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‘We have a dog,’ Marge said, a bit shamefaced. ‘A pug. She’s sort of … pregnant.’
‘She’s very pregnant,’ Sally retorted. Sally was a wiry little woman with a mop of grey curls, considerably younger than her friend. Late sixties? ‘Dogs aren’t allowed on the island, but Pokey is fat and quiet and no threat to anything. She belongs to Marge’s sister, but Hilda had to go into a nursing home last month. Having her put down would have broken her heart. And because we run the shelter …’
‘We sort of sneaked her in,’ Marge admitted. ‘There’s three of us there, Sally and Dianne and me. The rules about animals on the island are strict—and good—but in this case we thought it wouldn’t hurt to hide her. But then she started to get fat.’ She sighed. ‘Or fatter. And now …’
‘She’s definitely pregnant,’ Sally said. ‘So we’re sort of in trouble. And if she gets into trouble we have no vet.’
‘You have no vet on the island—and you’re a wildlife refuge?’ Ben said, clearly confounded.
‘We’ve done specialist wildlife training,’ Marge said, with a touch of reproof. ‘Sally and Dianne and I, we pooled our money to set this place up. We plan to stay here until we die; it’s our dream retirement. We have a vet come over once a week, and we can do most things. But we can’t afford for him to come every day. And we sort of haven’t told him about Pokey.’
‘He might say she shouldn’t stay,’ Sally added, and Jess intercepted a worried glance at her friend. There were problems, Jess thought. Undercurrents. The words We plan to stay here until we die had been said almost with defiance. But then Sally caught herself and gave a rueful smile and the moment was past. ‘Okay, he would say she shouldn’t stay,’ she conceded. ‘Marge’s daughter’s coming home from New York after Christmas and we hope she’ll take her, but meanwhile we need to care for her. We’re worried,’ she conceded. ‘Native animals don’t have trouble giving birth. Joeys, baby kangaroos, wombats, possums are born tiny. If Pokey gets into trouble we don’t know what to do.’
‘But then we found out about the obstetrician conference,’ Marge said. ‘So we thought we’d find a nice-looking doctor and confess. And you … you look kind.’
Silence. Did he look kind? Jess wondered. An Oaklander? Kind? Hardly.
‘My mum’s an obstetrician, too,’ Dusty said into the silence, and then there was even more silence.
Jess and Ben … Two obstetricians and one pregnant pug.
Two elderly ladies looked defiant but hopeful. Jess started feeling exposed.
‘You’re here for the conference, too?’ Ben asked Jess at last, and the wariness was back in his voice.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘But I’m not stealing your patient.’ She managed a smile. ‘Pokey is all yours.’
He didn’t laugh.
He was wary, Jess thought, and maybe not just of being pulled into an illegal dog-birth situation. She saw him glance at Dusty.
Definitely wary.
‘It’s okay,’ Jess said. ‘We’re not about to intrude on your privacy.’
Why had she said that?
It was just that … his body language was all about protecting himself. He was acting as if she and Dusty and maybe also these ladies and their weird animals were a threat.
Familiar anger started surging. Kind? Ha. He was an Oaklander.
She was reminded suddenly of the night she’d told Nate she was pregnant. He’d closed down. Backed off. Disclaimed responsibility.
The Oaklander specialty.
‘If your mother’s going to the conference, what will you do?’ Sally asked Dusty, seemingly unaware of the undercurrents running between Jess and Ben. Between Ben and everyone. The assumption was that the question of Pokey had been solved. The belief was that Ben would help.
Would he?
‘I’ll play on my computer,’ Dusty said, switching instantly to martyr mode. His specialty. ‘I have to do that when Mum has to work and I can’t go out. Mum says there’ll be a hotel person to sit with me. Whoever that is. It’s okay. I’m used to it.’
Uh-oh. All eyes—including Dusty-the-Martyr’s—gazed at her with reproach. She could feel herself flushing. Neglectful mother, abandoning child to uncaring hotel person and mindless computer games.
Guilt …
She’d checked there was a child minding service before she’d come. She and Dusty had talked about it. They’d go to the beach early and she’d skip less important conference sessions. Dusty wouldn’t suffer.
‘Try being a single mother yourself,’ she muttered under her breath, and practically glowered.
But Dusty was soaking it up. Pathetic-R-Us. ‘It’s okay,’ he said again, manfully. ‘I don’t really mind.’
‘Would you like to help us in the wildlife centre?’ Sally asked Dusty. Taking pity on The Orphan.
‘We can use some help,’ Marge agreed, smiling at The Orphan as well. ‘That is, if you like animals. Your mum could walk you over to the refuge in the mornings before the conference and pick you up afterwards. It’s not too far. If you think you’d enjoy it …’
‘We look after lots of things,’ Sally told him. ‘Possums, echidnas, kangaroos, goannas, birds, turtles; there’s always work to do. You look like the sort of boy who’d enjoy helping.’
So they’d seen his hunger.
Dusty’s fascination with animals had started early. Even as a toddler, he’d been fascinated with the photographs of his mother’s childhood. His grandma’s cat who’d died just before she did was the extent of Dusty’s hands-on animal contact, but he’d read it all, and now, even while he was playing the neglected orphan, he hadn’t taken his eyes from the baby wombat. He’d known instantly what it was. He knew his animals.
‘If it’s okay with your mother,’ Marge said, and it was still there, that faint accusation. Abandoning your child …
‘It must be hard to be a doctor and a mum as well,’ Ben said suddenly, and she glanced up at him in surprise. She’d been carefully not looking at him, expecting the same accusation. But instead what she got was almost … empathy?
‘Patients don’t understand that doctors have families,’ he said gently. ‘Emergencies don’t always happen in school hours. And if Dusty’s mother wants to keep up with the latest developments in obstetrics so she can give her mothers the best of care, then she needs to undertake professional development. Like coming to this conference. I’d imagine coming with his mum would be much more fun for Dusty than leaving him behind.’
‘Yes,’ Dusty said, finally abandoning the pathetic. ‘Mum went to a course last school holidays and I had to stay with Mum’s Aunty Rhonda for three whole days. And she made me eat roast beef and soggy vegetables for three days in a row. Coming here’s better than that.’
There was a general chuckle. The tension eased and Jessie’s anger faded. Or not so much anger. Defensiveness.
She hated leaving Dusty alone. She loved her work.
Push, pull. The minute she’d turned into a mother the guilt had kicked in. No matter what she did, she couldn’t get it right.
‘Well, Dusty, what about helping in the wildlife shelter instead of computer games?’ Marge asked, and her tone had changed. Ben’s interjection had helped.
‘I don’t know …’ Dusty looked dubiously at Jess.
‘Come over tomorrow and check us out,’ Marge said warmly. ‘You could all come.’ She beamed at Ben, including him in her invitation. ‘You’re here early for the conference. You can’t come to Cassowary Island and not see what we really do. Come at ten and we’ll give you a guided tour.’ She hesitated and Jess saw her wince. Once again, that impression of pain, and this time she conceded it. ‘My leg’s a bit sore at the moment,’ she admitted. ‘Maybe you could even give Sally and Dianne a hand with the cleaning. Would that be okay?’
‘I’ll be busy,’ Ben said.
‘Too busy to take an hour or so out to see how our shelter runs?’ Marge sounded incredulous. ‘And you’ll want to meet Pokey.’
‘I don’t need to meet Pokey.’
‘Well, we need you to meet Pokey,’ Marge said, with asperity. ‘And if we’re looking after your little boy during the conference then it’s the least you can do.’
‘He’s not my little boy,’ Ben snapped.
‘He’s not?’ The wildlife worker visibly reran the immediate conversation through her head. She looked from Ben to Dusty and back again. ‘You mean you don’t know each other?’
‘No.’
‘But he looks like you.’
There was a moment’s silence. Dusty stared at Ben. Turned to his mother. Opened his mouth.
‘We don’t know each other,’ Jess said, cutting Dusty off before he could say a word. She wasn’t ready. Panic.
Panic was stupid, but there it was. Not now. Please.
‘But you’re both obstetricians,’ Sally said, sounding thrilled. ‘How wonderful. That’s exactly what Pokey needs. So ten tomorrow? Marge will pick you up in her beach buggy. Be ready. And whatever you charge is fine by us.’
‘I don’t …’ Ben started.
‘Accept payment?’ Sally said blithely. ‘We thought you might say that. A donation to your favourite charity is okay with us. And we understand all care, and no responsibility. So if there are no other objections we’ll see you tomorrow.’
‘I need to read,’ Ben said, retreating.
‘Of course you do,’ Sally said. ‘Work now so you’ll have time for us tomorrow. Now …’ She looked at Jess. ‘Would your little boy like to hold a wombat?’
CHAPTER THREE
THE convention centre and associated resort was as good as the internet had promised, maybe better. Quite simply, Jess couldn’t believe her luck.
The rooms weren’t built as a standard hotel, but as a series of bungalows, each with a mini-veranda overlooking the beach. With the windows swung wide, it was as if the beach was in the room. You could run from the bungalow into the sea in a minute.
The staff were lovely, casually dressed, seemingly casually behaved, but nothing was too much trouble.
A very pregnant receptionist—Kathy—accompanied them to their bungalow and made sure they had everything they needed, chatting to them about how wonderful the island was. There was no doubting her sincerity—this wasn’t a pre-prepared spiel. She organised beach equipment and told them how to organise surfing lessons for Dusty. A cassowary strutted past within two minutes of their arrival.
Dusty was too hornswoggled to think any more about his flash of insight as to Ben’s identity, and Jess had let it slide. Thankfully. Ben Oaklander could be forgotten. For now. They headed for the sea and she blocked him out. Almost.
Not wanting to face one of the resort restaurants—and not only because Ben might be there; jet lag was taking its toll—they had room-service dinner brought to them by the lovely Kathy. They fell into bed, exhausted. When they woke, the sun was streaming into their little house, sandpipers were darting back and forth on the sand right under their window, the sea was turquoise and sparkling and Jess thought she’d died and gone to heaven.
Ben Oaklander or not, this was the right thing to do. To bring Dusty here, away from the grief of his first Christmas without his beloved gran, without London’s sleet and bitter cold …
Happiness was right now.
Dusty was waking, his hand automatically groping beside his bed for his spade. Kathy had organised Dusty a man-sized bucket and a businesslike bushman’s spade and Dusty had glowed. Last night they’d built a sandcastle to top all sandcastles. He’d washed his shovel with care, it rested on the floor beside him and sometimes during the night she’d heard him stir, remember it and reach down to touch it. As if to reassure himself this place was real.
She needed the reassurance, too.
Beach and breakfast. But then …
At ten she was getting into a beach buggy with Ben Oaklander and heading to the wildlife shelter.
Even Ben Oaklander was hardly a blip on her happiness radar. Should she talk to Dusty about him now? Maybe not. They’d talked about it back in England. She’d told him she thought his uncle would be here. The plan was that when Ben figured who they were, it’d be treated as a coincidence, so the less she said about it now the better. They certainly hadn’t come all this way to find him.
It was an aside, she told herself. A tiny part of a huge adventure. She wouldn’t worry about it.
She glanced out at the shimmering sea and felt at peace.
This holiday marked the end of a very long struggle. Years of financial hardship. Years of worrying about her son and her mother.
And they lived happily ever after …
That’s what this was, she thought. Happy ever after. No matter that their time here was short, they’d take memories of this place home in their hearts.
And when Dusty confirmed who Ben was, then Dusty would have memories of him and could tell his friends.
‘My uncle lives in Australia. He’s a doctor like my mum. He delivers babies but sometimes he delivers puppies.’
She grinned at that, thinking of Ben’s horror at the thought of being a pug-doctor.
How would he react when he found out their relationship?
If he was mean to Dusty …
She wouldn’t let it happen. She was a stronger person now. She’d quailed before Nate’s father. She had no intention of reacting the same way again.
If it came out—when it came out—she could deal with it. She could protect her son.
But now Dusty was waking, gazing out at the beach with awe. A swim before breakfast? Why not?
Who cared about Ben Oaklander? They had ten days of paradise before them, starting now.
Ben woke to the sound of Jess and Dusty playing in the shallows. He gazed down to the water and saw them. They were shouting, laughing, falling into the waves, spluttering, hugging. Mother and son.
He watched them, an outsider looking. He lay quite still, as if movement might make them aware, might mar their happiness.
For happiness there certainly was.
She was wearing a crimson bikini. Slim and graceful, she dived through the shallow waves, encouraging her son to join her. Every time she emerged, she swept her mass of curls back from her face, streaming water. She laughed and teased her son and the little boy laughed back at her.
Gloriously content.
Family.
Maybe he could have it, he thought. If he was prepared to take a chance.
He wasn’t.
Louise’s reaction during their last dinner had shocked him. She’d declared herself a consummate professional, determined not to have children.
They’d had a great relationship, as colleagues, as friends, as lovers at need, when it hadn’t interfered with either of their lives.
