by Sue MacKay
‘This will be fine.’ It was luxury after Pakistan. Then she thought about the time she’d just spent in Sydney with her father on her way home. His new apartment overlooking Sydney Harbour was crammed with luxuries. What she’d once taken for granted now seemed obscenely excessive. This small room was perfect.
‘The kitchen’s well stocked, so help yourself to anything you want. There’s a firebox that runs day and night. You’ll soon feel warmer.’
Her body might feel warmer, but she doubted her heart would ever defrost. It had frozen all those years ago and she’d never known how to thaw it. She’d tried talking with Tom then, but she hadn’t been able to find the right words to get through to him. The harder she’d tried, the worse she’d made things and the further away from her he’d pulled, until they hadn’t been able to talk about anything. Not even what to have for breakfast.
Tom’s voice broke through her reverie. ‘Do you still take milk in your tea?’
A mundane question that spoke of a past they’d shared and hinted that now there might be things neither knew about each other.
‘Definitely no milk. I got used to drinking black tea while travelling.’
Again those eyebrows rose in astonishment, but at least his eyes were on the friendly side of the barometer. ‘As I said, I’m looking forward to hearing about your excursions.’
‘You’re still finding it hard to believe I could leave my feather duvet behind?’
‘Do you blame me?’
No, she couldn’t. Sometimes it had been hard enough believing it herself.
Tom stretched his legs out under his desk and yawned. ‘Sorry, late night last night.’
Fiona was with him in his consulting room, meeting the patients on tomorrow’s operating schedule. He’d sat quietly throughout each consultation, listening and observing. Now she’d just finished talking to the parents of a six-month-old baby born with a cleft palate, hopefully allaying their fears about their darling child undergoing surgery. She always felt a small thrill at being able to repair the fissure in a baby’s mouth, making that child’s life normal and saving them terrible angst as they grew up and mixed with more and more people.
‘A patient keep you up?’ she asked. Or one of those women who couldn’t deal with his dedication to his hospital? Fiona wondered.
Snap out of it. The guy had a life, and he didn’t have to explain himself to her. If his life appeared a whole lot more balanced than hers, then she’d be pleased for him. It wasn’t his fault hers lacked love and friendship. She’d made it that way. Deliberately. In an attempt to keep it pain-free.
‘No, a birthday party for one of the staff. Hanmer Springs isn’t as dull as some people would have you think.’ Tom smiled. ‘Though it does take some getting used to. At least it did for me, being a city dweller. There’s excitement, and then there’s excitement.’
She grinned straight back. ‘Late nights never used to wear you out. You showing your age, or what?’ Clapping her hand against her forehead, she exclaimed, ‘Oh, of course—it’s the big four O coming up at the end of this year. No wonder you’re so tired, you old man.’
‘Careful, you’re only five years behind me.’
He looked darned good, having matured from the boyish good-looks of the thirty-year-old she’d first met into a very handsome man comfortable in his own skin. Even the new lines around his mouth added character.
‘That’s a lifetime, buster,’ she quipped, before concentrating on the pages in her hand, needing to quell the sudden thumping in her chest. ‘There are some notes on a boy here that I didn’t receive by fax. Cameron Gordon?’
‘A late addition to tomorrow’s list. The paperwork arrived in this morning’s post. He had a cleft palate repaired when he was a baby but for some reason his harelip wasn’t corrected.’
‘But he’s ten. He must’ve suffered a lot of teasing over the years.’
‘I think he got lost in the system. His parents divorced when he was three, and from what I can gather he’s been shunted back and forth between them ever since. When his GP phoned on Wednesday asking me to help I couldn’t refuse.’
‘Do you ever turn a child away?’
Tom shrugged. ‘Not if I can help it.’
A gentle tap on the door interrupted them.
‘Sophie Clark and her father are here,’ the cheerful receptionist announced, and held the door wider to allow them through.
Fiona uncrossed her ankles and straightened up from leaning against the edge of Tom’s desk, then turned to greet her last patient.
A middle-aged man gently led a slight, shy teenage girl into the room. The girl hunched against her father, her face hidden behind a curtain of long hair.
Fiona’s heart went out to this girl, who obviously hated people seeing her damaged face. A jolt of sadness hit Fiona when she saw the jagged purple scar marring Sophie’s left cheek from just below the eye to the corner of her mouth. The medical notes mentioned a car accident.
Tom shook Mr. Clark’s hand, saying, ‘Jacob, good to see you again. Sophie, how are you? How did you do in the school’s short story contest?’
‘I won.’ Sophie smiled, the dullness in her eyes lifting. She was a beautiful girl, with fine bone structure and enormous eyes, and eyelashes that had to be the envy of every female alive.
‘Brilliant.’ Tom clapped his hands. ‘Now, take a seat. This is Dr Fraser.’
‘Hi, Sophie. I’m your specialist this week.’
‘Hello, Dr Fraser.’
‘Call me Fiona. It’s easier.’ And she was not used to being called Dr Fraser.
Sophie turned the left side of her face away again. ‘Okay, Fiona.’
Fiona sat opposite the girl and reached for her hand. ‘Sophie, you’re a very beautiful girl, and what’s happened to your face doesn’t change that.’
Scepticism clouded Sophie’s face, and her shoulders tensed. ‘Yeah, right.’
‘I mean it. You have the sort of strong bone structure that most women would give anything to have.’ Reaching for the hand mirror she’d placed on Tom’s desk earlier, Fiona tentatively held it up in front of Sophie. Then she leaned over to run a fingertip across the girl’s right cheekbone. ‘See how high your cheekbones are?’ she asked, in a soft, but determined tone.
Sophie darted a glance at the mirror, looked away, despair filling her eyes, tears welling up.
‘And your skin—it’s so clear of blemishes. How do you manage to avoid pimples at your age?’
‘Guess I got lucky with something.’ Sophie shrugged. ‘But no one wants to look at me now. I’m ugly. You don’t know what it’s like.’
‘You’re right, I don’t.’ Fiona cringed at the anguish this young woman suffered. ‘But I know you’re not ugly. Forget that idea. Let’s really look at you. Take the mirror while I show you the real Sophie Clark.’
Fiona held her breath as she waited for the girl’s response. No one in the room moved. Then, just as Fiona sensed Tom about to intervene, Sophie snatched the mirror out of Fiona’s hand and held it too close to her face to really see herself.
‘You can’t show me anything new. I used to see this every morning when I got up, but I don’t look any more.’
Fiona held back the hug she wanted to give this girl—a hug to repair some of the damage done to her. Instead she twisted her chair around and sat beside Sophie. With her forefinger she pointed to the big blue eyes glaring back at her from the mirror.
‘Not many people’s eyes are so dark, almost navy in colour. Very attractive.’
Sophie blinked, stared at herself for a moment before looking away.
‘Your hair is shiny and healthy, and, I presume, naturally blonde. The matching eyebrows are a giveaway. And when you smile your whole face lights up. Did you know that?’
After a slight shake of her head the gap between Sophie’s face and the mirror increased fractionally. Fiona waited patiently as Sophie ran her tongue around her lips, attempted a small smile, and tried to watch her eyes.
&n
bsp; With great care Fiona turned Sophie’s face so that they were looking at her right cheek. Then with a gentle movement she eased Sophie around to look at the left side of her face.
‘I can’t take the scar away, but I can make it a whole lot better. It’s unfortunate that the scar runs across the muscles rather than up and down. It will always show a little, and more so when you’re tired. I’m going to make the scar less obvious, and over the years it will fade a lot. With the help of make-up you’ll be able to hide it—if you want to.’
‘I don’t believe you.’
‘I’m sure you don’t, but I’d like you to trust me to help you.’ She was asking a lot from a traumatised teen. Whoever had first operated on her injury had not done the best possible job, and now Sophie believed the result to be as good as it would ever get. ‘I can help, big-time.’
Sophie’s enormous eyes were glued to her, sizing her up, and she felt a jolt of shock as she realised this girl was mature beyond her years.
‘That’s why I’m here,’ Sophie acknowledged.
‘Good.’ Now Fiona couldn’t help herself. She hugged Sophie. ‘I’ll see you again in the morning. And if you have any questions at all, any time between now and then, even in the middle of the night, get your nurse to call me. She’ll know where to find me.’
‘Do I have to eat at the hospital?’ Sophie’s eyes were filled with a mischievous glint.
Not knowing this hospital’s protocol, Fiona looked to Tom for guidance.
‘As long as you have nothing to eat after eight o’clock tonight you can have whatever you like.’ Tom smiled at the girl. ‘But if you’re thinking of a fast food chain, forget it. The population here is hardly enough to support one of those outlets.’
‘Thank goodness for that,’ Jacob muttered as he stood up. ‘Show me a steak house and I’ll be happy.’
‘Dad! Not steak again.’ Sophie turned imploring eyes onto Tom. ‘There are takeaway places here? Aren’t there?’
Tom appeared to think about it, until Sophie stared him down.
‘There are a few.’ He pushed his sleeve back to look at his watch. ‘But of course, this is Hanmer Springs. They might’ve already closed for the night.’
‘Dr Tom, you’re so not fair.’
Fiona listened to the banter while watching Tom. He was at ease with Sophie, gently teasing her, diverting her mind from her operation. He would have been a great father. He had been a great father, who’d never got to see his son growing up. For both of them Liam was still five months old, as though stuck in a perpetual state of nappies and breast milk. Other children grew taller, learned to walk and talk, but not Liam. He’d never go to school, ride a bike, kiss a girl. Cot death had stolen him away, along with her heart. Along with Tom’s heart.
Her breathing grew tight. Her palms moistened. How she missed her darling boy. How she missed her marriage.
Had Tom ever thought about having another family? Her blood slowed. Why wouldn’t he? Then again, he had surrounded himself with a continuous stream of children. Were they his family now? That would be a shame. Tom was definite father material.
She bit down on her lip in an effort to distract herself from the ache that thought brought on. A long time ago she’d made up her mind never to take the risk of having more children. The thought of losing another child almost paralysed her, so nothing would ever change that decision. But she’d hoped Tom might have recovered enough to try again.
Tom returned from showing the Clarks out and made himself comfortable in a chair by propping his legs on the desk. He couldn’t get his head around the fact that after all this time Fiona was here, sitting opposite him in his office. It felt bizarre to be talking to her about patients, as though they hadn’t had all those years apart. He only had to reach across the desk and he’d be touching her.
Did he want to touch her? So far, every time he had, heated awareness of her had triggered a longing so deep it terrified him. Which meant the coming week would be an ordeal, because she was definitely forbidden territory.
So get back to being professional. Concentrate on why Fiona had come here. Think about the patients whose lives she would be making so much happier. ‘You did well with Sophie. It took me three visits to get that far with her. She’s had a difficult time coping.’
Fiona’s patience with the unhappy teen had surprised him. He had the feeling that she’d have sat with Sophie all night if necessary. But it hadn’t been necessary because of her empathy with the girl. Fiona seemed to intrinsically understand where Sophie was coming from, and what she needed from her plastic surgeon.
Patience had never been a part of Fiona’s make-up. Certainly not with him over the months following Liam’s death. She’d got so frustrated when he wouldn’t talk about it. At the time he’d been struggling to function enough to get out of bed every morning. In hindsight he could see that neither of them had known how to deal with what had happened. Neither of them had known how to give each other the compassion they’d needed to heal. They’d been too busy using it up on themselves.
Obviously time and events had taught her to stop and listen to people. Earlier he’d been wondering how she’d coped after they separated. He still didn’t know the answer to that, but from what he’d seen so far the result was impressive.
Looking at her, he was startled to see a warm glow colouring her cheeks as she replied, ‘Thank you. I see a lot of patients despairing because they think no one will want to look at them again. They mainly need listening to.’
How true. ‘Teenagers suffer especially. They’re so vulnerable when they perceive themselves to be different to their peers.’
‘Often their families and friends don’t know how to cope with the situation, which adds to their problems.’
Much as they’d both felt when they’d lost Liam, he realised. And they’d been adults. Both had been taken up with their own grief, unable to reach out to each other or anyone else. But he should have done more. ‘Especially those who try to help.’
A flicker of understanding sparked across Fiona’s face. ‘We didn’t manage very well, did we?’
His jaw clenched. ‘There wasn’t a manual.’ How did anyone know what to do? ‘I tried my best for both of us.’
‘We both did,’ she whispered. The colour drained from her cheeks. Pain flicked into her eyes.
The urge to hold her tight against him, to take that hurt away, swamped him. He longed to stroke her hair, craved her breath against his neck. He wanted to make her feel better. He focused instead on studying her, and was shocked to realise that the inherent sparkle in her eyes had flickered out, gone, replaced by a soul-deep tiredness. His chest tightened as he thought of all the pain she’d endured because of Liam’s death and the toll it had taken on her exuberant outlook on life. He looked closer at her drawn face. Was she unwell? Was she up to the job? Of course she was. She wouldn’t be here otherwise. That much he trusted.
Gravel crunching under tyres outside reminded him of the trip to the hot pools. ‘The haemophiliac patients and their families are waiting on the bus at the front door. They’re going to the thermal pools. We always send staff with them, and I like to tag along occasionally. It’s fun playing with the kids.’
‘I’ll see you later, then.’ Fiona shuffled files together, her face wistful.
‘Come with us. That way you’ll get really warm for the first time today.’ Now, why the hell had he suggested that when he needed to put space between them?
She shrugged. ‘I didn’t bring a swimsuit.’
There—problem solved. She wouldn’t be joining them at the pool. But the devil had hold of his tongue. ‘That’s easily fixed. There’s a shop next to the pools dedicated to swimming costumes.’ Fiona in a swimsuit? His gut clenched.
‘It’s very tempting.’
‘Then grab your purse, and a towel from my bathroom, and meet me at the front steps in five minutes.’ He watched her unfurl from the chair and leave his office. He squashed a spurt of fear. In no
time at all she’d got under his skin, made him very aware of her. His banging heart seemed more than happy with her arrival. His head said the hospital needed her and that she was proving to be very good with her patients. Exactly what he wanted, demanded, from the specialists who came to work here.
But personally? What did he want? Friendship? Huh! Love? No way. The hell of it was that he didn’t have a clue.
Stick to keeping everything on a professional level, remember? Why did he feel he was already off track with that idea? Because now he worried that he’d find himself slipping back into the old habits of their previous life together. Like reaching out to touch her in quiet moments, or making eye contact to pass silent messages in crowded rooms.
Please, no. That would be like starting over, reliving those bleak days when they’d no longer been close enough to be like that. Fiona had left him without a word all those years ago. No warning, no chance to try talking her out of going. She’d just up and gone, leaving him stunned and hurt. He’d believed she’d eventually return, but she hadn’t. Not even to explain why she’d had to go.
His heart stuttered. He couldn’t lay all the blame on Fiona. The heavy guilt he’d managed to squash into a tiny ball deep inside now churned in his belly, threatening to break out. This time he might have to deal with it.
As the soft warmth of the tepid water seeped into Fiona’s chilled muscles she appeared relaxed for the first time since Tom had met her at the airstrip. Even the taut lines around her mouth had receded.
‘Coming along with us wasn’t such a bad idea, was it?’ He sat down on the edge of the pool beside her. Too close, but it would look silly if he moved now.
‘At least I’ve stopped shivering.’ She looked up at him, a hint of warmth in the depths of her beautiful blue eyes.
Funny how he’d never imagined Fiona in this setting with him, and yet now she was here she seemed to fit right in, as though she belonged. Goosebumps rose on his arms. Careful. That was his heart talking. He couldn’t trust those emotions when just seeing her still made him feel as though he’d been run over by a truck.
