out how those little ankle-biters started.
Claire tried to pretend that she wasn’t jealous of Maria—that she was happy for the younger woman. But Adam was quite sure that, beneath the cheery façade, she was growing more depressed and miserable.
And there was too damn little he could do about it.
The train journey to Florence took them through the beautiful hills of Tuscany. As the countryside rushed past them in a late autumn blur of red and gold flashes, Claire relaxed with her head on Adam’s broad shoulder and admired the spectacle through the train’s window.
But her heart set up a fretful pumping when the mobile phone in his coat pocket suddenly beeped. She swung upright, and her fingers dug into her palms as she watched him retrieve the phone. She studied his face carefully while he listened to his caller.
It could be simply a business call, but she fancied she could hear Jim’s voice. Her brother always felt he had to shout when he dialled long distance.
After a long period of listening, Adam said, ‘That’s great. Congratulations, mate. Thanks for letting us know and give our love to Maria.’
Her face flamed as he depressed the button and looked at her with eyes awash with gentle concern. ‘Maria’s had a little girl.’
‘How lovely,’ she whispered. ‘What are they going to call her?’
‘Rosa.’
To her dismay, she burst into tears. ‘Rosa is such a s-sweet name,’ she sobbed. ‘Another little g-girl. Oh, Adam, they have five babies. I don’t think I can bear it.’
Desperately, she tried to stem the flow of tears, but it seemed impossible. How embarrassing! Passengers were staring at her. But she couldn’t stop crying and the view of the beautiful Tuscan countryside was completely obscured.
Adam held her tenderly and she was so grateful for that, especially as she knew he couldn’t really understand how she felt. No one seemed to understand what it was like to be jealous of people who had babies and then to feel guilty about that jealousy.
Adam could never really understand her awful sense of emptiness, as if she had a great gaping void inside her. He didn’t know the way her arms ached to hold a little warm baby.
He’d always been incredibly matter-of-fact and fatalistic about their situation. He’d gone through all the horrible, invasive tests with her, but when they’d been told there was nothing medically wrong with either of them—that there was nothing operable or treatable the doctors could correct—Adam had accepted the news.
For him it was easy to accept that if a pregnancy was meant to happen it would, if not, so be it. But for Claire it was much harder. She was so attuned to her cycles. Her physical and emotional awareness of her own body was so intense that each month, when she knew she’d failed yet again, she felt frozen inside.
She hated that feeling of emptiness. Of failure. She dreaded it. And she was so scared it was going to happen again.
After an age, she was able to lift her damp face from Adam’s shoulder, to wipe her tears and paste a brave smile on her face. But then she was swamped by a fresh wave of remorse. Poor Adam! She was wrecking his holiday with such hysterical carryings on.
By the time they reached Florence, she was determined not to mention Maria’s baby—or anyone’s baby, for that matter. Over the next few days, she riveted her attention on Adam and on the wonderfully rich feast of art in the cathedrals, the piazzas and the galleries.
She and Adam shared happy kisses on the Ponte Vecchio, the romantic bridge crossing the River Arno that had inspired poets for centuries. They held hands as they strolled and lingered through the straw markets.
In the evenings they ate out, sharing exquisite meals like gnocchi gorgonzola that melted in their mouths, and they drank rich red Italian wine. Back at their hotel, they made love long into the night.
On the morning they were to leave for Assisi, she went to the bathroom and saw the stain she’d been dreading.
No! Oh, Lord, no! It couldn’t be.
Sitting on the edge of the bathtub, she let the tears fall. She tried desperately to cry quietly. She didn’t want Adam to hear her. But she couldn’t bear the disappointment.
Her prayers hadn’t been answered. Their relaxing holiday hadn’t helped. Once again, her world had stopped.
Another chance lost.
Eight years of marriage without a baby.
It was some time before she felt strong enough to come out of the bathroom. Adam looked at her sharply. ‘Everything OK?’ he asked.
She couldn’t speak at first, but she nodded.
‘Are you sure, Claire? You don’t look well.’
‘I’m fine. Really I am.’ She was not going to make a fuss about this. Adam didn’t deserve to be subjected to her fits of depression. Fighting back a fresh threat of tears, she hurried towards the doorway, mumbling that there was one last thing she wanted to buy.
He caught her hand as she passed. ‘Would you like me to come with you?’
‘No,’ she answered hastily, shaking her hand free again. ‘You finish your packing. I’m just going to Via Ghibellina. There’s something I saw in a little shop there. I won’t be long.’
With a gentle touch, he brushed his finger down her cheek and his eyes held hers.
He knows. Claire looked away, afraid to let him see how upset she felt.
‘You know, you’re the prettiest girl in this whole damn town,’ he said with an encouraging smile.
‘Sure,’ she replied and managed a hasty answering grimace that she hoped would pass for a smile.
Hurrying out of the hotel and through the streets, she took deep breaths and forced herself to calm down. The tiny pink layette hand-stitched by nuns was still there in the shop window. Yesterday, she’d almost bought it to put away with the things she was keeping for her baby. If only she’d bought it then!
Now it was too late. No matter how much she wanted to, she couldn’t bring herself to keep it. Today she was buying it for Rosa.
The old woman in the shop wrapped the dainty garments very carefully in blue and white tissue paper. Claire carried the parcel back to the hotel and didn’t show it to Adam. But she was aware of him watching her, silent and frowning, as she slipped it into her suitcase along with the presents she’d selected for the rest of Jim’s family.
‘I’m packed and ready,’ she said when she finished, but for the life of her she couldn’t manage another smile.
‘Auntie Claire! Uncle Adam!’
‘Mum, they’re here!’
Claire could hear the excited cries of her nephews even before she and Adam made their way across the porch, past the row of dead pot plants, to the front door of Jim and Maria’s house in suburban Sydney.
This stopover
