A Father by Christmas

by Meredith Webber

  Continue the kissing they’d shared on the beach?

  It was too early to take things further than that, she warned her body, which had grown excited at the thought, little shock waves of desire rippling through it.

  ‘Bedtime,’ she said to Thomas, catching him in her arms as he swam towards her and giving him a hug. His chubby little arms wrapped around her and he returned her hug, nestling his head against her shoulder.

  ‘I love you, Sophie,’ he said. ‘And I love Aunt Etty, and I love Gib.’

  Sophie glanced towards Gib to see how he’d taken this declaration, and caught a strange expression in his eyes.

  Or maybe his eyes looked perfectly normal and it was the subdued lighting from the pool that made them look…

  Not sad, exactly.

  She set Thomas on the edge of the pool and climbed out. Still embarrassed about displaying her body in front of Gib, she wrapped a towel quickly around her waist. She was drying Thomas when the pager buzzed, and though she automatically reached for the chair where hers would have been, it wasn’t there.

  ‘It’s mine,’ Gib told her, shaking water off his hands before picking up the small machine. ‘The hospital. I’m on call so I guess they need me.’

  He crossed to where a phone had been installed near a small cabana used for showering and changing, and Sophie watched him, seeing his long, lean, near-naked body, and her mouth dried with the hunger that attraction brought in its wake.

  She diverted it by drying herself then lifting Thomas into her arms.

  ‘Woman in labour, thirty-five weeks,’ he said, putting down the phone and picking up his towel, drying himself with brisk efficiency. ‘Pity,’ he added, with a wry smile at Sophie.

  Then he took two long strides towards them and planted a kiss on Thomas’s cheek.

  ‘Goodnight, little man,’ he said, then he touched Sophie on the head.

  ‘Goodnight to you, too,’ he added, huskily enough for Sophie to know that they would probably have done more tonight than watch the river glide by…

  Thomas woke with the dawn and it was all Sophie could do to keep him occupied until nine, when the man was due to arrive with the tree. She’d brought out all the old baubles she and Hilary had collected when they’d lived with their grandmother, but their trees had usually been small in size so the baubles had been adequate.

  But on a huge tree?

  ‘See what Aunt Etty and me did?’ Thomas demanded when, at five to nine, Sophie decreed it was time to go through to the big sitting room.

  He pointed at a bowl of strung popcorn and Sophie stopped worrying about having enough decorations. The popcorn would be enough to cover one of the Norfolk pines they’d seen at the beach the previous evening.

  Etty greeted both of them with delight, then waved her hand towards a large box in one corner of the room.

  ‘Gib’s collected a lot of decorations over the years,’ she said, then added, ‘Some years Gillian was really into Christmas and some years she wasn’t, but he still put up a tree and decorated the living room.’

  More evidence that he was a nice man! Sophie thought, then wondered why ‘nice’ when such a basic, necessary, character trait had never featured before in her list of what she liked in men.

  She was smiling to herself about it when the ‘nice’ man appeared, looking slightly rumpled as if he hadn’t had enough sleep but was determined to do his duty with the tree.

  ‘Good morning,’ he said generally, and though Thomas went towards him, demanding he look at the popcorn he had threaded, it was to Sophie that Gib’s gaze shifted.

  ‘Everything go all right?’ she asked, and he smiled and nodded.

  ‘Biggest five-week premmie baby I’ve ever handled. We’ll keep her a day or two, but she’ll do extremely well. It was just a long labour so I’m a little short on sleep.’

  ‘Go back to bed. We can manage the tree.’

  ‘No way. I’m here to do the high bits, aren’t I, Thomas?’

  ‘Tree’s here,’ Etty said, looking out the kitchen window to where a truck was pulling into the yard.

  And so began the best day Sophie could remember having had for a long, long time.

  They talked and laughed and ate the Christmas goodies Etty kept providing. Thomas decorated the lower branches in a haphazard way that Sophie corrected where she could, then Gib lifted the little boy up to put his popcorn strings and colourful baubles higher up.

  Could they be a family?

  The thought kept sneaking into Sophie’s head, no matter how hard she tried not to think it.

  Be content for the happiness of today, she warned herself, but she knew she wanted more.

  Wanted Gib.

  Wanted to be a family!

  Thomas was so worn out he slept most of the afternoon, Gib went back to the hospital to check the new arrival, and Sophie reluctantly opened the visitors’ book from the memorial service.

  She would write to everyone who’d attended, thanking them for coming, but the eight men—she hadn’t noticed that many—what would she do about them? Look up phone numbers and call them? Ask them straight out if they’d had an affair with her sister about four years ago?

  Although she couldn’t remember the precise details of the various conversations she was certain, from something Hilary had said, that Thomas’s father had been a work colleague—but to phone and ask?

  Impossible!

  Suddenly the service that had seemed like such a good idea was revealed as a flop. No, the service hadn’t been a flop—it had been her weak collapse at the end of it that had ruined the idea. Surely if she’d stood at the door and checked out the men, she might have been able to tell which one Hilary had loved.

  How? None would have worn an ‘I loved Hilary’ stamp on their forehead.

  In fact, though she had known Hilary well enough to know she wouldn’t have had an affair without love, there was no guarantee that the man concerned had loved her back.

  The most obvious supposition was that he was married—why else would he not have wanted to know about a child?

  Sophie sighed. What to do with the list of names she’d so cleverly collected?

  Paula might know, but she’d pestered Paula enough this week. Then let her down by not standing at the door with her after the service.

  And asking Paula was bringing someone else into the picture and making a muck of Hilary’s promise not to reveal the information.

  Was there any other way to find out who Hilary had been close to at the institute?

  No!

  She’d phone Paula tomorrow—putting it off because today was such a joyful day she didn’t want to spoil it.

  ‘Barbeque tonight so we can stand down on the lowest terrace and look back up at the brilliant lights on our brilliant tree,’ Gib announced late that afternoon, when he’d finally found the errant bulb in the string of multicoloured lights and had replaced it so now all the lights were working.

  ‘I’ll help,’ Thomas volunteered, so he and Gib departed to get the barbeque ready while Sophie followed Etty to the kitchen, determined to give the older woman a hand, although she never asked for help and was more likely to shoo Sophie away when she suggested helping.

  ‘They get on well, Gib and Thomas,’ Etty said, and although the words were carefully guileless, Sophie had to laugh.

  ‘He says you’ve been trying to match him up to someone since his wife died,’ she teased Etty, and though Etty smiled she shook her head.

  ‘For a long time it was too soon, then there was his guilt over the way Gillian died. It wasn’t his fault—he didn’t drive her to it—in fact, no man could have been better to any woman, but she was sick and she was sick of being sick. She was angry with the illness, angry with Gib—angry with the world.’

  ‘It’s a terrible thing, mental illness,’ Sophie said quietly, and Etty nodded her agreement.

  ‘Far worse than spina bifida,’ she said. ‘Worse than anything, if you ask me.’

  ‘A
sk you what?’

  Gib had returned, Thomas on his shoulders.

  ‘Ask you what kind of meat you want. I’ve steak and sausages or some chicken I could marinate.’

  ‘Sausages!’ Thomas decided instantly, while Gib took a little longer to suggest that chicken might be nice for a change.

  ‘And sausages?’ Thomas said hopefully.

  ‘We’ll have both,’ Etty assured him.

  The menfolk then departed, but now the conversation turned to food—what to have with chicken and sausages.

  So normal!

  So nice!

  But later, with Thomas tucked up in bed asleep and Etty working on her tapestry, the kisses Sophie shared with Gib went so far beyond nice—so far beyond anything she’d ever imagined—Sophie wondered if she needed a new dictionary.

  They were by the river, in the shadows of the gazebo, and Gib’s lips explored her skin with a hunger that made her tremble all over, her knees so weak she had to cling to him for support.

  ‘You make it so hard for me to keep my resolve to not get involved,’ he told her, punctuating the sentence with a kiss between each word. One to her ear, one on her neck, one on the corner of her eye, one for her nose—kisses brushing like the wings of butterflies across her face, kisses that seemed to promise the things he was finding it difficult to say.

  They’re just kisses, she tried to tell herself, but they felt like more.

  They felt like involvement.

  ‘There’s a sun lounge by the pool—we’d be more comfortable lying down,’ he murmured.

  Drugged by kisses, it would have been easy to say yes, but caution told Sophie they were going too far, too fast. This was a man who only this week had taken off his wedding ring.

  Four years after his wife had died!

  A wife who’d brought magic into his life.

  ‘Not yet,’ she whispered against his lips, and held her breath while she waited for a reaction.

  He tightened his grip on her, holding her so it seemed every bit of her was touching him.

  ‘You are wise to be cautious,’ he whispered. ‘Cautious for both of us.’

  Then he kissed her again and she could have cried with regret at her decision, for her body burned for him to take it so together they could share the bliss, the exquisite joy of satisfying sex—the ultimate release.

  ‘Can I change my mind?’ she asked, breaking away from him so she could breathe.

  He laughed out loud—a joyous sound that suggested he was as happy as she was in this situation.

  ‘Not tonight,’ he told her. ‘I think you meant it when you said not yet, and decisions are best not made at night. Think about it tomorrow—and the next day, too, because I’ve got to fly to Sydney for a meeting.’

  He kissed her again, but gently this time, not stealing her breath and her resolve.

  ‘But come Monday evening—Christmas Eve—with Thomas tucked up in bed early because Santa will be coming, then maybe we’ll find some mistletoe above a bed somewhere, sweet Sophie, and you and I will share a very special Christmas.’

  ‘Christmas Eve maybe,’ Sophie told him, taking her turn to punctuate her words with kisses. ‘But my dreadful boss has rostered me on duty Christmas Day so Thomas’s and my Christmas will be delayed.’

  ‘Oh, hell! I’d forgotten all about it. I can change it. Maybe Yui might want to work, or Rod—someone, anyone!’

  He sounded so despairing Sophie laughed and hugged him tight. She’d have liked to say they’d have other Christmases—many of them—but the caution that had made her say not yet held her back from tempting fate with such a declaration.

  Gib felt her withdrawal and wondered if she was regretting her decision to work on Christmas Day and so not spend it with Thomas.

  Thomas. He should talk to her about Thomas.

  Whenever his brain cells weren’t bamboozled by the attraction he felt towards her, his mind pondered the problem that was Thomas. He swung one way then another, one minute determined to explain his suspicion to her, the next feeling uncertain of how to go about it. What if he was wrong? What if he was right? He couldn’t just drop a bombshell like this—either way, there would be repercussions.

  He had to figure it out! Maybe two days away from Sophie was what he needed—two days to clear his head and get his thinking straight. In the meantime, he could be practical.

  ‘Etty usually comes with me to my family’s place for Christmas lunch,’ Gib said, his arms loosely around Sophie’s waist because he couldn’t yet let go of her completely. ‘It’s a bun fight, with my sisters and their kids and the odd aunt or two, but I think…’

  Suddenly he felt hesitant, knowing he should sort out the father-thing before Christmas Day—knowing he’d be overwhelmed with pride and happiness to introduce the little boy to his family as his son.

  ‘Thomas would enjoy it,’ Sophie finished for him. ‘I’m sure he would, but we’d better ask Etty if she minds, because she’d have to be responsible for him. If she’d rather not, the child-care centre will be open. It has to be so the staff on duty have somewhere for their kids.’

  ‘Etty won’t mind,’ he said, certain he was right, and certain also he could work out, over the next two days, how to talk to Sophie about his thoughts, so this Christmas would be special in more ways than one.

  CHAPTER NINE

  GIB all but bounced into the unit on Christmas Eve. He’d come straight from the airport and the one thing in his mind had been seeing Sophie again. He knew he wouldn’t be able to grab her in a bear hug and swing her in the air and kiss her the way he wanted to kiss her, but just seeing her would keep him going.

  Then later he’d order lunch for them and have it sent up to his office—something nice from the café, not damp, refrigerated sandwiches. And he’d explain about himself and Hilary and tell her what he thought.

  She’d be surprised, of course, but she’d also see just how ideal it all was—that he, she and Thomas could be a family…

  ‘Where’s Sophie?’ he demanded when he’d checked her office and once again walked through the NICU in search of her.

  The silence told him there was something wrong.

  Very wrong.

  In fact, Albert and Sally both looked ill.

  ‘What’s happened?’ Gib demanded, certain if something bad had occurred Etty would have phoned him.

  ‘There’s a crisis at the child-care centre. Some man’s gone in there with a knife and he’s holding a little boy hostage.’

  ‘Not Thomas!’

  Gib heard the words roar from his throat, never heeding his own insistence that there should be no loud noises in the ICU. He dashed from the room, hit the lift button, then told himself to calm down—that pounding on the doors would do no good.

  Sophie, white-faced with fear, stood with other equally desperate parents outside the centre. He pushed towards her and grabbed her shoulders, pulling her against his body for a hug before easing her back away and looking down into her face.

  ‘What happened?’ he demanded, his voice still way too loud.

  ‘A man,’ she said, fear making her usually deep voice thin and reedy. ‘His child is dying in the children’s ICU—apparently he backed over him in a car. Imagine how demented he must feel…’

  ‘He could be holding Thomas hostage—you can’t feel sorry for him!’

  Grey eyes looked helplessly into his.

  ‘Of course I do, but that’s not the issue here.’

  Gib calmed down slightly, knowing Sophie deserved his support, not his anger.

  ‘What is?’ he asked, as more police arrived, one with a loudhailer.

  ‘The man’s child won’t live, and someone asked the man if he’d agree to donate his organs.’

  ‘Hell! The man’s just run over his son and killed him and some idiot asks if they can use the kid for spare parts.’ Anger boiled within him once again, not placated by Sophie’s quiet explanation.

  ‘There’s a baby in the cardiac ICU that despe
rately needs a heart.’

  Gib swore again, unable to contain himself, then he listened while a policeman called to the man inside.

  The loudhailer distorted the words, but the furious, heartbroken father needed no such aid to make himself heard.

  ‘Get away, the lot of you. If you come in I’ll kill this kid, and maybe more than one. That way, you’ll have plenty of hearts to give away.’

  ‘What’s his boy’s name?’ Gib asked, and though Sophie knew she’d heard it, she couldn’t bring it to mind.

  ‘It’s Michael,’ another woman said. ‘I’m a nurse in A and E. I was there when they brought him in.’

  ‘I’m going in,’ Gib said, and Sophie automatically moved in front of him, clinging to his arm, begging him to wait, but he pushed past, coming to the line of police who blocked off the gate.

  ‘You can’t go in, Gib,’ Sophie said, following helplessly in his wake, her grasping hands futile against his strength. ‘The police know what they’re doing. They’re trained for this kind of thing—we have to believe that.’

  ‘She’s right, sir,’ the nearest policeman said, although he was young and not particularly strong-looking so Sophie doubted he’d stop a determined Gib. ‘Our mediator will be here soon. He’ll talk him out.’

  ‘Or not!’ Gib said bluntly. ‘You don’t know that’s going to work, and in the meantime my son is being traumatised by a man with a knife. I’m going in.’

  He pushed past the policeman, while Sophie, unable to stop him, stood, shocked into immobility by two words.

  My son!

  Maybe it was a figure of speech.

  Maybe he was thinking ahead to a time when they might marry.

  Maybe he was doing it for her.

  Too many maybes, and in the meantime Gib had stormed into the centre, calling out to the man, telling him he was a doctor sent to get him because Michael was conscious and wanted to talk to him.

  The woman beside Sophie gave a cry of fear, while the policeman muttered about not telling lies to hostage-takers, but Sophie could only think of Gib and Thomas…

  Gib didn’t know if it would work, but he hadn’t been able to come up with anything else, and instinct suggested the man would react to news that his child was not yet dead.