The Baby They Longed For

by Marion Lennox

  * * *

  Medical imperatives were there even when you least wanted them. Two hours later the phone rang. A local farmer had rolled his farm bike and was on his way in with a crush injury. Cliff was already on his way to act as anaesthetist. Noah was needed.

  He showered and disappeared. ‘Sorry, love, to leave you with the puddles. What sort of irresponsible people leave puppies in the living room unattended?’ He kissed her briefly, hard, and left in a hurry.

  She was left with...regrets? Confusion?

  Peace.

  Mostly peace, she thought. Despite the lurch of sadness Noah’s story had brought to her world, the night before seemed to have settled something deep within her. This wasn’t a relationship that would go further. She knew that. Neither of them wanted it. But they’d been together in the right place, at the right time, giving comfort when comfort had been needed.

  The age of comfort of loving.

  Love? That word was still hovering.

  It had been loving, she thought as she showered, much slower, much more languorously than Noah’s fast ablutions. She had no urgent cases. She gave herself time to emerge from the night with peace.

  Her world was waiting for her, her mums and babies, her ladies with gynae problems, the world as she knew it. But her world had changed.

  Why?

  Because she felt...

  ‘Like a woman,’ she whispered, soaping herself, feeling the warmth of the water slip over her skin, savouring the sensation of feeling like...

  She’d been loved.

  She wasn’t in love. That was a crazy thing to think. After all, how well did she know the man? Hardly at all.

  And yet he’d loved her.

  Making love... She’d heard that phrase time and time again, often by teens, accidently pregnant. ‘We only made love that one time, Doc. I never thought...’

  She’d never thought either. That she could be so irresponsible. That she could sink so deeply, so fast.

  Irresponsible...

  She thought fleetingly of patients, the teenage girls she’d seen so many times in her career.

  Pregnant.

  ‘It was just the one time, Doc.’

  Pregnant? It had taken four rounds of IVF before she’d conceived. The chances of pregnancy were...

  Not nil. She’d told Noah she’d take the morning-after pill. It was only sensible to cover all bases, and now it was time she was sensible.

  She dressed and made toast and coffee and took Daisy out onto the veranda. Daisy’s friends weren’t outside yet but she made the most of the space, haring along the veranda so fast she fell over her own feet. She attacked the doormat like it was the world’s most vicious snake and it was her duty to kill it. She hared back to Addie and bounced, then raced off again as if to ask why she wasn’t joining in. This morning was delicious. The world was waiting.

  The trip to the pharmacy was waiting. The morning-after pill.

  But Addie was having a conversation with herself.

  It’s dumb. I’ll never be pregnant.

  It’s responsible. You know there’s a slight chance...

  ‘A chance.’ She said the last two words out loud and Daisy bounced straight back to her as if she’d been called. Addie lifted her and hugged, hard.

  Why was she hesitating?

  Did she not want to take the pill? Did she not want to make sure?

  Where was her head going? She couldn’t handle any more useless hope. The grief of another failed pregnancy could well tear her apart. She’d decided—sensibly—to move on.

  Hadn’t she?

  Maybe she hadn’t moved far enough.

  ‘This is nuts,’ she said, and Daisy looked anxious. ‘There’s no decision to make. It doesn’t matter if I take the pill or not. But...if by some chance it does matter, I don’t want...’

  She faltered. She didn’t want...what? If by some miracle...

  She let Daisy slip down to the ground, and unconsciously her hands moved to her belly.

  What was she thinking?

  What was she risking?

  ‘My head’s not working any more,’ she told Daisy, but Daisy was distracted and no longer listening.

  Addie stood and stared out to the horizon. There was a fishing boat, way off, almost too small to see.

  Her hands held her belly tighter.

  ‘I can’t do it,’ she said, softly now but with resolution. ‘To risk...’

  See, there was the problem. She didn’t know what she was risking.

  Disaster all over again?

  This was crazy. She was overreacting, to say the least.

  Noah would say she was overreacting.

  Noah.

  She glanced along to the far end of the veranda, to the Taj Mahal of puppy playpens built by the oldies—with Noah’s help—and she knew what she had to do. At least she knew the first step. ‘It’s Saturday morning,’ she told Daisy. ‘I have stuff to do and I need to do it now, because staying in this house one more night with Noah McPherson is just plain dangerous. And I need to decide...’

  She paused again. Regrouped. Figured it out.

  ‘Okay, that’s not fair,’ she said to herself at last. ‘There’s been too much of I singular in Noah’s life already. And in my life? This time, we need to make a decision. Go get the pill, Addie Blair, and then move on with your life.’

  * * *

  Saturday was busy. The weather was amazing. Locals and tourists alike were making the most of it and Noah was coping with the consequences.

  Two kids collided in the surf with their boogie boards. One had a broken nose and fractured cheekbone, the other had a dislocated collar bone.

  A dad showing off his new Oriental kite to his kids hadn’t figured the power and strength of his new toy. The owl-like kite had done a nose dive and split the side of his face. All the young father could think of was his kids, though, so while Noah stitched his face he muttered over and over again, ‘Thank God they weren’t underneath. What was I thinking?’

  He went away with his face bandaged, clutching his wife, clutching his kids, and Noah watched him go and thought...

  Yeah, not a good thought. He’d moved on from that particular fantasy.

  But he’d slept with Addie...

  A thirty-year-old was brought in from the beach, a drunken jet-ski rider with the brains of a rather small newt. He’d tried to make his jet-ski jump over a sand bank and even the paramedics were shaking their heads over his idiocy. He had broken ribs and femur. Noah was having trouble trying to differentiate drunkenness from concussion. Anaesthesia for drunks was incredibly fraught, so he and Cliff were kept busy for what was left of the afternoon.

  By the time he finished he was dead tired but he headed back to the doctors’ house with a sense of anticipation. Fish and chips on the back step with Addie? It sounded good to him. If she wasn’t doing anything...

  She wasn’t there.

  He opened the door and no puppy launched itself across the room to meet him. There was no dog basket by the fire. Not a single puppy toy.

  Addie’s bedroom door was open. The bed was stripped, the blankets neatly folded. Her dresser was bare.

  He walked slowly across and pushed the door wider.

  Nothing. No clothes. No personal belongings. No bright, shiny suitcase.

  The room was stripped as if she’d never been here.

  And his gut gave a sickening lurch. Had she run? Because of him?

  She’d been happy. He could have sworn he’d left her happy. The memory of the night before was all around him.

  It had been dumb. He knew that. It had been spontaneous and stupid and...wonderful.

  It had made him feel like he hadn’t felt in...for ever?

  He shouldn’t have left her. He should have stayed this morning and talked. />
  And now she’d gone? This reeked of fear. Hell, did she think he was going to try and jump her? Push himself on her? Push past the boundaries they both knew were in place?

  He stood in the empty bedroom and felt sick.

  Finally he turned and headed back to the living room. There was a note on the mantel. He snatched it and read with hands that weren’t quite steady. The thought of her heading away in fear was doing his head in.

  She hadn’t. It wasn’t quite that bad.

  Dear Noah.

  Or should I make that Darling Noah after last night?

  It was truly awesome, wasn’t it? Just exactly what I needed and wanted and, oh, I loved it. But, wow, did we get carried away! We made love like out-of-control teenagers. I can’t believe we were both that dumb.

  But, to be honest, I don’t regret it for a minute. Maybe it was what we both needed—good honest sex, no holds barred, a letting go for both of us before we move on.

  But we do need to move on, Noah. We both do, and getting more enmeshed with each other will help neither of us. You have four months to go before whatever happens with Sophie, and you move on to wherever that decision takes you. I need to take up my role again, working in this community with commitment.

  Noah, I need to get my head into that space again, and the bottom line, the truth I faced this morning, is that I can’t get my head into that space if I continue sharing a house with you.

  Something happened last night that took me way out of control. The thought of what we shared last night... Well, control doesn’t come into it. One glass of wine—or even no glass of wine—and I run a very real chance of jumping you—and that’s a crazy thought. I can’t believe I’m admitting I’m scared, but I am, and therefore I’m taking steps to prevent it.

  So I’ve rented a cottage. This is no big deal, Noah. No sacrifice. It’s a wee cottage only two blocks from the hospital. Three minutes’ walk. It’s little, it’s comfy and it has a spectacular view of the sea.

  I thought about renting it when I first came here, but there was a bit of pressure to use the doctors’ house and it did seem sensible. But I checked this morning and it’s still available. It’s fully furnished. The owners are happy for me to take it for four months, with the option of longer if I love it. As I suspect I might.

  So me and my puppy and my new suitcase have gone down the road and that’s us settled.

  And you... Noah, you have a great place to stay for four months, too. We get to meet as colleagues—and, I hope, friends. But no more. We need to keep our hands and bodies under control. Sensible R Us.

  Please don’t think I’m making sacrifices, Noah. Believe it or not, I’m much happier today than I was yesterday. Sex with you blew away ghosts I hardly knew I had. So, thank you and let’s move on.

  But, Noah, I do need to talk to you about something very specific, and what I have to say can’t be said over the phone. Would you consider fish and chips at my place? No wine!!! Directions below.

  If you can’t make it, don’t worry, I’ll catch up with you in the morning, but it needs to be soon.

  Addie

  He stood and stared at the note for a long time. It was a sensible note. A note designed to make him feel okay.

  If she’d told him her intentions he would have offered to leave himself—he would have left himself—but she’d clearly had somewhere in mind where she could go.

  He looked around the tidy, empty house and he felt...

  Desolate?

  Surely that was the wrong word. One night of sex did not a relationship make. Addie was being sensible and he had to match it.

  She wanted to talk to him.

  Fish and chips. Addie.

  On the surface, it seemed a good plan. They had to become...friends? Nothing more.

  ‘So she’s made it easy for you.’ He spoke out loud and the room echoed. ‘She’s put us where we can become friends.’

  If that’s all you can have...the voice whispered at the back of his head, and he put it firmly aside.

  Addie.

  Why did she want to talk to him?

  Friends.

  Fish and chips.

  He pulled out his phone. The hospital secretary had filled his list of colleague contacts and Addie was there.

  She answered on the second ring.

  ‘Noah?’ She sounded uncertain. Scared even? But he could hear her collect herself, gather her containment. ‘Hi.’

  Deep breath. Keep it as she wanted it, he told her. Friends.

  ‘How’s the house?’ he managed.

  ‘Great. Fully furnished. We’re all settled, and you should see the view from my back step.’

  ‘Excellent.’

  ‘But...’ She sounded scared. ‘I still... Noah, I do need to talk.’

  ‘Half an hour? Your back step? But you’re right about no wine,’ he told her. ‘Not even a beer. You’ve made a sensible choice, Addie, and I concur. It’s time we started acting like adults. Fish and chips on the back step and then back to our respective homes.’

  ‘You bring the fish and chips. I’ll supply the soda water.’

  ‘A Saturday night to end all Saturday nights,’ he said dryly, but he had to agree. They were both being...sensible. ‘I’ll put on my button-up shirt and my sensible boots and be right over.’

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  HER BACK STEP was gorgeous. Fabulous even. When she’d first thought of moving here she’d contacted the local realtor and he’d suggested this cottage. It was a simple cottage, with one bedroom, a kitchen/living room and basic bathroom, built to accommodate an elderly couple who came here occasionally to fish. But the couple had grown even more elderly. They could no longer travel from Sydney but were holding onto the house in the hope that their busy adult children might one day find time to use it. They paid cleaners to keep it neat, but they didn’t much like the idea of tourists short-term renting.

  Which meant the little cottage sat unoccupied, which was a shame. It had a gorgeous log fire. It had a lawn that ran down almost to the beach.

  It had a view from the back step that took her breath away.

  She sat there now, looking at the reflected rays of sunset over the ocean.

  She waited.

  Daisy had been tearing around, investigating every nook and cranny of her new home. She’d passed out now in her basket on the veranda. Happy.

  And Addie was waiting for Noah.

  For a friend, she reminded herself. Nothing more.

  Except...

  Don’t go there.

  More and more, she knew that she must.

  And then he was there, opening the side gate, smiling a welcome, and she thought, This is the entire problem. This smile...

  ‘You should have rung the doorbell,’ she complained as Daisy lifted a weary head to investigate, decided it was only Noah and she could go back to sleep.

  Only Noah.

  ‘You did say your back step.’ He paused and looked out at the sea, taking in the sweeping vista before him. ‘Wow. I’m getting why you moved.’

  ‘I hope you do.’

  ‘I do.’ He came and sat beside her. There was an ancient settee on the veranda and a table of sorts but the steps seemed somehow...better. She shifted a little, allowing him to set down his aromatic white package between them. Was there a more enticing smell in the world than hot fish and chips? She retrieved glasses and soda water from behind her, and a handful of paper napkins.

  ‘Dinner’s ready,’ she said in contentment, and that was suddenly how she felt.

  Like the night had settled. Like it was going to be okay.

  Except...what she had to say.

  Not yet.

  They ate in silence, but not because there was tension. In fact, it was almost the opposite. What had happened between them should have created e
xpectations, worry and, yes, sexual arousal, and maybe it had, but for some reason here in this place, for this moment, it had dissipated. All that was left was peace.

  And food. Currawong fish and chipper had a reputation nationwide. Deservedly.

  They ate tiny fillets of flathead, which was, in Addie’s opinion, the world’s most delicious fish, with a homemade tartare sauce that was mouthwatering. ‘And it’s sustainable,’ Addie murmured as she popped the third piece into her mouth, and Noah grinned as he did the same.

  ‘Excellent. Take nothing but photographs. Leave nothing but footprints.’

  ‘And tread lightly on the planet,’ she agreed as she eyed a gorgeous, buttery scallop. ‘These are in season for such a short time but yum!’

  The chips were magnificent as well, crisp, golden and so moreish she could have eaten twice as much, but there were fried onion rings and tiny potato cakes and a crisp garden salad so she had to somehow organise her priorities. Some of the chips had to be abandoned. With regret.

  And then Noah produced tubs of chocolate ice cream. The ice cream had been slowly melting while they tackled the fish and chips. Now it’d reached the semi-solid state where it was creamy and melty. Even though Addie was full, the ice cream slithered into the edges.

  Fantastic.

  She ate and Noah ate, too, but she was aware he was watching her.

  The sexual tension hadn’t gone away. It was zinging in at the edges. Disguised as the taste of melting chocolate on her tongue?

  She should focus on that rather than on Noah.

  Like that was possible.

  Finally she scraped the last of her ice cream from her tub and put it aside. Done.

  And she needed to be done with the tension.

  ‘I should make a pot of tea,’ she said. ‘Though I suspect I’ll waddle as I walk inside and it’s not a good look for a colleague.’

  He chuckled and that was a good sound. A great sound. She loved his chuckle.

  This should be okay, she thought. This was the start of acting...like friends. All she had to do was say goodnight and go inside.

  But first there was the imperative.