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‘I love it,’ she said soundly, even defiantly, because she did. Of course she did. ‘And you have fun at … Where are you going?’
‘The Rooftop Bar. Madeleine just happened to mention to your Dr Evans that we might be there.’ She grinned and started searching her bag for her lipstick. ‘If you’re not interested …’
‘He’s all yours,’ Em said tightly. ‘Best of luck. The supermarket’s waiting for me. Whoo-hoo, a fabulous night for both of us.’
‘Right,’ Sophia said dryly. ‘Em, I wish …’
‘Well, don’t wish,’ Em said, more sharply than she’d intended. ‘Don’t even think about it. This is the life I chose for myself, and I’m happy. Dr Oliver Evans might be at the bar and I guess that’s the life he’s chosen, too. We’re all where we want to be, and we can’t ask for more than that.’
Oliver’s day wasn’t supposed to be frantic. Weren’t new staff supposed to have an orientation day, a shift where they spent the time acquainting themselves with ward and theatre staff, meeting everyone in the canteen, arranging stuff in their office? Not so much. Harry, it seemed, had left in a hurry. His lady had been enticing; he’d left without giving proper notice and the work had backed up.
Apart from that, Harry hadn’t had specialist in-utero surgical training. It seemed that word of Oliver’s arrival had flown around Melbourne before he arrived. He had three consultations lined up for the afternoon and more for the next day.
Ruby’s case was probably the most complex. No, it was the most complex, he thought, mostly because the scans showing the extent of the problem had made him wince.
Plus she was alone. His next mum, Lucy, arrived with a support cast, husband, parents, an entourage of six. Her baby had a congenital heart malfunction. The little boy in utero was a twenty-four-weeker. He needed an aortic valvuloplasty—opening the aortic foetal heart valves to allow blood flow. It was one of the most common reasons for in-utero surgery, the one that Oliver was most comfortable with—as long as he had the backup of decent cardiac surgeons.
Oliver had already met Tristan Hamilton, the Victoria’s neonatal cardiothoracic surgeon—in fact, they’d gone to university together. Tristan had backed up Charles’s calls, pressuring him to come, and he had been one of the inducements. Tristan was incredibly skilled, and if he could work side by side with him, for this mum, things were likely to be fine.
But what seemed wrong was that Lucy and her little boy had huge family backup—and Ruby had no one.
But Ruby had Em.
That had to be compensation. Em would be terrific.
If indeed she was with her. She’d been running late that morning. She’d looked harassed, like she had one too many balls in the air.
She’d come flying into Ruby’s room half an hour after she’d hit his car, burbling about an early delivery. Really? Or had she spent the half hour on the phone to her insurance people?
It was none of his business.
Still, it was a niggle …
Isla Delamere was the Victoria’s head midwife—plus she was the daughter of the CEO. Apparently she’d also just become engaged to the hospital’s neonatal intensive care specialist. Isla was not a person to mess with, he’d decided. He’d been introduced to her by Charles, and as he was about to leave he saw her again.
‘You have how many in-utero procedures lined up for me?’ he said, half joking. ‘You guys believe in throwing me in at the deep end.’
‘You just do the surgery,’ she said, smiling. ‘My midwives will keep everything running smoothly. I have the best team …’
‘My midwife this morning was running late.’ He shouldn’t have said it. He knew it the moment he’d opened his mouth. The last thing he wanted was to get Em into trouble and this woman had power at her fingertips, but Isla didn’t seem bothered.
‘I’m sorry about that. We had three births within fifteen minutes of each other just as Em came on duty. I know her care of Ruby’s a priority, but one of the births was prem, the mum was out of her tree, and there’s no one better at calming a frantic mum than Em. I only used her for the final fifteen minutes but it made a difference. You did cope by yourself until then?’
She raised her beautifully formed eyebrows quizzically … head midwife wondering if surgeon could cope without a little assistance …
Right. He’d got his answer but now Isla thought he was a wimp. Great start.
‘Some of the staff are going to the Rooftop Bar after work,’ Isla told him. ‘Have you been invited? You’re welcome to join us.’
‘Thanks but I have a problem to sort.’
‘Your car?’ She was still smiling and, he thought, that was just the sort of thing that hospital staff the world over enjoyed. Specialist’s car being trashed, especially since most staff here could never afford to run a car like Betsy.
He loved that car and now she was a mess. But …
‘Em’s promised to sort it,’ Isla told him. ‘She’s not the sort of woman to let her insurance lapse.’
‘It’s not the insurance …’
‘And she’s really sorry. She was stricken when she first came in this morning. She’s been so busy all day I suspect she hadn’t had time to apologise but—’
‘Will she be at the bar now?’
‘Em? Heavens, no. She has two kids waiting for her at home.’
‘Two?’
‘Gretta’s four and Toby’s two. They’re special kids but, wow, they’re demanding.’
‘I guess …’ And then he asked because he couldn’t help himself. Had a miracle happened? Gretta’s four … She must have moved like the wind. ‘Her partner …’ He knew there couldn’t have been a marriage because there’d never been a divorce but … there must be someone. ‘Is he a medic? Does she have help?’
But Isla’s eyebrows hit her hairline. Her face closed, midwife protecting her own. ‘I guess that’s for you to ask Em if it’s important for you to know,’ she said shortly, clearing her desk, making signals she was out of there. Off to the Rooftop Bar to join her colleagues? ‘She doesn’t talk about her private life. Is there anything else you need?’
More information, he thought, and he’d bet Isla knew everything he wanted to know. But he couldn’t push without opening a can of worms. Evans was a common name. Em had clearly not told anyone there was a connection.
Better to leave it that way, maybe.
‘Thanks, no.’
‘Goodnight, then. And good luck with the car. You might let Em know when you have it sorted. She’s beating herself up over it. She’s a great midwife and I don’t like my midwives stressed. I’d appreciate it if you could fix it.’
‘I’ll try,’ he said, but it was too late. Isla had gone.
He headed down to the car park. He hadn’t been back to assess the damage during the day—he hadn’t had time.
The park next to his was empty. Em was gone.
Her wagon had still been drivable. Her doors had been bent, but the wheels were still okay, whereas his … One of the wheels was far from okay and he wasn’t driving anywhere. He stooped and examined it and thought of the hassle it had been to find the right parts for his little beauty. Where was he going to find another wheel rim? And the panels were a mess.
Strangely, it didn’t upset him as much as he’d thought it might. He checked the damage elsewhere and knew he’d have to get her towed—actually, carried, as there was no way she could be towed like this. And then he’d go searching for the parts he needed.
He kind of liked searching the internet for car parts. It was something to do at three in the morning when he couldn’t sleep.
Which was often.
He rounded the front of the car and there he saw a note in his windshield. Em?
Oliver, I really am sorry about this. I’ve put my hand up, it was all my fault, and I’ve told my insurance company to pay without arguing. I photocopied my driver’s licence and my insurance company details—they’re attached. One of the girls on the ward knows of a great repair place that specialises in vintage cars—the details are here, too. See you when you next see Ruby.
Em
It was all about the car. There was nothing personal at all.
Well, what did he expect? A mea culpa with extras? This was more than generous, admitting total culpability. Her insurance company would hate her. As well as that, she’d probably have to pay the first few hundred dollars, plus she’d lose her no-claim bonus.
He could afford it. Could she?
He re-read the note. What was he hoping for? Personal details?
Her driver’s licence told him all he was going to get. Emily Louise Evans. She was still using his name, then. So … single mother? How? Had she gone ahead and adopted by herself? He checked again, making sure he was right—she was living at her mother’s address.
He liked Adrianna. Or he had liked her. He hadn’t seen his mother-in-law for years.
He could drop in …
Why?
‘Because she shouldn’t accept full responsibility,’ he said out loud. ‘If she’s supporting kids …’
She’d said she’d already phoned her insurance company and confessed, but maybe he could reverse it. Maybe he could take some of the load.
The independent Em of five years ago would tell him to shove it.
Yeah? He thought back to the Em of five years ago, shattered, gutted, looking towards the future with a bleakness that broke his heart.
‘If you won’t do it with me then I’ll do it alone. If you think I can go back to the life we led … I’m over nightclubs, Oliver. I’m over living just for me.’
‘Isn’t there an us in there?’
‘I thought there was, but I thought we wanted a family. I hadn’t realised it came with conditions.’
‘Em, I can’t.’
‘So you’re leaving?’
‘You’re not giving me any choice.’
‘I guess I’m not. I’m sorry, Oliver.’
Five years …
Okay, their marriage was long over but somehow she still seemed … partly his responsibility. And the cost of this repair would make her insurance company’s eyes water.
It behoved him …
‘Just to see,’ he told himself. He’d thought he’d drop in to visit Adrianna when he’d come to Melbourne anyway, to see how she was.
And talk to Adrianna about Em?
Yeah, but he was over it. He’d had a couple of relationships in the last five years, even if they had been fleeting. He’d moved on.
‘So let’s be practical,’ he told himself, and hit his phone and organised a tow truck, and a hire car, and half an hour later he was on the freeway, heading to the suburb where his ex-mother-in-law lived. With his wife and her two children, and her new life without him.
‘You hit who?’
‘Oliver.’ Em was feeding Toby, which was a messy joy. Toby was two years old and loved his dinner. Adrianna had made his favourite animal noodles in a tomato sauce. Toby was torn between inspecting every animal on his spoon and hoovering in the next three spoonfuls as if there was no tomorrow.
Adrianna was sitting by the big old fire stove, cuddling Gretta. The little girl’s breathing was very laboured.
Soon …
No. It hurt like hot knives to have to think about it. Much better to concentrate on distractions, and Oliver was surely a distraction.
‘He’s working at the Victoria?’
‘Yep. Starting today.’
‘Oh, Em … Can you stay there?’
‘I can’t walk away. We need the money. Besides, it’s the best midwifery job in Melbourne. I love working with Isla and her team.’
‘So tell him to leave. You were there first.’
‘I don’t think you can tell a man like Oliver Evans to leave. Besides, the hospital needs him. I read his CV on the internet during lunch break. His credentials are even more awesome than when I knew him. He’s operating on Ruby’s baby and there’s no one better to do it.’
And that had Adrianna distracted. ‘How is Ruby?’
Em wasn’t supposed to bring work home. She wasn’t supposed to talk about patients outside work, but Adrianna spent her days minding the kids so Em could work. Adrianna had to feel like she was a part of it, and in a way she was. If it wasn’t for her mum, she’d never be able to do this.
This. Chaos. Animal noodles. Mess on the kitchen floor. Fuzzy, a dopey half-poodle, half something no one could guess at, was currently lurking under Toby’s highchair on the off-chance the odd giraffe or elephant would drop from on high.
‘Hey, it’s all done.’ There was a triumphant bang from the laundry and Mike appeared in the doorway, waving his spanner. ‘That’s that mother fixed. I’d defy any drop to leak anywhere now. Anything else I can do for you ladies?’
‘Oh, Mike, that’s fabulous. But I wish you’d let us pay—’
‘You’ve got free plumbing for life,’ Mike said fiercely. Mike was their big, burly, almost scary-looking next-door neighbour. His ginger hair was cropped to almost nothing. He wore his jeans a bit too low, he routinely ripped the sleeves out of his T-shirts because sleeves annoyed him, and in his spare time he built his body. If you met Mike on a dark night you might turn the other way. Fast.
Em had met Mike on a dark night. He’d crashed into their kitchen, banging the back door so hard it had broken.
‘Em, the wife … My Katy … The baby … There’s blood, oh, my God, there’s blood … You’re a midwife. Please …’
Katy had had a fast, fierce delivery of their third child, and she’d haemorrhaged. Mike had got home to find her in the laundry, her baby safely delivered, but she’d been bleeding out.
She’d stopped breathing twice before the ambulance had arrived. Em had got her back.
Mike and Katy were now the parents of three boys who promised to grow up looking just like their dad, and Mike was Em’s slave for ever. He’d taken Em and her household under his wing, and a powerful wing it was. There were usually motorbikes parked outside Mike and Katy’s place—multiple bikes—but no matter what the pressure of his family, his job or his biker mates, Mike dropped in every night—just to check.
Now, as Toby finished the last mouthful of his noodles, Mike hefted him out of his highchair and whirled him round and hugged him in a manner that made Em worry the noodles might come back up again. But Toby crowed in glee.
‘Can I take him next door for a few minutes?’ he asked. ‘We’ve got a new swing, a double-seater. My boys’ll be outside and Henry and Tobes’ll look a treat on it. Give you a bit of peace with Gretta, like.’
He glanced at Gretta but he didn’t say any more. What was happening was obvious. Gretta was more and more dependent on oxygen, but more and more it wasn’t enough.
If Mike took Toby, Em could sit by the fire and cuddle Gretta while Adrianna put her feet up and watched the telly. Toby was already lighting up with excitement.
‘That’d be great, Mike, thank you,’ Em told him. ‘I’ll pop over and pick him up in an hour.’
‘Bring Gretta with you,’ Mike said. ‘Give her a go on the swing. If she’s up for it.’
But she wasn’t up for it. They all knew it, and that knowledge hung over the house, a shadow edging closer.
Today Oliver’s presence had pushed that shadow back a little, made Em’s thoughts fly sideways, but, Oliver or not, the shadows were there to stay.
CHAPTER FOUR
THE LAST TIME Oliver had visited his ex-mother-in-law, her house had looked immaculate. Adrianna was devoted to her garden. At this time of year her roses had always looked glorious, her herbaceous borders had been clipped to perfect symmetry and her lawns had always been lush and green, courtesy of the tanks she’d installed specifically so she could be proud of her garden the year round.
Not now.
The grass on the lawn was a bit long and there were bare patches, spots where things had been left for a while. Where once an elegant table setting had stood under the shade of a Manchurian pear, there was now a sandpit and a paddling pool.
A beach ball lay on the front path. He had to push it aside to reach the front door.
It took him less than a minute to reach the door but by the time he had, the last conversation he’d had with Em had played itself out more than a dozen times in his head.
‘Em, I can’t adopt. I’m sorry, but I can’t guarantee I can love kids who aren’t my own.’
‘They would be your own,’ she’d said. She’d been emotional, distraught, but underneath she’d been sure. ‘I want kids, Oliver. I want a family. There are children out there who need us. If we can’t have our own … to not take them is selfish.’
‘To take them when we can’t love them is selfish.’
‘I can love them. I will.’
‘But I can’t.’ He’d said it gently but inexorably, a truth he’d learned by fire.
‘You’re saying I need to do it alone?’
‘Em, think about it,’ he’d said fiercely. ‘We love each other. We’ve gone through so much …’
‘I want a family.’
‘Then I can’t give it to you. If this is the route you’re determined to take, then you’ll need to find someone who can.’
He’d walked away, sure that when she’d settled she’d agree with him. After all, their love was absolute. But she’d never contacted him. She hadn’t answered his calls.
Adrianna had spoken to him. ‘Oliver, she’s gutted. She knows your position. Please, leave her be to work things out for herself.’
It had gutted him, too, that she’d walked away from their marriage without a backward glance. And here was evidence that she’d moved on. She’d found herself the life she wanted—without him.
He reached the door, lifted his hand to the bell but as he did the door swung inwards.
The guy opening the door was about the same age as Oliver. Oliver was tall, but this guy was taller and he was big in every sense of the word. He was wearing jeans, a ripped T-shirt and big working boots. His hands were clean but there was grease on his forearms. And on his tatts.
He was holding a child, a little boy of about two. The child was African, Oliver guessed, Somalian maybe, as dark as night, with huge eyes. One side of his face was badly scarred. He was cradled in the guy’s arms, but he was looking outwards, brightly interested in this new arrival into his world.
Another kid came flying through the gate behind Oliver, hurtling up the path towards them. Another little boy. Four? Ginger-haired. He looked like the guy in front of him.
‘Daddy, Daddy, it’s my turn on the swing,’ he yelled. ‘Come and make them give me a turn.’
The guy scooped him up, as well, then stood, a kid tucked under each arm. He looked Oliver up and down, like a pit bull, bristling, assessing whether to attack.
‘Life insurance?’ he drawled. ‘Funeral-home plans? Not interested, mate.’
‘I’m here to see Emily.’
‘She’s not interested, either.’
He was still wearing his suit. Maybe he should have changed. Maybe a tatt or two was necessary to get into this new version of his mother-in-law’s home.
‘I’m a friend of Em’s from the hospital.’ Who was this guy? ‘Can you tell her I’m here, please?’
‘She’s stuffed. She doesn’t need visitors.’ He was blocking the doorway, a great, belligerent bull of a man.
‘Can you ask her?’
‘She only has an hour at most with Gretta before the kid goes to sleep. You want to intrude on that?’
Who was Gretta? Who was this guy?
‘Mike?’ Thankfully it was Em, calling from inside the house. ‘Who is it?’
‘Guy who says he’s a friend of yours.’ Mike didn’t take his eyes off Oliver. His meaning was clear—he didn’t trust him an inch. ‘Says he’s from the hospital. Looks like an undertaker.’
‘Mike?’
‘Yeah?’
‘It’ll be Oliver,’ she called, and Mike might be right about the ‘stuffed’ adjective, Oliver conceded. Her voice sounded past weariness.
‘Oliver?’
‘He’s the guy I was married to.’ Was?
‘Your ex is an undertaker? Sheesh, Em …’
‘He’s not an undertaker. He’s a surgeon.’
‘That’s one step before the undertaker.’
‘Mike?’
‘Yeah?’
‘Let him in.’
Why didn’t Em come to the door? But Mike gave him a last long stare and stepped aside.
‘Right,’ he called back to Em. ‘But we’re on the swings. One yell and I’ll be here in seconds. Watch it, mate,’ he growled at Oliver, as he pushed past him and headed down the veranda with his load of kids. ‘You upset Em and you upset me—and you wouldn’t want to do that. You upset Em and you’ll be very, very sorry.’
He knew this house. He’d been here often with Em. He’d stayed here for weeks on end when, just after they were married, Em’s dad had been diagnosed with inoperable lung cancer.
It had taken the combined skill of all of them—his medical input, Em’s nursing skill and Adrianna’s unfailing devotion—to keep Kev comfortable until the end, but at the funeral, as well as sadness there had also been a feeling that it had been the best death Kev could have asked for. Surrounded by his family, no pain, knowing he was loved …
‘This is how I want us to go out when we have to,’ Em had whispered to him at the graveside. ‘Thank you for being here.’
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