‘And worry you too? I haven’t been ignoring things. I reported my concerns a few months ago, but I think I might have made things worse. I thought she was on drugs, that that was why she was always disappearing, but they did a screen and she’s not. He’s always been well looked after. Even now, he’s just missed a couple of baths.’ It was so terribly hard to explain it. ‘They lived with me for nearly nine months, right up till Harry’s first birthday.’ She missed the frown on Dominic’s face. ‘And it was me who got up at night, did most of the laundry and bathing and changing. I just somehow know that she isn’t coping on her own. Which is why I drop everything when she needs help. I don’t really want to test my theories as to what might happen to Harry…’
‘You could have told me this.’
‘Not really holiday-romance stuff.’
‘You’ve not exactly given us a chance to be anything more.’
‘It’s not always men who don’t want a relationship,’ Bridgette said. ‘I always knew you were going back to Sydney and that I would stay here. It suited me better to keep it as it was.
‘How was your weekend?’ she asked, frantically changing the subject. ‘How was Chris?’
‘Great,’ Dominic said. ‘It’s his twenty-first birthday this weekend, so he’s getting all ready for that. Gangster party!’ He gave a wry smile. ‘I’m flying back up for that.’
‘Have fun!’ She grinned and didn’t add that she’d love to be his moll, and he didn’t say that he’d love it if she could be, and then his phone rang.
He checked it but didn’t answer and Bridgette stood there, her cheeks darkening as Arabella’s image flashed up on the screen.
‘Well…’ She turned away, tipped her coffee down the sink.
‘Bridgette…’
‘It doesn’t matter anyway.’
Except it did.
He had seen Arabella—she’d found out he was back for the weekend and had come around. He’d opened the door to her and had surprised himself with how little he’d felt.
It would be easier to have felt something, to have gone back to his perfect life and pretend he believed she hadn’t meant what she’d said about Chris. Easier than what he was contemplating.
‘Bridgette, she came over. We had a coffee.’
‘I don’t want to hear it.’ She really didn’t, but she was angry too. It had been the day from hell and was turning into the night from hell too. ‘It’s been less than a week…’ She didn’t understand how it was so easy for some people to get over things. She was still desperately trying to get over Paul: not him exactly, more what he had done. And in some arguments you said things that perhaps weren’t true, but you said them anyway.
‘You’re all the bloody same!’
‘Hey!’ He would not take that. ‘I told you, we had coffee.’
‘Sure.’
‘And I told you, don’t ever compare me to him.’ He was sick of being compared to a man he hadn’t met, a man who had caused her nothing but pain. ‘I told you I’d have had this sorted.’
‘Sure you would have.’
And in some arguments you said things that perhaps were true, but should never be said. ‘And,’ Dominic added, regretting it the second he said it, ‘I’d never have slept with your sister.’
Her face looked as if it had been dunked in a bucket of bleach, the colour just stripped out of it. ‘And you look after her kid—’ Dominic could hardly contain the fury he felt on her behalf ‘—after the way she treated you?’
‘How?’ She had never been so angry, ashamed that he knew. ‘Did Vince tell you? Did Jasmine tell him?’ She was mortified. ‘Does the whole hospital know?’
‘I know,’ Dominic said, ‘because most people talk about their break-ups, most people share that bit at the start, but instead you keep yourself closed. I worked it out,’ he explained. ‘Courtney and Paul both happened to move out around Harry’s first birthday…’
‘Just leave it.’
‘Why?’
‘Because…’ she said. ‘I kicked my sister out, which meant I effectively kicked my nephew out, and look what it’s been like since then.’
‘Bridgette—’
‘No.’ She did not want his comfort,
neither did she want his rationale, nor did she want to stand here and explain to him the hurt. ‘Are you going to stay here? Tell me we should fight for Harry?’ She just looked at him and gave a mocking laugh. ‘You don’t want kids of your own, let alone your girlfriend’s nephew.’ She shook her head. ‘Your holiday fling’s nephew.’
And he didn’t want it, Dominic realised, and did that make him shallow? He did not want the drama that was Courtney and he did not want a woman who simply refused to talk about what was clearly so important.
‘I’m going back,’ Bridgette said. ‘You can take your phone call now.’
And two minutes later he did.
She knew because she heard the buzz of his phone as she stood in the corridor outside, trying to compose herself enough to head out to the ward.
She heard his low voice through the wall and there was curious relief as she walked away.
She was as lousy at one-night stands as she was at holiday romances.
There was only one guy on her mind right now, and he stood in the cot, waiting patiently for her return.
‘Hey, Harry.’ She picked him up and gave him a cuddle, and as Dominic walked past she deliberately didn’t look up; instead she concentrated on her nephew, pulling back the sheets and laying him down.
It felt far safer hiding behind him.
CHAPTER TWELVE
COURTNEY rang in the morning to see how Harry’s night had been and said that she’d be in soon. Bridgette went with Harry for his hearing test and then surprisingly Raymond, the ENT consultant, came and saw him on the ward. ‘Glue ear,’ Raymond informed her. ‘His hearing is significantly down in both ears, which would explain the speech delay. It can make them very miserable. We’ll put him on the waiting list for grommets.’ It might explain the temper tantrums too, Bridgette thought, kicking herself for overreaction.
By late afternoon, when Courtney still hadn’t arrived and Harry was dozing, Bridgette slipped away and up to Maternity, even though she’d rung to explain things. Rita was nice and surprisingly understanding.
‘We’re having a family meeting tomorrow,’ Bridgette explained. ‘I really am sorry to let you down. I’ll do nights just as soon as I can.’
‘Don’t be sorry—of course you can’t work,’ Rita said. ‘You need to get this sorted.’
Though her family seemed convinced there was nothing to sort, and as Bridgette walked onto the ward, she could see Courtney sitting on the chair beside Harry, all smiles. She was playing the doting mother or ‘mother of the year’, as Jasmine would have said. Dominic was examining Harry’s new neighbor, young Roman, and Bridgette stood and spoke to Tony for a moment. Harry, annoyed that Bridgette wasn’t coming straight over, stood up, put up his leg and with two fat fists grabbed the cot, annoyed that with the barrier he couldn’t get over it—he was indeed a climber, it was duly noted, not just by the nurses but by Courtney. And Bridgette wondered if she was going mad. Maybe there was nothing wrong with her sister’s parenting and she, Bridgette, had been talking nonsense all along.
‘Thanks so much for staying last night,’ Courtney said. ‘I was just completely exhausted. I’d been up all night with him teething. Mum said that that can give them the most terrible rash…and then when he climbed out, when I heard him fall…’
‘No problem,’ Bridgette said. ‘ENT came down and saw him.’
‘Yes, the nurse told me,’ Courtney said, and rather pointedly unzipped her bag and took out her pyjamas. Brand-new ones, Bridgette noticed. Courtney was very good at cleaning up her act when required. ‘You should get so
me rest, Bridgette.’ Courtney looked up and her eyes held a challenge that Bridgette knew she simply couldn’t win. ‘You look exhausted. I’m sure I’ll see you at the family meeting and you will have plenty to say about his nappy rash and that I put him to bed without washing him to Aunty Bridgette’s satisfaction.’
Dominic saw Courtney’s smirk after Bridgette had kissed Harry and left.
He spoke for a moment with Tony, told him he would see him tomorrow. And Dominic, a man who always stayed late, left early for once and met Bridgette at her car. It wouldn’t start, because in her rush to get to see Harry last night, she’d left her lights on.
‘Just leave me.’ She was crying, furious, enraged, and did not want him to see.
‘I’ll give you a lift.’
‘So I can sort out a flat battery tomorrow! So I can take a bus to the meeting.’ She even laughed. ‘They’ll think I’m the one with the problem. She’s in there all kisses and smiles and new pyjamas. She’ll be taking him home this time tomorrow.’
‘She’ll blow herself out soon,’ Dominic said.
‘And it will start all over again.’ She turned the key one last hopeless time and of course nothing happened.
‘Come on,’ Dominic said. ‘I’ll take you home.’
They drove for a while in silence. Dominic never carried tissues, but very graciously he gave her the little bit of silk he used to clean his sunglasses. With little other option, she took it.
‘I do get it.’
‘Sure!’
‘No, I really do,’ Dominic said. ‘For three years after Chris was born it was row after row. My father wanted him gone—he never came out and said it, didn’t have the guts, and I can tell you the day it changed, I can tell you the minute it changed.’ He snapped his fingers as he drove. ‘My mother told him to get out because Chris wasn’t going anywhere. She told him if he stayed in her home then he followed her rules.’ They were at the roundabout and she wanted him to indicate, wanted to go back to his place, but instead he drove straight on. ‘She got her fire back.’ He even grinned as he remembered his trophy-wife mother suddenly swearing and cursing in Spanish. He remembered the drama as she’d filled his father’s suitcases and hurled them out, followed by his golf clubs, as she picked up Chris and walked back in. ‘I really want you to listen, Bridgette. You need to think about what you want before you go into that meeting. You will need to sort out what you’re prepared to offer or what you’re prepared to accept, not for the next week or for the next month but maybe the next seventeen years—you need to do the best for yourself.’
‘I’m trying my best.’
‘Bridgette, you’re not listening to me. My mum could have gone along with Dad—she could have had a far easier life if she hadn’t been a single mum bringing up a special-needs child. Chris could have been slotted into a home. Instead he went to one when he was eighteen, to a sheltered home with friends, and my mother did it so that he’d have a life, a real one. She did not want him to have to start over in thirty years or so when she was gone. She thought out everything and that included looking out for herself. What I said was you have to do the best for you—you have to look out for yourself in this…’
Dominic gritted his teeth in frustration as he could see that she didn’t understand what he meant and knew that he would have to make things clear. ‘The best thing that could happen is that Courtney suddenly becomes responsible and gets well suddenly, becomes responsible and looks after Harry properly—and we both know that’s not going to happen. Now, you can run yourself ragged chasing after Courtney, living your life ready to step in, or you can work out the life you want and what you’re prepared to do.’
She still didn’t get it.
‘Bridgette, she could have another baby. She could be pregnant right now!’ She closed her eyes. It was something she thought about late at night sometimes, that this could be ongoing, that there could be another Harry, or a little Harriet, or twins. ‘Come away with me on Saturday,’ he said. ‘Come for the weekend, just to see…’
‘What about Arabella?’
‘What about her?’ Dominic said. ‘I told her last night the same thing I told her when we had coffee on Saturday. We’re through. And I’ve told her that I’m blocking her from my phone.’ He knew he was pushing it, but this time he said it. ‘You could be my moll!’
‘I’ve got other things to think about right now.’
‘Yes,’ he said as he pulled up at her door. ‘You do.’
And she didn’t ask him in, and neither did he expect her to, but he did pull her into his arms and kiss her.
‘Don’t…’ She pulled her head back.
‘It’s a kiss.’
‘A kiss that’s going nowhere,’ she said. ‘I’m not very good at one-night stands, in case you didn’t work it out. And I really think the holiday is over…’
‘Why won’t you let anyone in?’
‘Because I can’t stand being hurt again,’ Bridgette admitted. ‘And you and I…’ She was honest. ‘Well, it’s going to hurt, whatever way you look at it.’ And she did open up a bit, said what she’d thought all those days ago. ‘My life’s not exactly geared to hopping on planes.’
‘You only need to hop on one,’ Dominic said, and he was offering her the biggest out, an escape far more permanent than her flat.
‘Think about it,’ he said.
‘I can’t.’
‘Just think about it,’ Dominic said. ‘Please.’
He wished her all the very best for the next day, then drove down the road and pulled out his phone.
‘It’s Wednesday,’ Chris said. ‘Why are you ringing me on a Wednesday?’
‘I’m just ringing you,’ Dominic said. ‘It doesn’t only have to be on a Friday.’
‘It’s about Bridgette?’ Chris said, and Dominic couldn’t help a wry grin that he was ringing his brother for advice. ‘The one with the baby.’
‘It’s not her baby,’ Dominic said, because he’d explained about Harry as they’d walked along the beach.
‘But she loves him.’
‘Yep.’
‘Well, why can’t they come and live here?’
‘Because it’s not going to happen,’ Dominic said. ‘His mum loves him too.’
‘And you can’t stay there because you’re coming over on Saturday,’ Chris reminded him. ‘For my birthday.’ He heard the silence. ‘You said you would.’
‘I did.’
‘See you on Saturday,’ Chris said.
And Dominic did know how Bridgette felt—he was quite sure of that, because he felt it then too, thought of his brother all dressed up with his friends and his disappointment if he wasn’t there. He thought of Bridgette facing it alone.
‘You are coming?’ Chris pushed.
‘You know I am,’ Dominic said. ‘I’ll see you then.’
‘Are you still going to ring me on Friday?’ Chris said, because he loathed a change in routine.
‘Of course.’
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
‘HI, TONY!’ Dominic said the next morning. ‘Hi, Roman.’ He tried not to look at Harry, who was watching him from the next cot. He’d seen all the Joyce family head off to the conference room, Courtney marching in front, the parents, as Bridgette would say, joined at the hip, and an exhausted-looking Bridgette bringing up the rear.
‘Is this your last morning?’ Tony said, because it was common knowledge now that he was leaving.
‘No,’ Dominic said. ‘I’m on call tonight.’
‘Well, if I don’t see you I just want to be sure to thank you for everything with Roman and Esperanza and Maria,’ Tony said.
‘You’re very welcome,’ Dominic said. ‘How are they both doing?’
‘They’re amazing,’ Tony replied. ‘Maria’s a bit torn of
course. She wants to be here more, but she doesn’t want to bring Esperanza here…’
‘Better not to,’ Dominic said. He finished examining Roman and told his father he was pleased with his progress and that hopefully by Monday Roman would be home.
‘It will be nice to have a full house again,’ Tony said. ‘Thought we couldn’t have children—three goes at IVF for the twins, then Roman surprises us and now Esperanza!’
Dominic carried on with his round and tried not to think what was going on in the conference room, tried not to think about the offer he had made last night.
Bridgette couldn’t not think about it.
She had pondered it all night, had been thinking about it in the car park for the hour she had waited to sort out her battery, and she was feeling neither hopeful nor particularly patient with her family. She sat there and the meeting went backwards and forwards, like some endless round of table tennis, getting nowhere. She listened to Courtney making excuses and promises again, watched her parents, who so badly wanted to believe their youngest daughter’s words. She listened to the social worker, who, Bridgette realised, was very willing for Harry’s aunt to support her sister—and of course she didn’t blame them; but she realised that no one was ever going to tell her that she was doing too much. She had to say it herself.
‘This is what I’m prepared to do.’ She looked around the room and then at her sister; she took over the bat and slammed out her serve and said it again, but a bit louder this time.
‘This is what I’m prepared to do,’ she repeated. And when she had the room’s attention, she spoke. ‘Harry is to attend daycare here at the hospital, whether he’s staying with you or being babysat by me—there has to be some consistency in his life. I will pay for his place if that is a concern you have, but he has to be there Monday to Friday from now on.’ She looked at the social worker. ‘If I can get a place again.’
‘I can sort that out.’ She nodded. ‘We have a couple of places reserved for special allocations.’ Bridgette turned to her parents. ‘Mum, if I’m on a late shift or working nights and Harry is in my care, for whatever reason, you have to collect him or stay overnight. I can’t always work early shifts.’
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