He hadn’t seen the red mist that he’d read about in books, hadn’t seen or heard anything, although he knew there’d been shouting. He’d simply charged in, fists flailing, more missing than connecting but throwing enough lucky ones for the boy to end up with a black eye and a broken nose.
During the weeks he’d been suspended from school, he’d gone to work with Pop, too young to drive the big rig then but keeping him company, and Pop had never once spoken of the incident, just chatted on as Pop did when he was driving, pointing out places of interest, taking Marty to towns he’d never visited before.
But Pop was basically a quiet man, so there had been plenty of silence for Marty’s head to think about what had happened, and about his reaction. To think about his father, and worry that he was like him...
And at the end of the two weeks’ banishment, Hallie had packed his lunch and put it in his backpack, kissed his cheek, and sent him off with the others as if nothing had ever happened.
Their attitude had confused him and it was only years later that he’d spoken to them about it.
‘What could we say that you weren’t learning for yourself? You were bright enough to work out you had to find other ways to react, and better ways to protect your family and friends.’
She’d looked at him across the table with its teapot full of endless cups of tea and smiled.
‘And you did, didn’t you?’
She’d been right. He’d learned to walk away, taking a sibling or friend with him—to turn his back on bullies instead of becoming a bully himself.
Which had been fine until girlfriends had entered his life—and one had left his life for another bloke and—
What had he been?
Eighteen?
And yet he hadn’t actually hurt the bloke for all he’d wanted to...
* * *
Emma woke at midday, surprised she’d slept at all, until she read the note Christine had left on the kitchen table.
‘We’ve all gone to Wetherby for the day. Hallie and Pop are cleaning out the attics and have found some toys the boys might like.’
And in a different hand, ‘Might make a day of it and bring you back fish and chips for dinner. Love Dad.’
Disappointment shafted through her, though maybe, her practical self told her, it was hunger. But as she made and ate some toast and drank a morning coffee, she did feel a little disappointed that she couldn’t talk to her father about the photo and the portrait on her wall.
She’d checked it again when she’d got up—holding the two close together—and she was sure they were images of the same woman.
But who?
The great-aunt she’d never met?
She phoned Carrie, but got an answering-machine and assumed she’d probably gone on the jaunt to Wetherby as well. The people carrier she and Dad had bought when she’d been expecting the twins would certainly hold everyone.
And leave room for toys.
Anyway, Carrie would be too young to know much. Someone’s grandmother, that’s who she’d need to find.
Joss?
Joss’s mother had produced Christine, and Emma still had the phone number.
But what to say?
Do you know the woman in this photo?
Surely that would be far too personal—and too intrusive because, dead or not, she’d still be meddling in Ken Irvine’s affairs.
She sighed, deciding to give up thinking about the photo at least until she’d talked to her father...
But not thinking about the photo created a vacuum in her mind and, naturally enough, into it rushed the other revelations of the night.
If she thought only about Marty’s story—about his mother’s death—and his determination not to risk hurting anyone he loved, maybe she’d forget what had happened later.
Hardly possible as her body tingled just not remembering it.
She’d go to work. That would stop her thinking about anything outside the job at hand. And although she had no idea just how her work roster stood at the moment, never having worked out how the rescue helicopter hours fitted into the general work timetable, there’d always be something she could do, even if it meant attacking the mountains of paperwork that multiplied on her desk in the small office she shared with the other ED doctors.
Except Marty was the first person she saw when she walked in.
‘What are you doing here?’ she demanded, before realising he was surrounded by young men and women and she’d embarrassed herself far more than she’d embarrassed him.
‘Ah, Emma, just the person we needed,’ he said, with such a bland smile she wanted to hit him. ‘These are a group of medical students from Retford university. We always take some for work experience so they can see a smaller hospital in action, and although we don’t wish for accidents it’s an opportunity for them to see how the search and rescue team operates.’
Emma smiled feebly at the four young women and two young men who made up the group.
‘Emma,’ Marty continued, ‘usually joins the rescue team when we have a callout that requires a doctor.’
‘And is she trained the way you say you’re trained?’ one of the young women asked, flashing such a dazzling smile at Marty Emma wanted to hit her.
Or him, for he was smiling right back at the questioner, all daring charm.
‘Of course,’ he said. ‘We had a training day only last week. Every member of the team has to update their skills twice a year.’
The young woman looked as if she’d have liked to have been at the training day, and Marty’s smile suggested he wouldn’t have minded at all, but one of the men was now asking, ‘Don’t most SAR teams have their own doctors on staff? Wouldn’t it be better carrying a doctor who knows what he’s doing?’
He realised what he’d said, blushed, and turned to Emma.
‘Sorry, ma’am, that came out wrong.’
‘Indeed it did,’ Marty replied, not bothering to hide his delight at both Emma’s and the young man’s embarrassment. ‘But we’re a very small operation, situated at a small country hospital because from here we can cover a far wider range than we would flying out of Retford, for example. Originally this service was connected to the Lifesaver’s movement with sponsorship from big business, and we still get that sponsorship, although we get some government help as well.’
‘So all doctors here at Braxton can be on call?’ the young man persisted, and Emma took pity on him.
‘In areas where there are no doctors employed by search and rescue operations the local doctors, usually from the emergency department, are used. I think one of the reasons I got this job was because I’d been trained for SAR missions, and had done winch training, underwater rescue, which is great fun if ever you want to get into SAR, rescues off moving targets like ships at sea, the lot.’
The young man looked at her in admiration.
‘I wish we’d been here for that training day you had, it sounds like fun.’
Emma’s eyes met Marty’s across the young heads, and the slight nod he gave told her that he, too, was thinking of Ken. But they were young and idealistic, these students, and didn’t really need to know about sitting by someone’s bed waiting for them to die when all your years of training and experience had been about helping people live...
A wave of tiredness swept over her and she knew she’d have been better off staying at home and trying to sleep, no matter what thoughts would have run in circles through her head.
‘Will you join us for lunch? We’re just off to continue this discussion in the canteen then we’re taking the hospital bus out to the base to show them around.’
Emma would have loved to say no, but there’d been the hint of a plea in Marty’s voice, and if he felt as tired as she was feeling, he would need help to field the students’ questions.
The young man who’d ask
ed the question—Alex, she’d discovered—made sure he sat next to her at the long table, and Emma smiled to herself as she saw the young women crowd around Marty.
Like moths to a flame, she thought, and realised that, quite apart from his commitment problems, he would be a dangerous man to know well because he was kind and interesting and always willing to help, but anyone who loved him would live in a constant state of jealousy which would surely eat away at the strongest relationship.
Anyone who loved him?
No, no, she definitely didn’t.
Couldn’t!
So why was she probably turning green as he patted a beautiful young blonde on the hand?
Why did her stomach scrunch when he smiled at the hot brunette?
Damn the man! He’d bewitched her. He’d made it quite clear right from the start—and had definitely confirmed it last night—that he wasn’t available for any kind of commitment, then he’d taken her with a passion that had imprinted him not only in her mind but on her body.
The problem was that she’d responded with equal intensity and although she had known full well it had been nothing more than just sex, her body tingled even thinking about it.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
THE STUDENT GROUP, and Alex in particular, begged her to come out to the SAR base with them, but she pleaded work and hurried back to the ED. She knew, given time, she’d get over the heart lurches and galloping pulse every time she saw Marty, but until that happened, avoidance was definitely the answer.
Sylvie greeted her with relief.
‘We’re having one of those days when it’s dead quiet for an hour, then everyone comes at once. Could you see a lass in cubicle one who’s complaining of stomach cramps?’
Emma was only too glad to be occupied, and she made her way to the cubicle where a very young woman, a teenager, in fact, was crying copiously into a handful of paper tissues the nurse on duty had given her.
The lass was very overweight and was probably bullied mercilessly at school.
The nurse introduced Ebony to Emma, then muttered something about work to do and departed, so Emma helped the still-crying patient onto the examination table.
Even under layers of clothing unsuited to the warm weather, once Ebony was lying supine, a possible cause of the stomach cramps became obvious.
Not wanting to cause further distress, Emma checked Ebony’s blood pressure—good—pulse, a bit rapid but no cause for concern, and took some blood for testing—and typing, although she didn’t say that out loud.
She was feeling Ebony’s swollen stomach when the girl yowled in pain.
Emma held her hand, noted the time, then said gently, ‘Did you know you were pregnant?’
Colour drained from Ebony’s face, leaving it as white as the pillow case.
‘Dad’ll kill me,’ she said, and Emma closed her eyes momentarily in a silent Please don’t let it be Dad prayer.
‘Do you have a boyfriend?’
A miserable nod of the head.
‘Once I did but then he was just like the others and laughed and called me Fatty.’
‘But you had sex with him?’ Emma was watching the clock as she spoke—the contractions, for that was surely what they had been, were still widely spaced.
‘Only a couple of times.’ The defensive reply must have brought unwanted memories for Ebony began to cry again.
She felt Ebony’s abdomen, finding the shape of the foetus, then, speaking quietly, she explained she’d have to examine her.
The nurse had reappeared, and together they removed Ebony’s jeans and knickers.
Even a quick glance showed the cervix had begun to dilate. This baby was coming.
‘The cramps are telling us the baby is on the way. It will be a while yet—’ please let it not be too long, her head whispered ‘—so is there someone you’d like to have with you. What about your mum?’
Hope battled the tears in Ebony’s eyes.
‘Do you think she’d come?’ she asked. ‘She’ll be mad at me, you see. She mightn’t want to come.’
‘Would you like me to phone her and explain?’ Emma asked, then watched the emotions play across Ebony’s face.
Mum would be mad, but she did want Mum, but then Mum would tell Dad, although Mum could usually fix Dad when he was angry. They were as easy to read as the pages of a book.
Finally, Ebony nodded, and Emma took the file with the name and address on it so she could phone the mother, leaving Ebony with the nurse.
‘The cramps?’ Sylvie asked. ‘Is she pregnant?’
Emma nodded. ‘Could you arrange to have her taken up to Maternity, while I phone her mother? Poor woman, although maybe she’s had her suspicions.’
Sylvie was already on the house phone, arranging the transfer, so Emma made the call from the privacy of her office.
Mrs Challoner, Ebony’s mum, was not nearly as surprised as her daughter.
‘I kept thinking maybe that was it,’ she said, ‘but at that age they hate you asking questions and with all the sex education they get at school I thought she’d know if she was—or even suspected it—and she’d talk to me.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Emma said. ‘But perhaps she didn’t know. If she’s usually a bit irregular she probably put it down to that then forgot all about it.’
‘Or was so terrified she shut it right out of her mind,’ Mrs Challoner said, a break in her voice telling Emma how upset she was—not, Emma thought, about the pregnancy, but about Ebony not talking to her.
‘I’ll be right up,’ the anxious mother said. ‘Where will I find her?’
‘Come to the emergency department. We’re transferring her to Maternity but it sometimes takes time and if she’s still here, she’ll be happier going up there with you than on her own.’
‘Bless you,’ Mrs Challoner said. ‘I’ll be there as soon as I can.’
Bless you.
What a lovely thing for someone to have said, Emma thought as she made her way back to Ebony to assure her that her mother was on the way.
Two words—but enough to reassure Emma too. This mother would stand by her child and probably bring up her grandchild.
And for a moment she wondered what it would have been like to grow up with a mother.
She shook the thought away. Dad had done his best to be both mother and father to her, and as far as she was concerned he’d done a damned good job.
But would her boys grow up and wonder what it might have been like to have had a father?
Should she get serious about finding a father for them?
Somehow that task seemed slightly distasteful now.
It was all Marty’s fault...
* * *
Marty had finished with the students and was back in Ken’s shack, flying out in his own chopper on what should have been time off. The old man had prided himself on keeping it clean, but he’d probably been failing for some time, and Marty wanted to make sure it was as spruce as Ken would have had it in the early days.
Yet walking in brought memories of Emma—of her closeness as they’d sat waiting for the old man to die, of her softness later when they’d found relief from the trauma that came with any death, back at his house...
He cleared and cleaned almost maniacally, aware his burst of energy was a way of not remembering. And when he was finally happy that Ken’s little home looked as it had when the old man had been younger, he went out into the bush, picking red gum tips and yellow bottlebrush, dark green fig leaves and some trailing creeper.
He arranged them all in a big old coffee can, just as Ken had done, and set them in the empty fireplace. They’d dry out there, and still look good—a dried arrangement, Hallie had told him they were called.
He checked the cleared area around the shack for rubbish and loaded it all into the chopper.
Th
en he walked towards the little creek that gurgled and splashed its way down the mountain, and sat on the log where he had sat at least a dozen times with Ken, listening to his stories of the bush, picking up a lot of the older man’s ideas about life and how to live it—about being true to oneself, and owing nothing to any man.
And love?
Thinking back, he couldn’t remember discussing love with Ken, although he’d been there often as a teenager when love—or more probably lust—had never been far from his thoughts.
‘What would you have said, Ken?’ he asked of the man who was no longer there.
But try as he might, Marty couldn’t imagine what Ken’s response would have been, and as the creek had nothing to tell him either, he walked back to shut the door of the shack and took himself, reluctantly, back to Braxton.
Reluctantly because he was off duty and being off duty gave him more time to think, and while he might now be out of the shack and his memories of Ken’s life, the fact remained that he’d had unprotected sex with the one woman in the world he would hate to hurt.
Maybe it would be okay...
She was looking for a father for her boys, so she was probably on the Pill...
Surely she was on the Pill?
Yet, somehow, he was pretty sure she wasn’t.
Emma was too organised, too methodical, to look beyond going out with any possible candidates in her quest. She was conservative, would take it slowly, not rush into anything—
Which meant she’d go on the Pill when she was ready to commit to a man, not take it all the time just in case.
Concentrate on flying, he told himself, but he knew he could fly this little toy in his sleep.
Nevertheless, he did concentrate, more to block out the other thoughts, and he landed at the base, carried the rubbish bags to the skip, cleaned out and refuelled the chopper, and even gave it a wash.
‘Too much time on your hands?’ Dave called to him. ‘You can help me do a stocktake, then while I clean out the chopper you can take the list to the hospital and bring back the stock.’
No way! He was avoiding the hospital.
Only surely Emma wouldn’t be there—not after pulling an all-nighter.
From Bachelor to Daddy Page 15
