A Month to Marry the Midwife

by Fiona McArthur

  ‘So they lived here, unmarried, until they were too old and then they moved out?’

  ‘Yep. Fabulous, isn’t it?’ There were privacy hedges between the three dwellings. In the past the sisters had kept the hedge levels down below waist height but since she’d moved in they’d grown and it was their own little private promontory over the ocean. She loved it. She moved to the edge and peered out at a ship that was far away on the horizon.

  When she turned back she could see that Sam was looking uncomfortable and she glanced around to see why. ‘You okay?’

  ‘Not a fan of being at the edge of heights.’

  ‘Oh.’ The last thing she’d do was make someone with a phobia uncomfortable. ‘We’ll go back inside, then.’

  ‘No. Just sit me on this side of the table and I’ll be fine.’ He lifted the bags up and placed them on the little outdoor table. ‘It’s perfect here.’

  She smiled at him. ‘As we dwell in Phobia Central.’

  For some silly reason she felt closer to him because he’d admitted to having a weakness for heights. It made her feel not so stupid with her phobia of frogs. She had a sudden horrid thought that perhaps he’d made that up, just to get into her good graces, and then pushed the thought away.

  Wayne had done that.

  But Sam was not like Wayne. She pushed harder on the thought and it bobbed around in her mind like a cork in a bathtub. She couldn’t make it stay down. Sam was not like Wayne, she repeated to herself. Sam told the truth. She hoped.

  As if he could read her thoughts, Sam said, ‘My aversion to heights is not quite a phobia but I might not be particularly keen to fix the aerial on the roof.’

  Somehow, that helped. ‘And I’ll never be a plumber because of the frogs. You’re a good doctor. That’s enough.’

  ‘I’m a doctor but not your doctor.’ He grinned at her. ‘That said, I’m pretty impressed with your recovery mechanism.’

  She shrugged. ‘I don’t get many migraines but when I do get one it’s bad.’ She didn’t add that they usually came after she had the nightmare, or had forced contact with Wayne, and that she’d had fewer nightmares and migraines since she’d shaken him off her trail.

  ‘I can see they wipe you out. If it happens again, you could call me.’

  Yeah, right. ‘All the way from Brisbane?’ She raised her brows at him. At least she knew he was joking. ‘Good to know.’

  She began laying out the fresh rolls and ham as she reminded herself he’d be gone in a few weeks. Maybe she could just enjoy his company while she had it. It was the first time she’d had a man in her house to share lunch since she’d moved in. Not that she could take any credit for him being here. The only reason it had happened was because he’d invited himself.

  It was strange but pleasant. Mostly because she knew it was just a window of opportunity that would close soon when he went back to where he’d come from. Back to his busy trendy life with its ‘double shot espresso and milk on the side’ lifestyle.

  Sam paused as if to say something but didn’t. Instead he opened a tray of strawberries and blueberries and produced a tub of Greek yoghurt. ‘I’ll grab the plates and spoons.’ He headed back inside and Ellie looked after him.

  ‘I guess you know where they are,’ she murmured more to herself. Then she lifted her voice. ‘And grab the butter out of the fridge, please.’

  This was all very domestic. Apparently there was nothing like being undressed when semi-delirious for breaking down barriers. But what was she supposed to say? No. That’s my kitchen! Stay out!

  Sam was back while she was still staring after him and mulling over the phenomenon of his intrusion into her world.

  He looked so at ease. ‘You’re very domesticated. Why aren’t you married?’

  His face stilled. ‘My wife died four years ago. It’s unlikely I’ll marry again.’ Then he looked down at the food in his hands.

  Oh, heck. ‘I’m sorry.’ Then added almost to herself, ‘Don’t you hate that?’ The last words fell out as if she hadn’t already put her foot in her mouth enough.

  He looked up. ‘Hate what? When wives die?’ He was looking at her quizzically, when really she deserved disapproval. But underneath the lightness of tone was another wall. She could see it as plain as the sun on the ocean below. She knew about walls.

  She’d done it again. Talk about lacking tact. She’d said what she thought without thinking. She wasn’t usually so socially inept but there was something about this fledgling relationship... She paused at that thought and shied away, slightly horrified.

  Anyway... ‘I’m making it worse. Of course it’s terrible your wife died, but I meant when you ask a question and the worst possible scenario comes back at you and you wished you’d never opened your mouth.’

  ‘I know what you mean. Forget it. A Monty Python moment.’

  His eyes were shadowed and she hesitated. His wife must have been young. She couldn’t help herself.

  ‘How did your wife die?’

  He looked up, studied her and then glanced away. ‘I’ll tell you some time.’ Then without looking at her, ‘Why do people ask that?’

  Now she felt even more inept. Crass. He had answered her and deserved an answer himself. ‘I don’t know. Curiosity. Because they’re afraid of their own mortality?’

  That made him look up. ‘Are you afraid of your own mortality?’

  She shrugged. ‘That’s a heavy question for eleven in the morning.’

  ‘Heavy question any time of the day,’ he said quietly.

  The silence lay thick between them. He straightened and looked like he’d wait all day until she answered.

  So she did. ‘No. I’m not afraid to die. I’m not that special that the world will weep when I’m gone.’

  A flash of what looked like pain crossed his face. ‘Don’t say that. Don’t ever say that. Everyone is special and the world will always weep when someone leaves it.’

  A breeze tickled her neck from the ocean and she shivered. This conversation was the pits. ‘Can we just talk about the weather?’

  He stopped. He looked at her and then slowly he smiled, mocking them both. ‘Sure. There’s a very nice ocean breeze sitting out here.’

  She smiled at him primly. Relief rolled over her like one of those swells away down below running in towards the cliffs. A hump. They’d managed to get over a hump. One that she’d caused. ‘I like the way the clouds make shadow patterns on the ocean.’

  He glanced at the blue expanse a long way below, then away. ‘Yes, very nice.’

  She looked at the food spread out. Okay. Now it was awkward. ‘Eat.’

  So they ate. Conversation was minimal and that kept them away from such topics as death and dying, which was fine by Ellie, and gradually their rapport returned and desultory conversation became easy again.

  Sam said, ‘Josie went home.’

  She looked up. ‘Did you do the new-born check?’

  ‘Of course.’ A pained look. ‘Very efficiently.’

  That made her smile. ‘I have no doubt.’ She took a bite of her roll and chewed thoughtfully. She swallowed, then said, ‘When you return to your real world in your hospital will you make sure all of your registrars are proficient at checking new-born babies prior to discharge?’

  He shrugged. ‘There’s a little less time for leisurely learning than there is here but I will be asking the question.’ He pretended to growl, ‘And they’d better be able to answer it.’

  Which made her remember that he was a very distinguished and learned man, one many people looked up to, and she was eating rolls with him and treating him like a barely tolerated servant. Oops.

  She put her roll down. ‘Speaking of questions I’ve been meaning to ask... Do you know anything about midwifery-led birthing units? Do you think it would work
here?’

  He paused eating his own meal. ‘I don’t know. Work how?’

  She shrugged, looking around for inspiration, how to explain her dream. ‘It would be wonderful if we could provide a publicly funded service for pregnant women that didn’t need locums.’

  ‘Gee, thanks.’ He pretended to be offended.

  ‘Nothing personal. But cover isn’t consistent.’ She grinned at him. ‘I’d like to see a proper centre for planned low-risk births here without having to rely on locum doctors to ensure we can have babies here.’ She was gabbling. But she half-expected him to mock her and tell her she was dreaming, that big centres were more financially viable—although she already knew that. But he didn’t mock her. She should have had more faith.

  ‘There are models like that springing up all over New South Wales and Victoria.’ He said it slowly, as if he was searching around in his mind for what he knew. Ellie could feel herself relax. He wasn’t going to tell her she was mad.

  He went on. ‘Not so many in Queensland yet, but I’m hearing that mothers and midwives are keen. But you’d need more staff.’ He gestured to the isolation around them. ‘You’re a bit of a one-man band here.’

  She’d get help. She’d already had two nibbles from the weekend midwives to work here permanently. And why not? A fulfilling job right on the ocean and the chance to become a respected part of a smaller community wasn’t to be sniffed at. Trina and Faith were also in.

  ‘We may be a small band at the moment. Or possibly five women, anyway—Trina, Faith, and I and the weekend midwives from the base. If we changed our model of care we could attract more midwives. We would certainly attract more women to birth here if we offered caseload. Most women would love to have the option to have their own midwife throughout the whole pregnancy and birth. Then get followed by them for the next six weeks after the baby is born. It’s a wonderful service.’

  He studied her for a moment as if weighing up what he was going to say. ‘It would be a great service.’

  She sagged with relief.

  Then he went on, ‘Though it does sound demanding for the midwives, seeing as babies come when they want and pregnant women have issues on and off for most of the forty weeks. If one person was responsible for all that—and I imagine you’d have a caseload of about twenty women a year—it seems a huge commitment and would almost certainly affect your private life. Are you prepared for that?’

  Private life? What private life. She was a Monday-to-Friday, love-my-job romantic. Not the other sort. But she didn’t say any of that.

  Instead she said, ‘We are. And, paperwork wise, I have a friend who has just set up a service like that on the south coast. She said she’d come up and help me in the early stages. And Myra was a legal secretary before she bought her restaurant. She said she’d give me one day a week.’

  ‘So you have gone into it a bit.’ He nodded. Paused. ‘And how are you going to deal with emergencies?’

  ‘The same way we deal with them now—stabilise and transfer if needed. But the women will be healthy and the care will be excellent.’

  ‘I have no doubt about that,’ he said, and the genuine smile that accompanied the statement warmed her with his faith when he barely knew her.

  This wasn’t about her as a woman. This was about her as a midwife and she could take compliments about that. ‘It’s women’s choice to decide how and where they want to meet their baby, and women here have been asking for that choice.’

  It was so satisfying to have this conversation with somebody who at least understood the questions and the reasons behind them. So she didn’t expect the turn when it came.

  ‘Very ideological. So you’re going to submerge yourself even deeper in these new families—be available for more times when you’re needed—because in my experience babies tend to come in waves. Slow and then all at once. You’ll be working sixty hours a week. Be the auntie to hundreds of new babies over the next thirty years.’

  What was he getting at?’

  Her smile faltered. ‘I hope so.’

  His brows were up. She didn’t like the expression on his face.

  ‘And wake up at sixty and say “Where has my life gone?”?’

  ‘No.’ She shook her head vehemently. ‘I’ll wake up at sixty and feel like I’m having a life that enriches others.’

  The mood plunged with her disappointment. She’d thought he’d seen the vision but now he was looking at her like she needed psychiatric help. Like Wayne used to look at her. That was sad and it was stupid of her to have thought he would be different.

  Ooh... Ellie could feel the rage build. Somewhere inside she knew it was out of proportion to what he’d said. That if she chose that path it didn’t mean she’d never have a family of her own. But him saying that seemed to ignite her anger.

  She leaned towards him. ‘How is that different from your life? You said yourself you’re probably not going to marry again or have children. Will you spend the next thirty years working? How is that different to me?’

  He shrugged. ‘I’m a man. It’s my job to work till I’m sixty-five or seventy, so it should be rewarding.’

  ‘You’re a chauvinist. My working life deserves reward too. How about you stay barefoot and pregnant and make my dinner while I go to work? Is that okay?’

  * * *

  Sam had no idea how the conversation had become so heated. One minute it had been warm and friendly—she’d been gradually relaxing with him—and then she’d waxed on about giving the rest of her life to strangers like some first world saint and he’d found himself getting angry.

  He needed to remind himself that he was a man who respected women’s choices, and of course he respected her choice. She was right. He should recognise that what she wanted to do was parallel to his own ambition of single-minded dedication. And look how useless that had been for getting over Bree’s death. Maybe it was because he did recognise himself in what she said that he’d reacted so stupidly to seeing it through her eyes.

  He took one look at her face and concluded he needed to redeem himself fast or he’d be out on his ear with his blueberries in his lap.

  He held up both hands in surrender. ‘I’m sorry. I have no right to judge your life decisions. You should choose your path and do whatever fulfils you. Truce.’

  Her open mouth shut with a click and he knew he’d just averted Armageddon. Wow.

  She was a feisty little thing when she didn’t like what he said. And, come to think of it, what the heck had come over him? If she wanted to grow old in this eyrie of a house, alone every night just living for her work, then that was her choice. A small voice asked if that wasn’t his choice too. He might not live on top of a cliff, but it wasn’t so different from his trendy city flat overlooking the Brisbane River that he barely saw and the twenty-four-seven availability he gave his own hospital.

  He’d known her for less than a week and already he was sticking his nose in. Normally he didn’t even see other people and what they were doing with their lives but the idea of Ellie’s future life made him go cold. It sounded very like his and he wanted more for her. He shivered.

  She sat stonily staring out over the ocean and he could discern the slow breaths she was taking to calm down. Typical midwife—deep breathing experts. His mouth twitched and he struggled to keep it under control. Imagine if she saw him laughing at her.

  They were both being silly. Fighting about the next thirty years when they should be enjoying the present moment. He was here with a gorgeously interesting woman. He wasn’t sure when she’d changed from pretty to gorgeous, but the word definitely fit her better. The sun was drying her dark hair, bringing out red highlights, and the ocean stretched away behind her. He liked the way her hair fell heavily on her neck when she didn’t have it in the pony tail. He could remember the weighty silkiness of it in his hand as he’
d held it off her face as he’d soothed her during her nightmare.

  He remembered unbuttoning her shirt when she’d lifted her hand to her buttons as if the neckline and collar were choking her. He’d slipped the whole shirt off her shoulders, and she’d pushed at her buttoned work trousers, so he’d helped her with those too. She’d relaxed back into the cool sheets with relief and he’d covered her up, trying to blot out the delectable picture of her golden skin in lacy bra and briefs. Feeling a little apprehensive about what she’d say to him when she woke.

  ‘You.’ She turned towards him and his little flight of fantasy crashed and burned. Apparently the deep breathing hadn’t worked.

  ‘Tell me how your wife died!’ There was nothing warm and fuzzy about the request.

  That snapped him out of his rosy fantasies and the guilt he mostly kept at bay from his failure to save Bree swamped him. He didn’t know why he answered her.

  ‘She killed herself.’

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ‘IT LOOKED LIKE a parachute accident. Except she left a note.’ He kept staring at his clenched fingers. Didn’t look at her. He couldn’t believe he’d said that to a stranger and opened himself up to the inevitable questions.

  Ellie’s voice was a whisper. ‘Oh, heck.’ Closer than before. ‘Why would she do that?’

  He figured he might as well get the rest out. Be done with it. ‘Because we lost our third baby at twenty weeks’ gestation and she said she couldn’t go on.’ His voice was flat because if he let the emotion in it would demolish him. His inability to help his own family had destroyed Bree. ‘I was next to useless, and using work to bury my own grief, and she refused to talk about it together. We drifted apart. Each suffering in our own way but unable to connect. Then it was too late.’

  Her voice was different now. Compassionate. ‘Is that why you were so determined Marni be transferred?’