Midwives On-Call

‘Hey!’ It was Mike, and thank heaven for Mike. He was getting emotional and how was a man to keep tickling when he was thinking of what was in store for this little girl? He looked across at the gate and smiled at Mike with gratitude.

‘Hey, yourself.’

‘We’re going to the beach,’ Mike called. ‘You want to come?’

‘I’m sitting the kids,’ he said, and Mike looked at him like he was a moron.

‘Yeah. Kid-sitting. Beach. It’s possible to combine them—and your two love the beach. Katy and Drew are staying home—Katy’s still under the weather but her mum’s here and Drew has a mate over. But we have four kid seats in the wagon—we always seem to have a spare kid—and why not?’

Why not? Because he’d like to stay lying under the tree, tickling toes?

It wouldn’t last. His child entertainment range was limited, to say the least, and both kids were looking eager.

But, Gretta … Sand … Maybe he could sort it.

‘What if we put one of the car seats into your car,’ Mike said, eyeing the rental car parked at the kerb. ‘Rental cars always have bolts to hold ‘em. That way you can follow me and if Gretta gets tired you can bring her straight home. And we have beach shelters for shade. We have so much beach gear I feel like a pack mule going up and down the access track. Katy’s mum’s packed afternoon tea. Coming?’

‘Yeah,’ he said, because there was nothing else he could say. But there was part of him that was thinking as he packed up and prepared to take his charges beach-wards, I wouldn’t have minded caring for them myself. I wouldn’t have minded proving that I could be a …

A father? By minding them for a couple of hours? Would that make him a hero? Could it even disprove what he’d always felt—that you couldn’t love a kid who wasn’t your own? Of course it couldn’t.

It was just that, as the kids had chuckled, he’d felt, for one sliver of a crazy moment, that he could have been completely wrong. That maybe his judgement five years ago had been clouded, distorted by his own miserable childhood.

And an afternoon alone with these kids would prove what? Nothing. He’d made a choice five years ago. It had been the only honest option, and nothing had changed.

Except the way Gretta was smiling at the thought of the beach seemed to be changing things, like it or not. And the knowledge that Em would think giving Gretta an afternoon at the beach was great.

Would it make Em smile?

‘You coming, mate, or are you planning on writing a thesis on the pros and cons?’ Mike demanded, and he caught himself and took Kanga from Toby and handed him to Gretta.

‘We’re coming,’ he told him. He looked at the muscled hulk of a tattooed biker standing at the gate and Oliver Evans, specialist obstetric surgeon, admitted his failings. ‘But you might need to help me plan what to take. I’m a great obstetrician but as a father I’m the pits.’

‘You reckon he’ll be okay? You reckon he’ll manage?’

‘If you’re worried, ring Mike.’

Em and her mum were lying on adjoining massage tables. They had five minutes’ ‘down’ time before the massage was to begin. The soft, cushioned tables were gently warmed, the lights were dim, the sound of the sea washed through the high windows and a faint but lovely perfume was floating from the candles in the high-set sconces.

They should almost be asleep already but Em couldn’t stop fretting.

‘Ring Mike and ask him to check,’ Adrianna said again. ‘We all want you to enjoy this. I want to enjoy this. Check.’

So she rang. She lay on her gorgeous table and listened to Mike’s growl.

‘You’re not supposed to be worrying. Get back to doing nothing.’

‘You’ve got Toby?’

‘Me and Oliver—that’s one hell of a name, isn’t it?—we’re gunna have to think of something shorter—have Toby—and my kids and Gretta. We’re at the beach. Want to see? I’m sending a video. Watch it and then shut up, Em. Quit it with your worrying. Me and your Ollie have things in hand.’

He disconnected. She stared at the phone, feeling disconcerted. Strange. That her kids were somewhere else without her … With Oliver. Ollie …

No one called him Ollie except her, but now Mike was doing the same. It was like two parts of her life were merging.

The old and the new?

It was her imagination. Oliver … Ollie? … would do this afternoon of childminding and move on.

A ping announced the arrival of a message. She clicked and sure enough there was a video, filmed on Mike’s phone and sent straight through.

There was Toby with Mike’s two littlies. They were building a sandcastle—sort of. It was a huge mound of sand, covered with seaweed and shells. Fuzzy was digging a hole on the far side and Mike’s bitser dog was barking in excitement.

As Em watched, Toby picked up a bucket of water and spilt it over the castle—and chuckled. Mike laughed off camera.

‘If you think I don’t have anything better to do than fill buckets for you, young Toby—you’re right …’

And then the camera panned away, down to the shoreline—and Em drew in her breath.

For there was Oliver—and Gretta.

They were sitting on the wet sand, where the low, gentle waves were washing in, washing out.

Oliver had rigged a beach chair beside them, wedging it secure with something that looked like sandbags. Wet towels filled with sand?

Gretta’s oxygen cylinder was high on the seat, safe from the shallow inrushes of water, but Ollie and Gretta were sitting on the wet sand.

He had Gretta on his knee. They were facing the incoming waves, waiting for one to reach them.

‘Here it comes,’ Oliver called, watching as a wave broke far out. ‘Here it comes, Gretta, ready or not. One, two, three …’

And he swung Gretta back against his chest, hugging her as the water surrounded them, washing Gretta’s legs, swishing around his body.

He was wearing board shorts. He was naked from the waist up.

She’d forgotten his body …

No, she hadn’t. Her heart couldn’t clench like this if she’d forgotten.

‘More,’ Gretta whispered, wriggling her toes in the water, twisting so she could see the wave recede. Her eyes were sparkling with delight. She was so close to the other side, this little one, and yet for now she was just a kid having fun.

A kid secure with her … Her what?

Her friend. With Oliver, who couldn’t give his heart.

Silently Em handed her phone to her mum and waited until Adrianna had seen the video.

Adrianna sniffed. ‘Oh, Em …’

‘Yeah.’

‘Do you think …?’

‘No.’

‘It’s such a shame.’

‘It’s the way it is,’ Em said bleakly. ‘But … but for now, he’s making Gretta happy.’

‘He’s lovely,’ Adrianna said stoutly.

‘Don’t I know it?’ Em whispered. ‘Don’t I wish I didn’t?’

‘Em …’

The door opened. Their massage ladies entered, silently, expecting their clients to be well on the way on their journey to complete indulgence.

‘Are you ready?’ the woman due to massage Em asked. ‘Can you clear your mind of everything past, of everything future and just let yourself be. For now there should be nothing outside this room.’

But there was, Em thought as skilful hands started their skin-tingling work. There was a vision of her ex-husband holding her little girl. Making Gretta happy.

Massages were wonderful, she decided as her body responded to the skill of the woman working on her.

They might be wonderful but thinking about Oliver was … better?

He sat in the waves and watched—and felt—Gretta enjoy herself. She was a wraith of a child, a fragile imp, dependent on the oxygen that sustained her, totally dependent on the adults who cared for her.

She trusted him. She faced the incoming waves with joy because she was absolutely sure Oliver would lift her just in time, protect the breathing tube, hug her against his body, protect her from all harm.

But harm was coming to this little one, and there was nothing anyone could do about it. He’d mentioned Gretta to Tristan and Tristan had spelt out the prognosis. With so much deformity of the heart, it was a matter of time …

Not very much time.

That he had this time with her today was precious. He didn’t know her, she wasn’t his kid, but, regardless, it was gold.

If he could somehow take the pain away …

He couldn’t. He couldn’t protect Gretta.

He couldn’t protect Em.

Hell, but he wanted to. And not just for Em, he conceded. For this little one. This little girl who laughed and twisted and buried her face in his shoulder and then turned to face the world again.

Em loved her. Loved her.

An adopted child.

He’d thought … Yeah, okay, he knew. If Em was able to have her own child it’d all change. Gretta would take second place.

But did he know? Five years ago he’d been sure. He’d been totally judgmental and his marriage was over because of it.

Now the sands were shifting. He was shifting.

‘More,’ Gretta ordered, and he realised two small waves had washed over her feet and he hadn’t done the lift and squeal routine. Bad.

‘Em wouldn’t forget,’ he told Gretta as he lifted and she squealed. ‘Em loves you.’

But Gretta’s face was buried in his shoulder, and that question was surfacing—again. Over and over.

Had he made the mistake of his life?

Could he …?

Focus on Gretta, he told himself. Anything else was far too hard.

Anything else was far too soon.

Or five years too late?

CHAPTER NINE

BY THE TIME Em and Adrianna arrived home, Oliver had the kids squeaky clean. He’d bathed them, dressed them in their PJs, tidied the place as best he could and was feeling extraordinarily smug about his child-minding prowess.

The kids were tired but happy. All Em and Adrianna had to do was feed them and tuck them into bed. He could leave. Job done.

They walked in looking glowing. They both had beautifully styled, shiny hair. They both looked as squeaky clean as the kids—scrubbed? They’d obviously shopped a little.

Em was wearing a new scarf in bright pink and muted greens. It made her look … how Em used to look, he thought. Like a woman who had time to think about her appearance. Free?

And impressed.

‘Wow.’ Both women were gazing around the kitchen in astonishment. The kids were in their chairs at the table. Oliver had just started making toast to keep them going until dinner. ‘Wow,’ Adrianna breathed again. ‘There’s not even a mess.’

‘Mike took them all to the beach,’ Em reminded her, but she was smiling at Oliver, her eyes thanking him.

‘Hey, I had to clean the bathroom,’ Oliver said, mock wounded. ‘I’ve had to do some work.’

‘Of course you have.’ Adrianna flopped onto the nearest chair. ‘Hey, if we make some eggs we could turn that toast into soldiers, and the kids’ dinner is done. Kids, how about if I eat egg and toast soldiers too, and then I’ll flop into bed, as well. I’m pooped.’ But then she turned thoughtful. ‘But, Em, you aren’t ready for bed yet. You look fabulous, the night’s still young, the kids are good and Oliver’s still here. Why don’t you two go out to dinner?’

Em stared at her like she’d lost her mind. ‘Dinner …’

‘You know, that thing you eat at a restaurant. Or maybe it could be fish and chips overlooking the bay. It’s a gorgeous night. Oliver, do you have anything else on?’

‘No, but—’

‘Then go on, the two of you. You know you want to.’

‘Mum, we don’t want to.’

‘Really?’ Adrianna demanded. ‘Honestly? Look at me, Em, and say you really don’t want to go out to dinner with Oliver. Oliver, you do the same.’

Silence.

‘There you go, then,’ she said, satisfied. ‘Off you go. Shoo.’

What else could they do but follow instructions? The night was warm and still, a combination unusual for Melbourne, where four seasons were often famously represented in one day. But this night the gods were smiling. Even the fish-and-chip kiosk didn’t have too long a queue. Oliver ordered, then he and Em walked a block back from the beach to buy a bottle of wine, and returned just as their order was ready.

They used to do this often, Em thought. Once upon a time …

‘I still have our picnic rug,’ Oliver said ruefully, as they collected their feast. ‘But it’s in the back of the Morgan.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t be. Just be glad your wagon only got scratches—you’re the one who’s dependent on it. Moving on … Hey, how about this?’ A family was just leaving an outside table and it was pretty much in the best position on the beachfront. Oliver swooped on it before a bunch of teenagers reached it, spread his parcels over it and signalled her to come. Fast.

‘You’re worse than the seagulls,’ she retorted, smiling at his smug expression. ‘Talk about swoop for the kill …’

‘Table-swooping’s one of my splinter skills,’ he told her. ‘Surely you remember.’

‘I try … not to.’

‘Does that help? Trying not to?’

Silence. She couldn’t think of an answer. They unwrapped their fish and chips and ate a few. They watched a couple of windsurfers trying to guide their kites across the bay with not enough breeze, but the question still hung.

How soon could you forget a marriage? Never? It was never for her.

‘I … How was America?’ she asked at last, because she had to say something, the silence was becoming oppressive.

‘Great. I learned so much.’

‘You went away an obstetrician and came back …’

‘I’m still first and foremost an obstetrician.’

‘But you have the skills to save Ruby’s baby—and countless others. You must feel it’s worth it.’

‘Em …’

‘And you wouldn’t have done that if we’d stayed together.’ She was determined to get this onto some sort of normal basis, where they could talk about their marriage as if it was just a blip in their past. It was nothing that could affect their future. ‘But I’m surprised you haven’t met anyone else.’ She hesitated but then ploughed on. She needed to say this. Somehow.

‘You ached to be a dad,’ she whispered, because somehow saying it aloud seemed wrong. ‘I thought … There’s nothing wrong with you. It’s me who has the fertility problems. I thought you’d have met someone else by now and organised our divorce. Isn’t that why we split? I sort of … I sort of wanted to think of you married with a couple of kids.’

‘Did you really want that?’ His curt response startled her into splashing her wine. She didn’t want it anyway, she decided. She put down her glass with care and met his look head-on.

Say it like it is.

‘That’s what you wanted. That’s why I agreed to separate.’

‘I thought ending the marriage was all about you needing a partner so you could adopt.’

‘It’s true I wanted kids,’ she managed, and her voice would hardly work for her. It was hard even to whisper. ‘But I never wanted another husband than you.’

‘You didn’t want me.’

‘Your terms were too hard, Oliver. Maybe now … maybe given some space it might be different. But we’d lost Josh and I was so raw, so needy. All I wanted was a child to hold … I think maybe I was a little crazy. I demanded too much of you. I hadn’t realised quite how badly you’d been wounded.’

‘I hadn’t been wounded.’

‘I’ve met your adoptive parents, remember? I’ve met your appalling brother.’

‘I’m well over that.’

‘Do you ever get over being not wanted? You were adopted, seemingly adored, and then suddenly supplanted by your parents’ “real” son. I can’t imagine how much that must have hurt.’

‘It’s past history.’

‘It’s not,’ she said simply. ‘Because it affects who you are. It always will. Maybe …’ She hesitated but this had been drifting in and out of her mind for five years now. Was it better left unsaid? Maybe it was, but she’d say it anyway. ‘Maybe it will affect any child you have, adopted or not. Maybe that’s why you haven’t moved on. Would you have loved Josh, Oliver, or would you have resented him because he’d have had the love you never had?’

‘That’s nuts.’

‘Yeah? So why not organise a divorce? Why not remarry?’

‘Because of you,’ he said, before he could stop himself. ‘Because I still love you.’

She stilled. The whole night seemed to still.

There were people on the foreshore, people on the beach. The queue to the fish-and-chip shop was right behind them. Kids were flying by on their skateboards. Mums and dads were pushing strollers.

Because I still love you …

He reached out and touched her hand lightly, his lovely surgeon’s fingers tracing her work-worn skin. She spent too much time washing, she thought absently. She should use more moisturiser. She should …

Stop blathering. This was too important.

Five years ago they’d walked away from each other. Had it all been some ghastly mistake? Could they just … start again?

‘Em …’ He rose and came round to her side of the table. His voice was urgent now. Pressing home a point? He sat down beside her, took both her hands in his and twisted her to face him. ‘Do you feel it, too?’

Did she feel it? How could she not? She’d married this man. She’d loved him with all her heart. She’d borne him a son.

He was holding her, and his hold was strong and compelling. His gaze was on her, and on her alone.

A couple of seagulls, sensing distraction, landed on the far side of the table and edged towards the fish-and-chip parcel. They could take what they liked, she thought. This moment was too important.

Oliver … Her husband …

‘Em,’ he said again, and his hold turned to a tug. He tugged her as he’d tugged her a thousand times before, as she’d tugged him, as their mutual need meant an almost instinctive coming together of two bodies.

Her face lifted to his—once again instinctively, because this was her husband. She was a part of him, and part of her had never let go. Never thought of letting go.

And his mouth was on hers and he was kissing her and the jolty, nervy, pressurised, outside world faded to absolutely nothing.

There was only Oliver. There was only this moment.

There was only this kiss.

She melted into him—of course she did. Her body had spent five years loving this man and it responded now as if it had once again found its true north. Warmth flooded through her—no, make that heat. Desire, strength and surety.

This man was her home.

This man was her heart.

Except he wasn’t. The reasons they’d split were still there, practical, definite, and even though she was surrendering herself to the kiss—how could she not?—there was still a part of her brain that refused to shut down. Even though her body was all his, even though she was returning his kiss with a passion that matched his, even though her hands were holding him as if she still had the right to hold, that tiny part was saying this was make-believe.

This was a memory of times past.

This would hurt even more when it was over. Tug away now.

But she couldn’t. He was holding her as if she was truly loved. He was kissing her regardless of the surroundings, regardless of the wolf whistles coming from the teenagers at the next table, regardless of … what was true.

It didn’t matter. She needed this kiss. She needed this man.

And then the noise surrounding them suddenly grew. The whistles stopped and became hoots of laughter. There were a couple of warning cries and finally, finally, they broke apart to see …

Their fish …

While they had been otherwise … engaged, seagulls had sneaked forward, grabbing chips from the edge of their unwrapped parcel. Now a couple of braver ones had gone further.

They’d somehow seized the edge of one of their pieces of fish, and dragged it free of the packaging. They’d hauled it out … and up.

There were now five gulls … no, make that six … each holding an edge of the fish fillet. The fish was hovering in the air six feet above them while the gulls fought for ownership. They’d got it, but now they all wanted to go in different directions.

The rest of the flock had risen, too, squawking around them, waiting for the inevitable catastrophe and broken pieces.

Almost every person around them had stopped to look, and laugh, at the flying fish and at the two lovers who’d been so preoccupied that they hadn’t even defended their meal.

A couple more gulls moved in for the kill and the fish almost spontaneously exploded. Bits of fish went everywhere.

Oliver grabbed the remaining parcel, scooping it up before the scraps of flying fish hit, and shooed the gulls away. They were now down to half their chips and only one piece of fish, but he’d saved the day. The crowd hooted their delight, and Oliver grinned, but Em wasn’t thinking about fish and chips, no matter how funny the drama.

How had that happened? It was like they’d been teenagers again, young lovers, so caught up in each other that the world hadn’t existed.

But the world did exist.

‘I believe I’ve saved most of our feast,’ Oliver said ruefully, and she smiled, but her smile was forced. The world was steady again, her real world. For just a moment she’d let herself be drawn into history, into fantasy. Time to move on …

‘We need to concentrate on what’s happening now,’ she said.

‘We do.’ He was watching her, his lovely brown eyes questioning. He always could read her, Em thought, suddenly resentful. He could see things about her she didn’t know herself.

But he’d kept himself to himself. She’d been married to him for five years and she hadn’t known the depth of feeling he’d had about his childhood until the question of adoption had come up. She’d met his adoptive parents, she’d known they were awful, but Oliver had treated them—and his childhood—with light dismissal.

‘They raised me, they gave me a decent start, I got to be a doctor and I’m grateful.’

But he wasn’t. In those awful few weeks after losing Josh, when she’d finally raised adoption as an option, his anger and his grief had shocked them both. It had resonated with such depth and fury it had torn them apart.

So, no, she didn’t know this man. Not then. Not now.

And kissing him wasn’t going to make it one whit better.

He’d said he still loved her. Ten years ago he’d said that, too, and yet he’d walked away, telling her to move on. Telling her to find someone else who could fit in with her dreams.

‘Em, I’d like to—’

‘Have your fish before it gets cold or gets snaffled by another bird?’ She spoke too fast, rushing in before he could say anything serious, anything that matched the look on his face that said his emotions were all over the place. That said the kiss had done something for him that matched the emotions she was feeling. That said their marriage wasn’t over?

But it was over, she told herself fiercely. She’d gone through the pain of separation once and there was no way she was going down that path again. Love? The word itself was cheap, she thought. Their love had been tested, and found wanting. ‘That’s what I need to do,’ she added, still too fast, and took a chip and ate it, even though hunger was the last thing on her mind right now. ‘I need to eat fast and get back to the kids. Oliver, that kiss was an aberration. We need to forget it and move on.’

‘Really?’

‘Really. Have a chip before we lose the lot.’

The kids were asleep when she got home, and so was Adrianna. The house was in darkness. Oliver swung out of the driver’s seat as if he meant to accompany her to the door, but she practically ran.

‘I need my bed, Oliver. Goodnight.’

He was still watching her as she closed the front door. She’d been rude, she admitted as she headed for the children’s bedroom. He’d given her a day out, a day off. If he’d been a stranger she would have spent time thanking him.

She should still thank him.

Except … he’d kissed her. He’d said he loved her.