But if he read the signs correctly, she was feeling even more strain at this unexpected meeting than he was.
‘Alex was saying we’re going to be neighbours.’
Could he really be having this stilted conversation with Clare? Clare who had laughed and loved and thrown herself into life with enormous energy and enthusiasm? Thrown herself into their relationship, making every moment they were together special and intense.
Until the day he’d told her he didn’t want a baby and, unable to believe he’d never mentioned this before, unable to even discuss it with him, she’d walked out…
And he’d let her go, furious at her lack of understanding of his situation—his feelings in all of it! How could he have contemplated fatherhood when he didn’t know who his own father was, didn’t know himself? And how could he have considered marriage when his closest experience of it—his mother’s three attempts—had been so disastrous?
He was reminding himself of this justification when Clare spoke again.
‘You were saying you’ve read our landlord’s books?’
‘There’s no need to sound so surprised,’ he grumbled, memories of the past bothering him more than he’d thought possible. ‘I’ve time to read these days.’
She smiled at him and he felt his heart miss another beat. Frequent ectopic heartbeats might be indicative of a problem of some kind, his medical brain told him.
‘You didn’t have time for any relaxation back then,’ she said.
Except with you, he thought but didn’t say, for there was a barrier between them, like a glass wall through which he could see and hear but not touch. Not that he would touch her, of course. No matter how much his fingers tingled at the thought.
Of course there’d be a barrier between them. It had been ten years; they’d split up. There were issues—wasn’t that the word people used these days? So many unresolved issues it was more like a brick rampart than a glass wall between them.
Back to the present!
‘My car’s illegally parked downstairs. Can I follow you to the flat?’
‘You can give me a lift.’
The moment the words were out of her mouth Clare regretted them. She needed to get away from Oliver, not spend more time with him, especially not more time in the privacy a car offered.
She needed time to think things through, to work out how on earth she was going to tell him about Emily.
Not that he deserved to know! He hadn’t wanted a child.
The tiny whisper from one corner of her brain was tempting, but she slapped it down. Of course he’d have to know, and now they’d come together, didn’t Em deserve to know her father? Hadn’t Clare always told Em that one day they’d find him so she could meet him?
But ‘one day’ in Clare’s mind had been when Em was eighteen or so—an adult who would understand the traumatic period of time that had been Clare’s pregnancy, not to mention the aftermath of Emily’s birth!
She should have directed him to the flat; it was just down the road. But here he was, saying he’d be delighted—ever polite, Oliver Rankin—and putting out a hand to usher her towards the door.
She moved, just in time to avoid contact with him, but knew that as well as the Emily problem, she had to sort herself out, to strengthen her body against the insidious physical weakness just seeing him again had caused. There was too much at stake for her to be distracted by attraction.
‘I need to speak to Alex about something, so I’ll meet you downstairs. The easiest way is to take the blue exit from the car park. I’ll be down there near the gate in five minutes.’
Alex was still at the front of the meeting room, stacking some papers he’d spread out earlier. What excuse could she give? What question could she ask?
Had he noticed her hesitation that he looked up?
‘Everything all right, Clare?’ he asked. ‘Emily settled in at school?’
‘Just fine and dandy, and yes, she loves it,’ she replied, hovering by her chair while Oliver left the room. But Alex’s question had reminded Clare that Alex and Annie knew Emily, and Rod knew Emily—it wasn’t as if you could keep a nine-year-old a secret.
Clare dropped her briefcase, which gave her an excuse to sit down. Knowing she couldn’t just sit, she leant down to retrieve the leather case, fiddling with the catches on it while she tried valiantly to regain the poise on which she prided herself, the composure she’d fought so hard to achieve!
‘I only know of Angus from his colleagues, but Oliver worked with us earlier this year,’ Alex was saying. ‘He’s a fine surgeon, and if Angus is even half as good as people say he is, we’ve got a team that you’ll discover is every bit as good as the ones you’ve already worked with. At least, I hope you find it that way.’
Clare smiled at him. He was so nice! He and Annie, his wife, had invited her and Emily for dinner the previous Saturday, and seeing their relationship—the obvious love they felt for each other—had left Clare wondering why relationships worked for some people and not for others.
Her body tightened at the memory…
Ached…
Oliver eased his car out of the parking space, thankful he hadn’t been clamped. The signs to the blue exit were clear and easy to follow, but it took some manoeuvring to reach it. Clare came hurrying towards him, the movement blurring her image so he saw the beautiful girl who’d first caught his attention—the girl he’d thought was his for ever—running eagerly to meet him.
He couldn’t fool himself about ectopic heartbeats any longer; his body was reacting to this bizarre reunion, to her presence, although that could be explained away as well. It was a while since he’d had a relationship with a woman, put off women by the words of his most recent lover who’d informed him he was nothing but an empty shell of a man, with no understanding of love whatsoever.
The woman Clare, not the girl he’d known, climbed into the car and pointed ahead.
‘We go through the lights and straight down that road across from the park. I think most of the team seem to live along here, though maybe not the nurses, who’d be local Sydney people. It’s such a pleasant walk to work I haven’t considered buying a car yet.’
I, not we, Oliver thought, then he had to ask.
‘You’re on the team list as C. Jackson? You never married?’
He sensed her withdrawal and knew the glass wall was very definitely back in place.
‘Once, for a very brief time. It was a mistake,’ she said lightly, turning to look out the window at the houses they were passing. ‘We’re four more down, the house with the red door. There’s a common foyer on the ground floor, and stairs up to a landing. The two flats open off that. They’re fully furnished and very comfortable but I guess Alex already told you that.’
She might as well have said, Mind your own business, changing the subject from marriage to accommodation so swiftly, yet the thought of Clare with someone else had sent a shaft of pain through his belly.
Ridiculous, of course; he’d been with other women.
He pulled up outside the house she’d indicated, double-parking as all the marked spaces were already occupied.
‘There’s a garage around the back. Rod has a vehicle that’s been adapted for a wheelchair but there’d be room for another car. Drive on and I’ll show you how to get into the lane. Sorry, I didn’t think of it earlier.’
Clare knew she was babbling as he followed her directions, but sitting in the close confines of the car with Oliver was even worse than she’d imagined. Somehow she’d been transported back to when they’d met and she’d fallen so helplessly in love—to when any time with Oliver was special. Her stupid body was responding to his presence, her physical delight totally uncontrollable no matter how much she tried to overcome it with strong mental warnings.
Even the panic and worry she was feeling over Em did little to dampen her reactions.
‘Park here—I’ll get the gate. You can ease the car into the yard while I go in and check with Rod if it’s
okay to use the garage.’
Finding the gate shut had been a relief. She all but leapt from the vehicle, opening the two sides of the gate, then hurrying to the rear door of Rod’s flat.
He was in the small conservatory at the back, his gnarled arthritic fingers pecking furiously at the keyboard of his laptop. She knocked on the glass.
‘I hope I haven’t ruined your train of thought,’ she apologised, ‘but Oliver, Dr Rankin, has arrived and has a car. Can he park it beside yours in the garage?’
Rod waved away her apology and wheeled towards her, coming out to meet his new tenant.
‘Can’t help you with your cases, mate,’ he said to Oliver a little later when the car was snug inside the garage and Oliver was heaving two cases from the trunk.
‘I can,’ Clare found herself offering, but Oliver, being Oliver, refused her offer, carrying them both himself.
‘Come through my place,’ Rod suggested, and led the way into his flat, always neat and tidy, the minimum of furniture allowing his chair to move freely through the apartment. He opened his front door, showed them into the foyer and handed Oliver a set of keys.
‘Clare will take you up,’ he said.
‘No papers to sign? No lease agreements?’ Oliver asked.
‘If you’re working for Alex, you’re okay,’ Rod replied. Then he smiled. ‘Actually all the financial details will be in a folder on your kitchen bench. Annie, my daughter, organises all of that for me. Her phone number is there as well as mine, so phone if you need anything or have any questions.’
He then looked from Oliver to Clare before he added, ‘Or ask Clare—she’s been here a week now, settling in, so she knows her way around.’
He turned from Oliver to Clare and added, ‘Have you heard from Emily this week? Does she still think the school’s the best in the world?’
Emily! Emily! Emily!
The name hammered in Clare’s head, but she had to reply.
‘She still loves it,’ she managed to say, although her vocal cords were so tight it was a wonder the words came out.
‘Emily?’ Oliver repeated as he followed her up the stairs.
Could she faint? Clare wondered. Faint and topple backwards down the stairs, possibly breaking her neck which right now, extreme though it might be, seemed preferable to answering Oliver’s question.
‘My daughter,’ she managed, forcing the words through even tighter vocal cords, so she sounded shrill, if not hysterical.
‘Fancy that! So you got the child you wanted,’ Oliver said as they reached the landing. The ice in his voice was visible in his eyes as he looked down at her and added, ‘Got the child and dumped the husband once his usefulness was over? Was that how it worked?’
Clare could only stare at him, her mind a chaotic battlefield, one voice yelling at her to tell him right now, another suggesting physical assault, while a third was advocating flight. She steeled herself against them all, looked him in the eyes and, hoping she sounded far more cool and in control than she felt, said, ‘You never used to be spiteful, Oliver.’
After which she turned away to unlock her door, and dive into the sanctuary of her flat. Oliver’s voice saying her name was the last thing she heard before she shut him out.
She leaned against the door, shaking with the hurt he’d inflicted, trying to breathe deeply, desperate to stem the waves of panic that washed through her mind and body.
Ten deep breaths, wasn’t that the rule—no, maybe that was counting to ten before you murdered someone. Well, there was an idea!
Three deep breaths…
Now think rationally!
Monday was as good as done, which meant she had four more days—four days to find a way to tell Oliver Emily was his daughter before Em came home and almost inevitably met him in person.
Clare’s mind went back into panic mode and breathing deeply didn’t seem to help.
Of course she had to tell him. Forget that his reaction just now had been so hateful. He had to know!
But the hub of it all was Emily. As far as Clare was concerned, Emily’s welfare, her happiness and emotional stability, had to be protected at all costs. Forget how Oliver might feel about Em’s mother, forget how Em’s parents might feel about each other—or whatever kinds of messes they’d made of their respective lives—at the heart of whatever lay ahead was Emily’s well-being.
Chapter Two
OF ALL the impossible things to have happened! Oliver set his cases down in the small foyer and took a look around. Small sitting area, the open plan revealing a dining nook in a bay window and a kitchen behind a high bench at the back.
She had a child.
Stop thinking about Clare; look around your new home.
He could move; Alex had said it would be okay.
No, look around.
Neat, tastefully furnished, all he needed in the way of space. He turned aside, into a reasonably sized bedroom, again a bay window, this one overlooking the front yard and the street and park across the road, while down a small hall he discovered a bathroom and a second bedroom, small, but furnished with a good-size desk as well as a bed, so it was obvious any single tenant would use it as a study.
Or a tenant with a child could use it for the child.
How could he live next door to Clare’s child—the child he’d denied her?
A child who wasn’t a toddler, if she was at school. Why hadn’t he realised just how desperate Clare had been?
Because he’d assumed getting pregnant had been a whim, that’s why. Possibly something to make his commitment to her more—
More what?
Binding?
No, she’d known all along he had no intention of marrying and he’d assumed she’d understood that meant no children.
He closed his eyes but her image was once again imprinted in his mind. Not the image from the past, but the image of the new Clare, more heart-stoppingly beautiful than ever.
He swore quietly to himself. Why was he letting her affect him this way? On top of which, the fact that she had a child was none of his business. Where was his self-discipline? Surely he was professional enough that he could treat her as a colleague.
But even as that thought formed in his head another part of his brain was echoing with mocking laughter. As if that’s possible, it was saying, when your libido jolts to attention any time she’s around. Ectopic heartbeats indeed—be honest, it’s lust, mate!
Had it been more than lust the first time? Maybe not love—he wasn’t sure what love entailed—but definitely he’d felt a deep affection for her. How could he not when she’d been so beautiful and open and honest?
So loving!
Did she still see their relationship as five wasted years?
No! It was in the past. This was now. And if the child—Emily, Rod had said—was at school, Clare hadn’t exactly hung around mourning their break-up.
He gripped his head hard in his hands and squeezed to stop the mental arguments and to shut out the memories.
He would not think about Clare! He would not think about the past. He would move on, continue moving on, and if a tiny part of his mind kept questioning whether he’d ever really moved on from Clare emotionally—well, it was such a quiet voice he could ignore it.
She’d moved on, that was for sure. Changed careers, had a child—he doubted she’d ever given him a passing thought.
Until today, of course…
So?
Forget the past!
He took a deep breath, retrieved his cases, carried them through into the bedroom and began unpacking. He had chests with household items awaiting despatch in Melbourne, wanting to settle in and make sure he liked the flat before having them forwarded on, but for now all he needed to unpack were clothes, the one set of sheets he’d brought with him, a couple of towels and books—lots of books, although many more were in the chests. Reading had become his escape, but from what?
It was the first time he’d asked himself that question and now he had t
o probe further. Was it an escape from thinking too deeply about the sterility of his life? Or an escape from the inner emptiness his old girlfriend had pointed out to him? Or even an escape from feeling anything at all—for anyone…?
He gave a scoffing laugh, and shook off the stupid introspection. Reading was an escape from the intensity of his work, nothing more! And this unfamiliar delving into his psyche was the result of tiredness, having driven through the night to make the meeting this morning, stopping only for a couple of short breaks for safety’s sake.
And considering work, rather than the escape from it, he should read up on tomorrow’s op. With specialists all over the world, someone was always trying something new—discovering a tidier, or more effective, solution for the myriad problems they encountered.
He found his laptop, opened it on the desk in the second bedroom and settled down to search the internet. Hours later, stiff and tired, he closed the laptop and went in search of food—or information about food.
He found the folder in the kitchen and leafed through it. There was a selection of takeaway menus at the back of the notes—ha, food! He selected one and made a phone call. He’d eat, then shower, and get a good night’s sleep—practical, sensible decision making, that’s what was needed here.
A tap at the front door, his flat’s front door, made him wonder how people got in—how his pizza would get in. Did the outer door have a bell of some kind, an arrangement whereby it could be opened from upstairs? Had Annie’s notes explained? He’d read them again, but first see who was at the door.
Clare!
A very twitchy, uptight-looking Clare for all she smiled politely at him before explaining, ‘I thought I should tell you about the doors. On your keys you’ll have a bigger shiny silver key, it’s for the deadlock on the outside door, but if someone comes to visit you there are bells outside the front door. I’ve just labelled your bell with your name. You’ll hear the ring inside, and the button on that phone thing in the hall—this…Pressing it releases the door lock.’
Christmas at Jimmie's Children's Unit Page 17
