Daughter of Mine

by Fiona Lowe

  ‘We wouldn’t be strangers if we’d had a choice,’ he said curtly, sounding unusually angry. ‘If the chance hadn’t been stolen from us and stolen from her, we’d have been her parents. We’d have raised her.’ His shoulders suddenly slumped as the fight left him, and he rubbed his face. ‘I don’t have any expectations about any of this, Eddy. I just hope I get the chance to tell her that.’

  The computer chose that precise moment to ping with incoming mail, reminding them of the reason they were in the library.

  ‘That will just be the nightly digest from our adoption group,’ Edwina said as Doug rose and fiddled with the mouse. ‘Let’s skip reading it tonight. Right now, I’m not up to hearing about anyone else’s sad or happy stories.’

  She stood, setting off an unwelcome ache in her hips, and suddenly felt old. ‘All I want is to put an end to a tumultuous day. I’m exhausted. I’m going to bed.’

  Doug’s eyes were fixed on the screen and he didn’t respond.

  ‘Remember to turn out the lights,’ she said, leaning in to kiss his cheek.

  ‘It’s her,’ Doug said so softly she barely heard him. ‘At least I think it is.’ His hands started patting his pockets. ‘Jeez, where the hell are my reading glasses? Eddy, can you read it?’

  She gripped his hand as she leaned in close to the screen, her heart doing somersaults of excited dread. ‘Oh God. It’s really her.’

  ‘Don’t keep me in suspense. What does it say?’

  The email was four short lines but her mouth fumbled the words as her eyes and brain raced ahead. ‘“Hello. I received a letter from the Tasmanian Department of Health and Human Services telling me you wished to make contact. At this stage, I am only open to email communication from you. Regards, Michelle van Leeuwen.”’

  Suddenly light-headed, Edwina sank into the large leather chair. ‘I can’t believe it.’

  ‘It’s very formal,’ Doug said uncertainly. ‘It’s like she’s worried if we knew her street address we’d arrive uninvited.’

  ‘You can’t deny that would be tempting.’

  ‘Sure, but we wouldn’t do it.’

  Edwina wasn’t totally certain she could resist at least scoping out the street and house her daughter lived in. ‘She doesn’t know us. Remember what Tim said? The road is a series of cul de sacs and blind bends. But this email is a start. Oh, Doug.’ Her throat thickened. ‘We’ve found our daughter. Our daughter. It’s our opportunity to try to get to know her. For her to get to know us.’

  She pressed control+P on the keyboard and the printer hummed into life, spitting out two copies of the brief email. She picked up the pages and handed one to Doug. ‘Does this make it seem more real?’

  He read the words out loud twice and laughed. ‘I guess it means we have to type out the letter you so carefully wrote.’

  ‘Let’s do it now,’ Edwina said, her weariness vanishing under the onslaught of adrenaline. ‘You read it to me and I’ll type.’

  As Doug read and she typed, laughter and tears flowed. Twice she had to stop to blow her nose and wipe her eyes. Twenty minutes later, the letter was finished and she attached a recent photo of the two of them Charlotte had uploaded for her.

  Turning to Doug, she took his hand. ‘Ready?’

  A smile of unwavering support lit up his face. ‘Ready.’

  Together, they made a heartfelt wish and hit send.

  CHAPTER

  27

  ‘Thank you and goodnight,’ Harriet said to her theatre staff as she stripped off her surgical gown and dropped it into the linen skip.

  Lisa, her instrument nurse, ducked her head and held her arms up in front of her in a cross. ‘Don’t tempt fate.’

  Harriet was almost too tired to smile. As she’d predicted when she’d gone cap in hand to see Reg Davies three months ago, he’d given her the increased hospital hours she’d requested. The payoff was more than her fair share of graveyard shifts. After a full day of cholecystectomies and laparoscopic gastric bandings, she’d been about to head home when the first emergency of the night had arrived. A ruptured appendix had been followed by a bowel obstruction. She’d just finished writing up the notes when a head-on collision had brought in a ruptured spleen. Now it was close to two am and bed beckoned.

  Her phone rang and Lisa groaned. ‘Harriet Chirnwell.’ She listened to the night unit manager from ICU explaining her concerns about a patient whose condition had been deteriorating all evening. ‘I’ll come straight up.’

  ‘What do I set up for this time?’ Lisa said in a resigned tone.

  ‘Possible laparotomy. I think Mrs Nikolovski’s got a slow bleed.’

  ‘Isn’t she Blake’s patient?’

  ‘Yes, but he’s on days off.’ The irony of the situation wasn’t lost on Harriet. It was the sauce on top of the humble pie she’d been force-fed since April. She was still Blake’s boss but she was also on this bloody roster and until seven am she had to cover all surgical emergencies even if they’d been created by her registrar.

  She ran up the stairs to ICU and after examining the patient, made the decision to return her to theatre for exploratory surgery. As the staff prepped Mrs Nikolovski, she decided to use the next fifteen minutes to grab a sandwich and a coffee and check her emails in the staff lounge. She was waiting to hear back from her lawyer, hopeful she’d have news on the next phase of Project Save Miligili. Since Charlotte had chosen not to meet with James, he’d refused to be part of the transfer of love, care and affection and Miligili remained in both their names. Just thinking about the legal name of the transfer made Harriet’s blood boil. There was no love, care or affection left between her and James, only angst, hatred and pain.

  In a weak moment, she’d lamented to Angela that James had refused to sign over Miligili’s title to her and her lawyer had been apoplectic.

  ‘You were going to do what?’ Angela had screeched down the phone. ‘Harriet, you’re paying me for legal advice so why are you using Google? A transfer of love, care and affection wouldn’t have protected the house. When James declares bankruptcy, and I’m ninety-nine per cent certain he will, then the trustee in bankruptcy will do everything possible to claw back what was his share.’

  ‘Even though I’m the one covering the mortgage?’ Harriet had been outraged. Just covering the mortgage. She hadn’t told anyone that her recent trip to Melbourne had taken her and a large part of her wardrobe to The Collection Boutique in Toorak Road. ‘Are you saying I’m going to lose the house either way?’

  Angela had used legal jargon that always left Harriet feeling that nothing in this mess was clear-cut when she desperately craved simple, clear and concise. ‘The Family Court will work at finding ways to preserve the property but it doesn’t help that your daughter’s currently living away from you and your mother is financially supporting her. Reconcile with your daughter and you’ll have a stronger chance of keeping the house.’

  And there lay the problem. Harriet loved her daughter and she loved her home but she couldn’t validate Charlotte’s choice to have this baby, not even to keep Miligili. Something about doing that tarnished her, the house and its memories. Who was she kidding? James had done a bloody good job smearing those memories and making a mockery of everything they’d shared there as a family. But Miligili was home, history, place—belonging. She was desperate for something solid and unmoveable to hold on to in this fluid and eddying chaos.

  Stepping into the lounge, she was surprised to find she wasn’t alone. An unfamiliar dark-haired man sat reading the paper. He was wearing scrubs and had a sooty five-o’clock shadow. Reading glasses perched halfway down his nose.

  He looked up as she walked in, giving her a laconic smile that crinkled the skin around his eyes. ‘G’day.’

  ‘Hello,’ Harriet said crisply, walking directly to the coffee machine. She had little interest in chit-chat at this ungodly hour, especially with an agency nurse she was unlikely to ever meet again.

  ‘I hear you’re having a busy night,
’ he continued conversationally. His drawl was similar to the one the local farmers favoured.

  She thrust a coffee pod into the machine and pressed the button before tilting her head toward the open newspaper. ‘Unlike you?’ It came out far more tart than she’d intended.

  He laughed. ‘You must be Harriet Chirnwell.’

  A prickle of offence ran through her. God, she was sick of hospital and town gossip. It was bad enough to be maligned by people who knew her let alone from the ill-informed scrutiny of strangers. ‘And why must I be she?’

  He gave an easy shrug. ‘Basic deduction. Your name’s on the roster as the general surgeon on call and your ID clearly states who you are.’

  She automatically glanced down at her forgotten security lanyard and her umbrage faded. It had been a long time since she’d been known without labels: the estranged wife of the man the press called the Billawarre fraudster; the mother of a pregnant teenager; and the daughter of Edwina Mannering, who was turning her back on her heritage. To this unknown man she was just Harriet Chirnwell, general surgeon. As freeing as that was, she didn’t like being on the back foot—she knew nothing about him apart from what she saw.

  ‘And you are?’

  He stood. ‘Andrew Willis. I’m the new visiting ortho.’

  A rush of surprise skittered through her. She’d received the memo from Reg Davies last week and assumed that Andrew Willis would be a newly minted orthopaedic surgeon in his early thirties starting his career, not a man in his fifties. She accepted Andrew’s proffered hand and returned his firm handshake. Most visiting surgeons were only at the hospital during business hours, working on whittling down the waiting list cases.

  ‘Why are you visiting at three am and reading the paper?’

  ‘Serendipity.’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  He resumed his seat. ‘My operating days are Wednesdays and Thursdays so I stay Wednesday night at that rather over-decorated B&B in Leura Street.’

  She pictured Andrew amid the all the froufrou and felt herself smile. ‘Cecily has a certain penchant for ruffles, frills and throw pillows.’

  ‘I’d call it an addiction,’ he said with a shake of his head. ‘I always leave craving to do something like chop wood or run ten k. Anything that makes me sweat and feel like a bloke again. Tonight’s call from Urgent Care about the MCA saved me from spending another night feeling my masculinity drain away.’

  ‘I got the ruptured spleen.’

  ‘Nasty. Mine was a fractured femur. Made more sense to operate on him here rather than transporting him to Geelong. Especially as I’m here tomorrow for follow-up.’

  Enjoying the easy and uncomplicated conversation—something she hadn’t experienced with anyone in months—Harriet sat down opposite him with her coffee and offered him a sandwich from the plate. ‘Common sense doesn’t always line up with hospital funding.’

  ‘You’re not wrong there,’ he said with feeling. ‘Fortunately, Reg gave the okay.’

  ‘How is he?’

  ‘Reg? Interesting character that one.’

  She smiled. ‘That’s one way of describing him.’ She thought about the way the medical director was using her current situation to his advantage and how he was getting more than his money’s worth out of her. She bet Andrew had a much better deal. ‘And your patient?’

  ‘He’s doing okay now. I was just winding down here reading the paper before I head back to the B&B.’ He smiled again, only this time it held a rueful line. ‘You know how it is.’

  Harriet did know. ‘I find it’s pointless trying to sleep when I’m still wired and thinking about the surgery.’

  ‘Exactly, and a strange bed with a canopy of ruffles doesn’t help things either. Although I guess it won’t be strange after a few months.’

  She thought about how, even after a few months, she hadn’t completely come to terms with the bed in the guesthouse. It wasn’t that it was uncomfortable—it was, after all, an expensive mattress with a pillow-top cover—but it was more the fact that it was empty and devoid of warmth. Hating the direction her thoughts were fast heading and not wanting to think about the loneliness that was now a large part of her life, she continued to quiz Andrew. By asking him questions she didn’t have to talk about herself, which suited her perfectly.

  ‘Where are you visiting from?’

  ‘I haven’t quite decided.’

  ‘That’s cryptic.’

  ‘Not really.’ Tired grey eyes surveyed her from behind frameless glasses. ‘I’ve just sold my Adelaide practice. I grew up in the Wimmera and I’m not sure if I want a sea change or a tree change. Working here’s a good base to explore both.’

  ‘Retirement planning?’

  ‘God, no. I’ve still got kids at uni.’

  She knew all about the cost of an education. ‘Seems an odd time to sell your practice.’

  ‘Yeah.’ He rubbed the back of his neck as if he was weighing up his words. ‘I won’t bore you with the details but in a nutshell when my youngest finished Year 12, my wife decided she was finished with our marriage.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Harriet heard the automatic response leave her mouth and was surprised by the force of feeling that followed it. Sadly, she totally understood the shock of discovering that a spouse’s feelings and actions were both unfamiliar and utterly unexpected.

  He shook his head. ‘The time for sorry is long past. At the time it caught me by surprise but I’ve had eighteen months to adjust.’

  ‘Does it take that long?’

  ‘This time next year you won’t know yourself.’

  She stared at him, astonished to hear those words and the kind tone in which he’d offered them. For a second they made no sense and then her stunned surprise cleared and she realised she’d spoken her thoughts out loud. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

  Quickly scrunching the cling wrap from the sandwiches into a tight ball, she said coolly, ‘I need to get back to theatre.’

  He nodded, seemingly unfazed by her abrupt change of tone. ‘Good to meet you, Harriet.’

  ‘Andrew.’ She was already on her feet and moving fast to the door. Her hand closed around the handle.

  ‘Hey, Harriet.’

  She reluctantly turned back. ‘Yes?’

  He shot her the same laconic smile he’d greeted her with. ‘Don’t let the bastards get you down.’

  Her mouth dried. She walked away without uttering a word. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to say something, it was that all her thoughts and words had been vaporised by the sudden anxiety crawling through her. Andrew Willis knew far more about her than the fact that she was a surgeon. The disappointment that knowledge brought her was disproportionate to the situation, and yet it wasn’t. For a few brief minutes, she’d been free of the months of mess that tainted her life and it had been blissfully liberating. How would it feel if it was a permanent state of affairs? Andrew had obviously divested himself of his old life by working here, and he had plans to settle in a new town. She could do the same thing.

  The thought galvanised her with more purpose than she’d felt in a long time. What would it be like to live and work in a new place where she was totally unknown? To walk away from James’s perfidy, from Charlotte’s disappointing life, from her mother, Doug, and this unknown sister whose mere existence cast a long shadow? The idea of starting over somewhere new without the shackles that currently held her by the throat took hold. She walked into the theatre suite with her head full of the lingering thoughts that tempted and terrified all at the same time.

  ‘We’re ready when you are,’ Lisa said. ‘Rod’s putting her under now.’

  ‘Let’s do it.’ Harriet strode to the sinks and as she scrubbed her skin pink, she lost herself to the familiar needling pain, using it to block her tumultuous thoughts in the same way she’d been doing for months.

  * * *

  ‘I think I’ll go and check on the lambs,’ Steve teased, stealing some cashews from the nibbles platter.

  Xara s
lapped his hand. ‘Don’t you dare leave me here alone.’

  He rolled his eyes. ‘What—with your family?’

  ‘I want you here if Harry turns up.’

  ‘She’s not going to come, Xar.’ He opened the bottle of champagne Georgie had brought as a gift. ‘The one thing you can’t fault Harriet on is changing her mind on a whim. Once you told her Edwina and Charlie were coming, you lost her.’

  ‘I know,’ she said sadly. ‘But I couldn’t lie to her. Can you imagine the fallout if I’d failed to mention who was coming? Things with Georgie have been rocky enough this term and just as they’ve come good I don’t want to rock the boat with Harry.’

  ‘I don’t know why you turn yourself inside out for your family. I let mine sort it out themselves.’

  ‘Oh right, and that works so well. Craig hasn’t spoken to your father in years.’ Xara ripped open a packet of camembert cheese. ‘I’m the voice of reason. I’m trying to support everyone and see both sides. It puts me in the perfect position to try to facilitate understanding and forgiveness.’

  ‘Um, Xar. You been bingeing on self-help books again?’

  She threw a celery stick at him. ‘I’m serious. Think about it. Now I know about Michelle, so much of Mum and Dad’s relationship makes sense. He wasn’t always fair to her and she deserves to be happy with Doug. Georgie and Harry need to stop being selfish and at least consider Mum. It’s not all about them, you know. I think today’s lunch is a step in the right direction. Now that Georgie’s come around to the idea of Michelle, it just leaves Harry.’

  Steve’s grunt was non-committal. ‘Don’t expect too much, okay?’

  She knew his comment came from the right place but it made her bristle nonetheless. ‘I think you’re forgetting I’m a trained mediator.’

  ‘Yes, but there’s no emotional investment with strangers,’ he muttered. ‘Talking of strangers, I’m glad Doug brought Ben. It evens up the ratio a bit.’ He picked up the tray of drinks at the same time Xara lifted the platter. ‘So, this news of Georgie’s. Any ideas?’

  ‘Promotion, maybe? Perhaps she’s finally got a job teaching art. Whatever it is, she’s excited about it. She’s been bouncing since she arrived.’