‘We could keep it quiet.’ He ran a hand through his hair as he renegotiated his own boundaries.
‘Sounds good.’
And those words were the bravest she’d uttered.
‘About ten?’ Nick said, and her smile disappeared when she realised he meant tonight, that his impulsive world was invading hers. ‘Ten-thirty?’ he said, and named a nice bar. ‘I’ll pick you up.’ And she thought of her mother and shook her head at the image.
‘Ten-thirty’s great.’ She forced a smile. ‘I’ll meet you there.’
Thankfully, she was kept almost busy enough not to be nervous. It wasn’t a date, she kept telling herself, it was just friends going out for a couple hours. She managed not to think about it, especially when dealing with a very restless baby and an extremely anxious mum.
‘She’s putting on weight.’ Lucia, the paediatric intern, was thorough and nice and doing her best to reassure Shelly, the mother of an eight-week-old. ‘I know reflux babies are hard, but you are doing everything right.’ And she went through all the medications and thickeners that little Casey was on, and checked that she was being positioned properly.
‘She won’t settle, though,’ Shelly said. ‘She hardly goes two hours.’
‘That’s why my registrar suggested you look at the mother and baby day clinic,’ Lucia said. ‘She’s well, though.’ Despite everything, the baby was well. There were no signs of dehydration, her nappies were wet, her obs were normal—she was just a very fussy baby. ‘You’ve got an appointment coming up with the paediatrician…’ Her pager was going off, her registrar had already looked over the baby and deemed little Casey well enough to go home, and there was only one paediatric bed left to last the night. Lucia was only checking her over again because the mother was still concerned, and despite Lucia’s reassurances, as she said goodbye Alison knew Shelly wasn’t reassured. Neither was she, though her concern wasn’t just for the baby. She could see Shelly’s shaking hands as she did up the poppers on her baby’s little outfit, saw that despite the baby screaming, Shelly said nothing to soothe her, just wrapped her up and put her in her little car seat, without a word, without a cuddle. There was no malice in her actions. She was just a mother very close to the edge.
‘Amy saw this baby and handed her over to Paeds.’ She handed Nick the notes. ‘Amy’s gone home and Paeds have seen the baby and they’re happy to discharge. I’m just concerned…’ She waited as he read through the notes, waited for him to roll his eyes, or sigh, or say ‘I’ll get to it,’ but instead he listened as Alison voiced her concerns and he read easily between the lines. ‘Lucia did suggest the day clinic to sort out her sleeping pattern.’
‘What did Mum say to that?’
‘She agreed to it, but there’s normally a two-week wait.’
‘Do you think she’s depressed?’
‘I‘m sure she is,’ Alison said, ‘just not enough for an urgent admission. And frankly I’d be feeling depressed. I tried feeding her and it was hard work.’
‘Okay.’ He slid off his stool and went over and introduced himself. He chatted to Shelly about her babe, taking her out of her little seat and examining the infant himself. ‘When is she due for a feed?’
‘She’s constantly due!’ Shelly said through gritted teeth. ‘She never finishes a bottle, she screams as if I’m pouring acid down her throat instead of milk…’ The young mother bit back angry tears as her baby lay on the mattress, screaming. ‘I know she’s got reflux, I know it will get better…’
‘Okay,’ Nick said, and when Shelly didn’t, Alison started to dress the baby again. She waited for him to suggest she get a bottle, that he observe the babe feed, or a little bit more of what had taken place on and off for the last four hours, but he did none of that. He gave a brief smile and nodded and said he’d be back in a moment as Shelly blew out a long breath.
‘What’s happening?’
‘I’m not sure,’ Alison said, as the baby’s screams quadrupled. ‘Here,’ she said, when Shelly sat down beside the cot and put her head in her hands, ‘would you like me to take Casey for a little walk? I’ll see if I can find out what’s happening.’
Casey did stop crying, the motion, the bright lights, the activity all distracting her enough as Alison walked through the department and found Nick perched back on his stool.
‘What’s happening?’
‘She’ll be admitted,’ Nice said. ‘I’ve just paged the paed reg.’
‘He’s happy for her to go home and be seen in Outpatients…’
‘Well, I’m not,’ Nick said. ‘Which means that she’s going to be admitted.’
And he told the paediatric reg the same when he picked up the phone. Yes, he was friendly and perfectly reasonable at first, and then Alison got her first glimpse of a different Nick, an extremely assertive Nick who, despite the smile and the easygoing banter, took his job very seriously and would not be argued with.
A Nick who was going to go far.
‘It’s not even an option,’ Nick said, turning his pen over and over between the desk and his fingers, clearly in no rush. ‘She can be transferred to another hospital if there are no beds here, but I’m not happy to send her home, so either ring your intern and tell her to come and do the paperwork, or I can ring your consultant to discuss it further. But whatever comes of it, this baby isn’t going home.’
‘That told them,’ Alison said.
‘I don’t see why everything has to be an argument—it’s the same everywhere,’ Nick added. ‘I know there are hardly any beds, I know she’s not acute, but…’ He glanced down towards the bay. ‘I’m going to have a word with Mum.’
He was nice and practical and explained that Casey should be monitored and was upfront about Shelly’s tension. ‘We need to be really sure we haven’t overlooked anything and if everything checks out, we need to make sure you get the support you need with Casey.’
He just dealt with things, without fuss or drama, and he didn’t moan as he did so.
‘He’s nice, that doctor,’ Shelly commented as Alison took her up to the ward, the porter wheeling the mother and baby in a chair.
‘He is,’ Alison agreed, and then she remembered.
She was having dinner with that nice doctor tonight.
Taking the bus simply wasn’t an option. By the time she had taken Shelly up to the ward and dashed back, it was already well after nine and she’d missed her bus, and as much as Nick might be expecting her to change quickly and dash back out, and as much as Alison wanted to look as if she’d changed quickly and dashed back out, there was no girl facing such a prospect who would. Which was why, despite now being a responsible, soon-to-be homeowner, Alison splurged on a taxi, though she made sure that it dropped her off at the end of the street to avoid even more questions from her mum.
‘Out?’ Rose frowned as Alison flew in the door.
‘For dinner,’ Alison said. ‘To celebrate getting the flat.’
‘Who with?’
‘Friends from work,’ Alison said, and it wasn’t a lie, she consoled herself as she dashed up the stairs. It was just a slight exaggeration, or rather playing the situation down, because friends from work was safe, a friend from work a bit different.
A male friend from work.
A gorgeous, blond, funny, sexy, ‘here for a good time, not a long time’ male friend from work.
Getting ready for Nick was rather like getting a patient quickly prepared for Theatre. Alison went through a rapid mental checklist, cleaning her teeth, shaving her legs, even cleaning her ears, body lotion, perfume, subtle make-up, hair gloss, nice underwear, really, really nice underwear—not that he’d be seeing it, but just because, because, because…
She was simply meeting a friend from work, Alison told herself over and over as she trawled through her wardrobe till the contents lay on a heap on her bed, wondering how she could have nothing to wear when her entire bed was covered. She settled for a pale grey tube skirt that she’d had for ever and a cheap
but cheerful top she’d bought the previous week, pulled on some bracelets as she dashed downstairs, wished her mum goodnight and flew down the street, rather surprised to find Nick waiting for her at the end.
‘Don’t want you walking on your own.’
‘I do it all the time,’ Alison said.
‘You look nice.’ His eyes told her that he meant it.
‘Oh.’ She gave a casual shrug, one that said it had been no effort at all! ‘Thanks.’
He was just a friend, Alison told herself as he went to kiss her on the cheek.
Or maybe not, because very deliberately he avoided her cheek and met her mouth, and it was slow and deliberate and its meaning was clear, crystal clear, that this was more than just friendship.
And for Nick it was confirmation too.
He felt first her hesitancy, her guardedness and then he felt what he knew, or rather had guessed at. Felt this gathering of passion on full lips and despite self-issued warnings he wanted to unleash it.
‘Just so we don’t spend the whole night wondering,’ Nick said, and pulled back, even though he wanted more. And she smiled because now, instead of wondering, she knew.
So she kissed him, just to confirm it, and despite Nick’s best-laid plans, now they would spend the whole night not just wondering but wanting too, because one taste of his tongue and Pandora’s box opened and it was passion that slithered out. Alison could feel the press of brick wall on her back, feel the silk of his hair on her fingers, and ten doors from prison he turned the key and she flew, her body just flew to his, met his, wanted his, and she’d never kissed or been kissed like this, his hands on her hips and his mouth drinking hers. And it was absolutely right that he stop, that he look into her eyes, pupils so dilated he might have put in atropine drops, and she watched him taste his own lips, taste her again and try to get his breath.
‘Let’s eat,’ Nick said.
Let’s not, Alison wanted to reply as his forehead met hers as they rested just a moment to regroup, because, as Alison had just found out, kisses changed things.
Good ones especially.
Their restaurant was chosen by the delicious herby scent that wafted onto the street, and it was Italian. Alison chose giant ravioli in a creamy mushroom sauce and Nick didn’t skimp on the garlic bread either.
It was different from any other date she’d been on because there was neither awkwardness nor ease, or rather there was, just not in the usual rhythm.
There was ease to the conversation, it was the table between them that made things awkward—just watching each other’s mouths as they ate, that made them tense.
‘Is everything okay?’ The waiter checked when, plates quickly cleared, Nick asked for the bill.
‘I’ll get dinner next time,’ Alison said when he paid, and it was as assured as that, for both of them, that there would be a next time.
‘Your wine.’ The waiter handed them their half-bottle and Nick smiled at the little differences around the world, because till a few minutes ago they could have been anywhere. Walking out of the restaurant with wine in hand, they saw the show of the ocean endlessly unfolding, the night warm, the sky thick with stars. Yes, it was late, but too early to end their evening, and a walk on the beach was cleansing after the noise in the restaurant. ‘Do you want to come back for coffee?’ Nick said, and then he winced a bit. ‘I do mean coffee.’
Alison would have loved to because she wanted more of him and a coffee would be nice too, except she couldn’t.
‘I really have to get back soon.’ She hadn’t dared check her phone. ‘I’ve got loads on tomorrow.’
So instead they sat and Nick had a mouthful from the bottle and so too did Alison and, yes, she was home, but it felt like paradise.
She stared out at the stars and there were millions of them. The more she looked the more she could see, and she wished she could read them, wished she could point to a constellation, and she told him that. ‘I’m going to do an astronomy course one day.’
‘Never interested me,’ Nick admitted, ‘till I came to Australia. I’ve never seen stars like it.’
And they lay back on the sand and just stared, and she could have lain there for ever, but she really did have to get back and she told him, well, not quite the truth but a little bit more than she had previously—that her mum would be starting to worry.
‘Why don’t you ring her if she’ll be worrying?’ came Nick’s practical suggestion, because for most twenty-four-year-olds a phone call would suffice.
‘And tell her what?’ Alison dodged the issue. ‘That I’m lying on a beach and I’m worried that he’s going to kiss me, because I really don’t think I’ll be able to stop?’
‘I’m worried this time too,’ Nick said, and her heart twisted as they spoke their own shorthand, that he remembered her words as she remembered his.
‘I have visions,’ Alison admitted, turning from the stars to his lovely, lovely face, and for some reason she felt free to be just a little more honest. ‘Of me at forty, or fifty, and I’m a lot larger than I am now, I’ve got a big shiny red face and I’m a virgin, and it’s Tuesday and Mum’s serving me dinner at the table—beef stroganoff…’
And he didn’t leap from the beach and run. He just smiled and rolled over on his side and his hand moved and toyed without thinking with the bottom of her skirt, because her admission brought only one question.
‘And are you a virgin?’
‘No,’ Alison said, ‘but in this vision I’ve lied for so long, I think I’ve turned into one.’
That unthinking hand was at the side of her knee. She could taste his breath and they were still talking and not going anywhere.
‘Why would you lie?’
‘It’s just easier to with my mum.’ And it was impossible to explain, so she didn’t try to—impossible to tell this gorgeous, free man about the tentacles that were tightening ever more firmly around her, impossible to admit what he could never understand.
‘Do you get them?’ She broke the silence.
‘What?’
‘Visions of a possible future.’
‘No.’ His mouth found her cheek and then slid to her ear and she was terribly glad she’d cleaned them.
‘Never?’ Alison checked, trying to talk, trying to breathe, trying very hard not to kiss him. ‘Don’t you see scenarios, like if you don’t do this, then that might happen?’
He nibbled at her neck while he thought about it. ‘At work.’ Nick stopped in mid-nibble with his answer. ‘Sometimes when I’m looking at an injury I know if we don’t do that or prescribe that, then this might happen.’
He got it.
‘And in your life?’ Alison asked, rolling into him, feeling his jean-clad sandy legs in between her bare ones, feeling his long, tanned fingers circling her nipples through her T-shirt, and she wanted to rest her breast in his palm, just kissing and lying and talking, and her body was the most alive it had ever been.
‘No.’ But Nick did think about it as he played with her breasts and what she loved the most was that he did think about it. ‘Actually, I did have one.’ His hands moved from her breasts and made lovely strokes through the cotton on her skirt down her stomach as he spoke. ‘When I was having my supposed premature midlife crisis.’ He could see her teeth as she smiled. ‘I was on call and the baby was screaming, the nanny had the night off and we were rowing because Gillian was working the next day…’ He blinked at his own admission. ‘I get it.’
‘What was the nanny’s name, then?’ Alison asked.
‘My visions aren’t that detailed,’ Nick said. ‘Helga?’ he offered, but she shook her head. ‘Svetlana?’
‘Better,’ Alison said.
And he got it and that came with reward—her lips, unworried, met his and he kissed her mouth and pressed her into the sand. She felt the damp salt of the ocean on his shirt and she tasted it on his mouth.
She felt the press of his leg and the roam of his hands, the sand in her hair and the slide of his ton
gue, and the dangerous beckoning of his loaned flat, and the pull of her home, all tightening in her stomach as his mouth pursued.
It was a kiss that struck at midnight, and she turned, but only in his arms, a kiss that had her hips rise into his groin, and it could never be enough.
A kiss that had her breast slip out of her bra and though encased in fabric still fall into his palm.
A kiss where you didn’t have to go further to enjoy it, but for Alison it was already too late to stay, though it was Nick who pulled away, because if he kissed her for a moment longer, he would forget they were on a beach!
‘I ought to go,’ Alison said.
‘Yes, you ought to,’ Nick said, and she let him help her up, and then he did the nicest of things—he dusted her down.
It was the nicest thing.
The stroke of his hand on her body, the attention to detail, the warmth of his palm stroking her bottom and then dusting damp sand from her calves. It was so seemingly innocent but it was like sex with clothes on—actually far better than any sex Alison had ever had—and she stood, compliant, but she wanted to run with him, back to his flat, and never mind the coffee. And she nearly said ‘Your turn’, nearly put her hands out to deal with his sandy jeans, but he took her hand instead because it would have been far too dangerous, and they walked up the beach, tossed the bottle in the bin and then headed for her street. They walked in silence to her turn-off and this time when she went to say goodbye, Nick insisted on walking her to her door.
With their kiss she was a little more his, even if just for a little while, which meant he walked with her. She just wished he wouldn’t, but couldn’t say so.
‘We’re both off at the weekend.’ Nick knew because he’d looked. ‘I was thinking of getting a bike, going for a ride in the mountains…’ He sensed her reluctance and misinterpreted it. ‘I’ll book two rooms.’
‘I don’t know, Nick.’ So badly she wanted to go, but it wasn’t just the weekend and sleeping arrangements that had her in knots, but getting on a bike, the recklessness of it—all of it. ‘Actually, I’ve got some things I need to do and then I’ve got a week of nights…’ And the evening ended there, and she gave him just a little kiss on the cheek, because she knew her mother was watching, and she knew too that he was watching her as she walked to her door.
Her Little Secret Page 5