Fiona McArthur - Midwives On Call At Christmas

She glanced at Simon, who watched her with a whimsical expression on his face. It was so cool he’d come with her. Even if he didn’t want to jump, and it had been a pretty big spur-of-the-moment ask, he still looked fairly happy. She’d been a little afraid of that. That he’d radiate stress vibes and doomsday foreboding but he’d surprised her with how calmly he was taking it and how supportive he was.

She had an epiphany that maybe real men didn’t have to do crazy things to be in tune with her. Look at her last man. He’d been crazy and had turned out to be a loser of the highest order so maybe the opposite worked.

She knew for a fact that Simon was far from a loser but she also knew she wasn’t looking long term for someone like him. People like him spent their lives with prim and proper doctors’ wives, not someone who wanted to seek thrills and drift from town to town like her. People like Simon hadn’t been brought up in orphanages and foster-homes.

But you could kiss those people. The ones you weren’t going to marry. It was a shame she’d enjoyed it so much because the idea of kissing Simon again intruded at the wrong times—like that mad moment when she’d asked him to jump and then kissed him.

But she wasn’t worrying about that now and peered ahead to the tarmac where their little plane waited patiently for them. Excitement welled in her throat as they all paused at the gate and the actual jumpers farewelled their ground crew.

‘Good luck. You look beautiful.’ Simon’s words took her by surprise and she could feel the smile as it surged from somewhere in her over-excited belly.

‘Thank you. So do you.’ She grinned at him and he leaned in and kissed her firmly on the lips so that she knew she’d been kissed. For the first time the ground felt a little firmer under her feet and the haze she’d been floating in sharpened to reality. Luckily, that made it even more exciting.

The next fifteen minutes was spent crammed into the plane as they climbed in a slow spiral up to fifteen thousand feet. She sat perched on the lap of her chute buddy and surprisingly time seemed to pass very quickly with the hills towards Lyrebird Lake in the distance and the white sand of the beach underneath them.

They were going to land on the beach below the lighthouse and apparently Simon would already be there with the ground crew waiting for them to land.

Her chute buddy was fun and kept saying how relaxed she looked. But this wasn’t something she was afraid of.

Finally they reached fifteen thousand feet, the roller door slid back along the roof and the cold wind rushed in.

He’d told her it was one degree outside but it would only take thirty seconds to get back to warm air, but she doubted she’d have time to feel temperatures as they hurtled through the clouds.

The boy next to her, now securely strapped to his chute buddy, cast an imploring look at the safety of the plane and then, with one wild-eyed glance at the occupants, disappeared.

‘Let’s go, Tara,’ Lawrence shouted in her ear, and he edged his bottom and Tara as well, balanced on his lap, towards the opening and swung both their legs out until their backs were to the plane. Below them the ocean and the beach curved below under the scattered clouds.

She pushed her head back into Lawrence’s shoulder and then they were out. Wind rushed past their faces, she had a brief glimpse of the plane above them in the sky and then they were facing the ground with the wind rushing into her face and her hands clenched tightly on the chest straps.

Funnily, even in that moment, she could see Simon’s face. She grinned at the image and stared out into the vacant air in front of her. ‘Woo-hoo.’

Simon had watched the plane disappear into the clouds.

Fifteen minutes later he watched the blue parachute as it came into view, imagined the grin on her face, the joy in her eyes and found himself very keen to see her feet touch the ground. Though no doubt she’d be wanting the descent to last for ever.

At the last minute he pulled his phone from his pocket and videoed her landing. She waved as she sailed past, and he chuckled out loud. This had been fun and he’d been dreading it.

She landed smoothly on her bottom with her feet out in front of her, strapped like a little limpet to her chute buddy, and with a couple of snaps of the buckles she was free to stand and twirl around with excitement. He grinned as he watched her.

Later when he took her to the little restaurant on the river for a late breakfast she couldn’t stop talking, reliving the experience, and he watched her shining eyes blink and frown and widen as she told the tale of her tumble from the aircraft, the whoosh of the parachute opening and the moment when she’d seen him watching her land.

Then he watched her eyes widen wistfully when a birthday cake was carried across the room and she glanced behind them to see where it was going. But his breath caught in his throat when he saw her eyes fill with tears when she realised it was hers. What was wrong? Had he done wrong?

He’d upset her and he didn’t know why. ‘It’s yours. For you. Happy birthday, Tara.’

She just sat there staring at the lit candles as they burnt merrily. The candles started melting and began to dribble wax down onto the cake. Spluttered and dripped. Still she didn’t blow them out.

‘Blow them out.’

She looked at him. Her eyes still looked haunted. Then she whispered, ‘Are you sure?’

‘Quick.’

The waitress and chef who had followed the cake out were looking at each other, not sure what was going on, as they waited to sing like they did every time a cake was ordered.

Then she blinked, shook her head and blew them out. Almost defiantly. Certainly with ample power. To her horror, she even blew wax onto the tablecloth. Blushed and glanced at the waitress and her ‘Sorry’ was drowned out by the lusty singing of ‘Happy Birthday’. Then she did cry.

The waitress and the chef bolted back to the kitchen and Simon handed her a napkin. Tara hid her face in it.

‘Don’t ever do that to me again.’

With startling clarity he suspected what was wrong. ‘Have you ever blown candles out on a cake before, Tara?’

She glared at him. ‘Not since I was six. As if you couldn’t tell.’

‘No cakes at the orphanage?’

‘A hundred children would be a cake every three days. I didn’t even know it was my birthday half the time. You couldn’t know—I understand that—but it’s never been a big day for me.’

He didn’t want to think about a hundred kids without birthdays because it hurt all the way down to his toes. ‘So why the parachute jump this year?’

She shrugged. ‘Coincidence and maybe Lyrebird Lake warmth. They had a birthday party for Louisa and it was very cool. Started me thinking about a new life and a celebration that I had control of and wasn’t using.’

‘So a present?’

‘Yep. That’s my present to myself. I can’t really afford it but …’ she shook off the melancholy and gave him a watery smile ‘… it was so worth it.’ She straightened her shoulders. Smiled at him again, though still a little misty-eyed. ‘Thanks for the cake, Simon, and sorry for the drama. It just took me by surprise. I blew some candles out once and they weren’t mine. Got in all sorts of trouble so just had a bit of a time slip there.’

‘Well that cake was a hundred per cent yours and even the singing was good.’

She glanced towards the kitchen with a little embarrassment still on her face. ‘Very good. They must think I’m mad.’

‘I’m sure they’re thinking you must have a very good reason for acting as you did. Or they think I upset you.’

Her first cake with candles? Damn it, he wished he could turn up on her birthday and buy her a cake every year until she was so blasé about it she didn’t notice. Then he listened to the wild thoughts in his head. How had he got to this point?