Meredith Webber - Orphan Under the Christmas Tree

‘We don’t even know who she was,’ Tom said. He turned to Mike. ‘Do you?’

‘Joan Sims—Jo and Lauren know her from the refuge. Apparently she’s got a little boy.’

‘Bobby Sims,’ Tom said, remembering with sadness his and Lauren’s conversation about the rebel earlier. ‘I’ve met him before but he’s always come in with a teacher or someone from the refuge so I hadn’t met his mother. Where is Bobby now?’

‘He’s asleep in the little waiting room off Lauren’s office,’ Jo told him. ‘Now all the other people who came in have been patched and matched and those not hospitalised have gone home, Lauren’s in there with him.’

Tom turned and headed for the therapists’ office, his mind on the small boy. He must have a father, although maybe Joan Sims had been escaping abuse by someone else.

Would the child be safe?

He felt a shudder, as if the floor had moved beneath his feet, and shadows of the past flew by like phantoms in the night.

Of course Bobby Sims would have family …

Lauren was sitting at her desk, her head in her hands, exactly as she had been earlier—however long ago this afternoon had been.

‘Bobby?’ Tom asked as he came into the room.

Lauren nodded towards the alcove and Tom walked quietly towards it and stood a minute, looking down at the sleeping child. He had sandy-coloured hair rough cut and tousled and a serious over-bite that would need braces before too long, but, like all sleeping children, he looked so innocent Tom had to brace himself against the pain.

‘His mother died—we couldn’t save her,’ he said, returning to slump into the chair he’d left in front of Lauren’s desk earlier.

‘I was kind of expecting that. Mike came in earlier,’ Lauren responded. ‘He said she had horrific injuries.’

‘Will you take Bobby back to the refuge until someone finds his family?’ He wasn’t sure why he’d asked, although it probably had a lot to do with the phantoms that had flashed by.

Lauren looked up at him, her eyes dark with concern.

‘I couldn’t do that to him, Tom,’ she said softly. ‘I couldn’t put him in there with other kids who have their mothers. I promised him I’d look after him. I’ve all but finished my hospital and private work now until mid-January and when I have to be at the refuge, I can probably take him or get Jo to mind him, but the problem is my flat’s so tiny and there’s no yard and he’s a little boy who needs lots of space. I could take him out to the family farm but my brother and his family and my parents are all away for a couple of weeks—spending Christmas with my sister in Melbourne. I was to go too, but—well, you know how low on funds we are at the refuge, and I’ve cut the staff and … ‘

Tom frowned down at her.

‘That doesn’t mean you should be working yourself to death there,’ he muttered. ‘But that’s not the point, I can understand you taking Bobby home tonight, but surely you don’t have to worry about a yard for him to play in—he’ll have family somewhere.’

Lauren stared at the man across her desk. Eighteen months she’d known Tom, worked with him, attended various committee meetings with him, thought she knew him as a friend, yet there was a strange note in his voice now—one she couldn’t quite put her finger on—not panic, certainly, but some kind of disturbing emotion.

However, whatever was going on in his head, she needed to answer him.

‘Joan never named Bobby’s father, perhaps she didn’t know, and Greg, the most recent of the men she’s lived with, is violent,’ she reminded him. ‘Like a lot of women in abusive relationships, Joan had cut herself off from her family, or they from her. Oh, Mike and his people will try to trace relations, but there’s more.’

She took a deep, steadying breath.

‘Bobby saw Greg in the stands right before the collapse. He was calling to Joan, and she went—’

‘This man was underneath the stands? Did you tell Mike?’

Lauren nodded.

‘He wasn’t killed or injured there … ‘

She watched as Tom computed the information she’d just shared.

‘Is Mike thinking—?’

‘They won’t know until the workplace health and safety people inspect the wreckage, but Mike’s been to Greg’s place—he’s not there, or at any of the pubs. They’re looking for him.’

A wave of tiredness so strong it was like a blow swept over her, and she shook her head.

‘I can’t think any more tonight. Best I get Bobby and myself home.’

‘Stay at my place,’ Tom offered. ‘I’ve three bedrooms, plenty of yard for Bobby to play in, and I can dig out some toiletries and hospital night attire for you both as well. You don’t want to be driving when you’re as tired as you are, and if Bobby’s still asleep you’ll never get him up the steps to your flat.’

Lauren stared at the man across the desk from her, wondering just what the offer meant, then realising it was nothing more than the kindness of a friend.

She felt a tiny stab of regret that it wasn’t something more, but shook the thought away. As if it could be that …

She even managed a smile as she made a far-too-weak protest.

‘You don’t have to do that for me,’ she said. ‘Especially after I was so rude about you earlier.’

He grinned at her and the stab deepened.

‘I rather liked the encyclopaedia reference, not to mention putting the surf god in his place.’

‘I doubt that,’ Lauren told him, but the regret she’d felt earlier was turning to guilt …

‘Come on,’ Tom added. ‘I’ll show you where the hospital emergency packs are, or do you know?’

‘I know,’ Lauren told him, pleased to have something concrete to grasp hold of. ‘I often bring in women who have left home with nothing.’

Tom nodded, so much understanding in his eyes she felt like crying, or maybe asking for another hug, but such weakness was definitely exhaustion so she hustled off to get some toiletries and night gear for herself and Bobby. She returned with her haul to find Tom had lifted the sleeping boy and was carrying him along the corridor towards the side door that was closest to his house.

Tom’s house was the official hospital residence, built in the same style as the hospital with wide verandas on three sides, all of them providing glimpses of the ocean. As Lauren walked through the door she tried to think if she’d ever been inside the house before. She’d been to the house often enough, invited to drinks or a barbecue with other friends, but they’d always sat on the veranda.

The living room was comfortably furnished, very neat and tidy, the only thing out of place a folded newspaper resting on the arm of a leather lounge chair. It was off to the left of the central passageway, doors on the right obviously opening into bedrooms.

Tom pushed the second door with his foot and it opened to show a pristinely neat bedroom, a single bed set in the middle, an old polished timber wardrobe on one side and French doors opening to the veranda on the other.

‘Do you want to wake him to do his teeth and change his clothes or should we just let him sleep?’

Lauren considered the question—letting the little boy sleep was obviously the best solution, but he might wake and not know where he was.

‘Not that I want to hurry you or anything but my arms might give way any minute,’ Tom said, and though there was a smile in the words Lauren knew Bobby must have grown very heavy in his arms.

‘I think we’ll let him sleep,’ she said, and she slipped past Tom and his burden and turned down the bed, then, when Tom put Bobby down on the clean sheet, she slid off his rubber flip-flops and pulled the top sheet over him.