Meredith Webber - Fairytale on the Children's Ward

‘It seems that way.’

Were his words strained? Was Oliver feeling the same mix of disbelief, and confusion—and surely not excitement?—as she was?

Of course he wouldn’t be. For one thing, Oliver didn’t do confusion.

Her heart skittered again but this time it was nothing to do with excitement—more like dread and fear and trepidation. She had to say something.

‘I did write to you, you know.’

It sounded pathetic but at least it caught his attention.

‘When?’ he demanded, his voice hard and tight.

So hard and tight the tiny bit of courage that had prompted Clare to tell him faded, which meant the next words came out all breathless and confused.

‘End of January, and again later in the year.

‘You wrote to me at the end of January? Wasn’t that a bit late, considering it was before Christmas you walked out? I’d definitely moved on by then, physically and emotionally.’

Pain stabbed through Clare’s body at the last words, but what was he saying?

‘You didn’t get any letters from me—then or later?’

Glacial green—that’s how Oliver’s eyes could look…and were looking now.

‘No.’

He shook his head to emphasise the word and, knowing he would never lie to her, Clare felt a stab of deep resentment—not to mention pain—as she realised he didn’t know about her pregnancy. He didn’t know he had a daughter, a daughter who would be right there in the flat next door to his come Friday!

She had to tell him!

Easy enough to have the thought but how to do it?

And when, and where?

This was hardly an appropriate time or place and, what’s more, he was talking to her again, saying something, although with the wild furore going on her mind it was a struggle to make out the words.

Forcing herself to focus, she realised his conversation was nothing more than the polite inquiries of old acquaintances catching up.

‘But a perfusionist? What made you change course? What happened to life on the stage?’

Clare cast an anxious glance behind him, but there was no-one nearby to overhear an almost honest answer.

‘Long story short, I moved to Queensland and studied science. I met a perfusionist who used to work with Alex when he was in Melbourne. I learnt more about it and decided it was the dream job as far as I was concerned. I began my studies in Brisbane, then went to Chicago to get more qualifications and experience, and here I am.’

Oliver knew he was staring at her, replacing his mental image of a twenty-five-year-old soap-star Clare with this more mature adult version—more mature, and even more beautiful. And the reaction in his chest was an ectopic heartbeat, nothing more. Ectopic heartbeats happened to some people all the time, and most people some time in their life.…

But if he read the signs correctly, she was feeling even more strain at this unexpected meeting than he was.

‘Alex was saying we’re going to be neighbours.’

Could he really be having this stilted conversation with Clare? Clare who had laughed and loved and thrown herself into life with enormous energy and enthusiasm? Thrown herself into their relationship, making every moment they were together special and intense.

Until the day he’d told her he didn’t want a baby and, unable to believe he’d never mentioned this before, unable to even discuss it with him, she’d walked out.…

And he’d let her go, furious at her lack of understanding of his situation— his feelings in all of it! How could he have contemplated fatherhood when he didn’t know who his own father was, didn’t know himself? And how could he have considered marriage when his closest experience of it—his mother’s three attempts—had been so disastrous?

He was reminding himself of this justification when Clare spoke again.

‘You were saying you’ve read our landlord’s books?’

‘There’s no need to sound so surprised,’ he grumbled, memories of the past bothering him more than he’d thought possible. ‘I’ve time to read these days.’

She smiled at him and he felt his heart miss another beat. Frequent ectopic heartbeats might be indicative of a problem of some kind, his medical brain told him.

‘You didn’t have time for any relaxation back then,’ she said.

Except with you, he thought but didn’t say, for there was a barrier between them, like a glass wall through which he could see and hear but not touch. Not that he would touch her, of course. No matter how much his fingers tingled at the thought.

Of course there’d be a barrier between them. It had been ten years; they’d split up. There were issues—wasn’t that the word people used these days? So many unresolved issues it was more like a brick rampart than a glass wall between them.

Back to the present!

‘My car’s illegally parked downstairs. Can I follow you to the flat?’

‘You can give me a lift.’

The moment the words were out of her mouth Clare regretted them. She needed to get away from Oliver, not spend more time with him, especially not more time in the privacy a car offered.

She needed time to think things through, to work out how on earth she was going to tell him about Emily.

Not that he deserved to know! He hadn’t wanted a child.

The tiny whisper from one corner of her brain was tempting, but she slapped it down. Of course he’d have to know, and now they’d come together, didn’t Em deserve to know her father? Hadn’t Clare always told Em that one day they’d find him so she could meet him?

But ‘one day’ in Clare’s mind had been when Em was eighteen or so—an adult who would understand the traumatic period of time that had been Clare’s pregnancy, not to mention the aftermath of Emily’s birth!

She should have directed him to the flat; it was just down the road. But here he was, saying he’d be delighted—ever polite, Oliver Rankin—and putting out a hand to usher her towards the door.

She moved, just in time to avoid contact with him, but knew that as well as the Emily problem, she had to sort herself out, to strengthen her body against the insidious physical weakness just seeing him again had caused. There was too much at stake for her to be distracted by attraction.

‘I need to speak to Alex about something, so I’ll meet you downstairs. The easiest way is to take the blue exit from the car park. I’ll be down there near the gate in five minutes.’

Alex was still at the front of the meeting room, stacking some papers he’d spread out earlier. What excuse could she give? What question could she ask?

Had he noticed her hesitation that he looked up?

‘Everything all right, Clare?’ he asked. ‘Emily settled in at school?’

‘Just fine and dandy, and yes, she loves it,’ she replied, hovering by her chair while Oliver left the room. But Alex’s question had reminded Clare that Alex and Annie knew Emily, and Rod knew Emily—it wasn’t as if you could keep a nine-year-old a secret.

Clare dropped her briefcase, which gave her an excuse to sit down. Knowing she couldn’t just sit, she leant down to retrieve the leather case, fiddling with the catches on it while she tried valiantly to regain the poise on which she prided herself, the composure she’d fought so hard to achieve!

‘I only know of Angus from his colleagues, but Oliver worked with us earlier this year,’ Alex was saying. ‘He’s a fine surgeon, and if Angus is even half as good as people say he is, we’ve got a team that you’ll discover is every bit as good as the ones you’ve already worked with. At least, I hope you find it that way.’

Clare smiled at him. He was so nice ! He and Annie, his wife, had invited her and Emily for dinner the previous Saturday, and seeing their relationship—the obvious love they felt for each other—had left Clare wondering why relationships worked for some people and not for others.