Gus shot Freya a questioning glance.
‘I think we should go straight home,’ she said.
‘But you told Mr Crane—’
‘I know what I told Mr Crane, Nick, but I needed an excuse to get away. I want to take Gus back to our place. There’s a lot to talk about.’
‘About the kidney?’
‘Yes.’
Nick flopped back in his seat and stopped asking questions. In the stretch of silence, Gus stole a glance back over his shoulder and found the boy watching him, his eyes huge and wondering. Gus sent him a smiling wink. Nick smiled shyly, and Gus felt his heart turn over.
Freya turned the car onto The Esplanade, where late afternoon shadows stretched across the beach. Sunbathers were packing up but a handful of hardy board riders were still catching waves. He watched them. He’d been like them once, not wanting to leave the water till it was almost dark, much to his mother’s consternation.
To his surprise, he saw that Freya was turning into a driveway. ‘Do you live here? Right on the beachfront?’
‘Where else?’ A quick smile flitted across her features, but it disappeared in a hurry and Gus knew she was nervous again.
The driveway ran next to a modern building of timber and glass. He caught sight of a sign in the front garden, with The Driftwood Gallery painted in pale tan on a cream background.
‘Hey, Urchin!’ A doggy blur and a wagging tail greeted Nick as they got out of the car. After giving the dog a rough and enthusiastic hug, the boy called to his mother, ‘I’m starving.’
‘Nothing new there,’ Freya responded with an elaborate roll of her eyes.
Gus retrieved their overnight bags from the boot while Freya opened bi-fold doors, and he followed her into an open-plan living area.
‘Hey, this is beautiful,’ he said, looking around him.
‘Not bad, is it?’ She dumped her purse and keys on a granite topped counter. ‘I manage the gallery, and this flat is part of the deal. Please, take a seat and I’ll make some coffee. Is plunger coffee OK?’
‘Yes, perfect, thanks.’
Gus remained standing, taking in details of the off-white walls, gleaming pale timber floors and large picture windows looking out to the sea.
The place felt perfect for Freya. It was so much like her—close to the beach and decorated simply but beautifully in neutral tones with soft touches of peach or sea-green. The colours were repeated in the watercolours that hung on the walls and there was a wistful elegance about the paintings that made him wonder if they were hers.
Nick was at the fridge and helping himself to a brightly coloured sports drink. ‘What can I have to eat?’
‘The usual,’ Freya told him. Already, she’d filled a kettle and switched it on and was retrieving the makings of a sandwich. She shot Gus a quick apologetic smile. ‘Excuse us for a moment, please.’
‘Of course. You have to feed the hungry beast.’
Nick grinned at him and came to the counter beside his mother, took slices of cheese from a packet and added them to the bread she’d buttered.
‘I hope you’ve washed your hands.’
‘Washed them at the sink just now.’
‘Would you like tomato with this?’
Nick shook his head. ‘Cheese is fine.’ He added an extra slice, then fetched a plate for his sandwich.
They looked so at home, Gus thought. This routine was so familiar to them, and his outsider status washed over him like a physical pain.
As if sensing how he felt, Freya said, ‘What about you, Gus? Are you hungry? Would you like a sandwich?’
He smiled. ‘No, thanks. Coffee’s fine.’
Leaning against the counter, plate in hand, Nick munched on his snack. He was still wearing his football gear and Gus saw green smears where he’d landed heavily on the grass, and there was a graze on his knee.
How the hell can this kid be sick? Gus thought. He looks so normal.
It seemed so wrong. So cruel.
‘So has Mum told you all about my global warning?’ the boy asked suddenly, smiling between mouthfuls.
Gus’s stomach took a dive. ‘Yes, it’s rotten luck, but I’m hoping we can turn that around.’
Freya, in the middle of retrieving coffee mugs from an overhead cupboard, appeared to freeze.
‘Awesome,’ said Nick. ‘So do you have O blood, the same as me?’
‘I do.’
‘But Gus still has to have more tests before we can be absolutely sure he’s a perfect match,’ Freya countered.
Nick nodded and looked thoughtful as he chewed again on his sandwich, while the kitchen filled with the smell of coffee.
Across the silence, Gus met Freya’s gaze. She sent him a wobbly smile.
‘If you could help to carry these things, we can make ourselves comfortable,’ she said.
‘Sure.’ Immediately he snapped into action, and they carried the pot and mugs, a milk jug and a plate of pecan cookies to a low coffee table set amidst comfortably grouped squishy armchairs upholstered in cream linen.
‘You want me to hang around?’ Nick asked.
Freya’s throat rippled as she swallowed. ‘Yes, honey, of course. We need to talk to you.’
He came and perched on the arm of one of the chairs, sports drink in one hand, plate with the remains of his sandwich in the other, and he frowned as he watched his mother pour coffee. ‘So did you guys know each other before? When Gus used to live here?’
‘Yes.’ Freya’s voice was a shade too tight.
Nick stared at her and his face sobered. He slid a quick look to Gus, then another glance back to his mother. ‘You’re not going to tell me anything really crazy, are you? Like Gus is my father or something?’
CHAPTER FIVE
FREYA almost dropped the coffee pot. It clattered onto the table and Gus was instantly attentive.
‘Did you burn yourself?’
She shook her head. She was too mortified by Nick’s question to worry about the stinging patch of skin on the inside of her wrist. She wished she could think more clearly, wished she could find the right words so that everything made instant sense to Nick. And she wanted to defend Gus.
When she opened her mouth, nothing emerged.
She looked helplessly at Nick, who was watching her and Gus with his lips tightly compressed and a look of anguish in his eyes, as if he wished he could bite back his words.
I have to answer him.
But, as she struggled to find the words, she heard Gus’s voice above the fierce hammering of her heartbeats.
‘That’s exactly right, Nick.’ Gus spoke quietly, calmly. ‘I’ve come here because I’m your father and I’m the best person to help you. I want to help you.’ There…
It was out.
Thank you, Gus. Freya felt relief, but a sense of failure too. She should have been ready for this. She knew exactly what her son was like, knew he was smart and perceptive.
When at last she found her voice, she hurried to make amends for her silence. ‘Gus really wants to help you, darling. We know there could be other donors, but Gus is your best chance for a really good match.’
A bright red tide was creeping up Nick’s neck and into his cheeks. His eyes shimmered with tears.
The sight of his tears tore at Freya’s heart. She felt lost. Totally thrown.
Slowly, her son slid from the arm of the chair and he set his plate and drink down on the coffee table.
‘Thanks,’ he said shakily, not quite meeting anyone’s gaze. ‘That’s great.’ Then he shot a nervous glance to Freya. ‘If it’s OK, I’m going to get changed and take a shower.’
This was so not what she’d expected, so out of character. Nick hardly ever volunteered to have a shower. Freya usually had to shove him into the bathroom. Now, she felt compelled to let him go.
The adults watched in uncomfortable silence as the boy walked from the room, sports shoes squeaking on the polished floors. Neither of them spoke nor moved until they heard Nick’s bed
room door close down the hallway.
Freya let out a soft groan. ‘That went well.’ She felt terrible for Gus. What must he be thinking? Of her? Of their son? ‘I’m sorry, Gus. That wasn’t quite the reception I imagined.’
‘Do you want to go and speak to him?’
‘I don’t know,’ she said, feeling dazed. ‘I’m not sure it would help. I…I’ll try.’ Her legs felt as weak as limp rope when she stood. ‘Won’t be a moment.’
She went down the hall and knocked on Nick’s door. ‘Nick?’
‘I’m getting undressed.’
‘Do you want to talk?’
She heard the thump of his shoes hitting the floor. ‘Later.’
‘Don’t be long,’ she called.
When she went back into the living room, Gus gave an easy non-judgemental shrug.
‘The boy’s had a shock.’
‘But you’ve come all this way to meet him.’
To her surprise, Gus didn’t seem angry.
‘All in good time,’ he said smoothly. ‘Nick needs a chance to get his head around everything.’
Gus would know what Nick was going through, of course. He’d had a similar shock less than twenty-four hours ago.
As Freya picked up the coffee pot again, she gave him a grateful smile. ‘So…would you still like a cuppa?’
He was staring at her arm, frowning. ‘You did burn yourself.’
She’d been trying to ignore the stinging, but now she looked down and saw the angry red welt on the pale skin of her inner wrist.
‘You need to get something on that,’ he said. ‘Do you have burn cream?’
‘Oh—I have some of Poppy’s aloe vera growing in a pot. That’ll fix it.’
Frowning, Gus rose and followed her into the kitchen, watching as she snapped off a piece of succulent herb growing on the windowsill.
‘Here, let me,’ he said, taking the aloe vera from her. ‘That will be hard to manage one handed.’
Before Freya could protest, he was holding her arm, gently, ever so kindly. He squeezed the plant to break up the juicy fibres and began very gently to rub it over her reddened skin.
His touch sent an electric shiver trembling through Freya. She was remembering a time when they were young, when she’d had a coral cut on her ankle, and Gus had been so caring—just like this—washing the cut clean and making sure she got antiseptic straight onto it.
OK, so he’s a caring guy. I know that. It’s why he’s here. It’s why he’s been working in Africa for all these years. That’s no excuse for swooning.
‘Thanks,’ she said extra brightly when he was done. ‘That’s feeling better already. Now, about that coffee—’
Gus was still holding her arm. She was still flashing hot and cold. And when she looked into his eyes, she saw a look she remembered from all those years ago.
An ache blossomed inside her, treacherous and sweet, and she almost fell into his arms.
He let her wrist go and said, ‘I’d love a coffee.’
Just like that, the moment was gone and, as Freya crashed back to earth, she wondered if she’d imagined that look.
She went back to the coffee table, filled their mugs and handed one to Gus.
He sat down and took a sip and made an appreciative noise. ‘I remember now. You make very good coffee.’
She smiled faintly and sat very still, holding her coffee mug without tasting it, thinking about Nick, and Gus and…the repercussions of the decision she’d made all those years ago.
From down the hallway came the sound of a shower turning on. Freya and Gus exchanged cautious glances.
‘I’d always planned to warn him, to get him ready before he met you,’ she said defensively. ‘But you insisted on meeting him today.’
Gus sent her a strange look and took another sip of coffee. ‘You said Nick had a bad experience when he met your father.’
‘Yes. I think it’s safe to say he was quite disillusioned.’
‘Do you mind telling me what happened?’
She let out a slow huff. ‘Well…my father turned up here a few weeks before Christmas. He sailed into the Bay in a pretty little yacht called Poppy.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘You can picture it, can’t you? All smart white paint and lovely tanned sails.’
‘Like a romantic fantasy,’ Gus suggested.
‘Exactly.’
‘What’s his name?’
‘Sean Hickey.’ Freya drank some of her coffee, then settled back in her chair, as if getting ready to tell a long story. ‘He certainly looked the part, all lean and sunburned, with a weather-beaten sailor’s tan. Quite handsome, actually, in a wicked, boyish way. White curly hair and bright blue eyes—and a charming Irish lilt to his voice.’
‘How did Poppy react to seeing him?’
‘Oh, she welcomed him with open arms, and she seemed to grow ten years younger overnight. Nick adored him, of course. I mean, he had another male in his family for starters.’
As she said this, she felt a stab from her guilty conscience. She’d always felt bad about denying her son a male role model. ‘Nick was seven at the time, and he was over the moon. Sean was the ideal grandfather—lively and friendly and full of fun, and very interested in his grandson.’
Gus regarded her steadily. ‘And you?’
‘Oh, I was beyond excited too. I had a father, at last.’ She avoided Gus’s eyes as she said this and her cheeks grew uncomfortably hot. She stumbled on, hoping to make amends. ‘Admittedly, Sean wasn’t quite the way I’d pictured my father.’
‘I seem to remember,’ said Gus dryly, ‘that you had a list of famous Australians who might have been your father.’
The heat in Freya’s face deepened. Gus hadn’t forgotten. She, however, had conveniently pushed that memory underground, hadn’t let herself think that Nick might feel equally deprived. Or worse.
‘Well, Sean wasn’t a film star,’ she said tightly. ‘He was more like a charming pixie, but he lavished praise on my paintings and I lapped it up. He even told me about an artistic grandmother who still lives in County Cork in Ireland.’
Gus smiled. ‘So that’s where your talent comes from.’
‘I’m not sure any more.’ Freya shrugged. ‘Anyway, he taught Nick how to sail, and he took the three of us out in Poppy, and we sailed to the islands and had lovely picnics. He even painted Poppy’s house for her.’ This was said with an accompanying eye roll. ‘Do you remember how Mum’s cottage used to look?’
‘Of course. It was fabulous. The only house right on the edge of the sand. And painted every colour of the rainbow. It was a talking point in Sugar Bay.’
‘Yes, well…wait till you see it now.’
‘Why? What did Sean do to it?’
‘Painted it white.’
‘The whole house?’
She nodded. ‘Spanking white with neat aqua blue trims. Spotless and tidy, just like his boat.’
‘My God. Spotless and tidy are two words I’d never associate with Poppy. Did she hate it?’
Freya gave another shrug. ‘She pretended to love it. She was smitten at the time, though, so her judgement was clouded.’
‘But I take it your dad eventually blotted his copybook?’
‘Oh, yes. Big time. A week before Christmas he totally blackened his name. He and his little yacht just disappeared into the wide blue yonder.’ Freya paused significantly. ‘Along with Poppy’s savings.’
It was gratifying to watch Gus’s jaw drop.
‘How did he manage that?’
‘Oh, you know Poppy. Didn’t trust banks, and didn’t worry much about money. What little she did accumulate she kept at home in a ginger jar.’ Freya sighed. ‘It was the gloomiest, most depressing Christmas ever. We tried to be cheerful for poor Nick’s sake, but we weren’t very good at it, I’m afraid.’
Leaning forward, she put her coffee mug back on the table. ‘I found out later from one of the local fishermen that Sean had moved on, up to Gladstone. He’d changed the name of his yacht
to Caroline, and he was living with a new woman, a widow named Mrs Keane. Caroline Keane, of course. And he showed no sign of an Irish accent.’
‘So he was a con artist.’
‘Through and through. And Poppy admitted later that he’d always had a gambling addiction. She’d known that, and she still wasn’t careful.’
Gus let out his breath in a whoosh, then rose and paced to the big picture window and stood with his hands resting lightly on his hips as he looked out to sea. ‘I see why fathers have a bad name around here.’
Freya stood too and followed him across the room. ‘I know you’re nothing like Sean, Gus. In fact, you’re the opposite. You’ve come here to give, not to take.’
‘That’s certainly the plan.’ He didn’t turn from the window. Outside, it was almost dusk and the sea and the sky had turned a deep pearlescent grey.
‘I know Nick liked you, straight off,’ Freya said. ‘Actually, I’m sure he wants to get to know you. He’s just—’
‘Scared.’
‘Yes.’ We’re both scared.
Trouble was, though Gus might not be a con man, he still had his own special brand of dangerous charm. If he entered their lives, even for a short time, and then left again, as he must, he would almost certainly leave a huge raw-edged hole.
Gus turned from the window. ‘I guess I should head off now. You need to talk to Nick, and I need to book into the hotel.’
‘You’re welcome to stay here.’ Freya had no idea she was going to say that. She was pretty sure Gus wanted to stay in the hotel, to keep an emotional distance, but the invitation had tumbled out spontaneously and she couldn’t take it back without looking foolish. She held her breath, waiting for his answer.
To her surprise, his lip curled in a faintly amused smile. ‘Don’t you think you should consult Nick before making such rash offers? He hasn’t exactly welcomed me with open arms, has he?’
‘But you’re doing a wonderful thing for us, Gus, and we’re in your debt. What if I go and talk to him? He’s sure to have calmed down by now.’
‘Not now, Freya.’ Gus wasn’t smiling any more. He was deadly serious. ‘It will be better for all of us if I stay at the hotel.’
It was ridiculous to feel disappointed. Freya was dredging up a smile when Gus surprised her by reaching for her arm.
A Miracle for His Secret Son Page 6
