, so please wish me luck.