With so much deformity of the heart, it was a matter of time …
Not very much time.
That he had this time with her today was precious. He didn’t know her, she wasn’t his kid, but, regardless, it was gold.
If he could somehow take the pain away …
He couldn’t. He couldn’t protect Gretta.
He couldn’t protect Em.
Hell, but he wanted to. And not just for Em, he conceded. For this little one. This little girl who laughed and twisted and buried her face in his shoulder and then turned to face the world again.
Em loved her. Loved her.
An adopted child.
He’d thought … Yeah, okay, he knew. If Em was able to have her own child it’d all change. Gretta would take second place.
But did he know? Five years ago he’d been sure. He’d been totally judgmental and his marriage was over because of it.
Now the sands were shifting. He was shifting.
‘More,’ Gretta ordered, and he realised two small waves had washed over her feet and he hadn’t done the lift and squeal routine. Bad.
‘Em wouldn’t forget,’ he told Gretta as he lifted and she squealed. ‘Em loves you.’
But Gretta’s face was buried in his shoulder, and that question was surfacing—again. Over and over.
Had he made the mistake of his life?
Could he …?
Focus on Gretta, he told himself. Anything else was far too hard.
Anything else was far too soon.
Or five years too late?
BY THE TIME Em and Adrianna arrived home, Oliver had the kids squeaky clean. He’d bathed them, dressed them in their PJs, tidied the place as best he could and was feeling extraordinarily smug about his child-minding prowess.
The kids were tired but happy. All Em and Adrianna had to do was feed them and tuck them into bed. He could leave. Job done.
They walked in looking glowing. They both had beautifully styled, shiny hair. They both looked as squeaky clean as the kids—scrubbed? They’d obviously shopped a little.
Em was wearing a new scarf in bright pink and muted greens. It made her look … how Em used to look, he thought. Like a woman who had time to think about her appearance. Free?
And impressed.
‘Wow.’ Both women were gazing around the kitchen in astonishment. The kids were in their chairs at the table. Oliver had just started making toast to keep them going until dinner. ‘Wow,’ Adrianna breathed again. ‘There’s not even a mess.’
‘Mike took them all to the beach,’ Em reminded her, but she was smiling at Oliver, her eyes thanking him.
‘Hey, I had to clean the bathroom,’ Oliver said, mock wounded. ‘I’ve had to do some work.’
‘Of course you have.’ Adrianna flopped onto the nearest chair. ‘Hey, if we make some eggs we could turn that toast into soldiers, and the kids’ dinner is done. Kids, how about if I eat egg and toast soldiers too, and then I’ll flop into bed, as well. I’m pooped.’ But then she turned thoughtful. ‘But, Em, you aren’t ready for bed yet. You look fabulous, the night’s still young, the kids are good and Oliver’s still here. Why don’t you two go out to dinner?’
Em stared at her like she’d lost her mind. ‘Dinner …’
‘You know, that thing you eat at a restaurant. Or maybe it could be fish and chips overlooking the bay. It’s a gorgeous night. Oliver, do you have anything else on?’
‘No, but—’
‘Then go on, the two of you. You know you want to.’
‘Mum, we don’t want to.’
‘Really?’ Adrianna demanded. ‘Honestly? Look at me, Em, and say you really don’t want to go out to dinner with Oliver. Oliver, you do the same.’
Silence.
‘There you go, then,’ she said, satisfied. ‘Off you go. Shoo.’
What else could they do but follow instructions? The night was warm and still, a combination unusual for Melbourne, where four seasons were often famously represented in one day. But this night the gods were smiling. Even the fish-and-chip kiosk didn’t have too long a queue. Oliver ordered, then he and Em walked a block back from the beach to buy a bottle of wine, and returned just as their order was ready.
They used to do this often, Em thought. Once upon a time …
‘I still have our picnic rug,’ Oliver said ruefully, as they collected their feast. ‘But it’s in the back of the Morgan.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t be. Just be glad your wagon only got scratches—you’re the one who’s dependent on it. Moving on … Hey, how about this?’ A family was just leaving an outside table and it was pretty much in the best position on the beachfront. Oliver swooped on it before a bunch of teenagers reached it, spread his parcels over it and signalled her to come. Fast.
‘You’re worse than the seagulls,’ she retorted, smiling at his smug expression. ‘Talk about swoop for the kill …’
‘Table-swooping’s one of my splinter skills,’ he told her. ‘Surely you remember.’
‘I try … not to.’
‘Does that help? Trying not to?’
Silence. She couldn’t think of an answer. They unwrapped their fish and chips and ate a few. They watched a couple of windsurfers trying to guide their kites across the bay with not enough breeze, but the question still hung.
How soon could you forget a marriage? Never? It was never for her.
‘I … How was America?’ she asked at last, because she had to say something, the silence was becoming oppressive.
‘Great. I learned so much.’
‘You went away an obstetrician and came back …’
‘I’m still first and foremost an obstetrician.’
‘But you have the skills to save Ruby’s baby—and countless others. You must feel it’s worth it.’
‘Em …’
‘And you wouldn’t have done that if we’d stayed
