His Island Bride

by Marion Lennox

  'But you want him to do exercise,' Lionel said, shocked. 'You want us all to do exercise. Start him off gentle, like. Five minutes on the exercise bike.'

  'Fine,' Susie managed, and motioned to the treadmill. 'Five minutes it is. Resistance high. Uphill.'

  'You want to kill him?' Ted demanded, astounded, and Sam grinned.

  'I concur. Do you want to kill me?'

  'It'd take more than an exercise bike to kill a Renaldo,' she snapped—and then she heard what she'd said. The colour drained from her face. 'I.. .Sam, no. I'm so sorry.'

  'Don't be,' he said gently, and then he took pity on her. He crossed to the bike. It was set up so the user was looking out the window, down to the bay. He set the controls—obviously he'd used one of these before—and started pedalling.

  Susie was left to get her breath back.

  Why had she said that?

  He wasn't Grant. The more she knew him the more she instinctively knew that he was as different as it was possible to be. But he looked like Grant. He had the same smile—the smile that had done her head in. Or her heart in. She was darned if she was going to let her heart be swayed by that killer smile. .

  So use your head. He was here professionally. So act professionally.

  'Um...I need you to fill in a medical form,' she said, sounding awkward.

  He pedalled on.

  'You can stop for a bit,' she told him.

  'I haven't done my five minutes.'

  'No, but if you drop down dead and I haven't asked for your medical history, you can sue me.'

  'I promise I won't sue.' He kept on pedalling. 'If I'm dead.'

  'Your relations could. Your wife?' Oh, help. Where had that come from? She just knew her old men were chuckling.

  'No wife,' he said, pedalling on. 'Just one aunt. Aunt Effie. She won't sue either.'

  'Get off the bike,' she told him.

  'But—'

  She put her hands on his handlebars and met his gaze full on.

  'Stop,' she said.

  He stopped. They were left staring at each other like.. .like...

  'Across a crowded room,' Lionel said in satisfaction from behind them, and she blinked and made a recovery. Sort of.

  She grabbed her clipboard from the desk and handed it over. With a pen.

  'Fill it in,' she said.

  'Yes, ma'am,' he said, and sat back on the bike, pedalling easily and writing while he pedalled.

  'Get on with it, you lot,' she told the rest of her clients, and they all grinned and got on with it.

  He was enjoying himself.

  Once the dreaded medical form had been completed Susie set him on a course of exercises designed to stretch, extend, loosen. He hadn't tried pilates before—when had he ever had time? But now...He was pushing himself, he realised. There was no impact, no breathtaking exertion, just ongoing stretch, extend, stretch, extend, centralise...

  He was aware that every one of his three fellow exercisers— and Susan—were watching him, but there was enough in the programme for him to lose himself.

  'My shoulders were stuffed until I started doing this,' Lionel told him.

  And Sam thought, Yeah, he could feel it doing him good.

  Marilyn had bullied him into getting a massage while he'd been on holiday but he hadn't been able to relax. Here, though.. .This was stretching his taut muscles in a way a massage couldn't, and he found that the intense concentration required for Susan's imperative—core stability—took him out of his head. The stresses of the last few days—hell, the last few years—faded a little.

  Faded a lot.

  He worked steadily through the list Susan had prepared for him. As each exercise finished she demonstrated the next. She was lithe and free and seriously skilled, fluid in her movements, swinging up and down from the benches, hauling the pulleys with ease, rolling her body, showing him what she wanted him to do.

  She was beautiful.

  She was also seriously professional. She watched him every step of the way as he started a new exercise. She watched them all. There were only four in the room but that was all she'd be able to manage for she never took her eyes off them.

  'I think you can push that trapeze higher,' she told Lionel, and Lionel groaned but then smiled, almost shy, as Susan put her hands under the small of his back and supported him until he had the height she wanted.

  Then she did the same to Sam and he smiled, too. She wasn't a big woman. She was as thin as a whippet, with a lean, lithe strength about her. She was wearing crimson leggings and a bright yellow crop top. Her flaming hair was braided. She looked... she looked...

  'Don't push it so hard,' she said softly to him. 'This isn't a contest. I want you to think about where your spine is. I'll take the weights down until you get it right.'

  He blinked. This isn't a contest?

  It was a pretty amazing statement. A class where there was no compulsion to get better...

  No. There was a compulsion here to get better, but it was to get better on his own terms. He was no different from Lionel, or Ted, or Eric. They were senior citizens and he was still in his thirties but they were concentrating exactly as he was concentrating.

  They were doing extraordinary things with their bodies, he thought. Use it or lose it.. .These men would still be agile when they were a hundred if Susan had anything to do with it.

  She had music on the sound system. Some 1970s classics. It wasn't something he'd ever thought he enjoyed but he was enjoying it now. Susan was toe-tapping as she moved between them. She'd put aside her embarrassment at his presence, he thought. She'd forgotten...

  'Breathe,' she ordered, and he blinked. OK, he'd forgotten. All this and breathing, too.

  'It takes a bit of concentration but you'll get there in the end,' Lionel said kindly. 'It just takes time.'

  Yes, he thought. Time.

  Did he have.. .time?

  And then it was over. The men were finishing up, doing something they called walking—extending their calves as they lay and pushed against weights—then tugging on shoes, bidding Susan goodbye, joshing each other about how much they'd done.

  He'd get to talk to her now, he thought, but he hadn't finished the list of exercises she'd given him.

  He didn't need to finish. He swung himself upright and she looked disapproving.

  'You're not done.'

  'I don't need to—'

  'I'm charging you,' she told him. 'You may as well get your money's worth.'

  'How much are you charging?'

  She told him and he almost laughed. 'That's crazy.'

  'I'm worth it.'

  'You're worth much, much more.'

  He'd taken the wind right out of her sails. She stood there, glaring, but suddenly she was uncertain.

  She wasn't very old, he thought suddenly. Five minutes ago she'd been a self-assured, health professional doing a damned good job, knowing what she was doing was good.

  Now she looked suddenly lost.

  'Don't,' she whispered.

  'Don't what?'

  'Be nice to me.'

  'Why—?' But his words were cut off by a series of insistent raps on the door.

  'Mum. Mummy, Mummy, Mummy. We counted and they've all gone now. Can we come in now?'

  She cast him an uncertain glance—and then shrugged and opened the door.

  What could a man say when his world stopped?

  His did. Right there. Blight then.

  The two little boys had been leaning on the door, pushing, and as Susan opened the door they fell. They hit the floor like a pair of over-excited puppies, rolling, giggling, pushing each other, then tugging each other upright while exchanging insults.

  'I told you what'd happen if you pushed.'

  'I didn't push.'

  'You did. And you've messed my neckcloth.'

  They were dressed in what looked like Scout uniforms— khaki shorts, short-sleeved shirts and wide, carefully tied neckcloths. A baseball-style cap sat off-centre on one head. Another
cap lay on the floor.

  They looked so like Grant that they took his breath away.

  They looked so like himself.

  Sam had photographs of himself and Grant when they had been five years old. That was the last photo he had of the pair of them. He'd kept that photograph close for years as he'd grown up. These two boys were two years older, but that was the only difference. The similarities were...terrifying?

  'Maybe you'd better sit down,' Susan said.

  He thought, Yeah right. He must have lost colour. It was like he was seeing ghosts.

  Real ghosts.

  The boys had seen him now. Or one had seen him, then punched the other to bring his presence to his twin's attention.

  It was so much the action he and Grant had used to each other, over and over, that it made him feel even more weird.

  'Boys, this is Dr Renaldo,' Susan said.

  'We thought you were finished,' one of the boys said.

  'This is Joel and Robbie,' Susan said, and then she took pity on him a little and added, 'Joel has more freckles on his nose than Robbie.'

  'I'm pleased to meet you, Joel. Robbie.' He put a hand out and received two solemn handshakes in turn.

  'You're an American,' Joel said, with interest.

  'Yes,' he said.

  'Our dad's an American,' Joel told him.

  'We've never seen him,' Robbie added.

  'Do you know our dad?' Joel asked.

  'I guess that's why I'm here,' Sam said uncertainly. He hesitated. But then he thought, Hell, there was no way around this but through it. Susan would have to tell them at some point. Why not him?

  But it was her call. He cast an uncertain look at her and got a sharp little nod of assent for his pains. Go ahead, the look said, but I don't have to like it.

  'I did know your father,' he said softly, 'And that's why I'm here. Your father's just died.'

  There was a stunned silence. The boys stared up at him, open-mouthed. And he thought.. .maybe he'd just made a really big mistake.

  He should have talked this through with Susan. To just come straight out and say it.. .Of all the insensitive...

  He glanced at Susan, appalled. But she was made of sterner stuff than he was. She assimilated the situation in an instant and decided to make the most of it. She gave him an almost imperceptible nod. Keep going, her nod said. This is your call.

  His call. They were looking up at him, waiting for more information, slightly shocked but not so much that they looked distressed. The notion of a father must have been a distant, unattached concept.

  'When did he die?' Robbie asked.

  He could do this, Sam decided. When all else failed, fall back on the truth.

  'Three months ago. But he was ill for a lot longer before that. He had a disease called leukaemia.'

  'Is that why he didn't come and see us?' Joel asked.

  'Maybe it was,' Sam said. And then added, more honestly, 'I don't know.'

  But it seemed that his answer had been deemed suitable. The boys looked at it from all angles, before coming up with more questions.

  'Did you come to tell us he was dead?'

  'Yes. I thought your mother should know.'

  'Does that make you sad?' Joel asked, looking at his mother in childish concern. 'Are you sad he's dead?'

  'I am sad,' she said gravely.

  'Did you cry when you found out?'

  'I cried a lot a long time ago. I guess I'm all cried out.'

  'Sometimes you cry when you think we're not watching,' Robbie said with the perspicacity of the very young. 'Is that because our daddy was sick?'

  'I guess.. .it must have been,' she said.

  'You're the doctor that pulled the man out of the burning boat,' Joel said, obviously deciding that his father's death had had all the attention it deserved and now it was time to move on.

  'Yes,' Sam said. 'But your mother helped. She's a brave lady, your mother.'

  'Mum helps everyone,' Joel said dismissively. 'All the time.'

  'You're lucky to have her as a mother.'

  'Yeah, but it'd be better if she had more time,' Joel said.

  'Mum, Sea Scouts is off 'cos it's too rough on the east side of the island and Mr Fraser says there's an oil slick on this side from yesterday's crash and there's stuff in the water. And none of the kids from the mainland can get here. Mr Fraser sent us home but Brenda's gone over to Mrs Ludeman's for a gossip.'

  'I'll ring her and ask her to come home,' Susie said. 'I have two house calls to do before lunch.'

  'Pete's dad was going to take us to the beach after Sea Scouts,' Joel said, sounding mournful. 'To practise soccer. But they're stuck on the mainland, too.'

  'Go and kick the soccer ball round in the backyard until Brenda comes,' Susan told them.

  'We did that,' Joel said, exasperated by the stupidity of adults. 'We kicked it until we saw your clients leave. But we're bored of kicking by ourselves.' He turned his attention to Sam. 'Can you play soccer?'

  'Yes,' Sam said before he knew he was going to say it.

  'Really?' He suddenly had their absolute, undivided attention. Followed by suspicion.

  'Like Mum says she can play? She can kick pretty good but that's all. Even we can tackle better than she can.'

  'Americans don't play soccer,' Susie said, sounding stunned.

  'There's a generalisation,' he said. 'Like all Australians play the didgeridoo. I had a couple of close Italian friends at university. They let me practise with their team. Sometimes I even got to play in their matches.'

  'Wow,' Robbie said. Suspicious, but tinged with real hope.

  'Can you come and show us?' Joel asked.

  It was the natural sequel. Tell the kids you can play soccer and they'll want you to show them. But...

  They were Grant's kids. They were twins. They were so closely aligned to him...

  He didn't know them. And Susan didn't know him.

  He glanced at her, uncertain, and the doubts in his own mind were mirrored a thousandfold on her face.

  'Dr Renaldo's busy,' she said.

  'He doesn't look busy,' Joel said. 'Or do you have to do house calls with Mum?'

  'Do you need me to come on house calls?' he asked, and Susie's eyes widened.

  'No! I mean... No. I have a couple of elderly people I help with showering.'

  'You're the only nurse on the island?'

  'Yes.'

  He frowned. 'So how do you get a day off?'

  'Mum doesn't have days off,' Joel said. 'But she says it keeps the wolf from the door. The wolf keeps coming and coming, every time one of those red letters comes in the mail.'

  'Dr Renaldo doesn't want to hear about our wolves,' Susie said, sounding desperate. 'And he doesn't want to play soccer either. You'll have to come with me while I work.'

  'No,' the boys groaned in unison, and Sam had to grin. He could remember making just such theatrical groans.

  Such a long time ago. When he and Grant had still been friends.

  'I'm happy to play a bit of soccer with the boys,' he said diffidently and Susan flinched. The look saw on her face was one of pure pain.

  'I'm sorry,' he said. This was like stepping on eggshells. He had no idea where to go. 'I didn't mean...'

  'No, it's all right,' she said. 'I'm sorry. It's just.. .well, it's fine for you to get to know the boys. You should. You are their uncle.'

  If he was saying things without thinking, he wasn't the only one. He watched panic wash over her face as she realised what she'd said, and the two little boys gazed up at him in astonishment.

  'Are you our uncle?' Joel breathed.

  'I guess... Yes, I am.'

  'That means you're our dad's brother,' Robbie said, squinting as he tried to work it out.

  'Yes,' he said gently, flicking a concerned glance at Susie. This was happening too fast. Maybe they should have seen a counsellor or something. This was huge stuff to lay on these kids. To do it without thinking...

  But it was done an
d it couldn't be undone.

  'Do you look like our dad?' Joel asked, entranced.

  'Um.. .yes.'

  'Are you his big brother or his little brother?' Robbie asked. Robbie was obviously the quieter twin. While Joel pelted Sam with questions, Robbie was edging sideways to stand beside his mother. His attitude was just slightly defensive. Or protective?

  Grant and Sam. Grant, noisy, extrovert, demanding. Sam coming behind, picking up the pieces.

  'We were twins,' Sam said softly. 'Just like you.'

  There was a moment's silence. More than a moment. It stretched on and on. Susie was looking bewildered, lost. Her hand went down to Robbie's shoulder and held.

  'Did your twin die?' Robbie asked at last.

  'Yes,' Sam said, for there was no other answer.

  The boys looked at each other, appalled. And then Joel moved, darting across the room to stand by his brother. He grabbed Robbie's hand and held it fast.

  'They're old,' he said, his voice wobbling a little. 'We won't die.' And then he looked at Robbie, his eyes suddenly brimming with tears. 'You're not allowed to die.'

  Yep, he should have consulted a child psychologist. Susie was kneeling, hugging the boys to her, and he watched her reassuring them and things twisted inside him. He'd hurt them. He'd hurt her.

  Damn Grant, he thought savagely. How could he just have left them? How could he have loved this woman and deserted her? How could he have known that somewhere in this world were twins in his image, and this woman caring for them on her own, and done nothing?

  He watched them, an outsider, and he thought, no, Joel wasn't like Grant. Joel was hugging his twin and his mother fiercely. Grant would never have done that. He'd been born without the loving gene.

  It was a dreadful thought. Maybe it was a consolidation of thoughts, he decided. It was something he'd learned over the long years of being Grant's twin but had never faced properly until now.

  Grant had done such damage, to this little family most of all. And now.. .To hand over Grant's cheque and walk away...

  He couldn't, and neither did he want to. To be able to help was a privilege, he thought. To hand over the cheque and know it would help with Susie's metaphorical wolf... To help a little...

  If Susie allowed him to, it would be a privilege.

  And the thought was like sunlight coming through fog. For months now life had been grey. Maybe for longer. Maybe for years. He'd been fighting for Grant's life as they'd faced leukaemia, but maybe it had been longer than that. For Grant had never been able to figure it out. That love.. .helped.