Читать книгу Wanted: A Father for her Twins - Emily Forbes - Страница 8

LUCY raced inside, eager to tell her brother all the morning’s news, while Rosie headed for the kitchen, where her mother was doing the last of the breakfast dishes.

‘What happened? Are you all right?’

Rosie followed her mother’s gaze, looking down at her sundress that had started the day clean and white but was now covered in blood and dirt.

‘I’m fine. It’s not my blood. There was an accident, a pedestrian was hit, a boy from Lucy’s school.’ Rosie pulled out a kitchen stool and collapsed onto it. She should probably take over the dishes from her mum but she didn’t have the energy.

‘Is he okay?’

‘Some broken bones but he’ll be fine. It was a bit crazy.’

‘I’ll put the kettle on, you look like you could use a cup of tea.’

The old ritual of a cup of tea as a cure-all. Funnily enough, it did always seem to help. Maybe because it made you stop and catch your breath? Then again, in the two months since her brother and sister-in-law had died, she’d had so many cups of tea she sometimes felt she was one big tea bag herself.

Half-heartedly, she started sorting through the stack of mail, including her own redirected post, that had been dumped in a teetering pile on the kitchen bench. One more task that seemed to be getting away from her, one more task she started on routinely but never completed. Was that a key part of the definition of parenthood? She was starting to wonder.

Her mum slid a cup of tea over the counter. ‘Ally phoned while you were out, she said something about going out tonight. Do you need me to watch the children?’

‘Thanks, but no. I wasn’t planning on going.’

‘Are you sure? It’d do you good.’

‘What do you mean?’ Rosie put aside the mail.

‘How many times have you been out since you moved back to Sydney? Twice? For coffee with Ally, nothing more at my count.’

She shrugged. ‘I’m often out.’

Her mum pushed a strand of hair out of her face and shook her head. ‘Going to the supermarket and dropping the twins at school doesn’t count. You need to see your friends and it’s not good for you or the children if you spend all your time with them.’

‘I want them to know I’m here for them, that they’re not alone.’

‘They know that, sweetheart.’

‘Do they? I know they worry when I go out in the car without them. The last time they saw their parents was as they were driving off for their weekend away. They haven’t expressed that, but it’s what they’re thinking about, it’s in their eyes,’ Rosie explained.

‘I understand what you’re saying but you can’t let that make you a hermit,’ her mother pointed out.

‘The twins need time, especially Charlie. So far we’ve somehow managed to stop his mutism worsening because at least he’s still talking to our immediate family, but if he starts to doubt he’s safe with me, what then? And I need time, too. For one thing, I’m not sure how, or if, my old life and my new life can coexist. I’m just trying to give myself space to fit the pieces together.’

‘Space is one thing, shutting friends out is another,’ her mother insisted.

‘Mum, I’m not intentionally doing that. To be honest, as pathetic as it sounds, I don’t have the energy to get dressed and make conversation.’ She could have added that she didn’t have anything to make conversation about. No one she knew had children. Right now, that was all she had to talk about. When had she last managed to stay awake to see the end of a TV show? Ditto for reading. She’d been on the same chapter of the same book for over three weeks. Within minutes of settling down, she nodded off. Night after night.

A basket of washing waited on the steps. Sure, it was clean, but there was more waiting in the laundry. Newspapers for recycling were lying by the back door and Lucy’s half-finished school project was scattered over an entire end of the kitchen table. Everywhere Rosie looked there were half-completed tasks, testament to her difficulty in getting on top of things. She couldn’t blame the children’s interruptions for a lot of it, although having Charlie home sick for the past two days with yet another bout of tonsillitis hadn’t helped. What she needed was another pair of hands and, failing that, a better system.

‘Honey, I’ve got to dash but ring me if you change your mind. I can head back in an hour or so after I’ve done my errands,’ her mum said.

She wouldn’t change her mind, she already knew that. Besides, Ally’s idea of an evening out would last into the early hours of the morning. Rosie couldn’t have asked that of her mum even if she’d wanted to.

Besides, who could go out socialising when there was a mountain of washing to do and nothing to talk about? And right now, she decided as she waved goodbye to her mum, if she gave in to demands and let the twins watch their favourite DVD, she had a precious hour to tackle folding the laundry.

Well into the hour, she realised she’d thought about nothing except a certain doctor in boardshorts, her mind leaping from question to assumption to imagery, all focused on him. It was the longest stretch of worry-free time she’d had since moving to Sydney from Canberra.

None of which left her any wiser about what she really wanted to know: would she see him again?

Or had walking away been the biggest mistake made by any single girl in Sydney this weekend?

On Tuesday morning, Rosie dropped Lucy at the school gate with ten minutes to spare and treated herself to a mental Woo-hoo! It felt like a major achievement and gave her a spark of hope that her attempts over the last few days to start developing a better time-management system were paying off. She watched as Lucy waited for a friend then gave one final wave to Rosie before she disappeared through the school gate, chatting happily.

She checked Charlie still had his seat belt on before pulling into the traffic.

‘Do you think we’ll make it in time?’ she asked. Charlie’s specialist appointment was in half an hour and, even though the clinic was in Bondi, Sydney traffic wasn’t the best at this time of the day.

In the mirror she watched as Charlie shrugged his shoulders. ‘Dr Masters will still see me if we’re late, he’ll probably be running behind anyway,’ he told her.

He had a point, but she didn’t want to arrive late, particularly when the specialist was fitting Charlie in as a favour. ‘Have you thought some more about having your tonsils out? Dr Masters might suggest it today.’

‘I don’t want them out.’

Ah, so he hadn’t budged. With Charlie’s history of recurrent tonsillitis, it was only a matter of time before his tonsils had to come out. She was convinced these infections were exacerbating his other speech problems.

‘There’d be no more sore throats, and you wouldn’t have to miss so many Nippers’ trainings.’ Junior surf-lifesaving was one activity Charlie loved. She suppressed a twinge of guilt that she was using it to convince him to have the operation. ‘Remember, I had my tonsils out when I was your age and I can still remember how much better I felt afterwards.’

‘Yeah, but I don’t like jelly.’

‘What do you mean?’ She glanced in the rear-view mirror to see Charlie pull a face.

‘You told me you had jelly and ice cream in hospital. I don’t like jelly.’

Who would have known jelly and ice cream would be a deal-breaker, not a deal-sweetener? ‘They won’t force you to eat jelly. Let’s see what Dr. Masters has to say,’ Rosie said as she pulled into the clinic car park, hoping she’d solved the jelly objection. What would he think of next?

The specialist suites were part of the Bondi Paediatric Medical Centre, a clinic Rosie had heard of but never visited. Charlie had been here before, but that had been with his parents. She pressed the button for the lift and looked around the ultra-modern foyer. There was a café on one side of the lifts and a pharmacy on the other. The building itself looked new, and the foyer and café were both brightly decorated in primary colours. Signs pointing down a corridor indicated directions to Physiotherapy and a hydrotherapy pool. The tenant directory beside the lift listed Speech Therapy, Occupational Therapy, General Practitioners and Psychology. There was a constant stream of families through the door.

Rosie and Charlie squeezed into the lift with a dozen other people and popped out at the third floor in front of the reception desk for the specialist suites. The girl directed them to the waiting room at the eastern end of the building and Rosie wasn’t surprised to find the area had a magnificent view over the famous beach. Charlie immediately made himself comfortable in a bean-bag chair positioned in front of the enormous glass windows and settled down to watch the weekday surfers carving up the water.

Rosie flicked through a pile of magazines, all current issues, but the lure of the morning sunshine bouncing off the water was too enticing and she gave up on the magazines, instead choosing a chair where she could watch the beach too.

Movement to her left caught her attention and she turned to see a family coming through a doorway. The mother and daughter didn’t hold her attention but the man behind them was a different story.

Nick.

The attraction she’d felt on Sunday had been strong, so strong she’d let her imagination run off in all sorts of directions. She’d entertained the possibility he’d be married with children but, still, her disappointment when she saw him with a family of his own surprised her.

From the safety of the anonymity of a crowded waiting room she let her gaze linger. There was no harm in looking. Or, at least, no harm in looking if no one knew.

Nick was dressed far more smartly than the other day but looked just as handsome. His dark grey trousers with a fine pinstripe and a crisp white cotton shirt looked simple but expensive. Quality. Style. The sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and his forearms and face were tanned golden brown. She sighed, daydreams of time with Nick fading into nothingness in view of the woman at his side.

He came to a stop just past the doorway and the woman and child continued on, saying thanks. He looked around the waiting room and at that moment Rosie realised he wasn’t part of the family. This was his workplace. Visions of going with him, wherever he wanted, surged through her mind again. It was madness. Wholesale craziness. She knew that.

But it was a madness that left her tingling in such a delicious way it left her in no doubt that guardian aunt was not the only side of her still alive and kicking. She was still a woman, with desires and wants and needs, even if they had almost no chance of being satisfied in the near future. It was nice, though, very nice, to be reassured she hadn’t totally disappeared, as a woman, during the events of the last months.

As he scanned the room, his gaze locked with hers and he lifted a hand in greeting as he broke into a broad smile, his cupid’s-bow lips opening to reveal a set of perfect white teeth. Her response was automatic, the rush of warmth spreading upwards from deep in her belly until it gave her away with the blush that stole over her cheeks. She smiled through her embarrassment, still looking into blue-grey eyes that sparkled their pleasure at seeing her. All up, the exchange was only seconds. Certainly no one around them had noticed anything odd. People had their heads down in magazines, were murmuring to one another or were distracted by the demands of their children. For Rosie, though, it could have been minutes, hours even, that they’d looked at one another across the waiting room.

And Nick?

Nick had obviously remembered he was there to work and had broken the gaze after one more nod of his head and was scanning the waiting room. ‘Charlie Jefferson?’ Nick spoke softly but his deep voice penetrated through the general noise of a dozen waiting room conversations.

Rosie’s eyes widened in surprise.

Nick wasn’t just any doctor.

He was Dr Masters, Charlie’s specialist.

Charlie appeared from his hiding place in the depths of the bean-bag where Nick hadn’t had a hope of seeing him, and stood up at the sound of his name. Grabbing Rosie’s hand, he tugged her to her feet. The pressure of his grip was enough to snap her into action and she followed Charlie as he crossed the waiting room.

‘Hi, there, Charlie, nice to see you again.’ He greeted Charlie first and the little boy smiled shyly at him, which was something, but, as expected, didn’t speak. ‘Rosie!’ He held out a hand and shook hers briefly, his grip warm and sure, pleasure in his eyes. ‘For a moment I thought you’d come to claim that cup of coffee I offered at the beach.’

Rosie saw Charlie look from her to Nick and back again, a frown creasing his forehead. He was still holding her hand and his fingers tightened on hers. She knew he was wondering how his aunt knew his specialist but his curiosity was not sufficient to get him asking questions.

‘I didn’t realise you were an ENT specialist,’ she blurted out.

‘We didn’t have time for that conversation, it was a busy morning.’ Nick’s tone didn’t change; he obviously didn’t seem nonplussed as he led them along a short corridor, walking just in front since all three of them couldn’t fit abreast and there was no way Charlie was letting go of his aunt. ‘But, for me, things are now starting to fall into place. Lucy is Charlie’s twin and you are their aunt.Yes?’ He glanced back at her and she nodded in confirmation. ‘Charlie’s GP told me what happened.’

At her side, she felt Charlie relax a little, his fingers no longer clenched on her hand. Apparently he was satisfied that his aunt knowing his doctor was above-board. Perhaps he’d thought they’d been discussing him behind his back? Being talked about was something Charlie detested.

So at least there was now one less thing to explain in front of Charlie. He hadn’t seen Dr Masters since before his parents had died and Rosie hadn’t been keen on explaining the situation in front of her nephew.

Nick opened his office door, holding it open for them to enter. Rosie misjudged the width of the doorway and brushed against his arm as she passed him. Purely an accident, but the brief contact made her nerves jump to attention, covering her flesh in goose bumps. She hurriedly took one of the three seats alongside Nick’s desk, leaving a chair for Charlie to sit next to her.

Nick settled himself into the third chair, sitting next to Charlie instead of behind his desk, surprising, but a nice touch.

‘Not feeling too great, Charlie?’ Nick asked. ‘Doc Hawkins told me this is your second bout of tonsillitis since Christmas. Do you ever think of sharing it with your sister?’

Charlie smiled but shook his head.

‘Let me have a look at this throat of yours, then.’ He was natural with Charlie, focused on him, talking to him and not over his head, more adult-to-adult than adult-to-child. He was chalking up more points every second, with her at least, but she wasn’t sure his warm demeanour was penetrating Charlie’s armour.

‘You know the drill.’ Nick picked up his laryngoscope and Charlie dutifully opened his mouth.

‘He’s been on amoxicillin?’ Nick asked Rosie. He glanced at her and another surge of attraction shot through her, so physical it was like a blow to the chest, and she literally had to catch her breath. He didn’t seem at all distracted by her, whereas it was all she could do to concentrate on why they were there or even breathe normally.

‘Yes.’ She shifted her focus to Charlie as Nick had done and steadied her breathing before continuing. ‘It helps but the episodes are so frequent and I’m concerned about Charlie missing so much school.’ She caught Nick’s eye, sending a silent message along with her words.

Nick’s gaze narrowed slightly and he nodded, letting Rosie know he understood her meaning. ‘Charlie, I’m almost out of tongue depressors.’ Nick held up one of the flat wooden sticks he used. ‘If I ring the girls at the front desk and ask for more, I bet you could fetch them for me quicker than I could. What do you think?’ Charlie nodded and Nick dialled the reception desk, making his request and adding a suggestion that Charlie be allowed to choose a handful of sweets from the reception lolly jar, presumably a regular way of buying a few minutes with the child patient out of earshot. He turned back to Charlie. ‘Thanks, mate, see you in a bit. And here’s a tip—my receptionist never notices anyone hiding sweets in their pocket.’ He winked at the little boy, whose eyes had grown wide. ‘I do it all the time.’

The moment Charlie left the room Nick’s focus turned to Rosie. His blue-grey eyes held her gaze and she fought the blush she was sure was sneaking its way up on her. This morning had confirmed her realisation on the beach: falling apart at the seams because of a good-looking guy was a sign she’d been more affected than she’d thought by the sudden change in her life. Too much time immersed in a world of school runs, packed lunches and mounds of washing must do things to a girl’s brain!

‘You’re concerned about the amount of school Charlie’s missing?’

Dismissing thoughts of how her insides were in danger of melting under his scrutiny, Rosie found her voice and got a grip. ‘I’m not worried about it from an academic point of view but Charlie struggles socially at the best of times—’

‘And missing school makes him feel more out of the loop,’ said Nick, finishing off her sentence and her insides at the same time. A man who genuinely listened was one of her major weaknesses. Or so she’d just discovered. He’d turned his head slightly and was looking down at his desk to his left, deep in thought. Rosie was left to marvel that with this new revelation of his character, when added to his warmth, good looks and fabulous build, she hadn’t simply melted into a pool of shiny warm jelly on the floor.

Maybe this vulnerability to a man who genuinely listened was so obvious only by its comparison to her recently ended relationship with Philip. Listening and Philip did not go together. Except for those with money and position. When those twin pillars of Philip’s belief system talked, Philip most definitely listened. Nick, whom she’d probably now spent less than thirty minutes with in total, had probably listened to her more than Philip had in their entire relationship.

‘I take it his selective mutism hasn’t improved?’

Rosie shook her head. ‘No, in fact, since he was diagnosed when he was four, he hasn’t widened the circle of people he’ll talk to. Not that anyone really expects him to at the moment, given the circumstances. But since his parents died there are now two fewer people whom he will talk to.’

‘How many in total will he talk to?’

‘Five. My parents, his twin, me and his best friend from kindy, who is now at school with him.’

‘He makes eye contact with me. Does he do that with other people too?’

Rosie nodded. ‘For the most part, once he’s familiar with someone. But he just won’t, or literally can’t, talk to people. He freezes.’

‘Eye contact is a start but it’s not very encouraging if he’s not making any other progress.’ Nick paused briefly. ‘Do you think these frequent bouts of tonsillitis are genuine? Remember, he’s seen his GP, not me, for some of them. You think he’s happy enough about going to school?’ His head was cocked to one side, waiting for her input.

‘I’ve only been caring for the twins for two months but he’s had two episodes of tonsillitis in that time, three since last December, and, in my opinion, they’ve all been the real deal.’

‘Do you think the death of his parents has contributed at all?’

‘Do I think there’s a psychological aspect to it? Like his selective mutism?’

Nick nodded.

‘There could be, it’s hard to know for sure, although his psychologist thinks he’s coping pretty well.’ Rosie found by pretending she was talking to Charlie’s GP, not Nick, she could talk almost naturally. ‘But that’s another reason I don’t want his routine to change too much. I’m worried his mutism might get worse if he’s regularly away from school because of tonsillitis.’

‘So the tonsillectomy would mean a few more days off school but you think he’d benefit in the long run.’ Again, he’d neatly summarised her thoughts.

‘Yes. His psychologist agrees too, obviously on the basis that you consider it necessary.’

‘Looking at his tonsils today I think it’s reasonable to take them out, both from a medical and social point of view.’

Charlie reappeared, sucking with concentration, a fresh supply of tongue depressors in his right hand and his left hand holding his bulging pants pocket shut.

‘Fantastic. Thanks, Charlie.’ Nick took the handful from Charlie, pointedly ignoring his overflowing pocket. ‘Have a seat, there’s something I need to discuss with you.’ Rosie swallowed a laugh as Charlie slid awkwardly into his seat, clearly not wanting to risk a single lolly spilling out. ‘Your tonsils are pretty inflamed, all red and swollen. Your throat must be pretty sore and I’m guessing it’s pretty hard to talk to Rosie, even without a lolly in your mouth. Is that right?’

Charlie nodded and quickly popped another lolly, red-and-green striped, into his mouth.

‘They’re my favourite, you know. You’ve got good taste,’ Nick added, nodding at Charlie’s mouth before continuing as if he hadn’t changed the subject. Charlie’s eyes grew wide at the comment and he looked pleased with Nick’s attention. Rosie crossed her fingers and hoped that Nick’s rapport with Charlie would get her nephew thinking differently about the operation. ‘If I take your tonsils out, it’ll be sore for a few days, but not much worse than you feel when you have tonsillitis. You might still get a cold now and again but you won’t get the same sore throats any more. Does that sound like a good idea?’

Charlie looked at Rosie and she knew what he was thinking.

‘He won’t have to eat jelly, will he? I had to eat jelly when I had my tonsils out and Charlie doesn’t like it.’

‘Well, when Rosie was little, back in the olden days…’ Nick winked at Charlie ‘…the nurses were very strict and everyone had to eat jelly, but now, if I tell the nurses no jelly, that’s all there is to it.’

Rosie could well imagine. She didn’t think there’d be too many complaints no matter what Nick asked the nursing staff.

‘Do we have a deal?’

Charlie glanced at Rosie then back to Nick, looking at him for a few seconds before nodding solemnly. Nick kept a solemn face, too, holding out a hand, and Charlie took it, shaking on their deal, all the while sucking on the lolly determinedly. Charlie was nothing if not determined. In everything he did, including not talking. It made it all the more amazing that Nick had managed to convince Charlie to have the surgery.

‘I’ll look at my operating schedule and work out when I can fit Charlie in. I’ll ring you and let you know what we can arrange. But whenever it is, there will definitely be no jelly coming anywhere near you, young man, doctor’s orders.’

Charlie beamed at Nick and didn’t pull away when Nick placed a hand on his shoulder as he walked them out. They were in the hallway when Charlie turned and ran back into Nick’s office, leaving Rosie staring blankly after her nephew, his behaviour out of character. ‘Maybe he forgot something?’ They didn’t have time to wonder, though, as Charlie was already tearing back to them, a secret smile dancing around the corners of his mouth.

It was much the same way Rosie felt, too, as she waved goodbye to Nick in the waiting room. Because, whatever else happened, she was at least guaranteed to speak to Nick again soon.

Nick stopped by the receptionist desk to see who his next patient was, suppressing mild irritation when he was told they hadn’t shown up, with no phone call of explanation.

‘It’ll give you a chance to look at these.’ She handed over a thick yellow envelope marked ‘Confidential’.

Nick cocked an eyebrow, asking, ‘The revised partnership agreement?’

She nodded. ‘I’ll hold your calls for half an hour so you can go through it.’ She picked up another bundle of papers and slid it into his hands on top of the first envelope. ‘And if you get time, these referrals and reports need to be done. Sooner. Not later.’

‘You’re a slave-driver, you’re meant to protect me from the world, not be the one who attacks me,’ muttered Nick, but it was good-natured and even managed to bring out a glimmer of a smile to soften his receptionist’s serious features. He tucked the pile of papers under his arm and headed back to his office, free to contemplate the fact that a missed appointment wasn’t what was irritating him, and the partnership papers weren’t what was uppermost in his mind. It was the fact that he could’ve kept talking with Rosie and Charlie if his next appointment hadn’t been looming.

Charlie was intriguing and he was determined to get him to talk at some stage. And his aunt? She fell into the intriguing category, too, a category that had been dismally empty for some considerable time now. Together, they made an interesting pair.

Once at his desk, he slapped the pile of papers down, resolved to comb through the final agreement he’d been impatient to receive. Then his eyes caught a bright colour and his papers lay forgotten.

A boiled lolly, red-and-green striped, shiny and hard, lay where it had been placed carefully in the centre of his notepad. He picked it up, inspected it momentarily and then lifted the pad on which someone had written, ‘They’re my favourite, too.’

‘Bingo,’ muttered Nick as he popped the lolly into his mouth. ‘He’s talking to me.’

Rosie had long since tucked Charlie and Lucy into bed and they were now fast asleep. In the last two months, this had become the time of the day she most needed. It was also the time she most dreaded. She needed the breathing space but being alone left her facing the fact she was also lonely. Dreadfully so.

Tonight, though, there was a certain comfort in being lonely. For a start, it made sense of her reaction to Nick today—and the first time she’d met him, too, if she was honest. If she wasn’t so lonely, if her life hadn’t changed so radically overnight with the unexpected deaths of her brother and sister-in-law, she wouldn’t be acting so out of character. She wouldn’t be knocked sideways by a stranger with a kind smile. All right, a killer smile. She’d noticed him, she was no nun, but she wouldn’t normally be rendered speechless or breathless or experiencing any of the symptoms he induced in her. That was obviously due to the demands of her new life. And her grief.

She and the children had encased themselves in a bubble. Insular was the word for it. She saw her parents but they understood the circumstances all too well since they shared the same loss.

Thanks to Nick, she could now say some feeling had returned and it was good. Noticing a very attractive man was a pleasant way of being enticed back into the land of the living but it didn’t mean anything more than that. She was only really noticing him because of her loneliness. It didn’t mean what she was trying to achieve for the twins was under threat.

Her sole focus was to give her niece and nephew a sense of normality, knowing her own needs could wait. She was the adult. Her reaction to Nick had reminded her she was well and truly alive and although her needs might need to wait, they hadn’t been obliterated. She toyed momentarily with the idea of socialising beyond her immediate family so her old self didn’t disappear totally. The thought didn’t appeal, not yet.

And yet the reality was she was sitting on the couch, alone, at eight o’clock at night, empty hours stretching before her. And that reality didn’t appeal either. In her old life she would have been heading out to watch a movie with a girlfriend or more likely to dinner with Philip and his political cronies. Now she was sitting on the couch contemplating making lunches and folding washing. Deciding she was too tired to do any of that, she flicked through the CD collection, looking for a way to break the silence. But the CDs belonged to her brother, David, and his wife, Anna. She didn’t want that reminder tonight.

Most of her possessions were still in Canberra. She’d jumped on a plane when her parents had called her after the accident and had only been back briefly once. She had meant to have her things sent to her but somehow there was always something else needing to be done first. Now was as good a time as any to let her ex know her plans. Apart from a few clothes, the rest of her things were still in the apartment they’d shared.

She picked up her mobile and hit the automatic dial for Philip’s mobile phone.

‘Rosie!’ He knew it was her before she spoke. There was some comfort in knowing he hadn’t deleted her number from his phone memory. Yet. ‘How are you?’

How should she respond? She knew Philip wouldn’t want to hear the truth. She’d spent the past week looking after one sick child while trying to make sure the other got enough attention too and making sure the wheels didn’t fall off their lives completely. She’d learnt long ago that Philip was one of those people for whom ‘How are you?’ was really a rhetorical question. So she gave her standard response.

‘Good. Have you got a minute? I need to sort out getting some of my things sent up.’

‘I’m on my way out, we’ll talk about it on Saturday when I get to Sydney. For the dinner.’ He paused and she could hear in his voice that he was frowning, displeased. ‘With the New Zealand Prime Minister. You did remember?’

‘Yes,’ Rosie fibbed. He’d been right to doubt her, she’d totally forgotten. Her life was very much lived from one day to the next at the moment and Saturday night was still four days away. She wanted to go to a formal political event even less than she wanted to spend every night at home for the next year, but she’d promised. Had she just forgotten or had she just hoped the function would go away if she ignored it?

‘Are you sure—?’

Philip read her intentions before she’d fully realised herself what she’d been about to say. ‘You promised, Rosie, and yes, it is important you’re seen with me.’

Important she was seen with him, not important that she be with him. There was a difference. And it rankled.

‘I’m flying in at six and the car will come straight from the airport to pick you up. Formal dress.’

What was the point in refusing? He was right, she had promised, and Rosie didn’t break promises or let people down, even if they were ex-boyfriends. There were lots of things Rosie didn’t do. But one thing she said a lot was, ‘Sure.’ Sure, no problem; sure, it’ll put me out but don’t you worry; sure, sure, sure. She sure was sick of saying ‘sure’.

‘We’ll talk then. Bye.’

Typically, Philip had turned the conversation to his needs. He hadn’t even offered to bring any of her things with him. He could easily have thrown some stuff in a suitcase. Members of Parliament didn’t seem to have the same luggage restrictions as mere mortals. All her evening dresses were in Canberra, he could easily have brought something for her to wear. Rosie debated whether to call him back and then decided it would be easier to buy something new. Easier for her—or easier for him?

He’d do it if she asked directly, she had to give him that, but maybe only because it affected him directly? He wouldn’t want to turn up and have her unable to go for lack of something to wear. But for the same reason he couldn’t be counted on to bring the dress and shoes she actually requested. He’d bring what he deemed suitable. It was unlikely to be the same thing.

She tossed the phone on the couch beside her and closed her eyes. Perhaps if she shut everything out for a few moments she’d find the energy to get up and finish the day’s chores.

Seconds after she’d thrown the phone down it rang, startling her. Philip ringing to see what he could bring? She may as well glance out the window and check if the pigs were flying.

‘Hello?’

‘Hi, Rosie? It’s Nick Masters.’

A warm glow spread through her, replacing the low feeling she’d been grappling with even before she had called Philip. ‘Nick, hi.’

‘I’ve just checked my operating schedule for the next fortnight. I know it’s late, but I’m only just out of surgery and I got the feeling you’re an information person like me so you’d rather know sooner than later.’

Rosie managed ‘Thanks’ in reply, stunned he could know that about her in such a short space of time. Or at all. Would any of her past boyfriends have had such an insight into her character?

‘I can fit Charlie in on Monday week. I operate at St Catherine’s that day so it’s close for you.’

‘Monday’s good. St Catherine’s good.’ Some proper sentences would also be good, she muttered mentally. Come on, get it together. The guy doesn’t know you’re a house-bound loony, don’t let the secret out now! She kick-started her brain into gear. ‘Great. And you’re right, I do like to get all the facts, then I can deal with it, plan, work out what I’m going to do.’ So far so good. ‘Things are much less stressful when the information is on the table and you’re not left second-guessing. Not that I was scared about you operating…’ She stumbled to an embarrassed silence.

Nick didn’t miss a beat, simply laughing as if she’d been joking. ‘I’m glad to hear it, although most people are terrified, some not so secretly, at the thought of their child having surgery. I’ll get the forms posted to you but he’ll need to be admitted at seven a.m. Can you manage that?’

It would mean juggling Lucy’s schedule but that wasn’t Nick’s problem. ‘Yes, I’ll sort something out.’

‘What about your work, can you take time off?’

‘I’m on a leave of absence from my job to concentrate on the children.’

There was a brief silence at the other end. Had she scared him off with too much information? ‘Maybe once I get Charlie sorted for you, that will help things settle down.’ She got the feeling it wasn’t what he wanted to say, or ask, but that’s all it was. A feeling. And she didn’t know him well enough to ask.

‘I hope so. It might be a start at least.’

‘Let me know if there’s anything I can do,’ he offered.

‘Thanks, Nick, but I doubt you have time to worry about how your patients are going to organise their lives.’ She settled back against the deep cushions of the couch, conscious she was behaving as if she was readying herself for a nice long chat with a good friend.

‘Not usually. But most of my private patients have a partner or, to be honest, a nanny to help pick up the slack, and in the public hospitals there’s Family and Community Services help if necessary. It’s no difficulty to schedule things to suit you, you just need to say.’

‘I appreciate that, but we’ll be fine, this time at least. We’ll see you on the sixteenth, and thank you.’ She hesitated, unused to the feeling of having help offered, of accepting it, then added, ‘If I get stuck and need an appointment changed, I’ll remember your invitation. It’s very kind of you.’

He said goodbye and she ended the call, wondering what he’d wanted to say or ask when she’d mentioned her work leave. She shrugged, knowing she’d never know and it probably didn’t matter. It was just one more sign of how insular she’d become, that she could sit analysing the things an almost-stranger hadn’t said during a routine phone call.

On another note, a more positive note, the phone call had helped her more than Nick would know. To be asked how she was coping, whether something would suit her, made all the difference. She suspected she wasn’t coping all that well given her growing preoccupation with her nephew’s specialist, a man who’d rung only to schedule surgery. A man unlikely to have any interest in an overwhelmed, grieving aunt. But if she allowed herself to ignore those obvious objections, he’d still managed to make her feel she was cared about. He’d managed to make her feel less alone at precisely the time she’d needed that reassurance, however fleeting it might be.

The contrast between that phone call and the earlier one with Philip was marked. Philip, who should have asked after the children, out of politeness if not out of a sense of concern, hadn’t, yet a virtual stranger had.

Returning to Canberra to live with the children was one of the options she was thinking over. After her phone call with her ex, that option was looking bleaker. What was there for her, for any of them, if her breakup with Philip was going to be permanent?

Or perhaps, she reflected, recalling how her tongue had frozen and her belly had sprung to life at the sight of Nick today, what had there ever been there for her? Even with Philip?