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So at least there was now one less thing to explain in front of Charlie. He hadn’t seen Dr Masters since before his parents had died and Rosie hadn’t been keen on explaining the situation in front of her nephew.
Nick opened his office door, holding it open for them to enter. Rosie misjudged the width of the doorway and brushed against his arm as she passed him. Purely an accident, but the brief contact made her nerves jump to attention, covering her flesh in goose bumps. She hurriedly took one of the three seats alongside Nick’s desk, leaving a chair for Charlie to sit next to her.
Nick settled himself into the third chair, sitting next to Charlie instead of behind his desk, surprising, but a nice touch.
‘Not feeling too great, Charlie?’ Nick asked. ‘Doc Hawkins told me this is your second bout of tonsillitis since Christmas. Do you ever think of sharing it with your sister?’
Charlie smiled but shook his head.
‘Let me have a look at this throat of yours, then.’ He was natural with Charlie, focused on him, talking to him and not over his head, more adult-to-adult than adult-to-child. He was chalking up more points every second, with her at least, but she wasn’t sure his warm demeanour was penetrating Charlie’s armour.
‘You know the drill.’ Nick picked up his laryngoscope and Charlie dutifully opened his mouth.
‘He’s been on amoxicillin?’ Nick asked Rosie. He glanced at her and another surge of attraction shot through her, so physical it was like a blow to the chest, and she literally had to catch her breath. He didn’t seem at all distracted by her, whereas it was all she could do to concentrate on why they were there or even breathe normally.
‘Yes.’ She shifted her focus to Charlie as Nick had done and steadied her breathing before continuing. ‘It helps but the episodes are so frequent and I’m concerned about Charlie missing so much school.’ She caught Nick’s eye, sending a silent message along with her words.
Nick’s gaze narrowed slightly and he nodded, letting Rosie know he understood her meaning. ‘Charlie, I’m almost out of tongue depressors.’ Nick held up one of the flat wooden sticks he used. ‘If I ring the girls at the front desk and ask for more, I bet you could fetch them for me quicker than I could. What do you think?’ Charlie nodded and Nick dialled the reception desk, making his request and adding a suggestion that Charlie be allowed to choose a handful of sweets from the reception lolly jar, presumably a regular way of buying a few minutes with the child patient out of earshot. He turned back to Charlie. ‘Thanks, mate, see you in a bit. And here’s a tip—my receptionist never notices anyone hiding sweets in their pocket.’ He winked at the little boy, whose eyes had grown wide. ‘I do it all the time.’
The moment Charlie left the room Nick’s focus turned to Rosie. His blue-grey eyes held her gaze and she fought the blush she was sure was sneaking its way up on her. This morning had confirmed her realisation on the beach: falling apart at the seams because of a good-looking guy was a sign she’d been more affected than she’d thought by the sudden change in her life. Too much time immersed in a world of school runs, packed lunches and mounds of washing must do things to a girl’s brain!
‘You’re concerned about the amount of school Charlie’s missing?’
Dismissing thoughts of how her insides were in danger of melting under his scrutiny, Rosie found her voice and got a grip. ‘I’m not worried about it from an academic point of view but Charlie struggles socially at the best of times—’
‘And missing school makes him feel more out of the loop,’ said Nick, finishing off her sentence and her insides at the same time. A man who genuinely listened was one of her major weaknesses. Or so she’d just discovered. He’d turned his head slightly and was looking down at his desk to his left, deep in thought. Rosie was left to marvel that with this new revelation of his character, when added to his warmth, good looks and fabulous build, she hadn’t simply melted into a pool of shiny warm jelly on the floor.
Maybe this vulnerability to a man who genuinely listened was so obvious only by its comparison to her recently ended relationship with Philip. Listening and Philip did not go together. Except for those with money and position. When those twin pillars of Philip’s belief system talked, Philip most definitely listened. Nick, whom she’d probably now spent less than thirty minutes with in total, had probably listened to her more than Philip had in their entire relationship.
‘I take it his selective mutism hasn’t improved?’
Rosie shook her head. ‘No, in fact, since he was diagnosed when he was four, he hasn’t widened the circle of people he’ll talk to. Not that anyone really expects him to at the moment, given the circumstances. But since his parents died there are now two fewer people whom he will talk to.’
‘How many in total will he talk to?’
‘Five. My parents, his twin, me and his best friend from kindy, who is now at school with him.’
‘He makes eye contact with me. Does he do that with other people too?’
Rosie nodded. ‘For the most part, once he’s familiar with someone. But he just won’t, or literally can’t, talk to people. He freezes.’
‘Eye contact is a start but it’s not very encouraging if he’s not making any other progress.’ Nick paused briefly. ‘Do you think these frequent bouts of tonsillitis are genuine? Remember, he’s seen his GP, not me, for some of them. You think he’s happy enough about going to school?’ His head was cocked to one side, waiting for her input.
‘I’ve only been caring for the twins for two months but he’s had two episodes of tonsillitis in that time, three since last December, and, in my opinion, they’ve all been the real deal.’
‘Do you think the death of his parents has contributed at all?’
‘Do I think there’s a psychological aspect to it? Like his selective mutism?’
Nick nodded.
‘There could be, it’s hard to know for sure, although his psychologist thinks he’s coping pretty well.’ Rosie found by pretending she was talking to Charlie’s GP, not Nick, she could talk almost naturally. ‘But that’s another reason I don’t want his routine to change too much. I’m worried his mutism might get worse if he’s regularly away from school because of tonsillitis.’
‘So the tonsillectomy would mean a few more days off school but you think he’d benefit in the long run.’ Again, he’d neatly summarised her thoughts.
‘Yes. His psychologist agrees too, obviously on the basis that you consider it necessary.’
‘Looking at his tonsils today I think it’s reasonable to take them out, both from a medical and social point of view.’
Charlie reappeared, sucking with concentration, a fresh supply of tongue depressors in his right hand and his left hand holding his bulging pants pocket shut.
‘Fantastic. Thanks, Charlie.’ Nick took the handful from Charlie, pointedly ignoring his overflowing pocket. ‘Have a seat, there’s something I need to discuss with you.’ Rosie swallowed a laugh as Charlie slid awkwardly into his seat, clearly not wanting to risk a single lolly spilling out. ‘Your tonsils are pretty inflamed, all red and swollen. Your throat must be pretty sore and I’m guessing it’s pretty hard to talk to Rosie, even without a lolly in your mouth. Is that right?’
Charlie nodded and quickly popped another lolly, red-and-green striped, into his mouth.
‘They’re my favourite, you know. You’ve got good taste,’ Nick added, nodding at Charlie’s mouth before continuing as if he hadn’t changed the subject. Charlie’s eyes grew wide at the comment and he looked pleased with Nick’s attention. Rosie crossed her fingers and hoped that Nick’s rapport with Charlie would get her nephew thinking differently about the operation. ‘If I take your tonsils out, it’ll be sore for a few days, but not much worse than you feel when you have tonsillitis. You might still get a cold now and again but you won’t get the same sore throats any more. Does that sound like a good idea?’
Charlie looked at Rosie and she knew what he was thinking.
‘He won’t have to eat jelly, will he? I had to eat jelly when I had my tonsils out and Charlie doesn’t like it.’
‘Well, when Rosie was little, back in the olden days…’ Nick winked at Charlie ‘…the nurses were very strict and everyone had to eat jelly, but now, if I tell the nurses no jelly, that’s all there is to it.’
Rosie could well imagine. She didn’t think there’d be too many complaints no matter what Nick asked the nursing staff.
‘Do we have a deal?’
Charlie glanced at Rosie then back to Nick, looking at him for a few seconds before nodding solemnly. Nick kept a solemn face, too, holding out a hand, and Charlie took it, shaking on their deal, all the while sucking on the lolly determinedly. Charlie was nothing if not determined. In everything he did, including not talking. It made it all the more amazing that Nick had managed to convince Charlie to have the surgery.
‘I’ll look at my operating schedule and work out when I can fit Charlie in. I’ll ring you and let you know what we can arrange. But whenever it is, there will definitely be no jelly coming anywhere near you, young man, doctor’s orders.’
Charlie beamed at Nick and didn’t pull away when Nick placed a hand on his shoulder as he walked them out. They were in the hallway when Charlie turned and ran back into Nick’s office, leaving Rosie staring blankly after her nephew, his behaviour out of character. ‘Maybe he forgot something?’ They didn’t have time to wonder, though, as Charlie was already tearing back to them, a secret smile dancing around the corners of his mouth.
It was much the same way Rosie felt, too, as she waved goodbye to Nick in the waiting room. Because, whatever else happened, she was at least guaranteed to speak to Nick again soon.
Nick stopped by the receptionist desk to see who his next patient was, suppressing mild irritation when he was told they hadn’t shown up, with no phone call of explanation.
‘It’ll give you a chance to look at these.’ She handed over a thick yellow envelope marked ‘Confidential’.
Nick cocked an eyebrow, asking, ‘The revised partnership agreement?’
She nodded. ‘I’ll hold your calls for half an hour so you can go through it.’ She picked up another bundle of papers and slid it into his hands on top of the first envelope. ‘And if you get time, these referrals and reports need to be done. Sooner. Not later.’
‘You’re a slave-driver, you’re meant to protect me from the world, not be the one who attacks me,’ muttered Nick, but it was good-natured and even managed to bring out a glimmer of a smile to soften his receptionist’s serious features. He tucked the pile of papers under his arm and headed back to his office, free to contemplate the fact that a missed appointment wasn’t what was irritating him, and the partnership papers weren’t what was uppermost in his mind. It was the fact that he could’ve kept talking with Rosie and Charlie if his next appointment hadn’t been looming.
Charlie was intriguing and he was determined to get him to talk at some stage. And his aunt? She fell into the intriguing category, too, a category that had been dismally empty for some considerable time now. Together, they made an interesting pair.
Once at his desk, he slapped the pile of papers down, resolved to comb through the final agreement he’d been impatient to receive. Then his eyes caught a bright colour and his papers lay forgotten.
A boiled lolly, red-and-green striped, shiny and hard, lay where it had been placed carefully in the centre of his notepad. He picked it up, inspected it momentarily and then lifted the pad on which someone had written, ‘They’re my favourite, too.’
‘Bingo,’ muttered Nick as he popped the lolly into his mouth. ‘He’s talking to me.’
Rosie had long since tucked Charlie and Lucy into bed and they were now fast asleep. In the last two months, this had become the time of the day she most needed. It was also the time she most dreaded. She needed the breathing space but being alone left her facing the fact she was also lonely. Dreadfully so.
Tonight, though, there was a certain comfort in being lonely. For a start, it made sense of her reaction to Nick today—and the first time she’d met him, too, if she was honest. If she wasn’t so lonely, if her life hadn’t changed so radically overnight with the unexpected deaths of her brother and sister-in-law, she wouldn’t be acting so out of character. She wouldn’t be knocked sideways by a stranger with a kind smile. All right, a killer smile. She’d noticed him, she was no nun, but she wouldn’t normally be rendered speechless or breathless or experiencing any of the symptoms he induced in her. That was obviously due to the demands of her new life. And her grief.
She and the children had encased themselves in a bubble. Insular was the word for it. She saw her parents but they understood the circumstances all too well since they shared the same loss.
Thanks to Nick, she could now say some feeling had returned and it was good. Noticing a very attractive man was a pleasant way of being enticed back into the land of the living but it didn’t mean anything more than that. She was only really noticing him because of her loneliness. It didn’t mean what she was trying to achieve for the twins was under threat.
Her sole focus was to give her niece and nephew a sense of normality, knowing her own needs could wait. She was the adult. Her reaction to Nick had reminded her she was well and truly alive and although her needs might need to wait, they hadn’t been obliterated. She toyed momentarily with the idea of socialising beyond her immediate family so her old self didn’t disappear totally. The thought didn’t appeal, not yet.
And yet the reality was she was sitting on the couch, alone, at eight o’clock at night, empty hours stretching before her. And that reality didn’t appeal either. In her old life she would have been heading out to watch a movie with a girlfriend or more likely to dinner with Philip and his political cronies. Now she was sitting on the couch contemplating making lunches and folding washing. Deciding she was too tired to do any of that, she flicked through the CD collection, looking for a way to break the silence. But the CDs belonged to her brother, David, and his wife, Anna. She didn’t want that reminder tonight.
Most of her possessions were still in Canberra. She’d jumped on a plane when her parents had called her after the accident and had only been back briefly once. She had meant to have her things sent to her but somehow there was always something else needing to be done first. Now was as good a time as any to let her ex know her plans. Apart from a few clothes, the rest of her things were still in the apartment they’d shared.
She picked up her mobile and hit the automatic dial for Philip’s mobile phone.
‘Rosie!’ He knew it was her before she spoke. There was some comfort in knowing he hadn’t deleted her number from his phone memory. Yet. ‘How are you?’
How should she respond? She knew Philip wouldn’t want to hear the truth. She’d spent the past week looking after one sick child while trying to make sure the other got enough attention too and making sure the wheels didn’t fall off their lives completely. She’d learnt long ago that Philip was one of those people for whom ‘How are you?’ was really a rhetorical question. So she gave her standard response.
‘Good. Have you got a minute? I need to sort out getting some of my things sent up.’
‘I’m on my way out, we’ll talk about it on Saturday when I get to Sydney. For the dinner.’ He paused and she could hear in his voice that he was frowning, displeased. ‘With the New Zealand Prime Minister. You did remember?’
‘Yes,’ Rosie fibbed. He’d been right to doubt her, she’d totally forgotten. Her life was very much lived from one day to the next at the moment and Saturday night was still four days away. She wanted to go to a formal political event even less than she wanted to spend every night at home for the next year, but she’d promised. Had she just forgotten or had she just hoped the function would go away if she ignored it?
‘Are you sure—?’
Philip read her intentions before she’d fully realised herself what she’d been about to say. ‘You promised, Rosie, and yes, it is important you’re seen with me.’
Important she was seen with him, not important that she be with him. There was a difference. And it rankled.
‘I’m flying in at six and the car will come straight from the airport to pick you up. Formal dress.’
What was the point in refusing? He was right, she had promised, and Rosie didn’t break promises or let people down, even if they were ex-boyfriends. There were lots of things Rosie didn’t do. But one thing she said a lot was, ‘Sure.’ Sure, no problem; sure, it’ll put me out but don’t you worry; sure, sure, sure. She sure was sick of saying ‘sure’.
‘We’ll talk then. Bye.’
Typically, Philip had turned the conversation to his needs. He hadn’t even offered to bring any of her things with him. He could easily have thrown some stuff in a suitcase. Members of Parliament didn’t seem to have the same luggage restrictions as mere mortals. All her evening dresses were in Canberra, he could easily have brought something for her to wear. Rosie debated whether to call him back and then decided it would be easier to buy something new. Easier for her—or easier for him?
He’d do it if she asked directly, she had to give him that, but maybe only because it affected him directly? He wouldn’t want to turn up and have her unable to go for lack of something to wear. But for the same reason he couldn’t be counted on to bring the dress and shoes she actually requested. He’d bring what he deemed suitable. It was unlikely to be the same thing.
She tossed the phone on the couch beside her and closed her eyes. Perhaps if she shut everything out for a few moments she’d find the energy to get up and finish the day’s chores.
Seconds after she’d thrown the phone down it rang, startling her. Philip ringing to see what he could bring? She may as well glance out the window and check if the pigs were flying.
‘Hello?’
‘Hi, Rosie? It’s Nick Masters.’
A warm glow spread through her, replacing the low feeling she’d been grappling with even before she had called Philip. ‘Nick, hi.’
‘I’ve just checked my operating schedule for the next fortnight. I know it’s late, but I’m only just out of surgery and I got the feeling you’re an information person like me so you’d rather know sooner than later.’
Rosie managed ‘Thanks’ in reply, stunned he could know that about her in such a short space of time. Or at all. Would any of her past boyfriends have had such an insight into her character?
‘I can fit Charlie in on Monday week. I operate at St Catherine’s that day so it’s close for you.’
‘Monday’s good. St Catherine’s good.’ Some proper sentences would also be good, she muttered mentally. Come on, get it together. The guy doesn’t know you’re a house-bound loony, don’t let the secret out now! She kick-started her brain into gear. ‘Great. And you’re right, I do like to get all the facts, then I can deal with it, plan, work out what I’m going to do.’ So far so good. ‘Things are much less stressful when the information is on the table and you’re not left second-guessing. Not that I was scared about you operating…’ She stumbled to an embarrassed silence.
Nick didn’t miss a beat, simply laughing as if she’d been joking. ‘I’m glad to hear it, although most people are terrified, some not so secretly, at the thought of their child having surgery. I’ll get the forms posted to you but he’ll need to be admitted at seven a.m. Can you manage that?’
It would mean juggling Lucy’s schedule but that wasn’t Nick’s problem. ‘Yes, I’ll sort something out.’
‘What about your work, can you take time off?’
‘I’m on a leave of absence from my job to concentrate on the children.’
There was a brief silence at the other end. Had she scared him off with too much information? ‘Maybe once I get Charlie sorted for you, that will help things settle down.’ She got the feeling it wasn’t what he wanted to say, or ask, but that’s all it was. A feeling. And she didn’t know him well enough to ask.
‘I hope so. It might be a start at least.’
‘Let me know if there’s anything I can do,’ he offered.
‘Thanks, Nick, but I doubt you have time to worry about how your patients are going to organise their lives.’ She settled back against the deep cushions of the couch, conscious she was behaving as if she was readying herself for a nice long chat with a good friend.
‘Not usually. But most of my private patients have a partner or, to be honest, a nanny to help pick up the slack, and in the public hospitals there’s Family and Community Services help if necessary. It’s no difficulty to schedule things to suit you, you just need to say.’
‘I appreciate that, but we’ll be fine, this time at least. We’ll see you on the sixteenth, and thank you.’ She hesitated, unused to the feeling of having help offered, of accepting it, then added, ‘If I get stuck and need an appointment changed, I’ll remember your invitation. It’s very kind of you.’
He said goodbye and she ended the call, wondering what he’d wanted to say or ask when she’d mentioned her work leave. She shrugged, knowing she’d never know and it probably didn’t matter. It was just one more sign of how insular she’d become, that she could sit analysing the things an almost-stranger hadn’t said during a routine phone call.
On another note, a more positive note, the phone call had helped her more than Nick would know. To be asked how she was coping, whether something would suit her, made all the difference. She suspected she wasn’t coping all that well given her growing preoccupation with her nephew’s specialist, a man who’d rung only to schedule surgery. A man unlikely to have any interest in an overwhelmed, grieving aunt. But if she allowed herself to ignore those obvious objections, he’d still managed to make her feel she was cared about. He’d managed to make her feel less alone at precisely the time she’d needed that reassurance, however fleeting it might be.
The contrast between that phone call and the earlier one with Philip was marked. Philip, who should have asked after the children, out of politeness if not out of a sense of concern, hadn’t, yet a virtual stranger had.
Returning to Canberra to live with the children was one of the options she was thinking over. After her phone call with her ex, that option was looking bleaker. What was there for her, for any of them, if her breakup with Philip was going to be permanent?
Or perhaps, she reflected, recalling how her tongue had frozen and her belly had sprung to life at the sight of Nick today, what had there ever been there for her? Even with Philip?
CHAPTER THREE
NICK retied his black bow-tie, struggling to get it sitting properly but unable to give it the concentration it needed. His work schedule and goals were up in lights in his head, distracting him from the immediate task at hand. He had, just yesterday, signed the final partnership papers. He was now a full partner in the medical clinic. He was finally scaling the mountain of goals he’d been working towards. Buying into the practice meant a significant amount of debt but it was debt necessary to building a business, unlike the mound of debt he’d only finally cleared these last months. That had been a noose around his neck, nothing but a dead weight.
Now he’d shrugged it off and had embarked on this new, productive phase of his life. His work was building up, referrals were coming in apace. He felt more confident than he’d felt in years.
