His Secret Love-Child

by Marion Lennox

  She’d offered to help with the kids from the night before, but she was stymied there as well.

  ‘The worst of the cases are being transferred to Cairns,’ Charles told her.

  There was another pang as Gina saw the plane take off. She should be on it.

  ‘But you’ve offered to go out to the settlement with Cal,’ Charles said.

  ‘I could change my mind.’

  ‘Cal needs you.’

  ‘He doesn’t need anyone,’ she snapped, but Charles just smiled his wry smile and told her that in a medical capacity she’d be useful and he’d be delighted if she stayed. As she’d agreed to.

  So she agreed. She’d run out of excuses. CJ and Walter Grubb had decided they were friends for life and there was more trash to cart. There was nothing for it but to decide this afternoon was just something to be worked through.

  But it was hard. She sat beside Cal as the miles disappeared under their wheels and thought she’d been mad. She tried to think of something to say and nothing came.

  Silence. Cal’s face was set and grim.

  Silence, silence and more silence.

  Then, out of nowhere, Cal snapped ‘How long have you been diabetic?’

  It was almost an explosion. His knuckles were white on the steering-wheel and she stared at him in astonishment.

  ‘How did you know?’

  ‘Charles told me. Just now. He asked me how long you’d been diabetic, whether you were type one or two, how your control was-and you know what? I didn’t even know you were diabetic. You couldn’t have been one five years ago. Were you?’

  He wanted her to say no, Gina thought. He sounded almost desperate.

  ‘I’ve been diabetic since I was twelve,’ she told him. ‘Type one.’

  ‘You weren’t diabetic when you were here.’

  ‘Of course I was.’

  ‘You were living with me,’ he said explosively. ‘Sharing my bed. Sharing my life. How can I have not known you were diabetic?’

  ‘No,’ she said softly. ‘You weren’t sharing my life. We were lovers, Cal. We hadn’t taken it further.’

  ‘We were living together.’

  ‘Cal, if we’d been really living together-really sharing our lives-do you think I could have kept something like that from you?’

  ‘You must have hidden-’

  ‘I hid nothing,’ she said wearily. ‘But you were so contained. I was hopelessly in love with you but you never shared your life. I had to drag your family history from you. You’d come home after a dreadful day-after some trauma or other-and you’d take my body as if you were desperate, but you’d never talk to me about what you were feeling. And me…You saw what you wanted to see, Cal. I remember at the end, when I was just starting to suspect I was pregnant. I was feeling ghastly and my blood sugars were all over the place and I was desperate. You came home that last night we had together and said I looked pale and what was wrong, and I told you I’d had a tummy bug. “Do you need medication?” you asked. When I said no, you hugged me and told me to go to bed and you considerately didn’t touch me for the rest of the night. When I was crying out to be touched. Then next morning you asked if I was fine, and you believed me and went off to your urgent medical call. Even though I was shaky and white-faced and sick. Because you wanted me to be fine. You wanted me to slot into the edges of your life-the parts that were available.’

  ‘But you’re diabetic,’ he said, sounding confused but also exasperated. ‘Why hide it?’

  ‘Because that would have made me way too needy,’ she said, knowing that he wouldn’t understand but not being able to think of any other way of explaining.

  ‘Needy…’

  ‘I was already in need,’ she told him. ‘I came to Townsville after Paul had asked for a separation and I was a mess. And you picked me up and put the pieces back together. Then…then you couldn’t figure out where to go from there.’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘I don’t suppose you do,’ she said sadly. ‘Because what I needed was for you to need me, and that was never going to happen. It was so one-sided. You fell for me because I leaned on you, and as soon as I didn’t need you in a way you understood then you got uncomfortable. I sensed as much really early. I thought that I’d been stupid in the first place, letting myself lean on you, and if you knew I was diabetic then you’d figure I needed you still more, and the relationship would never go past being you the rescuer.’

  ‘This isn’t making sense.’

  ‘It’s not, is it?’ she said. ‘But I hate people feeling sorry for me because I’m diabetic.’

  ‘I wouldn’t have felt sorry for you.’

  ‘No, but you would have supported me, and it would have felt more as if I needed you, and there was no way our relationship was going to work out that way. I was fighting so hard to get through to you on a personal level. And then I got pregnant and Paul was injured and it didn’t matter any more anyway.’

  He shook his head, obviously still trying to work things out.

  ‘Your diabetes,’ he said at last, and she Gina knew he was returning to medicine because that was an easy route. When in emotional crisis, turn to what you’re good at.

  Well, why not? ‘What about my diabetes?’

  ‘It’s obviously well controlled.’

  ‘Why obviously?’

  ‘Because I never knew.’ Once again he seemed to be fighting to contain anger.

  ‘It wasn’t, actually,’ she told him. ‘I’ve struggled for years and my pregnancy was a nightmare. But there’s a new background insulin that was released last year and it’s fabulous. I haven’t had a hypo since I’ve been on it.’

  ‘You never had a hypo when you were with me.’

  ‘Of course I did.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘It mostly happened at night,’ she told him. ‘I’d wake feeling dizzy and sick and I’d head to the kitchen for juice. I did my injecting in the bathroom.’

  ‘I never heard.’

  ‘Of course you didn’t.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘After we’d made love,’ she said softly, remembering, ‘you’d sleep on the far side of the bed so I didn’t disturb you. You needed space, as I remember. You always needed space.’

  More silence. Loaded silence.

  ‘I’d have seen your injecting sites,’ he said at last.

  ‘Would you?’ She shrugged. ‘That needs real intimacy, Cal. Making love in the daylight with our eyes open. We hadn’t reached it. I’m not sure we would have.’

  ‘Why are you telling me this now?’

  ‘I’m being honest. I don’t know where else to go.’

  ‘You don’t need to go anywhere.’

  ‘Meaning what?’

  ‘Meaning you have to stay here.’ The anger was growing, she thought, and the anger was self-directed. Fury at himself for not noticing?

  Just plain fury.

  ‘You can’t go back to the States,’ he told her.

  ‘Why on earth not?’

  ‘Hell, Gina, you need-’

  ‘I don’t need anything,’ she flashed at him. ‘Get that through your head, will you? I don’t need you. CJ doesn’t need a father. He’s got great memories of Paul and they’ll last him a lifetime. I don’t need a husband. I have family and friends back in Idaho. I have a great career. I’m not a lost soul here, Cal.’

  ‘I can look after you.’ It was as if he wasn’t hearing her. He was gripping the steering-wheel so tightly it was likely to crack at any minute.

  ‘I can look after myself.’

  ‘Look, Townsville was a bad idea,’ he said. ‘I know that. It was a dumb suggestion. At least, by yourself it was a bad idea. But together maybe things could work as they did last time you were here. We could set up house here.’

  ‘You’re not suggesting I marry you?’ she said, astounded.

  ‘We’re good together.’

  ‘No, we’re not. Have you been listenin
g to a thing I’ve been saying?’

  ‘How did you cope with a pregnancy and type one diabetes and a quadriplegic husband?’ he demanded, and she sighed.

  ‘I’m sure I don’t know. And I did it without you. Astounding, isn’t it?’

  ‘It’s not astounding,’ he said, catching the sarcasm in her voice and his own voice gentling in response. ‘But it must have been hell.’

  ‘Maybe. But that’s got nothing to do with the here and now. Or with what I do in the future.’

  ‘You say you love me.’

  ‘That has nothing to do with it either,’ she told him.

  ‘Hell, Gina, if I’d known… If you knew how much I’d wondered about you…’

  ‘You would have come galloping to the rescue,’ she whispered.

  ‘Of course I would. Gina, I love you.’

  ‘See, that’s the problem here.’ She bit her lip, aware that her hold on the thread of this conversation was growing tenuous. She was barely making sense to herself, much less to him. ‘I’m not sure you’ve really figured that out. You think it was dumb not telling you I was diabetic. You don’t know why I didn’t tell you.’

  ‘No, but-’

  ‘Shut up, Cal,’ she told him. ‘Just shut up.’

  The country around the car was changing now, the bushland near the coast giving way to the rocky country where they’d driven last night. They were nearing the site of the crash. Cal slowed, but there was no need. There were a couple of deep gashes in the gravel, a pool of spilt oil but nothing else. Everything had been cleared.

  They drove in silence for a couple of minutes more, and Gina knew Cal was thinking exactly what she was thinking. What an appalling waste. And how quickly life could be snuffed out.

  Was she crazy, throwing away Cal’s offer? she wondered. He was saying marry him. Live here. Happily ever after?

  Maybe she was just plain dumb, but she glanced across at Cal’s set face and knew she was exactly right. She had no choice.

  ‘Cal, I don’t want a relationship based on need,’ she told him. ‘Or…not just my need. Sure, I love you but…’

  ‘Well, then-’

  ‘Let me explain,’ she snapped. Honestly. Maybe a letter would be easier. She had to get her tongue around the right words.

  ‘Even if I needed you-which I don’t-that’s no basis for a marriage,’ she told him. ‘Paul taught me that. He worked out the hard way that marriage was a really special thing. He sacrificed a lot to try and find it, and he didn’t find it for himself, but I know exactly what it is and I’m not prepared to opt for second best. Cal, I love you, and all right, in one sense-in the sense of never being really happy apart-I need you. You say you love me and you want me, but you’re only admitting that to yourself because you believe that I need you. You’d never in a pink fit say that you need me.’

  ‘I don’t need anyone.’

  ‘There’s the rub,’ she said sadly. ‘There’s the reason the whole thing’s not going to end in happy ever after. Because you won’t let yourself need. You won’t cuddle me to comfort yourself because you might get dependent. You say you didn’t know I was diabetic? That’s because you were so busy preserving your private space that you didn’t notice that I had mine. I’m sorry, Cal, but CJ and I need more than that.’

  ‘Gina, I’m asking you to marry me.’

  ‘Am I expected to be grateful?’

  ‘No. Yes. But-’

  ‘I am grateful, Cal,’ she said, softening in front of the anguish in his face. ‘And I would love to be married to you. But I need to be needed, too, and I won’t spend my life being grateful.’ She thought about it-or tried to think about it. They were approaching the settlement now and time was running out.

  ‘Cal, I want you to sleep with me and hold me and miss me desperately when I’m not there,’ she told him, speaking almost to herself rather than him. ‘I don’t want you to train yourself to sleep on the other side of the bed in case one day I disappear. I want a relationship that’s based on us being together for ever. Sure, one day it’ll end and it’ll hurt like crazy when that happens, but your way, hurt will be there all the time. Why let that happen when we could have forty years of cuddling?’

  She caught her breath and blinked. Whoa, she was being too deep for comfort.

  ‘Unless you snore,’ she added, trying frantically to retrieve the situation. ‘Then you’re off to your side of the bed so fast you’ll probably be ejected to the middle of next week.’

  He didn’t smile He didn’t even try to smile.

  ‘Gina, I can’t do that,’ she said slowly. ‘You know I can’t. What you’re asking…’

  ‘Is too much. I know that. That’s why I’m going home.’ She took a deep breath and tried to regroup. ‘So let’s cut out the talk of marriage, Cal Jamieson,’ she told him. ‘Let’s see what this community needs. Move back to medicine. It’s the only sanity in a world that seems often to be nuts in every other department. Tomorrow Bruce has asked that CJ and I go croc spotting with him, and the day after that I’m going home. We’ll exchange Christmas cards and birthday cards and leave it at that. Your precious independence won’t be compromised at all.’

  ‘There has to be a middle road.’

  ‘There isn’t,’ she said bluntly. ‘Get used to it.’

  Jim Cooper stood at the back step and watched Honey usher the house cow into the bale. And frowned. Megan did the milking. She’d done the milking since she was eight years old. To see his wife doing it…well, something was wrong.

  ‘What’s wrong with Meg?’

  ‘She’s not well,’ Honey said in a clipped, strained voice that was unusual for the determinedly cheerful Honey.

  That was when Jim felt the first shiver of fear. Or maybe it was more than a shiver. Maybe he knew that this was the end.

  Honey had lost her optimism.

  It was Honey’s hopefulness that kept this family together, he thought. No matter what happened, Honey had always said things would be fine.

  When the Wetherbys had cut off access to the creek at the crossing, meaning their stock were at the mercy of the district’s notoriously unreliable rainfall, Honey had said they’d cope. There wouldn’t be a drought. The rains would be reliable, at least until they’d got Megan through university and had saved enough for retirement.

  When the drought had hit she’d said they could weather it. They could sell some stock and Megan didn’t have to go to university quite yet.

  When he’d had his heart attack she’d said it had just been minor, hadn’t the doctor said? And, yes, he needed bypass surgery, but if they couldn’t afford it then that was that, and surely a minor heart attack meant that the bypass could wait until after the rains came.

  Meanwhile she and Megan were strong and they didn’t mind doing more than their share of the work.

  Then when Megan had fallen in love with that boy, she’d said she’d get over it, she was young, there were lots more boys, but, please, God, she wouldn’t find one until after the rains because they needed Megan so much, and wasn’t it lucky Megan was such a good girl?

  Honey. The eternal optimist. But now… Honey’s face was pressed against the cow’s warm flank and she looked…defeated.

  ‘What’s wrong with Megan?’ Jim asked again.

  ‘Women’s troubles.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘And maybe she has some sort of infection,’ Honey added reluctantly. ‘Yeah, that’ll be it. Women’s troubles and flu. Don’t go near her, Jim. I don’t want you to catch it.’

  Jim stared down at his wife for a long time. Honey kept on with her milking, methodically clearing the teats, her face carefully expressionless.

  ‘I will check Megan,’ Jim said at last. ‘Sorry, Honey, but you can’t protect me from everything for ever.’

  The afternoon was a long one.

  Cal came out to this settlement once a week. They rotated this duty, so three different doctors visited, with three different specialties. The settlement had a popula
tion of two to three hundred but the numbers changed as the various nomadic tribes arrived and stayed for a time before taking off on walkabout again. The nomads were generally healthy, Cal knew. It was those whose tribes had dwindled so far as to make the nomadic lifestyle untenable-those whose backgrounds had hauled them out of the ancient ways and left them with nothing to replace it-they were the ones who were in trouble. They stayed in these camps with no plan for the future, and in many cases they had drifted into despair.

  Cal came out here once a week and he worked through medical problems, but every time he came here he tried to figure out how he could help.

  Without getting involved.

  His first patient for the afternoon was a teenager with a ragged gash from a fight involving broken bottles. His second patient was the kid’s opponent. The cuts had been roughly patched but they needed deep cleaning, debridement, an administration of fast-acting antibiotics and a lecture on care.

  The lecture would fall on deaf ears.

  Five years ago he’d started a club for kids like these back at Townsville. Gina had talked him into it. But after she’d left… He’d gone down to the club and he’d realised that these kids had given him comfort. That helping kids like these had felt good.

  That he’d cared.

  And the knowledge had had him backing off as if he’d been burned. He’d told himself he needed to move to Crocodile Creek. He needed to concentrate on his medicine, and he couldn’t do that if he was emotionally involved.

  Work.

  ‘Why the hell,’ he asked the boy he was stitching, ‘were you fighting with broken bottles? I thought you and Aaron were mates.’

  ‘We were on the petrol,’ the boy said, a bit shamefaced. ‘I was off me head, like. Aaron was, too. After the accident…all our mates dead…we didn’t know what else to do so we started on the petrol to kill time till the olds got back from the hospital. Aaron must’ a said something to set me off, but dunno what. Just lucky it hurt, like, before we got too far.’

  ‘Before the community had someone else to mourn,’ Cal said grimly. ‘Slicing like this could have meant you bled to death.’

  ‘Nah.’

  Cal sighed. Petrol sniffing was endemic here, used to alleviate boredom, loneliness, dissociation. There were so many problems.