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Her breasts pressed against his chest and her fresh scent of summer flowers swirled around him, and for a split second his off-kilter world steadied. Then she stepped back and life went back to whatever could be called normal.
Hamish put a pouting Stephanie into a taxi and after a distracted goodbye kiss he headed back inside and poured himself a large glass of merlot. As he sat in his study and opened the legal document that Georgie had left him, he hoped he’d find the clause that would provide the perfect excuse for him to say an absolute and indisputable no to her request that he give her a baby.
God, he’d wanted to say no, but every time he’d tried, it had been like being in a fight and having two guys grab hold of his arms to prevent him from taking a swing. He’d opened his mouth but the look on her face when she’d talked about not having a family had stopped him dead. It shouldn’t have because this was as much about him as it was about her, and he knew exactly why he should say no.
He’d failed to keep Aaron safe, failed miserably at being a big brother, and wasn’t that the training ground for fatherhood? He couldn’t be responsible for a child.
So tell her that.
But that would involve telling her about his little brother, about the day that was etched into his mind like a tattoo. He wasn’t prepared to do that. He’d found a way to live with his guilt and resurrecting the past had no value at all. Besides, Georgie wasn’t asking him to be a hands-on father. She’d been very clear on that. He’d be a donor known only to her and with no connection to the baby other than his donated DNA.
Could he do that? He stared out the window. He knew men who prided themselves on being sperm donors and didn’t seem to give a moment’s thought to the fact that they were creating a child—a human being who one day might knock on their door, wanting to connect. Hell, he didn’t want that to happen. He wasn’t father material and he wasn’t letting another child down. He knew the catastrophic consequences of that.
He took a slug of wine, wishing Georgie had never asked him such a huge favour and yet he knew and understood exactly why she had.
What had started out all those years ago as him encouraging ‘the quiet girl’ at college to get involved had unexpectedly turned into a special friendship that had got them both through the tough life of being a med student, the fraught life of an intern and had survived both of them taking slightly different paths in medicine. Not to mention weathering their relationships with other people. Their bond was stronger than superglue and he’d stopped counting how often she’d randomly called him just at a time when he’d needed some support.
Georgie was the antithesis of him. He’d act first, think second. She’d weigh up the pros and cons, which was a great strategy for a doctor but not when it was a movie or a quick meal choice, but once she committed to something she gave it her all. He loved that about her. She’d put herself out of her comfort zone more than once, hiking the overland track in Tasmania with him and learning to surf. Throughout the years they’d always been there for each other, although up until now they’d never really tested the promise they’d made nine years ago.
No matter where I am, if you need me, I’m only a phone call away. He’d made that offer to her in good faith and believing in it utterly.
Son, never make a promise you don’t intend to keep.
He gave an ironic groan. He was pretty sure his father hadn’t been thinking about sharing genes when he’d hammered that lesson into him between the ages of five and twenty. Not even the thought of sex was enough to allay his anxiety. Not that he was against the idea of sex with Georgie. He’d never pursued it because their friendship had always come first and he’d never wanted to risk losing it, but, hell, he was male and there’d been times when he’d wondered what it would be like to bury his head in those amazing breasts. The night they’d graduated he’d got close and then common sense had made them both jump away from each other with an embarrassed laugh, both agreeing that it was a bad idea generated by too much champagne.
He rubbed his face with his hands, feeling the rasp of stubble against his palms. If he applied logic to the problem and removed the emotions, it came down to a single fact. His best friend, a woman who would do anything for him, needed his help. Help he’d offered in the past. Help he was honour-bound to provide.
But where was the line drawn on the statute of reasonable friendship requests?
As much as he was concerned about the impact that him saying yes would have on their friendship, he was more worried about the impact of saying, no.
Georgie held her breath as she sat opposite Hamish in a quiet café overlooking the bay. It had been thirty hours since she’d asked him to be a sperm donor and she’d almost become obsessive compulsive in that time, constantly checking her phone. Last night as she’d sat curled up on the couch—there’d been no point going to bed because sleep had been beyond her—she’d lurched between He agreed to read the paperwork, which means he’s considering it and will say yes, and the more resounding, He’ll say no.
The fact he’d finally called her and said, ‘I need to ask you some questions,’ had fired hope into her, but it was now tinged with dread as she watched Hamish’s clear and steady gaze move over the printed words. Her heart bounced against her ribs and the sound echoed in her ears, deafening her.
Was it too much to ask of him?
Maybe. No. It had never occurred to her not to ask him. He was her best friend and it made total sense to her that he would be the sperm donor for her child. He had great genes, a caring nature and for reasons he’d never really elucidated, despite some gentle probing over the years, he didn’t want to be a father.
She, on the other hand, wanted a baby so much it hurt. She was an experienced doctor, enjoyed family medicine and had been told hundreds of times she was great with kids so she knew she could do this parenting gig on her own and not involve him at all. It was a win-win situation all round.
Hamish glanced up from the second page of the document with a familiar wicked gleam in his eyes that she hadn’t seen since she’d floored him with her request. ‘So, no sex?’
Her usually deep laugh sounded high-pitched and nervous.
She’d be lying to herself if she said she’d never fantasised about what sex would be like with Hamish. What woman wouldn’t when faced with six feet two of a toned, tanned and buff surfer-fit body? But that had been a long time ago and she’d never been one for casual sex, especially if it risked their friendship.
‘Sex is too random and this is too important to leave to chance. I want the back-up of science and technology to maximise my chances of getting pregnant quickly. I’ll have ultrasounds, and thirty-six hours before the intra-uterine insemination, I’ll jab myself with follicle-stimulating hormone.’
His shoulders squared as they tightened with apprehension and his expression became serious once again. ‘So I travel to the IVF clinic in Tasmania to make my deposits?’
‘Yup. They have movies and magazines.’ She tried to lighten his mood. ‘That’s the fun part for you.’
He rolled his eyes. ‘Hardly, but we won’t go there. Why Tasmania?’
‘Privacy for both of us. The medical community here is too small and everyone knows everyone. Even if we went to Melbourne, we’d run into people from university. I’ll pay for your air fares and your time because I don’t want you embarrassed or compromised. I figured you could go down for a couple of weekends, enjoy a mini-break on the apple isle and bank a few deposits, so to speak.’
A grudging flash of admiration crossed his face. ‘You’ve really thought this through.’
She twisted her hands in her lap. ‘It’s all I’ve been thinking about for months.’
Thinking, dreaming and planning.
He nodded slowly, his expression contemplative, and he returned to the document.
Time slowed down to a crawl and she wished she could dive inside his head and see and hear exactly what he was thinking. Instead, she had to sit and wait. She was so used to being in charge at work that it didn’t sit easily.
‘They’ll freeze the sperm?’
‘Yes.’
His gaze bored into her. ‘And if you don’t get pregnant from my donations, what then?’
She chewed on her lip. ‘Would you be prepared to donate more?’
A long sigh rumbled out of him. ‘To be honest, George, I’m not even certain I want to do it once.’
‘Oh.’ Her stomach sank as hope dribbled away. She now wished he’d just said no over the phone. She sat tracing the pool of condensation from her water that had dribbled down onto the tabletop.
Hamish leaned forward and stirred his coffee so hard that some splashed into the saucer. ‘I won’t have my name on the birth certificate,’ he muttered softly, ‘and I doubt you can get around that.’
His clipped words hammered her and she spoke quickly, leaping onto a spluttering kernel of hope, keen to allay his concerns. ‘You won’t be named. The one thing that Mum and Dad’s deaths has given me is financial security. When I add in my income, even though it will be reduced with part-time work, I won’t need to claim family assistance. That gives me a loophole to avoid naming the father and I promise that you won’t be named.’
‘What about us spending time together after the baby’s born?’
‘I …’ God, why hadn’t she thought of that? She’d emphasised that this baby was hers and only hers, and she believed that utterly. She shredded a paper napkin and tried to think, realising for the first time that a baby might change everything between them. ‘I understand what you’re saying. I guess I get a babysitter.’ A heavy feeling gathered in her chest and she rubbed her sternum.
He ran one hand across the back of his neck as if his appeal against a death sentence had just been squashed and then he finally closed the document. ‘If I do this, I have a rule.’
If.
A squeal of excitement bubbled up in her as she sensed she was unexpectedly close to getting what she wanted. ‘What is it?’
A seriously stern look entered his eyes, extinguishing the usual fun that mostly lived there. The only other times she’d seen him like this had been when he’d had to deliver bad news to patients or their relatives. The bubbles of excitement inside her burst, splattering trepidation from tip to toe.
‘Georgie, my parents must never find out. Ever.’
His words roared around her and she wasn’t totally certain she understood. ‘Your parents?’
He nodded stiffly. ‘They can’t know they have another grandchild. If they found out it would hurt them too much and I don’t want to inflict that sort of pain on them. They’d also descend on me and then you.’ His hand raked through his hair. ‘And I can’t be responsible for the consequences.’
Sheer relief made her laugh because this so wasn’t a problem. ‘Now who’s being overdramatic? Haim, in all the years I’ve known you, I’ve met your family, what …?’ She did a mental count. ‘Three times, so this request is easily met. I’m in Melbourne and they’re in Jindi River so we’re hardly likely to run into each other. I’m making you a solemn promise that your parents will never find out about the baby.’ She stared into his eyes, willing him to say yes.
He raised his outback-blue eyes to hers, meeting them full on, and deep down inside her something lurched. Confused and unsettled, she dropped her gaze and crossed her legs over the discombobulating sensation that spun there. ‘You’re a sperm donor. Nothing more and nothing less.’
Only for some odd reason she wasn’t totally certain exactly who she was reassuring.
Silently, he picked up the pen she’d earlier placed on the table between them with a great deal of hope, and he drew off the lid very slowly. He pushed it onto the top of the pen before bringing the nib down towards the paper with an excruciating lack of speed, as if he still might stall and not sign.
She bit her lip so hard she tasted blood.
He paused with the pen a millimetre away from signing. ‘It’s a hell of thing to ask, George.’
‘I know.’
‘If a child is born from this, it’s totally your kid and nothing to do with me.’
‘Absolutely. It’s in the contract you’re about to sign.’
Tension shot through his square jaw. ‘If you do get pregnant, I don’t want blow-by-blow updates or ultrasound pictures. I’m nothing more than a three-time donor.’
Three times? She wanted to argue that, ask for more, but she knew better. She’d take what she could get. ‘I understand.’
‘I don’t want invitations to birthday parties either.’
‘You’re preaching to the converted.’ A tiny whisper of concern gained volume. ‘Haim, baby or no baby, we’re still going to be friends, right?’
‘I want to hope we can be.’ He scrawled his name across the document.
Tears pricked her eyes. ‘Thank you.’
Hamish didn’t meet her gaze or reply. Instead, he downed his coffee in one long gulp.
Georgie picked up the legal papers, hugging them tightly to her chest, and sent up a heartfelt wish. Today was the first day of the rest of her life.
CHAPTER THREE
December
GEORGIE hummed ‘Six White Boomers’, the Christmas song about kangaroos pulling Santa’s sleigh, and grinned. She’d been grinning almost non-stop for months, even during the five weeks when morning sickness had lasted all day, leaving her stomach inside out and the rest of her limp, like overcooked cabbage. During that time she’d existed almost exclusively on dry biscuits and ginger beer, and it would be a long time before she could face either of them again.
Even so, nothing could wipe the always-present smile off her face. She pressed her hand against her round belly, feeling a tiny foot under her palm, and pure delight made her laugh out loud. Despite the ultrasounds and her ever-increasing size, there were still moments when she couldn’t quite believe she was pregnant. It had taken three cycles and three trips to Tasmania before she’d been given the news she’d craved for so long, and from the moment the pregnancy test had shown a definitive blue line, she’d treasured every second.
When she’d read the positive pregnancy test her first instinct had her reaching for the phone to ring Hamish and tell him the good news. Halfway through dialling she’d remembered his words.
If a child is born from this, it’s totally your kid and nothing to do with me.
She’d abruptly dropped the phone. She couldn’t believe she’d even thought to ring him because she’d been as adamant as he that this was her baby and not his in any way. No, Hamish needed to find out about the baby the exact same way as her other friends and colleagues—with a photo text when the baby was born.
The baby kicked, as if reminding her that sending those announcements wouldn’t be too far away, and a fizz of excitement tingled through her. In a month’s time—give or take two weeks—she’d finally hold her baby in her arms and right now she was in full-on nesting mode. It had taken longer than she’d thought to find a house to buy that suited her and her lease on her apartment had expired just as settlement had been finalised last week.
In most instances this would have been perfect timing with no need to find interim accommodation, but the house needed some renovations. Now she was technically living in her new home but surrounded by high stacks of cardboard boxes and the buzz of builders, carpenters, plumbers and cabinetmakers dragging the kitchen, bathroom and laundry into the twenty-first century. Painters roamed the rest of the house with their once-white but now paint-splattered dropsheets, freshening up the walls of the solid 1950s house with its spacious, light-filled rooms and large, decorative cornices. It was chaotic.
She’d called in during her lunch-break to speak with the building supervisor, but when she’d arrived Dennis had been on the phone so she’d left him to it and was waiting in the dining room, which was the only room currently free of the renovation frenzy.
Pulling open a box, she plucked out a small tabletop Christmas tree and placed it on the dropsheet-covered chiffonier. She knew it was silly to unpack it, let alone put it on display, given the total mess that surrounded her, but she’d always loved Christmas. Growing up, her parents had made it such a magical time and she was looking forward to recreating that magic with her own child.
Despite feeling her parents’ deaths keenly at this time of year and missing them like mad, she still loved the season and it seemed disrespectful not to have at least one sign of Christmas. She knew they’d have wanted her to keep their traditions going.
‘Next year, Widget—’ she’d used the affectionate term she’d been calling the baby from the moment she’d known she was pregnant ‘—this house will groan with decorations and you’ll probably love the wrapping paper more than the presents.’
She desperately wanted to set up the nursery and she was actively practising patience while she waited for the decorators to finish. Meanwhile, the white cot and her amazing change table that would convert to a play table in the future were both still in their flat-pack state and her prize possession—her mother’s Amish rocking chair—was in the corner of the dining room with a dustcover over it, waiting to be housed.
Dennis had assured her that everything would come together in his promised time frame of two weeks, but given the chaos that didn’t seem to be abating at all she was having trouble imagining the house finished in time. Meanwhile, she was showering at the practice and for evening meals she was working her way through the many restaurants that were part of her local shopping strip at the bottom of the street.
The whirr of a circular saw and the rhythmic banging of a hammer added their sound to the blaring radio that the tradesmen always had playing, and Georgie decided that being at work was almost peaceful compared to this. Glancing at her watch, she realised her lunch-break was almost over and she hurried to find Dennis. As she entered the hall she heard a loud shout followed by an almighty crash and an emphatic stream of swearing.
Doubling back, she rushed towards the sound and arrived at the kitchen at the same moment as Dennis. He was swearing more loudly than his employees.
A white cloud of dust was settling around the young apprentice who lay sprawled and groaning on the floor surrounded by half of Georgie’s ceiling. He was on his side with one leg lying at an odd angle. She instinctively looked up as if she’d forgotten the ten-foot height and needed to calculate the drop. ‘Get my medical bag from my car. The silver four-wheel drive,’ she shouted to no one in particular. ‘My keys are on the hallstand seat.’
‘On it.’ One of the workmen hurriedly left the room, the loud thud of his workboots hitting the polished hall floorboards and reverberating back to her.
‘I promised your mother I’d look after you, Mitch,’ Dennis said, his face tinged with green. ‘She’s going to kill me.’
Clearing a space by swiping her foot back and forth through the debris, Georgie pulled her sundress over her legs for protection and knelt down next to the teenager.
‘Mitch? Who am I?’
His face was twisted in pain. ‘Sorry about your plaster, Dr Lambert.’
‘Right now I’m more worried about you. That was quite a fall.’ She looked at his pupils, which were thankfully the same size as each other. ‘Did you hit your head? Black out?’
‘I dunno. One minute I was on the beam and the next minute I was here.’
‘Can you open and close your eyes for me?’
He looked at her as if she was slightly deranged but did as he was told, and Georgie was pleased to see his pupils reacting to light. She picked up his wrist, feeling for his pulse, and he yelped in pain. ‘Sorry. You probably landed on this when you instinctively put it out to protect yourself. Sadly, we don’t land as well as cats.’
Mitch moaned. ‘Me hip’s killing me.’
Reaching out her hand, she took his carotid pulse and counted for ten seconds. It was fast but relatively steady and she hoped the speed was due to pain and not internal bleeding. Only time would tell. ‘Dennis, call an ambulance.’
The builder nodded, fishing his phone out of his overalls pocket and making the call.
Georgie examined Mitch’s legs, which were bloody from cuts and scratches. One ankle was swelling before her eyes and his leg was rotated outwards, which wasn’t a good sign. She added it to the growing list of injuries but possible fractures were the least of her concerns at the moment.
‘Mitch, I need you to listen very carefully to me and only move when I tell you.’
