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CHAPTER ELEVEN

SHE SHOULD HAVE said no. The thought of Oliver being with the kids when she wasn’t there was disconcerting, to say the least. She rang Adrianna and warned her and Adrianna’s pleasure disconcerted her even more.

‘I always said he was a lovely man. I was so sorry when you two split. It was just that awful time—it would have split up any couple.’

‘We’re incompatible, Mum,’ she said, and she heard Adrianna smile down the phone.

‘You had differences. Maybe those differences aren’t as great as they once seemed.’

‘Mum …’

‘I’m just saying. But, okay, sweetheart, I won’t interfere. I’ll say nothing.’

Which didn’t mean she was thinking nothing, Em decided as she headed to her next case. Luckily, it was a lovely, normal delivery, a little girl born to an Italian couple. Their fourth baby—and their fourth daughter—was greeted like the miracle all babies were.

She left them professing huge gratitude, and Em thought: How come the cases where all I do is catch are the ones where I get the most thanks? But it cheered her immeasurably and by the time she went to see Ruby, her complications with Oliver seemed almost trifling.

Ruby was about to bring those complications front and centre. The teenager was lying propped up on pillows, surrounded by glossy magazines. She had the television on, but she looked bored. And fretful. She lightened up when Em came in, and before Em could even ask her how she was, she put in a question of her own.

‘Emily, I’ve been thinking. You and Dr Evans split because you couldn’t have a baby. That’s what I guessed, but it’s true, I know it is.’

Whoa! Hospital grapevine? Surely not. Sophia was the only one she’d told. Surely Sophia wouldn’t break a confidence and even if she had, surely no member of staff would tell a patient things that were personal.

‘How—’

‘I’m sure I heard it.’ Ruby’s eyes were alight with interest, a detective tracking vital clues. ‘When I was asleep. After Theatre. You and that other nurse were talking.’

Sophia. Em did a frantic rethink of what they’d talked about. Uh-oh.

‘So I’ve been thinking. I’ve got a baby I don’t want,’ Ruby said, and suddenly the detective Ruby had given way to a scared kid. ‘Maybe you could have mine.’

There was an offer. It took her breath away.

She plonked down on the bed and gazed at Ruby in stupefaction. ‘Ruby,’ she said at last. ‘How can you think such a thing?’

‘I can’t keep it,’ she said fretfully. ‘Dr Evans says I have to stay in bed so I don’t go into labour and it’s driving me nuts, but it’s giving me time to think. Ever since I got pregnant … first Jason said he didn’t want anything to do with it, or me. Then Mum said she’d kick me out if I kept it. And I was pig stubborn—it just seemed so wrong. I thought I was in love with Jason, and when I realised I was pregnant I was happy. I wasn’t even scared. I even thought I might make a good mum. It was only after that … the complications came in.’

‘Most of those complications are over,’ Em said gently. ‘Your daughter has every chance of being born healthy.’

‘Yeah, but I’ve been couch-surfing since Mum found out,’ she said fretfully. ‘I had to leave school because I had nowhere to stay, and how can I couch-surf with a kid—no one’s going to want me.’

‘Then this isn’t about adoption,’ Em told her, forcing herself to sound upbeat and cheerful. ‘This is all about plans for the future. We have a couple of excellent social workers. I’ll get one of them to pop in and talk to you. She can help you sort things out.’

‘But there are so many things … and if the baby’s prem, which Dr Evans says is even probable, how can I cope with a baby? If she had a good home … if you and Dr Evans could look after her …’

‘Ruby, leave this.’ The girl’s eyes had filled with tears and Em moved to hug her. ‘Things will work out. You won’t have to give away your baby, I promise.’

‘But you need her. It could save your marriage.’

‘My marriage was over a long time ago,’ she said, still hugging. ‘It doesn’t need your daughter to try and mend it. Ruby, I want you to stop worrying about me and my love life. I want you to only think about yourself.’

Oliver arrived at Em’s house right on five. Adrianna greeted him with unalloyed pleasure—and promptly declared her intention of taking a nap.

‘When Em rang, that’s what I decided I’d do,’ she told him. ‘The tea hour’s the hell hour. If I can have a nap first it’ll take the pressure off both of us when Em comes home.’ She smiled and suddenly he found himself being hugged. ‘It’s great to have you back, Oliver,’ she told him. ‘And it’s great that you arrived just when we need you most.’

He was left with the kids.

He carried them out into the soft autumn evening, stupidly grateful that Mike from next door was nowhere to be seen. Both kids seemed a bit subdued, pleased to see him, relaxed but tired.

The end of a long day? He touched Toby’s forehead and worried that he might have a slight fever.

Katy next door had a cold. Had she or her kids spread it?

Maybe he was imagining things. He was like a worried parent, he thought, mocking himself.

He wasn’t a parent. Not even close.

He had these kids for an hour.

He set them on the grass under the tree. Fuzzy the dog came out and loped herself over Gretta’s legs. Gretta’s oxygen cylinder sat beside her, a harsh reminder of reality, but for now there was no threat. A balmy evening. Warm, soft grass.

‘Look up through the trees and tell me what you see,’ he said, and both kids looked up obediently.

‘Tree,’ Gretta said.

‘Tree,’ Toby agreed, and he found himself smiling. Gretta and her parrot.

Together they were family, he thought. They were a fragile family at best, but for today, well, for today this was okay.

‘I’m seeing a bear,’ he said, and both kids looked at him in alarm.

‘Up there,’ he reassured them. ‘See that big cloud? It has a nose on the side. See its mouth? It’s smiling.’

Neither kid seemed capable of seeing what he was seeing but they looked at each other and seemed to decide mutually to humour him.

‘Bear,’ Gretta said.

‘Bear,’ Toby agreed.

‘He must live up there in the clouds,’ Oliver decreed. ‘I think he might be the bear from “Goldilocks”. Do you guys know that story?’

Toby was two, a tiny African toddler suffering the effects of early malnutrition as well as the scoliosis and scarring on his face from infection. Gretta was a damaged kid with Down’s. ‘Goldilocks’ was way out of their sphere.

‘Well,’ Oliver said serenely, settling himself down. The kids edged nearer, sensing a story. ‘Once upon a time there were three bears and they lived up in the clouds. Baby Bear had a lovely soft little cloud because he was the smallest. Mumma Bear had a middly sort of cloud, a bit squishy but with a nice high back because sometimes her back hurt, what with carrying Baby Bear all the time.’

‘Back,’ said Toby.

‘Back,’ Gretta agreed, obviously deeply satisfied with the way this story was progressing.

‘But Papa Bear had the biggest cloud of all. It was a ginormous cloud. It had great big footprints all over it because Papa Bear wore great big boots and, no matter what Mumma Bear said, he never took them off before he climbed onto his cloud. Mumma Bear should have said no porridge for Papa Bear but Mumma Bear is really kind …’

‘My Emmy,’ Gretta murmured, and he wondered how much this kid knew. How much did she understand?

My Emmy …

It had been a soft murmur, a statement that Gretta had her own Mumma Bear and all was right with that arrangement.

‘Porridge,’ Toby said, and Oliver had to force his thoughts away from Em, away from the little girl who was pressed into his side, and onto a story where porridge was made in the clouds.

And life was fantasy.

And the real world could be kept at bay.

Em arrived home soon after six, walked in and Adrianna was in the kitchen, starting dinner. She was singing.

Oliver’s hire car was parked out the front.

‘Where’s Oliver?’ she asked cautiously, and then gazed around. ‘Where are the kids?’ Had he taken them out? It was late. They’d be tired. Maybe they’d gone next door. But Katy had passed her cold on to her youngest. She didn’t want them there, not with Gretta’s breathing so fragile.

‘Hey, don’t look so worried.’ Her mum was beaming and signalling out the window. ‘Look.’

She looked.

The two kids were lying under the spreading oak in the backyard. Oliver was sandwiched between them. He had an arm round each of them and they were snuggled against him.

Fuzzy was draped over his stomach.

‘You can hardly see him,’ Adrianna said with satisfaction. ‘It’s an Oliver sandwich. He’s been telling them stories. I went for a nap but I left my window open. He’s an excellent storyteller. He makes them giggle.’

‘They can’t understand.’

‘They can understand enough to know when to giggle. Cloud Bears. Porridge stealing. High drama. Lots of pouncing, with Fuzzy being the pouncee.’

‘You’re kidding.’

‘He’s adorable,’ Adrianna said. ‘He always was. He always is.’

‘Mum …’

‘I know.’ Her mother held up her hands as if in surrender. ‘It’s none of my business and I understand the grief that drove you apart.’

‘It wasn’t the grief. It was …’

‘Irreconcilable differences,’ Adrianna said sagely. She looked out the window again. ‘But from this angle they don’t look so irreconcilable to me. You want to go tell him dinner is ready?’

‘I … No.’

‘Don’t be a coward.’

‘Mum, don’t.’ She swiped a stray curl from her tired eyes and thought she should have had more cut off. She needed to be practical. She wanted …

She didn’t want.

‘I don’t want to fall in love with him again,’ she whispered. ‘Mum …’

And her mother turned and hugged her.

‘It’s okay, baby,’ she told her as she held her close. ‘There’s no fear of that, because you’ve never stopped loving him anyway.’

She came out to tell the kids dinner was ready. She was looking tired and worried. She stood back a bit and called, as if she was afraid of coming further.

Fuzzy raced across to her, barking. The kids looked round and saw her and Toby started beetling across the lawn to her. The scoliosis meant he couldn’t walk yet, but he could crawl, and crawl he did, a power crawl, his stiff legs making him look like a weird little bug. He was a bug who squealed with joy as Em swung him up in her arms.

Gretta couldn’t crawl. She lay and smiled, waiting for Em to come and fetch her, and Oliver thought that, combined, these kids weighed heaps and Em was slight and …

And it was the life she’d chosen. The life she’d wanted as an alternative to staying married to him.

He rose, lifted Gretta and her oxygen cylinder and carried her across to Em. Gretta reached out her arms to be hugged. Oliver tried for a kid swap in midair and suddenly they were all squeezed together. Kids in the middle. Him on one side, Em on the other, Fuzzy bouncing around in the middle of all their feet.

It was a sandwich squeeze, he thought, a group hug, but he was holding Em. They were the wagons circling the kids. Keeping them safe?

Nothing could keep Gretta safe.

And then Toby coughed and Em tugged away with quick concern. ‘Oh, no,’ she whispered as she took in Toby’s flushed face. ‘Katy’s bug …’

‘I’ve had them lying on either side of me, and that’s the first cough. In the fresh air it should be okay. Should we try and isolate them?’

‘It’ll be too late, if indeed it’s Katy’s cold. And besides …’ Her voice fell away.

‘Besides?’

‘We made a decision, Mum and I. The first couple of years of Gretta’s life were practically all spent in hospital. She was growing so institutionalised she was starting to not respond at all. Tristan’s been her doctor from the beginning. After the last bout of surgery—it was a huge gamble but it didn’t pay off—he told us to take her home and love her. And that’s what we’re doing. We’ll be a family until the end.’

Her voice broke a little as she finished but her eyes were still resolute. ‘She’s Toby’s sister,’ she said. ‘We know there are risks, but the fact that she’s family overrides everything.’

‘So you’ll let her catch—’

‘I’ll do as much as I can to not let her catch whatever this is,’ she said. ‘Toby can sleep with Mum and I’ll sleep with Gretta so they’re not sharing a room. We’ll wash and we’ll disinfect. But that’s all we’ll do.’

‘That alone will take a power of work.’

‘So what’s the alternative?’ she demanded, lifting her chin. ‘Gretta’s my daughter, Oliver. The decision is mine.’

Toby’s cold was minor, a sniffle and a cough, no big deal. He was quieter than usual, but that was okay because it meant he was supremely happy to lie under the oak tree every evening and listen to Oliver’s stories.

Because Oliver kept coming every evening.

‘Why?’ Em demanded on the third evening. ‘Oliver, you don’t need to. You owe me nothing.’

‘This is little to do with you,’ he said, and was surprised into acknowledging that he spoke the truth. For at first these kids had seemed like Em’s kids, the kids he’d refused her, a part of Em. And at first he’d agreed to take care of them because of Em. It had been a way to get to know her again—and there was a hefty dose of guilt thrown in for good measure.

But now … He lay under the oak and the bears became tortoises or heffalumps or antigowobblers—that one took a bit of explaining—and he found he was taking as much pleasure as he was giving. And as much quiet satisfaction.

The last five years had been hectic, frantic, building up a career to the point where he knew he was one of the best in-utero surgeons in the world. It hadn’t been easy. He’d had little time for anything else, and in truth he hadn’t wanted time.

If he’d had free time he’d have thought about Em.

But now, with his career back in Australia yet to build up, he did have that time. And he wasn’t thinking about Em—or not all the time, he conceded. He was thinking of two kids.

Of what story he could tell them tonight to make them laugh.

Of how to lessen the burden on Em’s shoulders while acknowledging her right to love these two.

How had he ever thought she couldn’t love an adopted child?

And as time went on, he thought … How could he have thought that of himself? These kids were somehow wrapping themselves around his heart like two tiny worms. They were two brave, damaged kids who, without Em’s big heart, would be institutionalised and isolated.

These were kids who could well break her heart. Gretta’s prognosis was grim. Once Toby’s medical condition improved, the paperwork to keep him in the country would be mind-blowing.

It didn’t seem to matter. Em just … loved. Her courage took his breath away.

Her love made him rethink his life.

What sort of dumb, cruel mistake have I made? he demanded of himself after his first week of childminding. What have I thrown away?

For he had thrown it. Em was always happy to see him, always grateful for the help he gave, always bubbly with the kids when he was around. But as soon as possible she withdrew. What would she say if he asked her to reconsider their relationship? He had no right to ask, he thought. And besides … How could he cope with the pain she was opening herself up to? To adopt these kids …

Except he didn’t seem to have a choice. He might not be able to adopt them but, lying under the tree evening after evening, he knew he was beginning to love them.

As he’d always loved their mother?

Every night Em got home from work and he was there. Unbidden, Adrianna pushed mealtime back a little. So instead of coming home to chaos, sometimes Em had time to lie under the tree with them.

It became a routine—they greeted her with quiet pleasure, shifted a little to make room for her on the lushest part of the lawn, Fuzzy stretching so he managed to drape over everyone.

Oliver never tried to talk to her. There was no ‘How was your day, dear?’ He simply kept on with his stories, but he included her in them.

He found an Emily-shaped cloud and demanded the kids acknowledge it had the same shaped nose, and the same smile. And then he made up a story about Emily and the beanstalk.

It was better than any massage, Em conceded, lying back, looking up through the trees, listening to Oliver making her kids happy.

For he did make them happy. They adored this story time. Gretta probably understood little, but she knew this was story time. Lying on the grass, she was totally relaxed. Her breathing wasn’t under pressure, she wriggled closer to Oliver and Em felt her heart twist with the pleasure she was so obviously feeling.

And Toby … The scarring on his face had left the side of his mouth twisted. He had trouble forming words, but with Oliver’s gentle stories he was trying more and more.

‘And here comes the giant …’ Oliver intoned, and Toby’s scarred little face contorted with delight.

‘S-stomp … stomp … stomp …’ he managed.

And Em thought, How smart is my little son? And she watched Oliver give the toddler a high five and then they all said, ‘Stomp, stomp, stomp,’ and they all convulsed into giggles.