A Miracle for His Secret Son

by Barbara Hannay

  Her heart took off like a steeplechaser. ‘Actually, it’s my son who’s in trouble.’

  ‘Your son?’ Gus repeated, clearly shocked.

  All the worry and tension of the past weeks rose inside Freya and she felt like a pressure cooker about to blow its lid. Her lips trembled, but she willed herself to hold everything together. She mustn’t break down now.

  ‘So you’re a single mum?’

  She nodded, too choked up to speak.

  ‘Like your mother.’

  She managed another nod, grateful for the lack of condemnation in his voice. Of course, Gus had never been a snob like his father. He’d never looked down his nose at Sugar Bay’s hippies.

  Just the same, his observation was accurate. Freya had followed in her mother’s footsteps. In fact, Poppy had actively encouraged her daughter into single motherhood.

  We can raise your baby together, darling. Of course we can. Look at the way I raised you. We’ll be fine. We’re alike, you and me. We’re destined to be independent. You don’t need a man, love.

  Unfortunately, Poppy had been wrong. The terrible day had arrived when neither of them was able to help Nick—and Freya had no choice but to seek help from this man, his father.

  Gus was watching her closely, his expression a mixture of frowning puzzlement and tender concern. ‘Are you still in contact with the boy’s father?’

  It was too much. Her eyes filled with tears. She’d waited too long to tell him this—twelve years too long—and now she had to deliver a terrible blow. It was so, so difficult. She didn’t want to hurt him.

  She had no choice.

  Clinging to the last shreds of composure, she looked away from him to the flat sea stained with the spectacular colours of the sunset. She blinked hard and her throat felt as if she’d swallowed broken glass.

  Beside them, a party of young people arrived on the balcony, laughing and carefree, carrying their drinks and calling to each other as they dragged tables together and sat in a large happy circle. It was a scenario Freya had seen many, many times at the pub on the Sugar Bay waterfront. Once, she and Gus had been part of a crowd just like that.

  Terrified that she might cry in public and cause Gus all kinds of embarrassment, she said, ‘I’m sorry. Would you mind if we went somewhere else to talk about this? We could go for a walk, perhaps?’

  ‘Of course.’

  Gallantly, he rose immediately and they took the short flight of steps down to The Esplanade that skirted Darwin Harbour.

  Offshore, yachts were racing, bright spinnakers billowing, leaning into a light breeze. The same breeze brought the salty-sharp smell of coral mingled with the scent of frangipani blossoms. The breeze played with Freya’s hair and she didn’t try to hold it in place. Instead, she wrapped her arms protectively over her front as Gus walked beside her, his hands sunk in the pockets of his light-coloured chinos.

  ‘Are you OK, Freya?’

  ‘Sort of.’ She took a deep breath, knowing that she couldn’t put this revelation off a second longer. ‘You asked if I’ve been in touch with my son’s father.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I haven’t, Gus.’

  She slid a wary sideways glance his way and she saw the exact moment when he realised. Saw his eyes widen with dawning knowledge, and then a flash of horror.

  He stopped walking.

  The colour drained from his face as he stared at her. ‘How old is this boy?’

  His voice was cold and quiet, and Freya’s heart pounded so loudly it drummed in her ears.

  ‘He’s eleven—almost eleven and a half.’

  Gus shook his head. ‘No way.’

  He glared at her, his eyes angry—disbelieving—already rejecting what she had to tell him next.

  CHAPTER TWO

  GUS struggled to breathe, struggled to think, to believe, to understand…but, all the while, gut-level awareness was shouting the truth that Freya still hadn’t told him.

  He had a son. A boy. Now eleven years old.

  ‘Gus, I’m so sorry.’ Freya stood on the path in front of him, wringing her hands, her face a blurred wash of tears.

  His mind flashed back to their past, to the last magical summer he’d spent at the Bay—three halcyon months between the end of high school and the start of university—when he and Freya had been almost inseparable.

  Twelve years had passed since then and in many ways it had felt like a lifetime. Now, for Gus, it felt like a lifetime in exile.

  He rounded on her. ‘Say it, Freya. Spit it out. This boy is my son, isn’t he?’

  Shoulders back, chin lifted, she met his angry gaze. ‘Yes, Gus, you’re Nick’s father.’

  ‘Nick?’

  ‘He’s Nicholas Angus.’

  A terrible ache bloomed in his throat, swiftly followed by a tumult of emotions—alienation and loneliness, frustration and anger. He spun away from her, fighting for composure. The sea breeze buffeted his face and he gulped in deep needy breaths.

  He tried to picture his son, this boy he’d never seen. His flesh and blood. Damn it, he had no idea what the kid might look like.

  How crazy was that?

  His thoughts flew haphazardly. He had a son. Every boy needed a dad. What right had Freya to keep such a secret?

  Had it worked both ways? Did the boy know anything about him?

  Unlikely.

  Gus whirled back to challenge Freya. ‘Why? Why the hell didn’t you tell me?’ He knew he sounded bitter but he didn’t care. He was bitter. ‘Did you keep this to yourself because you didn’t know who your father was? Is it some kind of warped tradition in your family?’

  ‘No, of course not.’

  Her protest wasn’t convincing but he didn’t stop to investigate. ‘Why then? Why didn’t you tell me that I had a son?’

  ‘I thought—’ Freya’s hands flailed with a wild kind of helplessness, then fell to her sides and she gave a groan of frustration. ‘I tried, Gus. I did try to tell you.’

  ‘When?’ he shouted, not trying to hide his disbelief.

  ‘The day I came to the university to see you.’

  His mouth sagged open as memories of that day arrived in a sickening rush. His skin flashed hot and cold and a feeling suspiciously like guilt curdled unpleasantly in his stomach.

  Over the years, he’d blotted out Freya’s sudden appearance on the St Lucia campus, but he couldn’t deny that he’d never felt comfortable about the last time they’d met.

  Now, she was walking away from him, leaving the walking track and hurrying across the velvety lawn to the rocks that bordered the foreshore. By the time Gus reached her, she’d pulled tissues from a woven shoulder bag and was blowing her nose.

  ‘We have to talk about this,’ he said.

  ‘Of course. That’s why we’re here.’ She spoke with quiet resignation.

  They found a flat rock to sit on—side by side, looking out to sea—and it was uncannily like old times, except that, unlike the pounding surf in Sugar Bay, this sea was flat and calm. And they were facing west now, rather than east, so the setting sun was suspended inches above the horizon like a giant glowing balloon.

  Freya shoved the tissues back into her bag, then drew an elaborately deep breath and let it out very slowly.

  Despite his rage and frustration, Gus couldn’t help thinking how lovely she looked, sitting on the rock beside the sea.

  She directed her steady gaze his way, giving him the full effect of her darkly lashed aquamarine eyes. ‘Do you remember that day I came to see you at university?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘I was, honestly, planning to tell you that I was pregnant.’

  ‘But you didn’t say a thing about it. Not a word.’ He fought to speak calmly. ‘Why?’

  She dropped her gaze. ‘It’s hard to explain now, after such a long time. I know I was very young and immature back then. I was totally freaked by the whole university scene.’

  The wind plucked at her hair and she caught a strand and tu
cked it behind her ear. To his dismay, Gus found himself noticing the delicate shape of her ear and the small hole pierced in the middle of her neat pale lobe.

  ‘The whole journey to Brisbane was such a big deal for me,’ she said. ‘I had to travel such a long way from the Bay on the train, and I had to get up at something like four o’clock in the morning. And I had morning sickness, so I was pretty fragile. Then, when I got to Brisbane, I had to catch the bus out to St Lucia. When I arrived there, and the university was so—’

  She waved her hands, searching for the word.

  ‘Intimidating?’

  ‘Yes. So huge and important-looking. All those sandstone buildings and columns and courtyards.’

  Gus nodded. It was incredibly easy, now, to imagine how a girl from a sleepy beach village had felt, but he’d been young, too. Looking back, he suspected that he had, quite possibly, been insensitive.

  Freya pouted. ‘I’d told you I was coming, so I thought you’d skip a lecture to see me. But I had to wait around for ages for you to come out of the lecture hall and then, when you did, you were surrounded by a tribe of adoring women.’

  Gus felt his neck redden as he remembered. ‘Hardly a tribe. And there were other guys in the group.’

  She dismissed this with a sharp laugh. ‘I was naïve, I guess, but I got such a shock to see how you’d changed so quickly. After all, it was only about six weeks since I’d seen you.’

  ‘I couldn’t have been too different, surely?’

  She lifted her hands, palms up. ‘Believe me, Gus, you were different in every way. You had this scholarly air. And you were so full of how awesome university was. You couldn’t stop talking about your college and your lecturers, your career plans. After six weeks at uni, you were going to single-handedly save the Third World.’

  Gus swallowed uncomfortably, knowing she was right.

  ‘And those girls were such snobs,’ Freya said. ‘Designer jeans, masses of jewellery, perfect hair and make-up. I hated the way they looked down their noses at me.’

  ‘I’m sure they didn’t.’

  Freya rolled her eyes as if he hadn’t a clue. ‘They made it clear that I had no right to be there, chasing after you.’

  Gus remembered how Freya had looked that day, dressed in her hippie, beach girl get-up like something out of the seventies, in a batik wrap-around skirt, a silver anklet complete with bells and brown leather sandals.

  He’d thought she’d looked fine. She was Freya, after all. But he could guess how those city girls might have made her feel. No doubt they’d used that particularly sinister feminine radar that sent out signals undetected by males.

  Why hadn’t he been more perceptive? More protective of his girlfriend?

  Even to him, it no longer made sense.

  But hang on. He might not have shown exemplary sensitivity, but Freya still should have told him she was pregnant.

  Gus turned to her. ‘How could you have been pregnant? We took precautions.’

  She lifted an eyebrow and the look she sent him was decidedly arch. ‘If you remember, you weren’t exactly an expert at using a condom.’

  He groaned, muttered “Idiot” under his breath.

  Face aflame, he looked out to sea where the last of the sun’s crimson light was melting into the darkening water. ‘If you’d told me, Freya, if you’d given me a chance, I would have faced up to my responsibilities.’

  ‘I suppose you would have.’ Her fingers began to twist the woven straps of her shoulder bag. ‘But you’d told me you didn’t want children for ages.’

  ‘That didn’t mean—’ Gus grimaced and shook his head.

  ‘I didn’t want you to see me as a responsibility. I wanted to be so much more to you, Gus, but when I saw you that day I lost all my confidence. I knew what becoming a father would have cost you. Your father had such high hopes for you. And you had big dreams too. A baby would have wrecked everything you had planned.’

  ‘I’d have found a way.’

  Her steady gaze challenged him. ‘Be honest. Your father organised a transfer back to Brisbane, just so he and your mother could support you through uni. You were their eldest son, the jewel in their crowns. They’d never have forgiven you. And how would you have felt if you’d had to leave your studies to earn enough money to maintain a family?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Gus said glumly. ‘I wasn’t given the opportunity to find out.’

  It was ages before Freya said softly, ‘Well, OK, I think we’ve established that I made a bad call.’ She dropped her gaze, but not before he saw the glitter of tears in her eyes. ‘I’ve said I’m sorry. But sometimes mistakes are made with the best of intentions.’

  Gus let out a heavy sigh and wondered to what degree his overbearing parents had swayed Freya’s decision. The irony was that as soon as he’d graduated he hadn’t gone into the kind of high profile executive position his father had planned for him. He’d quietly rebelled and gone off to Africa instead. Bursting with high ideals, he’d dived into aid work.

  For the next nine years he’d been committed to doing good work for strangers and, sure, they’d really needed help. But, all that time, there’d been a son who’d needed him back in Australia.

  The thought of that boy made him want to cry out with rage. Despair. Self-pity. Where was the morality in trying to save the world when he’d contributed absolutely zilch to his own son’s welfare?

  The worst of it was that Freya had tried to tell him.

  She’d turned to him in trouble and, instead of becoming the prince who rescued her, he’d let her down. Very badly, it seemed.

  Oh, he’d gone through the motions that day. Resisting the crass option to sneak her back to his college room for a quick tumble between the sheets, he’d taken Freya back into the city on the bus and splashed out on an expensive supper at a posh café overlooking the Brisbane River. But throughout the meal she’d been strained.

  Looking back, he could see that he’d been far too impressed with himself as a student. Too caught up in his new and exciting world. He probably hadn’t given Freya a chance to get a word in edgeways.

  Guiltily, he remembered that he’d been rather relieved to put her back on the train to Sugar Bay. It was only when he’d walked along the railway platform, keeping up with her carriage as the train lumbered off, that he’d seen the tears streaming down her face.

  Too late, he’d understood that he’d disappointed her. And now, way too late, he realised that he’d been so self-absorbed he’d left no room for her to offload her dilemma. He’d been a complete ass.

  The big question was—if he had known about the baby, would he have made room in his life for Freya? Happily? Without resentment?

  He’d loved her, sure. That summer with her was his sweetest, most poignant memory. But, in that first term at university, he’d loved the idea of Freya waiting back in Sugar Bay far more than the reality of her intruding into his busy new life.

  Gus sat in silence, mustering his thoughts while he listened to the soft lapping of the sea. After a bit, he said, ‘You stopped answering my letters.’

  ‘We decided it was better to make a clean break.’

  ‘We?’ For a moment he imagined she was talking about another boyfriend. Then he remembered Poppy. Freya’s mother had always been more like her sister or her best friend than her mother. ‘I suppose Poppy was in on this too. She very effectively blocked my phone calls.’

  ‘She was a tower of strength.’

  Oh, yeah, she would have been, Gus thought grimly. Poppy would have been in her element. She’d never been able to hang on to a man for long, but she would have clung for dear life to Freya and the promise of a grandchild. She would have aided and abetted Freya’s decision to end it with him and raise the baby alone.

  So it boiled down to the fact that his relationship with Freya had just faded away. She hadn’t answered him and he, distracted by his bright new world, had simply let her go.

  In other words, he, Freya and Poppy had
made separate choices twelve years ago, and now they were paying the price.

  Rather, the boy, Nick, was paying the price.

  Gus looked up at the darkening sky—navy-blue, almost black—and he saw the evening star, already shining and sitting alone in the heavens like a bright solitaire diamond.

  Staring at it, he felt shock like a fist slamming into his solar plexus. Hell. He still didn’t know why Freya had contacted him so urgently. He’d been hung up about what happened in the past, but hadn’t she said that her son had a problem right here and now?

  A matter of life and death?

  He bit back a horrified groan. ‘There’s more, isn’t there? You still haven’t told me why you need my help.’

  To Gus’s dismay, Freya seemed to slump beside him as if her strength had suddenly deserted her. He reached out, wanting to draw her against him, to rest her head against his shoulder, but his hand hovered inches from her. ‘What is it? What’s happened?’

  A sob tore from her throat and she covered her face with her hands.

  A hot knife of fear sliced through Gus. For an instant he felt an urge to flee, to refuse to listen to her bad news. He couldn’t bear the tension.

  He forced himself to speak. ‘Is…is the boy sick?’

  Freya nodded and the knife in his guts twisted sharper, deeper. Life and death. Terror chilled his blood. Was his son dying?

  His throat tightened painfully. He hadn’t known it was possible to care so instantly and painfully for a boy he’d never met.

  Freya, sensing Gus’s distress, lifted her head. Hands clenched in her lap, she sat very still, willing herself to be strong. This was the point of no return, the worst part of her mission. She couldn’t fail her boy now.

  So many times she’d thought about what she would say to Gus at this moment, and she’d searched for the wisest and kindest starting point. Each time she’d come up with one answer. She had to tell him the hard news straight up.

  This wasn’t a time for breaking things gently. To pussyfoot around would be both cruel and unhelpful.

  But…oh, God. She felt as if she were plunging from the highest possible diving board into the tiniest thimble of safety.