When Clayton had asked Abbey to marry him she’d thought all her dreams had come true. It had been a whirlwind courtship and although the one time they’d made love had been an unpleasant disappointment, Abbey had refused to listen to her instincts. Awkwardly embarrassed with her impatient lover, Abbey had promised that aspect of their relationship would improve once they were married, and had managed to stave him off with that assurance.
She’d been such a fool and still been in love with the idea of love until the week before the wedding! Clayton had stayed late, after the girls were in bed, and had drunk his way through all her mother’s port as he’d sat at the kitchen table. Then he’d revealed he’d lost her sisters’ money, through some disastrous get-rich-quick scheme.
When he’d declared that a mortgage on Abbey’s house would reverse all their fortunes, Abbey had begun to comprehend the enormity of her mistake. The more alcohol Clayton had imbibed, the more obnoxious he’d become, as if now that it had been too late for Abbey to back out he hadn’t had to hide his true self.
Abbey couldn’t disguise her revulsion at his increasingly coarse behaviour and her obvious disgust inflamed his temper. Perhaps he’d thought because Abbey had slept with him once before it wouldn’t matter, but the smell of his drunken breath in her face as he viciously tried to force himself on her against her will stayed with Abbey for many years.
After a desperate struggle, Abbey threw him out of her house with the aid of a much younger but ferociously protective Clive, and Clayton retaliated by labelling her a frigid and a useless lover, words she carried with her still.
The next day, when Clayton had discovered she’d cancelled the wedding, he’d become so angry he’d threatened Abbey with violence until finally she’d again set her dog on him. When he’d threatened to return she’d laid charges against him and had then found out that he’d already been on a good behaviour bond for another incident and this time would go to gaol.
A week later, when Abbey discovered she was pregnant with Clayton’s baby, a part of her wanted to curl up and die. She didn’t have the time, so she told no one. With both sisters still in high school, she needed to provide for her family and in some way make up for her lack of judgement which had cost her sisters their inheritance.
When she lost the baby at nine weeks, the weight of guilt from denying the baby’s existence almost suffocated her. The only person she’d told of the pregnancy had been her doctor, Scott Rainford, and after the miscarriage she locked those feelings away from the world.
She recovered her sense of purpose but the woman who emerged from that experience was changed for ever. As if forged in steel, Abbey’s resolve to depend only on herself had never wavered.
Somehow, over the years, others came to appreciate that Abbey was the person to turn to in times of stress so that the wooden house in Chisholm Road was rarely without a temporary boarder.
Abbey could untangle the most complicated web of lies and reunite the most stubborn of lovers. Parents of teenagers sought Abbey’s advice and the maternity ward she was in charge of ran smoothly, from housekeeping to nursing personnel. Even the doctors realised that Abbey’s gently spoken word was law.
Abbey pulled the black elastic band from her hair and shook her head as if to banish the dark thoughts. She massaged her scalp with unsteady fingers. Equilibrium was all she wanted and she didn’t need any blow-through tumbleweed of a locum upsetting her routine or her emotions.
Emotions were for the young and she was thirty-one, for pity’s sake.
Which reminded her… Vivie was coming to stay in one of the spare rooms with her baby, and Aunt Sophie needed to be told.
In the huge front room, Aunt Sophie sat in front of her cable TV surrounded by TAB form guides as she watched the trots. Abbey smiled fondly at the spikes of silver hair that poked through the centre of her aunt’s sunvisor headband.
‘Aunt Sophie?’
Sophie turned her head towards Abbey but her eyes never left the screen. ‘Hang on, I’ve fifty cents on this one. It’s for you. It’s called Maiden’s Blush.’
Abbey shook her head and watched as Maiden’s Blush trotted in equal last.
‘Darn.’ Sophie squinted up at Abbey and cackled. ‘Should have taken My Dark Lord, like I was going to.’ She lifted a pile of form guides off the over-stuffed chair beside her and patted the seat. ‘Take a pew. You look tired.’
Abbey leaned across and kissed her aunt and sat down. She ignored Sophie’s accusatory ‘tired’ comment. ‘I need to talk to you about a new lodger I have coming in a couple of days.’
Sophie lifted one sparse eyebrow and nodded. ‘Another lame duck, I suppose?’
‘Vivie isn’t a lame duck, she’s a young friend of mine.’ Abbey pretended to frown at her aunt but Sophie just cackled again.
‘We’re all lame ducks, sweetie, and your heart is too big. But who am I to cast the first stone? I’m one of them. Tell me about your friend, Vivie.’
Abbey shook her head, genuinely upset that her aunt felt she was a burden. ‘Don’t say that. You’re the matriarch of the family and I can’t imagine the house without you.’
‘The shoe fits you better, Abbey, but get on with it. I’ve another race in five minutes and this one’s a sure thing. Punter’s Dream.’ She grinned, hitched up her metal sleeve-holders to bunch her sleeves back from her wrists, then settled back in her chair to wait for Abbey’s explanation.
Abbey gathered her thoughts. ‘Vivie’s eighteen and the oldest of five children. Her baby was born this morning and she’s been living in a caravan since her widowed father found out she was pregnant. I don’t think she should go back to the caravan park now that baby…Rohan is here.’ Abbey hesitated over the name because it wasn’t tiny blue baby eyes she thought of when she said it, but coal-black man’s eyes. She forced her thoughts back to her aunt. ‘So I offered to put her up here until she finds something better.’
Sophie snorted. ‘So, hasn’t she heard of birth control, and where’s the baby’s father?’
Abbey bit her lip. ‘Vivie doesn’t know who the baby’s father is.’ Before her aunt could say anything, Abbey went on calmly, ‘Vivie was drugged at a party she attended and doesn’t remember the attack. She’s the second local girl that I know of that this has happened to. Thankfully the other girl didn’t fall pregnant but the situation was still horrendous for her.’
Sophie frowned and didn’t even glance at the television as the next race started. ‘In my day they’d whip scum like that. Has she been to the police?’
‘Vivie was too embarrassed at the time but I hope to convince both girls to talk to each other and maybe do so in the future.’ Abbey’s empathy lay with the girls because she’d found it hard to go to the police after Clayton’s attack. She sighed without realising it. Tonight had turned out to be a night for dark memories.
‘Well, as an oldest child, no doubt she’ll be good at handling babies. I’ll make your friend and her babe welcome, though I’m not much good with tiny ones. Which room are you putting them in?’
‘I thought I’d offer Mum’s old room. I don’t want my sisters to think I’ve moved them out of their rooms when they come home.’
Sophie nodded and then noticed her horse race had started. She frowned and turned up the volume control. ‘Come on, Punters Dream!’
Abbey compressed her lips to control her amusement as her aunt jiggled about on the seat urging her horse on to victory. As Punter’s Dream passed the post first, Sophie pumped her fist in the air and turned a gap-toothed grin at Abbey. ‘That’s six dollars I’ve won for my fifty cents.’
Abbey shook her head. ‘Do you ever finish out of pocket?’
Sophie shrugged. ‘Sometimes, that’s the nature of gambling.’ She grinned wickedly. ‘But I can back three race meetings with eight races each for twelve dollars. And I’ve a fair nest egg to show for it.’ Her aunt narrowed her eyes and all amusement left her face. ‘You won’t struggle for money again, Abbey. I’ll never for
get you taking me in when you had too much on your plate already.’
Abbey stood up and leaned over to kiss her aunt goodnight. ‘You’re a national treasure, and I can’t imagine the house without you. Goodnight.’
CHAPTER TWO
ROHAN ROBERTS parked his new Range Rover outside Maternity and switched off the radio. The strains of the country ballad lingered in his mind and brought back distant memories of his childhood in Tamworth. The hotel bar his mother had worked in had played that song over and over again and it seemed strange to hear it without the smell of beer or raucous voices in the background.
He’d been fourteen when she’d died. His mother had always seemed to collect losers and no-hopers who’d needed her help. This final time the woman in need had gone to sleep with a lit cigarette and had burned his mother’s house down. Ironically, the woman who’d caused it all had managed to escape. His mother had refused to leave the burning building until she’d found and saved Rohan, though she’d been overcome with smoke soon after and had perished herself. He’d never stopped feeling guilty that he hadn’t made her go first.
Even now he could taste the anger he’d felt as a lost teenager. Anger that his mother had allowed someone who hadn’t cared whether they lived or died to take her away from him. Anger at himself for not saving her. With maturity he could see it all had been bad luck or maybe a tragic fate, but his tolerance for those who needed propping by others remained limited.
He slammed the door of his car and absently ran his hand down the shiny black duco of the car next to his. The old Willys was a beauty, considering her age, and shrieked character. Parked beside the Range Rover, the old car made his own car look soulless. Rohan shrugged. That was a car for people who’d planted roots so deep they’d never move on.
The first person he saw when he opened the door was Abbey Wilson. It was funny how he knew who it was.
She was bending over a portable baby cot, making it up with clean sheets. Her back was towards him and it was only natural that his eyes strayed to the delightful picture she presented. Long, shapely legs and a delectably rounded bottom that promised no sharp edges.
One part of him sighed in pleasure that she was here and another warned of an unhealthy fixation with a woman who would not be interested in his type of dalliance.
‘Good morning, Sister Abbey.’ He watched her straighten with a jerk and interestingly she lifted her hand to her hair before she snatched it away again. Her lovely mouth firmed and she glared at him.
Rohan suppressed his amusement and glanced at his watch as if he had to be somewhere urgently, which he didn’t, before he moved towards the desk.
‘It’s not Sister Abbey, it’s Sister Wilson or Abbey,’ she said. She regained her composure quickly. He could tell that by her voice and her businesslike move to the desk to gather the charts for the ward round.
He’d achieved what he’d wanted. ‘My apologies, Abbey.’ Her name felt good when he said it and she was wearing some citrus perfume that could make him look at oranges in a whole new, sensual light. He’d never been so aware of the little things about a woman before. He pondered that. Usually his interest remained with the obvious, but the allure of Abbey Wilson was more subtle and each tantalising glimpse of her character drew him deeper into the unfamiliar—a bit like heading into the bush without a compass—fascinating but dangerous.
He’d thought of her too many times over the last twenty-four hours and here he was cataloging more things to remember. Better to do what he was supposed to be doing and then get out of here.
He slapped his hat down on the desk and derided himself. Move. Rohan inclined his head towards the patient rooms. ‘Let’s go do the ward round, then. What are we waiting for?’
They walked up the hallway together and Abbey seethed. She hadn’t been the one to stare blankly at a chart in a daydream! And that ‘Sister Abbey’ stuff had been a ruse to trick her into allowing him to call her by her first name. The guy needed watching.
Vivie looked up as they entered her room, and she blushed when she saw it was the doctor. It made her look younger than the eighteen Abbey knew she was.
‘Good morning, Vivie.’ Rohan’s voice was friendly and he leaned over the cot and ran his hand gently over Vivie’s baby’s scalp as if he loved the feel. Abbey couldn’t help noticing his tenderness and it gave her a funny pain low down in her stomach. How strange that no such feelings had surfaced when Scott had patted an infant. She watched his face as he saw the name card on the cot. ‘You called him Rohan?’ He smiled at Vivie and the girl’s blush deepened. ‘I’m flattered.’
Abbey rolled her eyes as if to say vanity was a sin and he winked cheekily and turned back to the patient.
‘So you’re feeling well, Vivie?’ Vivie nodded, tongue-tied, and Abbey stepped into the silence.
‘Vivie’s postnatally well and she’s mastering the art of breastfeeding more each feed. She wants to stay another day or two before she goes home.’
‘Sounds fine to me,’ said Rohan. ‘I’ll come back and see you tomorrow, then. About this time?’ Vivie nodded and Abbey and Rohan moved on to the next room.
After seeing the four other patients who had been under the care of Scott Rainford, Rohan accompanied Abbey back to the desk. As they walked, she was aware of his height as he strode beside her, aware of the strength in his hands, which was tempered by his gentle handling of babies, and the tangy scent of some expensive aftershave that she had the horrible feeling she would always associate with him. She didn’t need to notice these things.
He jiggled his keys in his pocket, and seemed to hesitate, then said, ‘Is that your old Willys out there?’
Abbey blinked. ‘Er…?’ Her mind searched for enlightenment. Abbey blinked again. She had no idea what he was talking about.
He was serious about the question. ‘The black car.’
The light clicked on and she chuckled. ‘I thought you said wellies, as in gumboots.’ She looked down at her feet and back at him. ‘You mean Doris?’
It was his turn to look confused.
‘The Willys. It’s my aunt’s car but she doesn’t have a licence any more. We call her Doris and, yes, I drive her now.’
He nodded. ‘The car suits you,’ he said cryptically, picked up his hat, lifted his hand in a salute and was gone.
Abbey walked slowly behind the desk and sat down. ‘OK,’ she said out loud, and sighed. He was just too sinfully good-looking and he did have some sense of humour, but that didn’t mean she was going to turn to jelly every time he came to the ward.
The phone rang and she snatched it up with relief. After a brief discussion, she put the phone down again and rose to her feet. One of her antenatal class couples were coming in with early labour signs and hopefully they would keep her nicely busy for the rest of the day.
* * *
In his office, Rohan’s thoughts weren’t on the room full of patients he had yet to see. He was staring at the computer screen, telling the shadowy reflection of his face that he wasn’t interested in pursuing a self-confessed nun in a place he was just passing through.
His rules were simple. Stick to the fun-loving girls who knew the score, because he was never going to marry or stay in one place. He had no intention of burdening someone with the guilt he still carried around from his mother.
Scott would be back in less than two weeks and he’d be better occupied caring for his friend’s patients than mooning over the sweetest face. He frowned. When had he decided that Abbey’s face was the sweetest?
Rohan pushed himself out of the chair and walked over to call in his next patient.
* * *
At three o’clock, Abbey handed the ward keys over to the evening staff and pushed open the door to a glorious afternoon. She felt the tiredness seep away from her shoulders and drew a deep breath of the spring air. Everything seemed brighter this afternoon for some reason.
Abbey climbed into Aunt Sophie’s Doris and the old car moved with stately precision i
nto the traffic. She hummed a tune from the CD the birthing couple had brought in for their labour.
They had chosen this particular song to be playing at the time of their baby’s birth. Abbey had felt a little like an actor fluffing her lines when she’d had to keep repeating the song to catch the actual moment of birth, but it had been worth it.
As she drove slowly down the main street, she couldn’t help her gaze drifting towards the building that housed Scott’s surgery—and Rohan. She wondered what he was doing. Up ahead, the screech of rubber drew her eyes quickly back to the road and she slammed on the brakes.
Doris creaked and groaned but obediently ground to a halt only a few centimetres from possible disaster. The car on the opposite side of the road had suffered an even more dramatically sudden stop and sat, with tyres smoking, at a crazy angle to the white line in the centre of the busy street. The driver leaned out of his window and gestured at the woman who’d crossed dangerously in front of him, almost causing a pile-up. The young, heavily pregnant woman had dark smudges of mascara down her cheeks and as she crossed to Abbey’s side of the street, oblivious to the chaos, she blew her nose. She stared over Doris’s long bonnet into Abbey’s shocked eyes and realised that all the traffic had stopped because of her.
‘I’m sorry,’ she mouthed, and put her hand on Doris’s bonnet to push herself towards the footpath.
Abbey flipped out the blinker arm and pulled over into the next parking space. Her hands were shaking and she swallowed a lump of fear that had lodged in her throat. If the screech of the other driver’s brakes hadn’t drawn her attention… If Doris hadn’t been able to stop… If the girl had been walking faster…
There were a lot of ifs, but it was still too close to the fact that Abbey hadn’t been paying enough attention to the road and could have hit the woman. She closed her eyes for a moment and then glanced in the rear-view mirror to spot the young woman as she stumbled down the footpath.
Hurriedly Abbey opened the door and clambered down onto the street without checking the traffic. There was another shriek of brakes as a truck full of cattle rumbled past too close for comfort. It really wouldn’t help if she caused her own accident, Abbey chastised herself as she hurried after the girl.
Midwife in Need Page 2