by Amy Andrews
‘What are you doing in Brisbane?’ she asked.
‘There’s a carnival at Surfer’s Paradise starting tomorrow. Although...’ he grimaced ‘...I don’t know how good my trigger finger is going to be.’
She looked at his arm, which was in a sling. ‘That could be a problem.’
‘What about you?’ he asked. ‘I didn’t know you wanted to be a nurse.’
It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him he’d never asked but that was a little unfair. Her career prospects hadn’t exactly come up during their three weeks of sun, surf and sex. Her only objective had been to be with someone who wanted her. For a change. He might not have asked but that had more than suited her too.
‘Yep. Always,’ she said evasively, turning to the bench. ‘The anaesthetist should be here shortly,’ she said as she checked the drugs and equipment were ready.
There was silence for a moment or two which he broke.
‘I’m sorry. I owe you an apology for the way I acted...the things I said on the phone that day.’
Miranda straightened her shoulders. ‘It’s fine,’ she dismissed.
‘No. I was in a state of shock and I panicked but that doesn’t excuse it.’
Miranda turned back to face to him. ‘You weren’t alone.’
‘Did you...did you have the baby?’
Miranda contemplated lying to him. It might be easier and kinder in the long run. And maybe he wanted her to lie to him? It would be so easy. She could tell him she’d had a termination. Or a miscarriage. And he wouldn’t be any the wiser. But the same sense of rightness and fairness that had driven her to ring and tell him about Lola all those years ago wasn’t going to let her go rogue now.
He had a right to know he had a child.
His other rights didn’t even bear thinking about.
‘Yes.’
She was aware it wasn’t exactly the time or place to be giving him such news. She’d seen on his chart that he’d had some morphine half an hour ago but he’d asked the question and, under the influence of drugs or not, he deserved the truth.
Mal lifted his head off the pillow and looked at her. ‘So...I’m a father?’
Miranda nodded. ‘Yes. A little girl. Lola.’ She drummed her fingers against the bench. ‘She looks like you.’
His head fell back onto the pillow. ‘A little girl. I have a little girl.’ He shut his eyes and rocked his head gently from side to side before opening them again and saying to the ceiling, ‘I’m a daddy.’
Miranda frowned. No. Patrick was a daddy. Mal was a...sperm donor.
He looked up again. ‘She must be, what?’ He squinted for a moment. ‘Five...six?’
‘Five.’
‘Have you got a picture of her?’
Miranda shook her head. ‘Not on me, no.’
The swing door was pushed open and suddenly Miranda’s day got a little bit worse as Patrick strode in, smiling.
‘Bob’s case has run over so I’m going to do this,’ he informed her chirpily. ‘Hi,’ he said to the patient on the trolley, extending his hand. ‘I’m Patrick Costello and I’ll be doing your anaesthetic today.’
‘This is Mal. Mal Anderson,’ Miranda said.
Patrick thought the name seemed familiar but he was preoccupied by the goofy look on the guy’s face. He’d have thought there would be a lot of pain considering the X-rays he’d just seen of the rather nasty fracture. ‘I think you’ve met Mr Morphine,’ he joked with Mal.
‘Nah,’ Mal said. ‘I just found out I’ve got a kid.’ He grinned.
Miranda suppressed the urge to tell him he’d always known that but Mal was on a roll. ‘Lola. Her name’s Lola.’ He raised his head off the bed and looked at Miranda standing frozen at the bench. ‘Isn’t that right, Mirry?’
It took a moment for Patrick to catch up. He frowned at the overly bronzed, fit-looking guy on the trolley then looked at Miranda, who looked even paler than she usually did.
Like she’d seen a ghost.
‘This is Mal,’ she said through stiff lips. ‘Lola’s father.’
Patrick stared at her for a moment as that particular piece of news filtered in.
Holy crap.
CHAPTER TEN
A FEW HOURS later Patrick and Miranda were sitting at a fast-food restaurant, absently watching the girls play on the playground equipment through the big glass windows. They sucked on thick shakes as they adjusted to the unexpected development.
‘It’s going to be fine,’ Patrick said, placing his hand over hers and giving it a squeeze. He’d said it at least a dozen times now but Miranda didn’t look any more convinced.
Miranda nodded absently and hoped he was right. But she had a bad feeling in the pit of her stomach and maybe that was her natural pessimistic tendency due to the entrenched disappointments of her childhood but, regardless, she couldn’t shake it.
She looked at Patrick. ‘What if he wants to see her?’
Patrick placed his drink on the table. ‘I don’t think you should get ahead of yourself.’
‘She never even asks me about her father. She just accepts that some kids have one parent and that’s that.’
‘You do know she will, though, right? One day?’
Miranda heard a note of something she couldn’t put her finger on in his voice. Reproach? She glared at him. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ she snapped.
Patrick sighed. ‘Nothing... Miranda, I—’
‘What, Patrick? Just say it.’
‘Girls need fathers too, that’s all.’
‘Well, isn’t that what you’re going to be?’ she demanded, knowing her voice was sounding shrill but somehow unable to stop. ‘Do you want to share her with him? A virtual stranger who’ll flit in and out of her life and never be there for her?’
Just like her own father.
‘It’s not ideal, Miranda, granted, but that’s the reality of our situation.’
‘Reality sucks.’
Patrick smiled. He couldn’t argue with that one. ‘That it does.’
Miranda couldn’t believe how calm he was being. It was reassuring, she supposed, but also a little disconcerting. ‘So you’re not worried about this at all?’
Patrick shook his head. ‘The only thing that would worry me is if you still carrying some kind of flame for him.’
Miranda looked at him askance but it was a legitimate concern. ‘Don’t looked so shocked,’ he said. ‘He’s a good-looking guy. He’s certainly closer to your age than I am and shared histories can be a seductive thing. Especially when there’s a very tangible link connecting you.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ she dismissed. ‘Mal was just a...a fling, a symptom of loneliness and lack of attention. I never felt anything for him other than teenage hormones and desperation.’
‘You didn’t ever imagine yourself just a little in love with him?’
Miranda shook her head vehemently. ‘Never.’
Patrick knew he shouldn’t smile but he did anyway. It was good to hear her instant rejection. ‘Well, that’s good to know.’
Miranda rolled her eyes at his smug grin. ‘This is not an ego-stroking exercise,’ she said. It was supposed to be stern but she found herself smiling at him in return. ‘This is serious,’ she went on, pulling herself back in line. ‘You must have some opinion.’
‘Okay, fine,’ he said, sitting up straighter. ‘You want me to be serious, to have an opinion? Fine. But I can’t do this from some great sensible emotional distance. I’m a father too and it would kill me to not be able to see Ruby grow up—’
‘But yours is a different situation,’ Miranda interrupted.
‘I know. But all I can tell you is what I think and feel from a father’s point of view. I would want to be part of Ruby
’s life. And the facts are that as Lola’s biological father, he has rights—’ he held up his hand as Miranda tried to interject again ‘—despite not wanting anything to do with her at the beginning. None of which matters because it’ll probably not even come to that so I don’t think we should waste any energy worrying about it.’
Miranda knew he was right but his calmness drove her nuts. For years she’d wondered if she’d have her own family one day, she and Lola, one that was good and solid and worked and nothing like the complicated disaster that she’d grown up in. And finally she’d let down her guard enough to think that it was within reach and suddenly it was complicated again.
‘Cross that bridge if we get to it?’ she said.
‘Exactly.’
Lola ran past the window with Ruby in tow and Miranda watched them on the slippery slide for a moment or two. She looked back at Patrick, his olive complexion and autumn eyes so much a part of her already she found it hard to breathe. She wanted this so much. Him and her. Lola and Ruby.
Surely the universe wouldn’t be so cruel as to snatch it all away?
She smiled at him. ‘Of course. I’m sorry. I’ve got my knickers in a bit of a twist, haven’t I?’
Patrick grinned. ‘Always willing to help a lady untwist her knickers. That’s my specialty.’
Miranda shook her head at him. ‘You’re twisted.’
His chuckle reached deep inside her and squeezed.
* * *
Despite Patrick’s conviction that all would be fine, Miranda didn’t have a very good sleep. She kept thinking about Patrick’s mention of Mal’s rights.
Frankly, she didn’t care a jot about his rights. She only cared about her daughter. She didn’t want to keep Lola from her father but she did want to be able to control the circumstances as much as possible, to ease the transition.
And somehow she’d just always assumed it was something that she wouldn’t have to worry about until Lola was a teenager and questions of identity were the norm.
Eventually exhaustion won out and she dropped off in the small hours. Miranda knew she wasn’t going to relax fully now until Mal had moved on. Well on.
Maybe she’d never really relax again.
* * *
The next morning her fear ratcheted up another notch. She got a message mid-morning to say that a Mal Anderson had left a message asking her to come and see him on the ortho ward. By the time lunchtime came around the ward clerk had handed her three more messages from him.
Patrick watched her thumb through the written messages with a look of trepidation on her face. ‘Best to get it over with, don’t you think?’ he asked, as he sidled up to her in the tearoom.
Miranda looked up from the note in her hand, absently trying to guess the intent behind them. ‘I suppose...’
He put his arm around her shoulder, uncaring for once that Lilly was watching them like a hawk. ‘Do you want me to come with you?’
Miranda desperately wanted to say yes. But she’d been fighting her own battles for a long time and she wasn’t going to surrender that control now, no matter how appealing it was to lean on someone else for once. ‘No, I’ll be fine.’
She gave him what she hoped was a reassuring smile, although she doubted it even registered on her face. ‘I’ll go up now and see him in my break,’ she said, tucking the messages in her scrub pocket.
Patrick watched her leave and part of him wanted to catch up and tell her he was coming regardless but he knew her and Mal needed to have a frank and open conversation about Lola and his presence would only serve to stifle it.
So he turned away, catching Lilly’s triumphant gaze as he did so.
* * *
Miranda dressed in her civvies and was up on the ward within five minutes. Mal had one of the private rooms and he was watching a sports channel on the television when she entered. His injured arm was elevated in a sling and he quickly flicked off the television with the remote resting in his good hand when she said, ‘Hi.’
Mal smiled at her. ‘Thanks for coming.’
‘No worries,’ Miranda murmured. ‘How’s the arm?’
‘Good.’ He nodded. ‘Doc reckons I can go home tomorrow.’
‘That’s good. Excellent... Much pain?’
‘A little. They have some good drugs here, though.’ He laughed but sobered quickly when he realised Miranda wasn’t laughing. ‘Sorry, bad joke.’ He grimaced. ‘Sit down.’
He indicated the chair beside his bed and Miranda wished her legs were strong enough to refuse, but they were trembling so hard she wasn’t sure how much longer they were going to hold her upright. She sank into it gratefully.
‘You must hate me,’ Mal said.
Miranda blinked at the bald statement. His words had hurt but a part of her had understood how crazy fear made a person.
‘No. I don’t hate you.’
‘I was...terrified.’
She’d been pretty terrified herself. ‘It’s okay. I understand. Really. It was a lot to deal with.’
‘But you dealt with it.’
Miranda shrugged. ‘It was my choice.’
There was silence for a moment then Miranda remembered the photo she’d taken from her wallet on impulse before she’d shut her locker. She fished it out of her back pocket.
‘Here.’ She passed him a picture of Lola sliding down a slippery dip, her fingers shaking. ‘This is Lola. It was taken at school last month.’
Mal inspected the photo. ‘Wow. She does look like me.’
Miranda nodded. ‘No DNA tests required,’ she said, her voice brittle.
Mal looked at her sharply. ‘I didn’t ask to see you to cause trouble, Mirry.’
‘Why did you, then?’
Mal looked down at the photo, ran his thumb over his daughter’s face. ‘I’d like to see her.’
His quiet request slammed into Miranda with all the power of a tornado and for a moment the whole world stopped. She could hear the beat of her heart, the suck of her breath both loud in her ears. Her skin prickled as if someone was jabbing a thousand needles into her.
This was what she’d feared.
‘Miranda?’
Mal’s voice dragged Miranda back from the pit of despair into which she’d been sinking. She blinked at him as she gathered her thoughts. She knew she had to be very careful how she handled this now. The temptation to get up and yell and scream and be dramatic, like her mother used to whenever she was discussing Miranda with her father, was surprisingly strong.
But she wasn’t her mother and she wanted Mal on her side, willing to work towards what was best for Lola, not angry and working against her.
She chose her words carefully, looking at her hands as she clasped them together to stop the trembling. ‘It’s your right to see her so I’m not going to say that you can’t.’
She looked at him then because she really wanted him to understand what she was saying.
‘But I am going to ask you not to. For now. If you want to be in her life, you need to be in her life, Mal. Solid, stable, reliable. Here. Not someone like my father who was never there for me. Lola needs to know that she is the most important thing to you, not some wave somewhere.’
Miranda paused to let her words sink in. She’d spent hours spewing out all her father issues to him and he’d been a good listener. He knew how her father’s neglect had scarred her.
‘There’s going to come a time in her life when she’s going to want to know you and I won’t stop her, but I’d really rather that was led by her and her desire to connect with you rather than the other way around. Let’s face it, if we hadn’t had this chance meeting you’d still be oblivious to her existence so I’m asking you to put her first. Let her come to you.’
Miranda finished, hoping that she’d been clear. T
hat she’d appealed to his common human decency. A lot was riding on her words.
Mal stared at the photo for a long time then nodded absently. ‘You’re right,’ he murmured. He had a great life he didn’t want to surrender. Not yet. ‘I’m sorry, I just... You’re right.’ He gave a half-smile as he passed the picture back. ‘I guess I’m a little too itinerant at the moment.’
Miranda almost collapsed in on herself as relief swamped her like a torrential downpour. ‘Keep it,’ she said, smiling for the first time since she’d entered the room.
She had dozens more and the real thing to look at, to squeeze tight every day.
She placed her hand on his. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘This means...everything to me.’
Mal smiled. ‘I should at least help financially.’
Miranda shook her head. ‘Oh, no. I’m fine. We’re doing fine.’ They might not be living it up in the Taj Mahal but Lola didn’t want for anything.
‘Please, Mirry.’ Mal placed his hand on hers. ‘I’ve not contributed at all and that’s been very remiss of me. I want to do something.’
The earnestness in his gaze killed her objections. ‘If you want to contribute then set up a bank account and start putting something away for her.’
Mal nodded. ‘Yes. Good idea.’ He reached across to his bedside table and grabbed his wallet, awkwardly retrieving a business card one-handed and passing it to her. ‘And if she needs anything, or you need to get hold of me for any reason...’
Miranda nodded. ‘Okay. Thanks. I will.’
When Miranda left a couple of minutes later the sense of relief was like a drug buzzing through her system.
She felt high.
Things were going to work out.
* * *
The feeling lasted until Friday night when the second whammy struck even more ferociously.
The divorce had come through that day and Patrick had taken them all out for an early dinner. Not even Helen’s subdued mood throughout the meal could kill his elation. It was only natural that his mother-in-law would feel differently about the situation but after five years of living his life in limbo Patrick refused to let anything dampen his spirits.
