Читать книгу Midwives On-Call - Алисон Робертс - Страница 33

EVERYONE ELSE WAS looking at the kid with the flowers, and then at Adrianna, who reappeared and stooped to give the kids a hug. Only Oliver saw the absolute mortification that crossed Em’s face.

She’d forgotten, he thought. Of course she had. Even if she’d remembered this morning, after crashing her car, doing a huge day on the wards, then coming home to such a sick kid, forgetting was almost inevitable.

Think. Think! he told himself. He used to live in this town. Cake. St Kilda. Ackland Street. Cake heaven. It wasn’t so far, and the shops there stayed open late.

‘Are you guys staying for the cake?’ he asked, glancing at his watch, his voice not rising, speaking like this was a pre-ordained plan. ‘It’ll be here in about twenty minutes. Em asked me to order it but it’s running a bit late. Adrianna, is it okay if I stay for the celebration? Em thought it might be okay, but if you’d rather I didn’t … Mike, can you and the kids show me the swing while we wait? I’m good at pushing.’

‘Em asked you to order a cake?’ Adrianna demanded, puzzled, and Oliver spread his hands.

‘I crashed into her car this morning. She’s been run off her legs all day and I asked if there was anything I could do. Therefore, in twenty minutes there’ll be cake. Swing? Kids?’

‘Oliver …’ Em started, but Oliver put up his hand as if to stop her in mid-sentence. Which was exactly what he intended.

‘She always wants to pay,’ he told his ex-mother-in-law, grinning. ‘She’s stubborn as an ox, your Em, but you’d know that, Adrianna. We seem to have been arguing about money all day. I told you, Em, I’m doing the cake, you’re on the balloons. Sorry I’ve mistimed it, though. I’ll pay ten percent of the balloons to compensate. Any questions?’

‘N-no,’ Em said weakly, and his grin widened.

‘How about that? No problems at all. Prepare for cake, Adrianna, and prepare for Birthday.’

And suddenly he was being towed outside by kids who realised bedtime was being set back and birthday cake was in the offing. Leaving an open-mouthed Em and Adrianna in the kitchen.

Two minutes later, Mike was onside. They were pushing kids on swings and Oliver was on the phone. And it worked. His backup plan had been a fast trip to the supermarket for an off-the-shelf cake and blow-them-up-yourself balloons but, yes, the shop he remembered had decorated ice cream cakes. They were usually preordered but if he was prepared to pay more … How fast could they pipe Adrianna’s name on top? Candles included? Could they order a taxi to deliver it and charge his card? Did they do balloons? Next door did? Was it still open? How much to bung some of those in the taxi as well? He’d pay twice the price for their trouble.

‘You’re a fast mover,’ Mike said, assessing him with a long, slow look as they pushed the double swing together. And then he said, not quite casually, ‘Should I worry? If Em gets hurt I might just be tempted to do a damage.’

So Em had a protector. Good. Unless that protector was threatening to pick him up by the collar and hurl him off the property. He sighed and raked his hair and tried to figure how to respond.

‘Mate, I’m not a fast mover,’ he said at last. ‘For five years I haven’t moved at all. I’m not sure even what’s happening here, but I’m sure as hell not moving fast.’

‘Oh, Em, you remembered.’ The moment the boys were out of the house Adrianna stooped and enveloped Em—and Gretta—in a bear hug. ‘I’ve been thinking all day that no one’s remembered and … Oh, sweetheart, I’m sorry.’

‘You’re sorry!’ Em struggled to her feet, still cradling Gretta. She should confess, she thought, but as she looked at her mum’s face she thought, no. Confession might make her feel better, but right now Adrianna was happy because her daughter had remembered. Oliver had given her that gift and she’d accept, because to do anything else would be cruel. Her mum did so much …

Oliver had rescued her. It’d be dumb to spoil his efforts with more than Adrianna had to know.

But she wasn’t going to be dishonest. Not entirely. ‘Mum, I remembered when I woke up this morning,’ she said. ‘But when Gretta was sick I forgot to say it. It was such a rush all day and there’s been nothing I could do. But when I met Oliver—’

‘You knew he was coming?’

‘He ordered the cake. And you know he’s always loved you.’ And that at least was the truth.

‘Oh, Em …’

‘And I’ve bought you a half-day spa voucher.’ Yeah, she was lying about that but she could order and get it printed tonight. ‘And if we can, I’ll do it with you.’ That’s what Adrianna would like most in the world, she knew, but how would she manage that? But she looked at her mum’s tired face and thought she had to do it. It might have to wait until Gretta was better, but she would do it.

If Gretta got better.

‘Oh, but, Em … Gretta …’

‘It can’t be all about Gretta,’ Em said gently, and that, too, was true. No matter how much attention Gretta needed, there were others who needed her, as well. It’d be a wrench to spend one of her precious free days …

But, no. This was her mum.

Oliver had saved the situation for now. The least she could do was take it forward.

The cake was amazing, an over-the-top confection that made the kids gasp with wonder. The taxi driver brought it in with a flourish then directed the kids to bring in the balloons. Whatever Oliver had paid, Em thought numbly, it must have been well and truly over the top, as the balloons were already filled, multi-coloured balls of floating air, bursting from the cab as soon as the doors were open, secured only by ribbons tied to the cab doors.

The kids brought them in, bunch upon bunch, and the kitchen was an instant party.

Katy arrived from next door, summoned by her kids. She wouldn’t come right in—her flushed face verified her self-diagnosis of a streaming head cold and she declared there was no way she was risking Gretta catching anything—but she stood in the doorway and sang ‘Happy Birthday’ with the rest of them and watched while Adrianna blew out the candles and sliced the creamy caramel and chocolate and strawberry confection into slices that were almost cake-sized each.

‘I can’t believe it,’ Adrianna said mistily, between mouthfuls of cake. ‘Thank you all so much.’

And Em looked across at Oliver, who was sitting with Toby on his knee, one spoonful for Oliver, one spoonful for Toby, and she caught his gaze and tried to smile. But it didn’t come off.

This was how it could have been, she thought. This was what she’d dreamed of.

But she’d pushed too hard, too fast. Josh’s death had gutted her. She remembered sobbing, ‘I can’t do IVF any more, I’m too tired. There are babies out there who need us. We’ll adopt. You’re adopted, Oliver, you know it can work.’

But: ‘It doesn’t work,’ he’d said, not angrily, just flatly, dully, stating immutable facts. ‘It’s second best and you know it.’

His reaction had shocked her. She’d been in no mood to compromise, and suddenly everything had escalated. The tension of five years of trying for a family had suddenly exploded. Leaving them with nothing.

What had he been doing for five years? Building his career, by the look of his CV. Turning into a wonderful doctor.

A caring doctor … His patience with two-year-old Toby, not the easiest kid to feed, was wonderful. The way he responded to the kids around the table, the mess, the laughter …

The way he smiled up at Adrianna and told her he was so sorry he’d missed her last five birthdays, she’d have to have five slices of cake to make up for it …

He was wonderful.

She wanted to weep.

She wanted to set Gretta down, walk around the table and hug him. Hold him.

Claim him again as her husband?

Right, like that was about to happen. The past was the past. They’d made their decisions and they’d moved on.

‘Em’s given me an afternoon at the day spa,’ Adrianna said happily, cutting across her thoughts. Or almost. Her thoughts were pretty intense right now, pretty much centred on the gorgeous guy with the toddler, right across the table from her. She was watching his hands. She’d loved those hands—surgeon’s hands. She remembered what those hands had been able to do.

She remembered …

‘That’s gorgeous,’ Katy was saying from the doorway. ‘But, Em, you still haven’t had that colour and cut Mike and I gave you for Christmas. Right, Adrianna, this time it’s going to work. As soon as I get over my snuffles I’m taking all five kids and you two are having your Christmas and birthday treats combined. This weekend?’

Once again, right. As if. Em gave her a smile, and then went to hug Adrianna, but she thought Katy would still be recovering by this weekend and her boys would probably catch her cold after her and Gretta was still so weak …

Adrianna should—and would—have her day spa but there’d be no day spas or colour and cuts for Em until … until …

The until was unthinkable. She hugged Gretta and her mind closed.

‘What about this Saturday and using me?’ Oliver asked, and she blinked. Had she misheard?

‘You?’

‘Anyone can see you’ve got the cold from hell,’ he told Katy. ‘Even if you’re not still contagious you’ll be wiped out, and you have three of your own to look after. Whereas I’ve just moved to Melbourne and my job hasn’t geared up yet. There’s nothing to stop me coming by and taking care of a couple of kids for a few hours.’ He spooned chocolate ice-cream cake into Toby’s waiting mouth and grinned at the little boy. ‘Piece of cake, really. We’ll have fun.’ And then he smiled across at Gretta, focusing entirely on the little girl. ‘How about it, Gretta? Will you let me take care of you and Toby?’

Gretta gazed back at him, clearly not understanding what was happening, but Oliver was smiling and she responded to the smile. She tried a tentative one of her own.

She was one brave kid, Oliver thought. But she looked so vulnerable … Her colour … Oxygen wasn’t getting through.

‘That’d be fantastic,’ Adrianna breathed. ‘Em worries about Gretta’s breathing, but with you being a doctor …’

‘Is he a doctor?’ Katy demanded.

‘He’s Em’s ex,’ Mike growled, throwing a suspicious, hard stare at Oliver.

‘But I’m still reliable,’ Oliver said—hopefully—and Katy laughed.

‘Hey, I hooked with some weirdos in my time,’ she told the still-glowering Mike. ‘But a couple of them turned into your mates. Just because they didn’t come up to my high standards doesn’t mean they’re total failures as human beings. What do you say, Em? Trust your kids for a few hours with your ex? And him a doctor and all. It sounds an offer too good to refuse to me.’

And they were all looking at her. From what had started as a quiet night she was suddenly surrounded by birthday, kids, mess, chaos, and here was Oliver, threatening to walk into her life again.

No. Not threatening. Offering.

She’d been feeling like she was being bulldozed. Now … She looked at Oliver and he returned her gaze, calmly, placidly, like he was no threat at all. Whatever he’d been doing for the last five years it was nothing to do with her, but she knew one thing. He was a good man. She might not know him any more, but she could trust him, and if a specialist obstetrician and surgeon couldn’t look after her Gretta, who could?

Her mind was racing. Gretta and Toby were both accustomed to strangers minding them—too many stays in hospital had seen to that. Oliver was currently feeding Toby like a pro.

She could take Adrianna for an afternoon out. She glanced again at her mum and saw the telltale flicker of hope in her eyes. She was so good … Without Adrianna, Em couldn’t have these kids.

The fact that she’d once hoped to have them with Oliver …

No. Don’t go there. She hauled herself back from the brink, from the emotions of five years ago, and she managed a smile at Oliver.

‘Thank you, then,’ she said simply. ‘Thank you for offering. Mum and I would love it. Two p.m. on Saturday? We’ll be back by five.’

‘I’ll be here at one.’

Four hours … Did she trust him that long?

Of course she did, she told herself. She did trust him. It was only … She needed to trust herself, as well. She needed to figure out the new way of the world, where Oliver Evans was no longer a lover or a husband.

It seemed Oliver Evans was offering to be a friend.

An hour later she was walking him out to his car. Amazingly, he’d helped put the kids to bed. ‘If I’m to care for them on Saturday, they should see me as familiar.’ The children had responded to his inherent gentleness, his teasing, his smile, and Em was struggling not to respond, as well.

But she was responding. Of course she was. How could she not? She’d fallen in love with this man a decade ago and the traces of that love remained. Life had battered them, pushed them apart, but it was impossible to think of him other than a friend.

Just a friend? He had to be. She’d made the decision five years ago—Oliver or children. She’d wanted children so much that she’d made her choice but it had been like chopping a part of herself out. Even now … The decision had been made in the aftermath of a stillbirth, when her emotions had been all over the place. If she was asked to make such a decision again …

She’d make it, she thought, thinking of the children in the house behind her. Gretta and Toby. Where would they be without her?

Someone else might have helped them, she thought, but now they were hers, and she loved them so fiercely it hurt.

If she’d stayed with Oliver she would have had … nothing.

‘Tell me about the kids,’ he said, politely almost, leaning back on the driver’s door of his car. His rental car.

It had been a lovely car she’d destroyed. That’s what Oliver must have decided, she thought. He’d have a gorgeous car instead of kids—and now she’d smashed it.

‘I’m sorry about your car,’ she managed.

He made an exasperated gesture—leave it, not important. But it was important. She’d seen his face when he’d looked at the damage.

‘Tell me about the kids,’ he said again. ‘You’re fostering?’

‘Mum and I decided … when you left …’

‘To have kids?’

‘You know I can’t,’ she said, evenly now, getting herself back together. ‘For the year after you left I wasn’t … very happy. I had my work as a midwife. I love my work, but you know that was never enough. And then one of my mums had Gretta.’

‘One of your mums.’

‘I know … Not very professional, is it, to get so personally involved? But Gretta was Miriam’s third child. Miriam’s a single mum who hadn’t bothered to have any prenatal checks so missed the scans. From the moment the doctors told her Gretta had Down’s she hadn’t wanted anything to do with her. Normally, Social Services can find adoptive parents for a newborn, even if it has Down’s, but Miriam simply checked herself out of hospital and disappeared. We think she’s in Western Australia with a new partner.’

‘So you’ve taken her baby …’

‘I didn’t take her baby,’ she said, thinking suddenly of the way he’d reacted to her suggestion of adoption all those years ago. It had been like adoption was a dirty word.

‘I wasn’t accusing …’

‘No,’ she said and stared down at her feet. She needed new shoes, she thought inconsequentially. She wore lace-up trainers—they were the most practical for the running she had to do—and a hole was starting to appear at her left big toe. Not this pay, she thought. Maybe next? Or maybe she could stick a plaster over the toe and pretend it was a new fashion. One of the kids’ plasters with frogs on.

‘What do you know about Miriam?’ Oliver asked, and she hauled her attention back to him. Actually, it had never really strayed. But distractions were good. Distractions were necessary.

‘We … we don’t hear from Miriam,’ she told him. ‘But it’s not for want of trying. Her two older children are in foster care together on a farm up near Kyneton—they’re great kids and Harold and Eve are a wonderful foster-mum and dad—but Gretta couldn’t go with them. Her heart problems have meant constant hospitalisation. We knew from the start that her life would be short. We knew it’d be a fight to keep her alive, so there was a choice. She could stay in hospital, institutionalised until she died, or I could take her home. She stayed in hospital for two months and then I couldn’t bear it. Mum and I reorganised our lives and brought her home.’

‘But she will die.’ He said it gently, as if he was making sure she knew, and she flushed.

‘You think we don’t know that? But look at her tonight. She loved it. She loves … us.’

‘I guess …’

‘And don’t you dare bring out your “Well, if she’s adopted you can’t possibly love her like your own” argument to say when she dies it won’t hurt,’ she snapped, suddenly unable to prevent the well of bitterness left from an appalling scene five years ago. ‘We couldn’t possibly love her more.’

‘I never said that you couldn’t love an adopted child.’

‘Yes, you did.’

‘I just said it’s different and I hold by that. It’s not the same love as from birth parents and you know it.’

‘As Miriam’s love? No, it’s not and isn’t Gretta lucky that it’s not?’

‘Em …’

‘What?’ She had her hands on her hips now, glaring. He’d shocked her so much, all those years ago. She’d been totally gutted when Josh had been stillborn, devastated beyond belief. She’d curled into a tight ball of misery, she’d hardly been able to function, but when finally daylight had begun to filter through the blackness, she’d clung to what had seemed her only hope.

‘Oliver, let’s stop with the in-vitro stuff. It’s tearing me apart—it’s tearing us apart. Let’s try instead for adoption.’

But his reaction had stunned her.

‘Em, no.’ He’d said it gently but the words had been implacable. ‘I can’t guarantee to love a child who’s not my own. I won’t do that to a child.’

It had been a divide neither of them could cross. She had been so desperate for a child that she couldn’t accept his refusal to consider adoption—and Oliver had walked away rather than concede.

‘I love Gretta and so does Adrianna,’ she said now, forcing herself to stay calm. Forcing herself to put the hurt of years ago on the back burner. ‘So, moving on …’

‘Toby?’

And mentioning her son’s name was a sure way to defuse anger. Even saying his name made her smile.

‘Adrianna found Toby,’ she told him. ‘Or rather Adrianna helped Toby find us.’

‘Would you like to tell me about him?’

She’d prefer not to, actually. She was finding it disturbing on all sorts of levels to stand outside in the dusk with this man who’d once been her husband. But he had offered to take the children on Saturday, and she did need help. These last few months, with Gretta’s health deteriorating, had been taking their toll on Adrianna. This Saturday would be gold for both of them, she knew, and Oliver had offered.

Therefore she had to be courteous. She had to share.

She had to stand outside with him a moment longer, even though a part of her wanted to turn around and run.

Why?

It was how he made her feel. It was the way her body was responding. He’d been her husband. She’d thought she knew this man at the deepest, most primeval level—yet here he was, standing in the dusk asking polite questions about children he knew nothing about.

Her children.

‘Toby has multiple problems.’ Somehow she’d pulled herself together … sort of. ‘He’s African, as you can probably guess. He has scoliosis of the spine; his spine was so bent he looked deformed even when he was born, and his family abandoned him. One of the poorest families in the village took him in. His pseudo-mum did the best she could for him but he hadn’t been fed properly and he was already suffering from noma—a facial bacterial infection. She walked for three days to the nearest hospital to get him help—can you imagine that? But then, of course, she had to go back to her own family. But she’d fought for him first. One of the international aid agencies took on his case and brought him over here for facial reconstruction. So far he’s been through six operations. He’s doing great but …’

‘But you can’t keep him.’

She stilled. ‘Why not? The hospital social worker in charge of his case knew Adrianna and I were already fostering Gretta, and she took a chance, asking us if we’d be willing to take him on. Adrianna did all the paperwork. Mum drove this, but we both want it. Theoretically he’s supposed to go home when he’s been treated. We’re still in touch with his African foster-mum but she’s so poor and she’s very happy that he stays here. So in practice we’re fighting tooth and nail to keep him.’

‘Em, for heaven’s sake …’ He sounded appalled. ‘You can’t look after the world’s waifs and strays. There are too many.’

‘I can look after the ones I love,’ she threw back at him, and tilted her chin. Defiant. She knew this argument—and here it came.

‘You can’t love him.’

‘Why not?’

‘He’s not your kid.’

‘Then whose kid is he? The woman who bore him? The woman who walked for three days to save him but can’t afford to feed him? Or Mum and me, who’ll do our damnedest to keep him healthy and safe?’

‘Em …’ He raked his hair, a gesture she knew all too well. ‘To take two kids like Gretta and Toby … A kid who’ll die and a kid you might lose. They’ll break your heart.’

‘You just said I can’t love them. You can’t have it both ways, Oliver.’

‘Is this what you wanted me to do? Adopt the kids the world’s abandoned?’

‘I don’t think I expected anything of you,’ she managed, and was inordinately proud of how calm she sounded. ‘At the end of our marriage all I could see was what I needed. I know that sounds selfish, and maybe it is, but it’s what I desperately wanted. Despite loving you I couldn’t stop that wanting. You always knew I wanted a family. I’m a midwife, and I’m a midwife because watching babies come into the world is what I love most. I’d dreamed we could have our own family …’

‘And when that didn’t happen you walked away.’

‘As I remember it, you walked.’

‘Because it’s not fair for me to adopt. These kids need their own parents.’

‘They don’t have them. Are you saying second best is worse than nothing?’

‘They’ll know … that they’re second best.’

‘Oliver, just because that happened to you …’

And she watched his face close, just like that.

He didn’t talk about it, she thought. He’d never talked about it but she’d guessed.

She thought, fleetingly, of her in-laws, of Oliver’s adoptive parents. But she had to think fleetingly because thinking any more made her so angry she could spit.

She only knew the bare bones but it was enough. She could infer the rest. They’d had trouble conceiving so they’d adopted Oliver. Then, five years later, they’d conceived naturally and their own son had been born.

Oliver never talked about it—never would talk about it—but she’d seen the family in action. Brett was five years younger than Oliver, a spoiled brat when Em had first met him and now an obnoxious, conceited young man who thought the world owed him a living.

But his parents thought the sun shone from him, and it seemed to Em that they’d spent their lives comparing their two sons, finding fault with Oliver and setting Brett on a pedestal.

Even at their wedding …

‘He’s done very well for himself,’ Em had overheard his adoptive mother tell an aunt. ‘Considering where he comes from. We’ve done what we could, but still … I know he’s managed to get himself qualified as a doctor but … His mother was a whore, you know, and we can never forget that. Thank God we have Brett.’

It had been as much as Em could do not to front the woman and slap her. It wouldn’t have been a good look on her wedding day—bride smacks mother-in-law—but she’d come awfully close. But Oliver had never talked of it.

It was only when the adoption thing had come up when Josh had died that the ghosts had come from nowhere. And she couldn’t fight them, for Oliver wouldn’t speak of them.

‘Oliver, we’re doing our best,’ she told him now, gentling, reminding herself that it was his ghosts talking, not him. She knew it was his ghosts, but she’d never been allowed close enough to fight them. ‘Mum and I are loving these kids to bits. We’re doing all we possibly can …’

‘It won’t be enough.’

‘Maybe it won’t.’ She was suddenly bone weary again. Understanding could only go so far. ‘But we’re trying the best that we can. We’ll give these kids our hearts, and if that’s not enough to let them thrive then we’ll be incredibly sad but we won’t be regretful. We have love to give and we’re giving it. We’re trying, whereas you … You lacked courage to even think about it. “No adoptions,” you said, end of story. I know your background. I know how hard it was for you to be raised with Brett but your parents were dumb and cruel. The whole world doesn’t have to be like that.’

‘And if you ever had a child of your own?’

‘You’re saying I shouldn’t go near Gretta or Toby because I might, conceivably, still have a child biologically?’

‘I didn’t mean that.’ He raked his hair again, in that gesture she’d known and loved. She had a sudden urge to rake it herself, settle it, touch his face, take away the pain.

Because there was pain. She could see it. This man was torn.

But she couldn’t help him if he wouldn’t talk about it. To be helped you had to admit you needed help. He’d simply closed off, shut her out, and there was nothing she could do about it.

She’d moved on, but he was still hurting. She couldn’t help him.

‘Go home,’ she said, gently again. ‘I’m sorry, Oliver, I have no right to bring up the past, but neither do you have a right to question what I’m doing. Our marriage is over and we need to remember it. We need to finalise our divorce. Meanwhile, thank you for tonight, for Adrianna’s birthday. I’m deeply appreciative, but if you want to pull out of Saturday’s childminding, I understand.’

‘I’ll be here.’

‘You don’t need to …’

‘I will be here.’

‘Fine, then,’ she said, and took a step back in the face of his sudden blaze of anger. ‘That’s good. That’s great. I’ll see you then.’

‘I’ll see you at the hospital tomorrow,’ he said. ‘With Ruby.’

And her heart sank. Of course. She was going to see this man, often. She needed to work with him.

She needed to ignore the pain she still saw in his eyes. She needed to tell herself, over and over, that it had nothing to do with her.

The problem was, that wasn’t Em’s skill. Ignoring pain.

But he didn’t want her interference. He never had.

He didn’t want her.

Moving on …

‘Goodnight, then,’ she managed, and she couldn’t help herself. She touched his face with her hand and then stood on tiptoe and lightly kissed him—a feather touch, the faintest brush of lips against lips. ‘Goodnight, Oliver. I’m sorry for your demons but your demons aren’t mine. I give my heart for always, non-negotiable, adoption, fostering, marriage … Ollie, I can no more change myself than fly. I’m just sorry you can’t share.’

And she couldn’t say another word. She was suddenly so close to tears that she pushed away and would have stumbled.

Oliver’s hand came out to catch her. She steadied and then brushed him off. She did it more roughly than she’d intended but she was out of her depth.

‘Thank you,’ she whispered, and turned away. ‘Goodnight.’ And she turned and fled into the house.

Oliver was left standing in the shadows, watching the lights inside the house, knowing he should leave, knowing he had to.

‘I give my heart for always.’

What sort of statement was that?

She’d been talking about the kids, he told himself, but still …

She’d included marriage in the statement, and it was a statement to give a man pause.