Dear Doctor, page 16
‘So, how about we go to the new show at the Casino on Saturday night?’ he said, tracking her down in the canteen and dawdling by the counter until Alana, who’d looked as if she’d been about to leave, stood up and walked away.
Kirsten looked up, not surprised to find him there because she’d been avoiding him all morning and Josh usually got his way.
‘I don’t think I’ll bother,’ she said, careful to keep the quavery note of despair out of her voice.
‘Won’t bother with the Casino?’
He was looking at her with that slightly puzzled expression his face had worn since last night at dinner.
‘Won’t bother going out. I mean, it was a stupid idea anyway, celebrating the end of the affair.’
‘But I wasn’t thinking of celebrating the end, just celebrating. We’re not going to end. I thought we fixed that up.’
‘By talking about it after we left the restaurant? I can’t recall much conversation after that—or none that could be included in anything other than an X-rated film.’
She saw the colour creep under his skin and knew it was anger, not embarrassment.
‘You’re being stubborn, Kirsten. You know damn well we didn’t set a time limit on this relationship.’
‘No?’ She raised her eyebrows, then relented. ‘Maybe you didn’t, but I did. I decided four weeks would be long enough.’ She glanced at her watch and pretended to look startled. ‘And look at us, didn’t even make it that far.’
‘Kirsten—’
’No.’
She’d have liked to have covered her ears with her hands in case he didn’t get the message, but didn’t want to make it obvious to any interested onlookers that this conversation might be about more than work.
Josh said nothing more, simply studying her face, the blue eyes sweeping across it as if trying to see a crack in her defences.
Heaven knew, there were enough of them, she just had to hope none were showing.
‘OK!’ he said, and he pushed his still full cup away, stood up and walked away.
‘I left my cardigan and our ward is like an ice-box at the moment.’
Alana must have been almost at the table as Josh left, Kirsten realised, although she hadn’t heard her friend approaching.
‘If you can hear a cracking noise, it’s my heart breaking,’ she said to Alana, then with a sigh so deep it must have started in her toes she stood up. ‘Come on, let’s get the afternoon over and done with, then go home and check out the internet dating agencies. No, tomorrow we’ll do that. Tonight I’ve got the baby shower. You are coming?’
Alana put her arm around Kirsten’s shoulders and gave her a quick hug. But mercifully she stayed silent, perhaps guessing that one word could have had Kirsten dissolving into tears.
Josh found himself back up on the ward, but had no clear idea of how he’d got there. He had his first student round of the year in half an hour, and wanted to see all the patients first to check if there was anyone who’d be destabilised by a horde of nervous young visitors.
‘Young Adam Stokes won’t understand,’ Betty said, when he found her in a scrub room and put this problem to her. ‘I mean, he’ll understand enough to know there are a lot of strangers in his room, but telling him why they’re there would probably only confuse him.’
Adam was five, but Down’s syndrome had delayed his mental development and, according to Kirsten, he was functioning at about the level of a three-year-old. Which, again according to Kirsten—he didn’t think he’d ever be able to get her out of his mind—was very good.
But leukaemia was more common in children with Down’s syndrome, especially boys, than in the general population, so the students should meet the little boy.
‘I’ll go and see him, try to explain,’ he said. ‘I’d hate him to be frightened, or feel invaded by this group.’
Betty nodded, then assured him that all the other patients presently on the ward were stable and in good spirits so, with no further problems, he headed for Adam’s room.
To find it already invaded.
Kirsten was there, with Adam’s baby brother in her arms. From the look of things, she was doing counting exercises with Adam, using the baby’s toes as counters.
Adam was joining in and laughing in delight, but it wasn’t the sight of the little boy’s laughter that caused the terrifying tightening in Josh’s chest. It was the sight of the laughing redhead with the baby in her arms. And suddenly he knew he wanted it—wanted the lot. The redhead, the baby—her baby, hers and his—marriage, everything!
All the stuff he’d been denying wanting for years.
All the stuff he’d been so pragmatic about until she’d out-pragmatised him, offered him four weeks of her life, given him a taste of bliss, then said that was it.
He glared at her as if it was her fault this sudden revelation was so badly timed, but she was too busy playing with Adam and the baby to even notice. Too busy, or simply not aware of him—having wiped him from her mind as easily as one erased from a whiteboard.
Now despair joined the turmoil in Josh’s chest because, even if he could, by some miracle, change her mind—after all, she had said she loved him—how would it feel to have it all—the redhead, the baby, the whole family scene—then lose it through the Phillips curse?
Which was always putting work first.
And not committing to marriage.
He spoke to Adam’s parents, then, as Kirsten moved away, still holding the baby, he talked to the little boy himself, explaining about the other people who’d be coming and who would like to talk to him. At some stage, Kirsten handed the baby back to Mrs Stokes and left the room, but apart from a seeming loss of warmth, he barely noticed.
Any more than he noticed much else that went on during the afternoon, though as no one commented on his behaviour, he must have been acting OK. A night’s sleep brought no startling revelations, and by early Saturday afternoon he was so stressed—and his flat so empty—he drove out to see his mother.
‘Problems?’
Her greeting left a lot to be desired, so he scowled and muttered, ‘Why should there be?’
‘You look like a man who hasn’t slept for a week, and you’re never cranky with your mother unless you’re really out of sorts.’
He had to smile.
‘Out of sorts doesn’t begin to describe it,’ he admitted. He sat down at the kitchen table, the very same table where she’d once explained the facts of life, and watched her fill the kettle and fuss about getting out cups, coffee, biscuits.
‘I know I don’t know everything—actually, I don’t know anything—about your and Dad’s relationship, but from my viewpoint you can’t have given him a reason to leave you.’
His mother continued to prepare the snack as though he discussed her love life every day.
‘It wasn’t so much that he left me as that I was never really there,’ she said, pushing the shortbread aside to make room on the plate for chocolate brownies. ‘Work occupied ninety per cent of his time and about the same percentage of his emotions. He had very little left for anything else—or that’s how he saw it, anyway.’
She turned and put the plate on the table in front of him.
‘It’s how I saw it, too,’ she admitted. ‘You know I was a nurse. I’d worked with his father. I knew that’s how your grandfather lived, with his life divided into two compartments—the big one work, a smaller one for family. I think now it was because your father didn’t know his own father that he had no idea how to be a father to you boys, so it was easier for him to be busy at work than to try.’
Josh took a brownie, bit into it, and the flooding taste of chocolate in his mouth reminded him of Thursday night—of Kirsten’s dessert.
Of Kirsten.
‘And we’re in the same boat, aren’t we? Dad’s three sons?’ Disturbed by the intrusion of the redhead into his mind when he was trying to remain calm and work things out rationally, he growled the questions at his mother. ‘Not having seen a father in action, we’re no good at it. Look at Harry and Brad. Both their marriages are in trouble.’
‘Both their marriages are in trouble because they don’t care. They didn’t choose women they loved but women they deemed suitable, so, yes, to a certain extent they were reliving their father’s life.’
‘Only to a certain extent?’ Josh queried as something in his mother’s voice sparked an interest beyond his own all but overwhelming concerns.
‘In both their cases, the women knew that’s how it was. I made sure of that if I did nothing else for them.’ She shrugged and he saw her blink away a tear. ‘I married your father for love—that was my mistake. And I knew he didn’t want it, so I hid it from him, but I always hoped he’d wake up one day and realise he loved me, and then I could tell him.’
She gave a little huff of laughter and added, ‘Some dream, huh? What he woke up and realised was that short-term affairs were far more interesting than going home to the wife and kids—it’s why we lived out here and he lived in town. While I was accepting this dedication to work, he’d cut it back to about eighty per cent of his time, giving him ten per cent for other diversions. And I’d never have known if one of them hadn’t also fallen in love with him, and instead of going quietly when he said it was over, she came out here and told me all about it. She was so young and lovely—she had red hair—I couldn’t blame her for what had happened, especially as he was no more in love with her than he was with me.’
Josh sat there, staring at her, hearing the echoes of the pain she must have felt, while some gremlin inside him tied his intestines into knots.
‘So what do I do? Forget marriage altogether because of inbred inability to make it work? Stick to my convictions and wait until I’m forty when I’ll have time to devote to a family?’
His mother smiled.
‘Or marry for love? Haven’t you considered that? Isn’t it why you’re here?’
He should have been shocked—or at least surprised—by her perception, but he was too busy considering this bizarre idea—marry for love—from someone as practical as his mother.
‘But Phillips marriages never work,’ he protested.
‘Only because they never get a chance. Because love never gets a chance. The pig-headed Phillips men go into marriage as if it’s one of their own prescriptions—take one woman before bed every night. They won’t give love a go. Anyway, it’s only one-sided love that founders. Find someone you love, someone who loves you back, and let the strength of that combined love help you make it work.’
‘But I’m half yours and you gave it a go,’ he reminded her, sure the answer couldn’t be that simple. ‘And it didn’t work for you.’
She flapped her hands at him.
‘Get out of here. I’ve told you what you wanted to hear—told you all I’m going to. From here on in, it’s up to you. Just keep in mind one thing—well three things, I suppose. You’re not your father, or Brad, or Harry. You’re Josh, and at the risk of giving you a swelled head, you’re also the most loving and affectionate of all my children. It’s what makes you such a good paediatrician. And will make you a wonderful husband and a totally besotted father.’
Even though the words were certainly encouraging, he still hesitated, gripped by fear now instead of doubts.
‘We might have had this talk too late. I might have lost her,’ he admitted as his mother scooped away his cup and turned to the sink to rinse it out.
‘If you’re talking about Kirsten, I doubt it,’ she said, looking out across the fields towards the creek.
‘How do you know about Kirsten?’ he demanded, standing up and moving closer as if up close he might be able to detect her witchcraft.
‘I met her at the Bush Dance, only she was Dolly then and engaged to someone else. Then you took me the to The Blue Room and when we joined her and Matt I realised why. After that I phoned her and asked her out to visit me. She came last weekend. Sunday afternoon. You had that paper to prepare so she was at a loose end and—’
‘Stop this conversation right now, and go back to the bit about The Blue Room!’ Josh growled. ‘You realised why what? Or what why?’
‘That she was the woman you wanted—the one you’ve been pining over for the last I don’t know how long.’ She paused then corrected herself. ‘Actually, I do know how long. A bit over a year—Kirsten told me.’
‘You and Kirsten have been discussing me behind my back?’ Forget love, he was practically incoherent with rage, and getting madder by the minute. His father had been right about redheads, only he shouldn’t have stopped at them! Don’t mess with women, he should have said, and included his mother—wife—whatever—in the embargo!
‘Oh, no. She wouldn’t do that. She just explained about how things started between you, then stopped, then started again.’
‘And stopped!’ Josh roared. ‘Did she tell you that part? Tell you it was stopping again—has, in fact, stopped?’
His mother looked puzzled, which wasn’t surprising as he’d never yelled at her before. Then she turned and looked out the window again.
‘No, she didn’t tell me that,’ she said, shaking her head as if the scene before her was somehow puzzling. ‘Although I did think it was a bit odd when she came by this morning to ask about camping and said something about wanting to feel close to you.’
The gremlins had departed from his abdomen, leaving everything nicely knotted, and were now dancing, in hobnailed boots, around his brain, stirring what had once passed for usable cells into total confusion.
‘Camping to feel close to me?’
His mother nodded to the window.
‘Down by the creek. She’s camping there—in that little glade.’
‘In my glade?’
Now his mother faced him.
‘Well, I didn’t know you’d taken it as yours, but you know the one.’
‘What’s she doing there? And don’t say camping! I’m still angry.’
‘Why don’t you ask her?’
For a split second he considered walking away—getting into his car and driving back to the city. But that’s what his father would have done—had done—and, as his mother had just pointed out, he wasn’t his father.
He gave his mother a quick hug by way of apology for yelling, then walked down to the creek, turning left along the path leading into the glade. The small tent was pitched at the far side so it almost melted into the bushes, but it was the woman sitting by the creek, her feet dangling in the water, who drew his attention.
‘What are you doing here?’ he demanded, and saw the flash of red as a straying sunbeam caught her hair.
‘Camping,’ she said, her voice as smooth as silk, her face expressionless.
Cute! She was going to be cute! Well, he could be cuter. No way would he ask the obvious.
‘In my glade?’ he said instead—after all, who was she to dispute the ownership?
‘Well, I think of it more as Michael’s glade,’ Kirsten said, looking around then lifting her hand as if to catch the sunbeam. ‘You must really have had an incredible empathy with him to help him find this place in his head, and for him to be able to draw it so accurately. It’s when I first realised that, no matter how hard you might fight it, you’re actually perfect father material.’
Something squished inside Josh’s knotted intestines.
‘So the four weeks were bait, were they? Enough time to trap me into marriage? Are you pregnant?’
She looked startled, then laughed.
‘Hey, who was the one who insisted on condoms?’ she said. ‘Every single time, no matter where we were? Me, that’s who.’
She stood up then and crossed the glade towards him, and he wanted to warn her there might be prickles in the grass, but his mouth had gone dry.
She took his hands in hers then leaned forward and kissed him on his frozen lips.
‘But let’s not waste our time together. Want to make love in my tent? Or on the grass? I’ve got a blanket. And condoms.’
He felt his lips moving but no sounds were coming out, so he tried harder, concentrated, thought things through.
‘The four weeks are up,’ he finally managed, then realised that was the last thing he should have said. He shouldn’t have mentioned it—shouldn’t have reminded her!
But she seemed unfazed, simply smiling then tugging as if to lead him to the tent.
He didn’t move, so she turned back and snuggled close to his chest, lifting lips so luscious it was a wonder a man didn’t go mad, looking at them.
‘Not until tomorrow,’ she murmured, then sealed the words with a kiss.
The kind of kiss that weakened his knees, so soon they were on the grass, sitting and then lying—no blanket, and probably there’d be prickles.
Josh was almost at the point of no return when the words ‘not until tomorrow’ finally registered in his bewildered brain. He sat up, hastily snapping closed the studs on his jeans.
‘What do you mean, not until tomorrow? You’re not going to make love to me here in my glade today then tell me tomorrow it’s all over?’
The green eyes opened so wide he thought he might fall into them and drown.
‘Don’t you want it to be over?’ she asked, all innocence, but he wasn’t buying it.
‘Of course I don’t want it to be over,’ he grumbled. ‘You know I don’t.’
Kirsten smiled the kind of smile he knew boded ill for anyone in her vicinity—and guess who that was?
’I suppose we could organise a new contract,’ she said, her voice so sultry and seductive he wished he hadn’t snapped all the studs on his jeans as they were now becoming uncomfortably tight. ‘Another four weeks?’
In another four weeks she was going to put him through this again?’
‘No!’
The smiled widened.
‘Shorter or longer?’ she asked, the tiny freckles practically sparkling with delight as she teased him.
But the question had merit, and though he knew the answer—it was definitely longer—he also knew what her next question would be—how much longer? And that was the one to make him stop and think.
