by Lilian Darcy
‘Then we should think about the implications,’ she said gently.
They thought about them.
‘Don’t go yet,’ Nick said, because, selfishly, he just didn’t want her to.
Later, yes.
In the early hours, after they’d both slept entwined in each other’s arms, she’d have to leave.
But not now.
He wanted more of this. The love-making. The talking. The way she snuggled against him. ‘The thing is, though, Josh is never under my roof overnight,’ he said after a few moments.
The words had drummed in his head, repeating themselves several times before he actually said them out loud. He’d rehearsed them and rejected them, torn between how honest and important they were, how much he wanted to test his courage by talking openly to Miranda and how much he didn’t want to ruin the mood.
In the end, he’d chosen honesty because it was the thing that scared him the most.
‘Anna sees to that,’ he finished.
‘Never? Really never?’ She wasn’t surprised, though, he could tell. Having heard Anna’s version of events as Josh’s doctor, she must know that he hadn’t been given much time with his son. ‘Have you tried to fight it, Nick?’
‘I’ve done everything except go to court. That I won’t do, for Josh’s sake. I do have some faith in Anna, that she’ll eventually let go of him a little more. She has to. He’s still only five. As I said, it’s less than two years since the separation.’ He wanted to stress this to her, somehow needed her to know that he hadn’t jumped into bed with a whole lot of women since, and hadn’t abandoned his son. ‘The asthma thing rocked her so much. She’d never had anything to do with illness before, and she overreacted.’
‘She was already somewhat over-involved with Josh before his diagnosis, though, wasn’t she? That’s the impression I’ve had.’
‘Yes, you’re right.’ He felt an intense relief that she’d taken an independent view, that she knew his ex-wife and his son as a medical professional. She understood that Anna was seriously over-involved and didn’t automatically buy Anna’s own message that he didn’t care enough.
He needed her to understand, somehow, and the need was familiar. Ten years ago, he’d also wanted her to know everything about what was important in his life. He’d spilled it all, and then he’d run, terrified of the implications. Hell, was he brave enough not to run now?
‘I’ve seen a couple of mothers like that,’ she was saying carefully. ‘Professional women, accustomed to complete control in their work environment, who think that they can control parenthood in the same way. They disinfect every toy, mash every carrot personally, don’t let their crawling babies onto the floor unless there’s a clean blanket laid down, go to pieces when the baby won’t conform to the routine they’ve set up so perfectly on paper.’
‘Oh, yes, all of that. If her own friends had been having babies at the same time, it might have been different, but at twenty-six she was the first, and she didn’t connect with the mothers in her childbirth class. And I was working too hard. I was still finishing my surgical training when he was small. There were too many hours and days and weeks when I wasn’t at home, so what right did I have to question what she was doing with our son? None, I felt. And by the time things eased off with my work hours, the patterns were in place. I didn’t fight hard enough. I’m to blame as much as Anna.’
‘And that’s held you back, too, from taking a harder line on shared custody. The fact that you felt to blame.’
He nodded, even though she wouldn’t see the movement in the dark. Maybe she would feel it. She seemed to feel and understand so much else without adequate words from him. He felt a rush of appreciation—the word was too weak, but he didn’t have a stronger one—an appreciation for her that was so intense it left him winded and limp.
‘Why are we talking about this?’ He tightened his hold on her body.
‘Because it’s there in the air, in your heart, and you wanted to say it. Because it’s relevant, with Josh in the next room for the first time since the divorce, with me here, too.’
‘As easy as that?’
A moment’s silence.
‘Why should talking be so hard?’ She stroked his chest with her fingertips, making lazy, seductive circles, exploring the texture of his skin and hair.
Why should talking be so hard?
His gut answered, rather than his rational mind. Because talking gave away information, and information was power. More than power. It was a weapon. He felt a sudden, terrible compulsion to talk to Miranda about his father, too, but pushed it back into that safe, hidden place deep inside him. Doing so wasn’t hard. He’d had half a lifetime of practice.
The circles gave him the excuse he needed to take the easy way out. Hadn’t he stretched his boundaries enough for one night? ‘Why is talking hard?’ His voice came out so lazy and seductive, it creaked. ‘You have to ask? Because you’re doing those sexy circles with your fingers. Distracting me. On purpose. And don’t deny it.’
‘Well…It didn’t start out to be on purpose.’
‘I’m telling you, talking’s not just hard at this moment. It’s getting to be bloody impossible…’
CHAPTER SEVEN
AT THREE o’clock in the morning, Miranda crept out of Nick’s bedroom with her crumpled clothing held in a bundle against her chest. Nick was fast asleep and so was Josh. Miranda heard some sounds coming from the little boy’s adjacent room—he was talking in his sleep. She slipped into the bathroom and dressed quickly, then let herself out onto the veranda.
Even at this hour, the tropical night was mild and almost warm. She hurried across the sandy ground to her own cabin, feeling a little uneasy at being out this late. There were a couple of reassuring lights around the place—one in the medical centre, one in the bathroom of a cabin she passed, one in the dining room that was kept on all night for security and to help keep away pests. The moon hung low in the western sky, disappearing from her view behind a tree’s shaggy canopy as she came up the steps to her cabin’s veranda.
OK.
Home.
Alone.
Happy?
For the first time since she and Nick had kissed, hours ago, she allowed herself to ask the question, and thought about it as she grabbed a drink of water and took off the clothes she’d only just put on, replacing them with a satiny slip of a nightgown that would have been way more seductive to strip off for her lover than the casual shorts and vest top. She had her wardrobe the wrong way around…
And there was something slightly wrong about being the one to get out of the bed, too. The man was supposed to do that, while the woman lay there wondering if and when she’d see him again.
But she felt good about it, she discovered.
About most of it. Leaving the cabin before dawn had been the practical thing to do, and the right thing to do for Josh’s sake. And Nick couldn’t duck out of seeing her again in the morning because she would pounce on him from behind a sandhill if he tried! As for leaping into bed with him in the first place, she felt dizzy over it, filled to the brim with emotion, thankful, sure.
It all seemed easy while she was still basking in the after-glow.
But something nagged at her as she lay in bed, struggling to find sleep. She thought about the way they’d talked after they’d first made love and the picture that had been blurred resolved into clear focus in her head.
Anna.
They’d made love, and then they’d talked about Anna.
Earlier, too, after Nick had brought her his mobile phone because his ex-wife had been on the line, what had he said? ‘I was jealous.’
Just of Miranda’s easy new friendship with Susie? Or, more importantly, of the intense, serious conversation Miranda had had with Anna?
Was it possible that he was still in love with her?
Nick and Miranda saw each other across the dining room at breakfast and instinctively looked away. Then they turned back at the same moment a
nd smiled, and Miranda’s lungs got that too-full feeling and she could hardly breathe.
He came up to her and stood about an inch too close, the kind of intimate distance that someone would have noticed if they’d been looking. ‘Sleep well?’
‘Um, no.’
‘I don’t think that’s what you’re supposed to say.’
‘Sorry. I mean I slept like a baby.’
‘And isn’t that a myth—that babies sleep?’
There. Once again it was easy. Ice broken. Smiling at each other. Lovers and friends. Miranda’s doubts were soon forgotten.
Her heart was still beating too fast. Her breathing hadn’t quite returned to normal. Her feet still hovered a secret, blissful distance above the ground as if her sandals had wings. But those were the right feelings for now.
They had another wonderful day. Josh and Nick went snorkelling with a small group of parents and kids, supervised by qualified instructors. Josh wore a buoyancy vest and though he struggled with the snorkelling equipment and ended up just bobbing around beside his dad and occasionally peering at the reef through his face mask, he was hugely proud of his achievement.
He grinned from ear to ear as he came stomping out of the water in his flippers. ‘Did you see me, Dr Carlisle?’
Miranda hadn’t. She’d been doing some group physio and exercises with Susie in the activity room and had only just arrived down at the beach where the watersports were taking place. ‘I bet you went so fast in those flippers!’ she told him.
‘And I wasn’t scared and I didn’t wheeze.’
‘That’s wonderful.’ And I wish I could tell you to call me Miranda, but I know I can’t…
She slept in Nick’s bed just metres from Josh’s room again that night, and this time she didn’t leave to go back to her own cabin until almost dawn.
Julia Rabey spread her hands, at a loss for words. ‘I don’t know why this is happening, Dr Carlisle. I thought the sea air would be better for her. Less dust. And she usually does really well with swimming as long as she takes her preventative first.’
Mid-morning on Thursday, Kathryn was back at the medical centre in the throes of a second major asthma attack, unable to speak and looking panicky and stubborn. She’d been hooked up to a pulse oximeter and nebuliser mask, and was receiving a barrage of medication, but she was still struggling to breathe.
And she wasn’t using her inhaler properly, Miranda noted. What was going on? For every strong and determined inhalation the nine-year-old took, there was another one that started out half-hearted, before the fear overtook the stubbornness and she made a belated bid to inhale the full dose.
She wants this attack…
She was scared of it, Miranda could see, but she was trying to force herself to go farther with it at the same time. Kids weren’t very good actors, by and large. Good at hiding things sometimes, yes, but not good at putting on a performance. They were sloppy or inconsistent, or they went too far.
The oxygen level showing on the monitor began to rise. Kathryn’s breathing was better now. No accessory muscle use, the way there had been at first. ‘I can’t breathe!’ she said. ‘Mummy, I can’t breathe!’
No Best Actress Oscar for you this year, my love, Miranda thought.
‘Yes, you can, sweetheart,’ Julia said, tender and perplexed. ‘You’re sounding much better now. Can’t you tell? You can!’
‘I can’t!’
Mrs Rabey looked at Miranda and shrugged. Kids were a mystery.
Miranda took her aside. Beth Stuart was sitting at the front desk, doing some paperwork, but it might be helpful if they brought her into this, too. ‘Mrs Rabey, has she ever deliberately triggered or exaggerated an attack before?’
‘No! Unless I just haven’t seen it…But, no, she hates the bad attacks. They really scare her, and it’s no wonder.’
‘And you don’t know of anything that’s on her mind? Problems at school or at home? Money worries? Something that’s happening to you or your husband that she could have picked up on?’
‘I’m doubting my own perceptions now.’ Julia shook her head. ‘I’d have said there was nothing. We’re a boringly happy family, as far as I’m concerned. But you’re right. She wants the attention. And surely I’m giving it to her!’
‘Maybe you’re not the one she wants it from,’ Beth came in quietly, surprising Miranda a little. Beth had such a successful line in lively chat, but apparently she was a good listener and observer, too.
‘Well, she adores her dad,’ Julia said. ‘And we were all disappointed he couldn’t come.’ As part of Crocodile Creek Kids’ Camp’s policy of including healthy siblings when possible, Julia had Kathryn’s younger brother Michael here as well. ‘He had some company big-wig flying in this week and had to show him around. But surely she wouldn’t try to make her asthma worse in the hope that he’d fly up? Barring an emergency, he really can’t!’
‘So maybe she’s trying to create the emergency,’ Beth said.
Mrs Rabey shook her head. ‘That’s too extreme. She’s too sensible.’ She repeated, ‘And she hates the bad attacks.’
There was a bumping sound on the wooden ramp outside and the door opened to admit Charles in his wheelchair. ‘I’m not here,’ he said, perceiving that he might be interrupting something. ‘I just need to borrow a stethoscope, a thermometer and some paracetamol. Won’t be a moment. Beth, you could save time by grabbing everything for me.’
‘Anything wrong?’
Charles winced. ‘Not really. Lily’s got a bug, or something. She’s probably just incubating a cold. She didn’t want breakfast this morning, and she’s got a bit of a sore throat and a cough. She’s still saying she wants to go and play on the beach.’ His mouth tightened a little. ‘And Jill’s not out here yet, so it would be much easier if I could let Lily play, because I still have a lot to do before tomorrow and Saturday. But she feels warm to me.’
‘We have a few children here that we really don’t want getting sick,’ Miranda pointed out.
‘True. But she was probably incubating this yesterday so the damage is already done. You’re right, though. She has to be kept away from the other kids now, even if it is just a mild cold. I’ll have to send her home to Jill, or work something else out.’
Beth had now hunted up his list of items. ‘Keep the paracetamol, but I want the stethoscope and the thermometer back!’
‘Ten minutes,’ Charles promised.
He manoeuvred his wheelchair in an expert pivot to face the door, but before Beth could dart in front to open it for him, the Allandales appeared, the parents looking highly anxious and ready to be angry, and Lauren sobbing with her hands over the lower half of her face.
‘What’s happened?’ Beth said quickly. ‘Where are you hurt, Lauren?’
‘My face. I fell on the rocks. It really, really hurts.’
Miranda could see that it undoubtedly did. There was blood running between Lauren’s fingers and dripping onto the medical centre floor. Julia had gone back to her daughter’s bedside, still looking perplexed at the possibility that Kathryn might be deliberately triggering or exaggerating her attack.
‘Let’s have a proper look at you, sweetheart,’ Beth was saying. ‘Come through here. We’ll get you all fixed up in no time. We’ve got Dr Wetherby and our lovely nurse Grace.’
‘No, that’s not acceptable,’ Mr Allandale cut in sharply, as he understood what Beth was suggesting. ‘Treat her here? No! We want you to call the helicopter service. You can put a dressing on it here and stop the bleeding, but you can’t stitch it. It’s on her face. She’ll be scarred. She needs a plastic surgeon for this, at a major city hospital, not some rural jack of all trades with a carpet needle.’
‘Don’t worry, we threw out the carpet needles last year when we got in some smaller ones,’ Charles said. Until now, he’d taken a back seat to what was going on.
He flashed a crinkly, white-teethed, let’s-not-get-our-knickers-in-a-twist kind of grin that Miranda privately t
hought quite infectious and charming, especially given that he’d just had his medical credentials slammed in his direct hearing, but neither of the Allandale parents were in any mood for jokes or charm.
‘That’s ridiculous,’ Mrs Allandale hissed.
‘Let’s take a look first, before we make any decisions,’ Beth said, trying to settle the atmosphere.
‘No,’ said Rick Allandale. ‘The decision’s made.’
Charles didn’t agree, Miranda could tell, but he didn’t waste his time saying so. That evidently wasn’t his style. ‘Beth, run over and check on Lily for me, would you?’ he said quietly. ‘She’s on her own in the cabin and I’ve already left her for too long.’
Beth nodded and didn’t argue.
But when she went to leave, Kirsty Allandale said indignantly, ‘Where are you going?’
‘Dr Wetherby is going to have a look at Lauren.’
‘You can’t be a doctor!’ She was looking at the wheelchair.
‘Some people think so,’ he replied mildly, ‘but, in fact, I am. The medical director at Crocodile Creek Hospital, and the person ultimately responsible for making decisions on emergency medical evacuations for this whole region. Dr Carlisle, Lauren is your patient at home, so perhaps you’d come into the examination room with me?’
‘Of course.’
He led the way, and the small cubicle simply didn’t have room for both the Allandales at the same time, so Mrs Allandale came in while her husband stayed at the front desk, glowering.
The cut on Lauren’s chin was a bad one, deep and untidy and embedded with grit. It definitely needed suturing after a thorough clean. With their ongoing anxiety about her health, Miranda could understand the parents’ concern about scarring, but she could also understand that Charles couldn’t possibly assign a hugely expensive helicopter evacuation to the city for purely cosmetic reasons.
‘It has to be done here,’ he said quietly to Miranda, after they’d retreated to the privacy of an office. ‘Sending them across to Crocodile Creek Hospital wouldn’t help.’ He drawled, ‘All my doctors over there are rural jacks of all trades, too. I mean, they’re a brilliant bunch, but the Allandales won’t believe that, and the fact is that none of them have specialised cosmetic surgery skills.’
