A Baby on Her Christmas List

by Louisa George

  She stopped walking. Her hands gripped the back of a chair. There was a small hole in the dark grey fabric, the edges frayed. She seemed to stare at it as she spoke. ‘So you told them? About the baby?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you might not be here for the birth?’

  ‘They said they’d try to make it happen.’ The ache that had started in his throat seeped into his chest, getting more raw and more real.

  Distance. That’s what they needed, then they’d be able to think and talk and act rationally, without the sideshow of pumping hearts and that long aching need. He needed to feel about her and the baby the way he felt about everyone else, not infused with some sort of mind-melding, heart-softening drug. That way he would be able to make good decisions, act responsibly.

  He walked to the window and looked out at the street below. It had started to rain. Heavy clouds spewed thick drops over the passers-by below.

  Finally, she came to him and made eye contact. But it wasn’t what he wanted to see. All affection had gone, all excitement and hopefulness.

  Somewhere along the way all his emotions had got locked up with her. Every day started and ended with thoughts of Georgie. As he turned to the window he caught sight of a stack of magazines and remembered the online dating article. She was hoping for something more.

  She wanted a declaration, he supposed. Something that told her how he felt about her, about this. But he didn’t know what to say. Couldn’t express the chaos, couldn’t see through those clouds, only that his heart felt raw at the prospect of not being here. Of letting her down. But it wasn’t fair to make her believe a lie.

  Her voice was cold. ‘And they’re going to try? Is that what we’ve got to look forward to? You trying?’

  ‘Surely that’s better than me not trying? I’ll call when I get there. I’ll call as often as I can. I’m sorry it’s not going to work out exactly to plan.’

  ‘We didn’t have a plan, Liam. That’s just the problem. We just pretended everything would be fine, and it’s not. It won’t be.’ She shook her head, her ponytail bobbing from side to side. She looked so young. And so cross. So magnificently annoyed. ‘I won’t hold my breath about the calls. I know what those satellite phones are like. You’ve never managed it before.’

  It had never mattered so much before.

  She was distancing herself from him, he could see. She was systematically putting space from her emotions, he recognised it because he’d done it himself so many times—but she never had.

  When she looked back at him her resolve seemed clear. The emotions were settled, she was cold and distant. Things had irrevocably changed—including the emotions whirling in his chest like some sort of dark storm cloud, whipping away the oxygen and leaving nothing in its place. An empty chasm that hurt so hard.

  He was going to help those who didn’t have the wherewithal to help themselves. But, bone deep, he knew he was going because he couldn’t not. Because facing other people’s truths was always easier than facing up to his own. ‘They need me there.’

  ‘And we need you here.’

  He looked over at the shopping bags she’d dropped on the floor. ‘You bought decorations?’

  ‘Suddenly I’m not feeling very festive. You’re not going to be here.’

  ‘I doubt it.’ And that was all his fault. She’d been looking forward to spending Christmas together and he’d ruined it.

  He turned to face her as hurt and pain whipped across his heart.

  Her arms hugged across her chest. Her eyebrows rose as she infused her voice with a brightness she clearly didn’t feel. ‘So go. Save some lives. Come back safe and then be a good father to your child.’

  ‘It’ll only be for a few weeks. I’ll get back for the birth. I’ll make it happen.’ His child. It was so close now, a few more weeks and he’d be able to hold his child.

  Was that why he’d taken this job? Because he was too afraid? Was he too afraid to love his child?

  To love Georgie?

  That idea shunted him off balance. He didn’t want to look too deeply inside himself, at his motivations, so he was going by gut feeling here, because that was all he had to go on. His head wasn’t making any sense. ‘And what about us?’

  ‘Oh, Liam, we want different things, I understand that now. I feel that now. I want a big messy family with two parents who love each other, with doting grandparents who want to share the joy, and you don’t want any of that.’ She touched her heart and a little piece of him shattered because he knew what she was saying. That this was the end. ‘We just don’t have the same dream.’

  No. Now his heart was being ripped away. He didn’t want to hear those words, to feel this hurt. But he knew that it was the only way they would ever be able to get by, to see each other and survive. Maybe one day they’d find a place where they could be friends again. ‘And when I come back?’

  ‘We’ll have rewound in time to before the baby. To before you came back from Pakistan. Back to when we were just friends. When things weren’t complicated. You can have your life and I’ll have mine and we’ll meet somehow in the middle, for this little fella. Co-parents, like we agreed.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘No.’ Her hand flicked up to stop him speaking. ‘It’s what I want, Liam. What I need to get through all this. Things are going to be hard enough as they are without wondering what you want from me too, worrying if you’re going to change your mind or choose something else, something more appealing. Because you do that...don’t you? So it’ll be better if we have no promises. No pretence. No ties between us. No us. Just this baby.’

  ‘But—’ He wanted to fight her, to fight for them, but she was right. It was easier, cleaner if they broke everything off now and got back to being friends again. If that could ever happen. Time apart would help. It had to.

  ‘I’m used to being on my own, Liam. That way there aren’t any expectations. I can’t spend my life wanting people to love me if they don’t. If I’m not enough, that’s fine. I’ll be enough for this little one.’

  You’re more than enough for me. For anyone. But love? That was another level he hadn’t dared strive for since Lauren. Something he’d closed himself to. Love? Nah, he couldn’t trust himself to go there. ‘I’ll be back as soon as I can. I’m sorry, about everything.’

  ‘No. This is all my fault, Liam. I should have listened to you in the first place. It was a beyond crazy idea. And now our friendship is ruined, we can’t talk without shouting. You’re leaving and we’re arguing. We never did this before, we used to go to the pub and give you a good send off, and off you’d trot, with a damned fine hangover, to save the world. And we cheered from the sidelines, proud and happy that you were doing something most excellent and good.

  ‘But look at me, I’m not cheering now. I resent you for going and that’s not how it should be. You’d resent me if I asked you stay. We’re caught between our own needs and wants and it’s too hard to live like that. Everything’s changed between us. You said it would and it has. It’s me who should be sorry. I made you do this. I kissed you first. I took you to my bed. I’m sorry for all of it.’

  ‘Never. We’ve created something. A child. Our child. We can’t ever be sorry for that.’ He tried to pull her into his arms, to kiss her once more. To taste those honeyed lips, to feel her, soft and gorgeously round, in his arms. To feel that sense of belonging that she gave him, that reason to stay. To make him stop running from the past and look ahead to something different, something better, something not haunted by what happened before. Something more than good. But she stepped away, out of reach.

  So far out of reach he didn’t know if he’d ever find a way back to her.

  * * *

  ‘I need you to leave now.’ She wanted him to stay. Wanted him to want to stay with her and the baby, and make a family of three. Oh, God, she wanted him. Wanted more. Wanted so much more. Wanted a different way to describe what the two of them had shared. It didn’t necessarily need paperw
ork—she didn’t expect marriage, but she did want commitment. Not just to the baby but to her. She wanted to be part of something long term. With him. She wanted her dream.

  But he was running away, and he’d given her no choice in the matter.

  And, yes, he’d shown commitment to the pregnancy despite her initial doubts. Not once had he wavered when even she’d had the odd wobble about impending parenthood. Hadn’t he helped her create a beautiful space for her and their child? Hadn’t he designed a garden? Hadn’t he made sure she was safe, that she ate the right things, that his child was cocooned in the right environment to grow?

  But he had still never said the word ‘love’ to her. Not about her or his child. Or about anyone or anything, for that matter, ever. He was all locked up in the tragedy of his baby sister and it was desperately sad but she wanted him to love someone.

  She wanted him to love her.

  And he couldn’t. Because if he did he wouldn’t be heading off on some mission that he didn’t need to go on. He’d be here, holding her hand and planning a happy Christmas, supporting her in her last couple of months of pregnancy.

  Was it too much to ask? Was she expecting too much?

  No. It was what every couple strove for. She wanted him to feel the same way about it all as she did. She wanted him to share that excitement she felt whenever she lay in his arms. The way her heart soared when he was inside her. The sensation of utter completeness when he looked at her, when he made her laugh. She wanted him to love her and the baby the way she loved him. Wholly. Totally. Without reservation.

  And there it was. The naked, ugly truth. She’d fallen in love with him.

  When she should have been putting all her attention into this baby, she’d gone and fallen for its father—the wrong kind of man to love.

  No.

  She tried not to show her alarm and fixed her face as best as she could into an emotion-free mask as she walked away from him, while he stared at her uncomprehendingly, his hand on the doorhandle.

  No. Don’t go. She wanted to shout it at him. To hurl herself at him and be a barrier between him and the door. But what would be the point? Letting him go was the right thing to do. What was the point in making someone stay, hoping they would learn to love you? Hoping...

  She loved him. Completely. Devastatingly. Instead of protecting herself against more heartache, she’d allowed her life to be bowled over by a man who couldn’t and wouldn’t ever love her. It was a simple and as difficult as that. How stupid.

  And now, even worse, she was tied to him for ever. She’d insisted on that. And he’d agreed. He’d torn up the contract in a dramatic gesture of commitment and determination that had both impressed and scared her. And despite everything she knew about him, she’d believed him and somewhere deep inside a little light had fired into life and it had grown and she’d hoped...

  And now the light had blown right out.

  Because, after all, she’d been the silly one in all this, she’d allowed herself to dream, had allowed herself to slip under his spell, had willingly given her heart to him. He’d always been upfront. And you couldn’t be more upfront than jumping on the first plane out of Dodge.

  Liam had been right all along. Love could be damned cruel. She could never let him know. ‘I need you to leave. Now. I need you to go, Liam.’

  ‘Georgie—’

  ‘Go. I have to work.’ She watched the door close behind him, and almost cried out, almost declared herself, to see if that would make a difference to him going or staying. But she wasn’t about to play games, give him tests, make him say something he’d regret. Or that they’d both regret.

  But, still, nothing took away from the fact that she loved him. She had probably always loved him—as a friend, as someone who she could confide in and share a joke with. He was, deep down, a good man who was conflicted, who was trying to hide from hurt, and after his experiences who could blame him? His flaws made him even more likable. Falling romantically in love with him had been the icing on the cake and she would be proud for her child to have him as a father. One day she would tell him that. When she could look him in the face again. When her heart had stopped shattering into tiny pieces.

  With shaking hands she picked up her shopping bags, took out the tinsel and gaudy baubles and threw them on the table. That would be for later, for a time when she felt like celebrating. Right now Christmas loomed ahead a sad and sorry affair. A Christmas without Liam. She’d wrapped him up in her festive excitement, made him the best present a girl could have, and he’d gone. Left her, just like her mother had.

  One day she’d find someone who wanted her enough to stay around.

  She took a few deep breaths, swiped a hand across her face and caught a tear. And another one. Then gave up the fight and let them flow.

  My God, she thought as she looked in the staff-room mirror, she needed to pull herself together; this clinic could be hard enough without the nurses falling apart, too.

  ‘Come on, girl.’ Plumped up her cheeks and dried her eyes. ‘There are plenty who are much worse off.’ Like the people Liam was going out to save. Like the ones she had booked in now, who looked to her for support and advice. Who didn’t have a healthy baby in their bellies. Who needed her dedication and attention to get them through. She allowed herself two more tears. Exactly that. One for her, one for her baby, then she took another deep breath, put on her game face and went back out into the world.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Two weeks ago...

  LIAM LURCHED AGAINST the cold hard passenger seat as the Jeep bumped over potholes along the pitted dirt track. ‘Man, these roads don’t get any better. I’m going to be covered in bruises before we get to the camp.’

  ‘Aren’t you pleased to be back?’ Pierre Leclerc shouted above the din of the engine, his words tinted with his French-Canadian accent and vestiges of the countless places he’d visited in his long aid career. He cracked a booming laugh and hit Liam on the thigh. ‘We missed you.’

  ‘Ah, shucks, mate, I missed you too.’ Like hell he’d missed them. He’d struggled every kilometre, every minute of the interminable flight, the uncomfortable transit, the stench. The seven-day layover in Juba, getting supplies, waiting for the right documents, stuck in bureaucratic hell. The long drive out here. Every second wishing he’d had the courage to stay in Auckland with Georgie.

  He just couldn’t get rid of the memory of her. All grumpy and stroppy, stomping down the crowded street, the swing of her backside, the tense holding of her shoulders, the swish of her ponytail. The closed-off posture. The truth of her words. Our friendship is ruined. But it was all too late.

  Pierre leaned across. ‘I hope you bought us something decent for our Christmas stockings?’

  ‘I have something to help us forget, if that’s what you mean.’ Patting his duty-free purchases of rum and whisky, he joined in the laughter, trying to be friendly, wishing like mad he was back in New Zealand, far away from this nightmare of dry earth and flies.

  I made a mistake, he thought. I made a million of them.

  They pulled into the camp compound, the dull corrugated roof of the medical building half-hidden by a layer of brown sand whipped up by the morning wind. A thin pale grey sky stretched above them, promising little relief from the scorching sun.

  Liam looked around at the thousands of tents and crudely made straw structures lining the gravel and mud path. Sun-bleached rags, tied between sticks and corrugated metal, provided the best shelter they could from relentless heat. A group of women huddled around a water tap. ‘It hasn’t changed at all.’

  ‘Nothing much changes around here. It’s like Groundhog Day.’ Pierre pulled out a handkerchief and swiped it across his forehead. ‘People still arrive every day seeking help, and we still struggle to house them, to feed them, to provide adequate clean water. There aren’t enough toilets, the kids are all getting sick. Nothing changes at all.’

  Except last time Liam couldn’t wait to get here. And this ti
me he couldn’t wait to leave. ‘So, what’s planned for today?’

  ‘Immunisation programme. Training the new assistants so they can go on and run it solo.’

  ‘Okay. Let’s do it.’ Liam jumped down into the fog of red dust created by the Jeep wheels.

  Within seconds, dozens of semi-naked children appeared screaming, laughing and singing, surrounding Liam and Pierre and clinging to their legs. Such joy in everything, even in the direst circumstances. But that was kids for you: they didn’t overthink, they didn’t worry or analyse, they just got on with life, running forward to the next great adventure. There was a lesson there.

  Pierre steered him into the medical centre. As they squeezed past the long queue of sick people waiting to be treated Liam found himself wondering where to begin, but as always Pierre had the routine down like clockwork. And Liam easily slipped back into it.

  ‘Okay, your turn.’ He beckoned to a mother holding a small child in her arms. ‘How old?’

  The woman looked at him, not understanding. She offered him the child, a boy of about twelve months, scrawny and lethargic with the telltale potbelly signs of malnutrition.

  ‘He’s about one year and a half.’ The base nurse translated the woman’s local dialect, ‘His name is Garmai. Just out of the supplementary feeding programme two weeks ago.’

  Liam checked him over and measured the child’s arm circumference to determine the extent of malnutrition. Garmai would probably spend the best part of his life growing up in a refugee camp, his home town too dangerous to go back to as rebels terrorised the streets and drought stole their crops. So different from the life his own child would lead in New Zealand, where water came through invisible pipes below the ground, machines worked with the swipe of a finger and food was plentiful.