Healed By The Midwife's Kiss

Last week she’d had her first scuba lesson. Something that had fascinated but petrified her since she’d watched the movie Finding Nemo with the daughter of a friend. And in the sparkling cove around the corner from Lighthouse Bay the kindly instructor had been so reassuring, so patient, well... Maybe she’d go back on Saturday for another lesson.

And when she’d mastered that she was going out on a day of deep-sea fishing. The captain’s wife had not long delivered a late-in-life baby and Trina had been the midwife. Even though he’d fainted again, he’d promised her a day of deep-sea fishing when he felt better. She’d bought seasickness bands and stored them in her drawer just in case.

She wasn’t sure about the parachuting. The girls at work had all joined the idea factory and brochures and social media tags of extreme sports and adventure holidays appeared like magic in her pigeonhole and on her private page. Parachuting? She didn’t think so but she’d worry about that later.

Her aim to do one challenge a month seemed possible to allay the fear that she was relying on work to be her whole world. Though not too adventurous—she didn’t want to kill herself. Not now.

Her friends were cheering. Thinking of the midwives of Lighthouse Bay...well, that made her whole world warm into a rosy glow. A fiercely loyal flotsam of women tossed here by the fickle cruelty of life, forging into a circle of hands supporting birthing women and each other. All acutely aware of how fortunate they were to have found the magic of the bay.

There was something healing about that crescent of sand that led to the cliffs.

A mystical benevolence about the soaring white lighthouse on the tallest point that looked benignly over the tiny hamlet of coloured houses and shone reassuring light.

And the pretty pastel abodes like a quaint European seaside town were a delight, a new trend that had taken off with the gentle crayon façades dipping in colour like playful toes into the sea.

Crazy coloured houses, and if she could do all those crazy-coloured feats of bravery then just maybe she could be brave enough to begin a real conversation with a man. Like yesterday. She’d almost forgotten the handsome dad was a man when she’d snapped at him. They’d almost had a whole conversation. She wouldn’t mind another one so he didn’t think she was a short-tempered shrew but she had been concerned about the bird. The one that had flown away two hours later, just like he said it would.

If she could talk to a man she could try again to go out with one. At least once. She’d been turning them down for six months now. None of them had been Ed.

Now there were more midwives around to lessen the on-call restrictions. Four new midwives had come on board to swell their ranks with the shift to a midwife-led unit. They still had old Dr Southwell in the hospital for non-maternity patients and maternity emergencies, but all the midwives had moved to four days of ten-hour shifts and caring for a caseload of women, so suddenly there was more time for life with an extra day free and people to cover you if needed. And she’d scored the admin side Monday to Thursday, daylight hours, for a year. Starting Monday. Imagine.

So she’d better get out there and grab that exciting life before it drifted past in a haze of regrets. She lifted her head and sucked in a pure lungful of gorgeous sea air.

Without realising it her feet had followed the well-beaten path down to the beach and just as she turned to start her morning breakwall walk she saw the dad and his little girl come up off the beach.

He looked happier today. Nice. It made her smile warmer. ‘Beautiful morning.’

He looked startled for a minute. ‘Yes, it is.’ Almost as if he was surprised. ‘Good morning—how is your bird?’

‘Flew away two hours later. Didn’t look any worse for wear.’

He gave her the first real smile she’d seen. ‘That’s good.’

Then he was past. Trina turned her head to glance back and the little fair-haired girl waved.

Trina smiled and yawned. She should go to bed and get a couple of hours’ sleep before Ellie’s farewell lunch. Just a quick walk.

CHAPTER THREE

Finn

THE EARLY-MORNING BREEZE off the ocean seemed cooler. The water had taken till now to shine like a jewel. She’d been late this morning. Finn had waited a minute, hoping she wouldn’t see him do it, and strangely the minute seemed to take for ever, then he’d looked back. He’d been thinking of her last night. Wondering if she were sad about a dead bird or happy when it flew away.

He thought back to her response. Now that was a smile. He could see it in his retina like a glance at the sun. Warm and glowing. Saw her walking quite a way in the distance—she’d moved fast. He’d noticed that before, that her pace ran to brisk rather than dawdling. Nurses often did walk briskly. Couldn’t seem to slow themselves enough to meander even on a seaside walk. He tore his eyes away.

He’d done the breakwall walk she did a couple of times when he’d first come here but he liked the effort of walking through the sand with Piper on his back. If nothing else he’d become fit and tanned and physically healthier here in a month. And Piper too had sun-kissed limbs and sparkling eyes that exuded health.

His sister would be pleased when she came today. His first visitor. He shied away from that intrusion into his safe world and thought again of the young midwife. Maybe not so young because he’d seen the signs of loss and life in her big coffee eyes—even in those brief glances they’d shot at each other. For the first time he wondered if other people had suffered as much as he had? Well, that at least seemed a positive sign that he could reconnect with his inherent compassion that he’d seemed to have lost.

The thought made him wonder what it would be like to talk to someone who could actually begin to understand his hell, and then called himself crazy for making up a past about someone he didn’t know. Poor woman probably had never had a sad day in her life. But something told him otherwise.

* * *

Just before one p.m. his sister stepped out of her red convertible and through his front gate. ‘It’s beautiful, Finn. I can’t believe you’ve done all this yourself!’ Her perfectly pencilled brows were raised as she gazed at the pale pink external walls of the house and the rose-red door.

He’d been a little surprised himself. And the front path bordered by pansies and baby’s breath looked as if it belonged to some older lady with a green thumb—not a guilt-deranged paediatrician running from life.

She rocked her head slowly. He’d expected disbelief but not this patent incredulity. He felt strangely offended. ‘I didn’t even know you like to garden!’

He shrugged, urging her towards the door. ‘Neither did I. But Piper loves being outside and we needed to do something while we’re out here.’

Frances rubbernecked her way up the path, nice and slow for the neighbours, he thought dryly, and sighed while she gushed. She gushed when she didn’t know what to say, though what the problem was he had no idea.

‘And the house. Freshly painted? You actually painted?’ She glanced around. ‘Pastel like the others in the street. It’s gorgeous.’

Finn looked at the stucco walls. They’d been a pain to paint. ‘Piper chose the colour. I would have preferred a blue but, given the choice, she went for pink every time. Never thought I’d have a stereotypical daughter.’

Frances laughed and waved her hand dismissively. ‘Piper’s too young to choose.’

‘No, she’s not,’ he said mildly. ‘How can you say it’s not her choice if I give her four colours and she keeps choosing pink?’

Frances looked at him as if he needed a big dose of sympathy for his feeble brain. ‘You didn’t pretend she was choosing?’

‘Who else was I going to ask?’ He heard the edge in his voice. And his sister shut up. So then he felt mean.

It was always like this. On and on until he shut her down. She meant well, but for heaven’s sake. He wanted her gone already.

They finally made it to the front door.

In an attempt to lighten the mood he stopped to show her something else. ‘Piper helped everywhere.’ He kissed the top of his daughter’s head as she perched on his hip. Quiet for a change because she hadn’t quite found her ease with her aunt. Or maybe she was picking up Finn’s nervous vibes. Either way she leaned into him, unusually subdued.

He pointed to a handprint on the front step that he’d finished with instant cement. Using a layer of cling wrap over the wet surface, he’d pressed her starfish hand into the step on each side while holding her clamped to his side. The little palm prints made him smile every time he opened the door.

‘Come in.’ He heard the pride in his voice and mocked himself. Finn the decorator. ‘There’s still the kitchen and laundry, but I’ve finished Piper’s corner, the bathroom and the floating boards on the floor because she’ll need a solid surface to learn to walk on.’

Frances rotated her neck, as if stuck to the step and that was the only part of her body she could move. ‘It’s tiny.’

He frowned. ‘Yes. It’s a beach cottage. Not a mansion.’

She blinked. Shifted uneasily. ‘Oh, yes. Of course. But your other beautiful house...’

‘Is on the market.’

Now the shock was real. Frances had approved mightily of his imposing residence on top of the hill. Two hills over from her imposing residence. He’d only liked it because Clancy, his missing wife, had loved it.

Frances spluttered, ‘You’re buying a new house?’

‘I’ve bought a new house.’ He put out one hand and gestured. ‘This house. I’m staying here.’

‘I... I thought you’d done this for the owners. That you rented?’

‘I am the owner.’ A little too fierce, Finn, he chided himself.

Frances leaned towards him pleadingly. ‘But your work?’

‘Will be here too when I’m ready. One of the GPs here has offered me a place in his practice when I’m ready. I’ll specialise in children but do all the GP stuff I’ve almost forgotten. It’ll be good.’ He wasn’t sure who he was convincing, Frances or himself. ‘It won’t be yet because I’m in no hurry.’

‘But...’

‘But what?’

His sister turned worried eyes on his. ‘You were only supposed to come here for a few weeks and then come back. Come home.’

‘Home to where, Frances? To what? To an empty castle on a hill full of ghosts and pain. To a clinic with not enough hours in the day so I had to keep my daughter in long day care?’

Frances looked stricken and he leaned in and shared a hug with her, Piper still a limpet on his other hip. Frances meant well and she truly loved him. And now that Mum was gone she was all the family he had. Of course she’d never understood him with the ten-year age difference. Frances hadn’t understood Mum either, if they were being honest. ‘It’s okay. This is a magic place to live and for Piper and me this is the right place at the right time. We’re staying.’

Frances almost wrung her hands. ‘You won’t meet any eligible women here.’

He could feel his mood slip further. His irritation rise. His disappointment deepen. His sister didn’t understand his guilt couldn’t be fixed by an eligible woman. ‘Eligible for what, Frances? I’m no good for any woman at the moment and won’t be...’ he didn’t say ever ‘...for a very long time.’

He decided not to demonstrate the shower. Or point anything else out. Ditched the plans to take a picnic to the beach.

Instead he took Frances to the most expensive restaurant in town, where Piper slept in her stroller beside the table despite the noise of conversations and laughter all around, and listened to her stories of droll people and dire events in her husband’s practice.

In the corner of the restaurant he noticed a very attractive brunette. She nodded at him and he realised it was his morning midwife, elegantly dressed—sans scrubs—and made-up like a model, her brown hair blow-dried and shining, the glints catching the sun. Looking like a million bucks. Other men were looking at her. He preferred the windblown version.

She sat, a little isolated, in a lively group of people, all chinking champagne flutes to celebrate. Frances would approve of the clientele, he thought dryly, but recognised the older doctor he’d mentioned to his sister, and noted the stylish older woman next to him who leant into his shoulder, probably his wife. Another young woman he hadn’t seen around was chatting to the vibrantly glowing woman in the latter stages of pregnancy who drank water, and next to her a man hovered protectively, obviously the doting father-to-be.

He wished him better luck than he’d had. Finn felt his heart twist in self-disgust. He’d tried that. A lot of good that had done him.

‘Finn?’

His sister’s voice called him back to the present and he jerked his face away from them. ‘Sorry. You were telling me about Gerry’s partner?’

Frances hovered over being cross for a moment and thankfully decided to forgive graciously. ‘I was saying she has no idea how a doctor’s wife should dress.’

The lunch dragged on until finally Piper woke up and gave him an excuse to pay the bill.

They waved Frances goodbye after lunch with much relief. ‘Seriously, Piper. Your aunt is getting worse. We’re lucky to be so far away.’

They took the sand buckets and spade back down to the beach in the afternoon because Piper’s routine had been disrupted and she needed to get some play time in and wear herself out before bedtime.

To his surprise, and with a seagull-like swoop of uplifting spirits, the morning midwife sat there on the breakwall, back in beach clothes and mussed by the wind. He smiled at her like a long-lost friend. After the visit from his sister he felt as if he needed a pal.

CHAPTER FOUR

Trina

TRINA SAT SWINGING her legs on the breakwall down on the beach and breathed in the salt. The sea air blew strands into her eyes but it felt too good to worry about that. She saw him before he saw her and a deep, slashing frown marred his forehead. Different to this morning. Then his expression changed as he saw her, the etched lines disappeared and an unexpected, ridiculously sexy, warmly welcoming smile curved in a big sweep. Goodness. What had she done to deserve that?

‘Lovely afternoon,’ he said and the little girl waved.

Trina’s mouth twitched as she waved back. ‘Beautiful. I saw you at lunch. That’s three times in a day.’

‘A new world record,’ he agreed and she blushed. No idea why.

He paused beside her, another world record, and looked down from far too high. Up close and stationary, told herself again, he would be a very good-looking man—to other women. She studied him almost dispassionately. Long lashes framed those brilliant blue eyes and his dark brown wavy hair curled a tad too long over his ears. His chin was set firm and his cheekbones bordered on harsh in the bright light. She could see his effort to be social cost him. She knew the feeling.

‘I’m Catrina Thomas.’ She didn’t enlarge. He could ask if he was interested, but something told her he wasn’t so much interested as in need of a friend. Which suited her perfectly.

‘Finlay Foley. And you’ve met Piper. My daughter.’ The little girl bounced in the backpack.

You could do nothing but smile at Piper. ‘Piper looks like she wants to get down amongst the sand.’

‘Piper is happiest when she’s caked in sand.’ His hand lifted to stroke the wiggling little leg at his chest. Strong brown fingers tickling a plump golden baby ankle. ‘We’re going to build sandcastles. Piper is going to play hard and long and get extremely tired so she will sleep all night.’ Trina wasn’t sure if he was telling her or telling Piper. She suspected the latter.

‘Nice theory,’ Trina agreed judiciously. ‘I see you have it all worked out.’

He began to fiddle with the straps as he extricated his daughter from the backpack and clinically she watched the muscle play as man power pulled his loose white shirt tight. His thick dark hair tousled in the wind and drew her eyes until she was distracted again by the wriggling child. Finlay popped her down in the sand on her bottom and put a spade and bucket beside her.

‘There, miss.’ He glanced up at Trina. ‘Her aunt came today and she’s ruined our sleep routine.’ He paused at that. ‘Speaking of routines, this is late in the day for you to be on the beach.’

‘Nice of you to notice.’ She wasn’t sure if it was. There had been a suspicious lift of her spirits when she’d realised the woman he’d shared lunch with was his sister. What was that? She didn’t have expectations and he wouldn’t either—not that she supposed he would have. She wasn’t ready for that. ‘Don’t get ideas or I’ll have to leave.’ Almost a joke. But she explained.

‘Today is my first official Friday off for a long time. I’m off nights and on day shifts for the next year. Monday to Thursday.’ She looked around at the little groups and families on the beach and under the trees at the park. Pulled a mock frowning face. ‘I’ll have to talk to people and socialise, I guess.’

‘I know. Sucks, doesn’t it.’ The underlying truth made them both stop and consider. And smile a little sheepishly at each other.

Another urge to be truthful came out of nowhere. ‘I’m a widow and not that keen on pretending to be a social butterfly. Hence the last two years on night duty.’

He said more slowly, as if he wasn’t sure why he was following suit either, ‘My wife left us when Piper was born. A day later. I’ve morphed into antisocial and now I’m hiding here.’

Died? Or left? How could his wife leave when their daughter was born? She closed her mouth with a snap. Not normal. Something told her Piper’s mum hadn’t died, though she didn’t know why. Postnatal depression then? A chilling thought. Not domestic violence?

As if he read her thoughts, he added, ‘I think she left with another man.’ He seemed to take a perverse pleasure in her disbelief. ‘I need to start thinking about going back to work soon. Learn to stop trying to guess what happened. To have adult conversations.’

He shrugged those impressive shoulders. Glanced around at the white sand and waves. ‘I’m talking to Piper’s dolls now.’

Still bemused by the first statement, the second took a second to sink in. Surprisingly, Trina giggled. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d giggled like a schoolgirl.

He smiled and then sobered. ‘Which means Piper and her dolls must go into day care if I go back to work.’

‘That’s hard,’ Trina agreed but wondered what sort of work he could ‘start thinking about going back to’. Not that there were screeds of choices around here. ‘Maybe part-time?’

‘I think so.’

‘Are you a builder? The house looks good.’

He laughed at that. ‘No. Far from it. Piper’s taught me everything I know.’

Trina giggled again. Stop it. She sounded like a twit. But he was funny. ‘I didn’t have you pegged as a comedian.’

His half-laugh held a hint of derision at himself. ‘Not usually. Remember? Antisocial.’

She nodded with solemn agreement. ‘You’re safe with me. If you need a protected space to tell your latest doll story you can find me.’ She waited until his eyes met hers. ‘But that’s all.’

‘Handy to know. Where do I find you? You know where I live.’ Then he turned away as if he regretted asking.

‘Of course I know where you live. It’s a small town and single men with babies are rare.’ Trina looked at him. ‘I meant...find me here. But I’ll think about it. I’m happy to have a male friend but not a stalker.’

She felt like an idiot saying that but thankfully he just looked relieved. ‘Hallelujah. And I promise I will never, ever turn up uninvited.’

‘We have that sorted.’ She glanced at Piper, who sat on the sand licking white granules off her fingers, and bit back a grin. ‘It’s good when children will eat anything.’

Finn focused instantly on his daughter and scooped her up. Trina could see him mentally chastising himself. She imagined something like, See what happens when you don’t concentrate on your daughter, and she knew he’d forgotten her. Was happy for the breathing space because, speaking of breathing, she was having a little trouble.

She heard his voice from a long way away. ‘Sand is for playing—not eating, missy.’ He scooped the grains from her mouth and brushed her lips. His quick glance brushed over Trina as well as he began to move away. ‘Better go wash her mouth out and concentrate. Nice to meet you, Catrina.’

‘You too,’ she said, suddenly needing to bolt home and shut her door.

* * *

Ten minutes later the lock clunked home solidly and she leant back against the wood. Another scary challenge achieved.

Not that she’d been in danger—just a little more challenged than she’d been ready for. And she had been remarkably loose with her tongue. Told him she was a widow. About her job. The hours she worked. What had got into her? That was a worry. So much so that it did feel incredibly comforting to be home. Though, now that she looked around, it seemed dark inside. She frowned. Didn’t just seem dark.

Her home was dark.

And just a little dismal. She frowned and then hurried to reassure herself. Not tragically so, more efficiently gloomy for a person who slept through a lot of the daylight hours. She pulled the cord on the kitchen blind and it rolled up obediently and light flooded in from the front, where the little dead-end road finished next door.

She moved to the side windows and thinned the bunching of the white curtains so she could see through them. Maybe she could open those curtains too. Now that she’d be awake in the daytime. Moving out of the dark, physically and figuratively.

So, she’d better see to lightening it up. Maybe a few bright cushions on her grey lounge suite; even a bright rug on the floor would be nice. She stared down at the grey and black swirled rug she’d bought in a monotone furnishing package when she moved in. Decided she didn’t like the lack of colour.

She crossed the room and threw open the heavy curtains that blocked the view. Unlocking the double glass doors and pushing them slowly open, she stepped out onto her patio to look out over the glittering expanse of ocean that lay before her like a big blue shot-thread quilt as far as the eye could see. She didn’t look down to the beach, though she wanted too. Better not see if there was the figure of a man and a little girl playing in the waves.

Instead she glanced at the little croft to her right where Ellie and Sam lived while Sam built the big house on the headland for their growing family. She wondered if they would keep the croft, as they said they would. It would be strange to have new neighbours on top of everything else.

The three crofts sat like seabirds perched on a branch of the headland, the thick walls painted white like the lighthouse across the bay and from the same solid stone blocks. Trina’s veranda had a little awning over the deck the others lacked. A thick green evergreen hedge separated the buildings to shoulder height.

On the other side of her house lay Myra’s croft. Originally from Paddington in Sydney, stylish Myra ran the coffee shop at the hospital and had recently married the older Dr Southwell—her boss. Ellie’s father-in-law.

Two brides in two months, living each side of her, and maybe that had jolted her out of her apathy as much as anything else. Surrounded by people jumping bravely into new relationships and new lives had to make a woman think.

She stepped out and crossed to the two-person swing seat she’d tussled with for hours to assemble. Her last purchase as a flat-pack. Last ever, she promised herself.

She’d never seen so many screws and bolts and instructions in one flat-pack. Then she’d been left with a contraption that had to be dragged inside when it got too windy here on top of the cliffs because it banged and rattled and made her nervous that it would fly into the ocean on a gust. It wasn’t really that she thought about the fact it needed a second person. Not at all.