must get organised, Bridgette remembered. Somehow she had not got around to it last weekend. She had either been worrying about Harry or mooching over Dominic. Well, Dominic was gone or going and Harry would be sorted, so she would get organised soon.
‘So what is he in for?’ Maurice asked. ‘He looks fine.’
He certainly looked a whole lot better. He’d had a bath and hair wash and had a ton of cream on his bottom. There was just a very small bruise on his head.
‘He didn’t even need a stitch,’ Betty said.
‘You know why he’s in, Mum.’
‘For nappy rash!’ Betty wasn’t having it.
‘Mum…He’s getting his hearing tested tomorrow.’ They were less than impressed. ‘Aren’t you going to ask where Courtney is?’
‘Getting some well-deserved rest,’ Betty hissed. ‘She must have had the fright of her life last night.’ They didn’t stay very long. They fussed over Harry for half an hour or so and it was a very weary Bridgette who tried to get Harry off to sleep.
‘How’s he doing?’ Dominic asked as she stood and rubbed Harry’s back.
‘Fine,’ Bridgette said, and then conceded, as she really wasn’t angry with him, ‘he’s doing great. We’re going for a hearing test tomorrow. Dr Andrews said we should check out the basics.’ Of course he said nothing. He was his ‘at work’ Dominic and so he didn’t fill in the gaps. ‘I thought he was autistic or something.’ She gave a small shrug. ‘Well, he might be. I mean, if he is, he is…’
‘You nurses.’
‘You’d be the same,’ Bridgette said, ‘if he was…’ Except Harry wasn’t his and he wasn’t hers either and it was too hard to voice so she gave him the smile that said keep away.
She washed in the one shower available for parents, an ancient old thing at the edge of the parents’ room, and pulled on the awful pyjamas her parents had brought and climbed into the roller bed at seven-thirty p.m., grateful that the lights were already down. But she found out that Courtney was right—it was far too noisy to sleep. When she was woken again by a nurse doing obs around ten and by a baby coughing in the next cot, she wandered down to the parents’ room to get a drink and nearly jumped out of her skin to see Dominic sprawled out on a sofa.
He’d changed out of his suit, which was rare for him, and was wearing scrubs, and looked, for once, almost scruffy—unshaven and the hair that fell so neatly wasn’t falling at all neatly now.
‘Good God.’ He peeled open his eyes when she walked in.
‘Don’t you judge me by my pyjamas,’ Bridgette said, heading over to the kitchenette. ‘I was just thinking you weren’t looking so hot yourself—what happened to that smooth-looking man I met?’
‘You did.’ Dominic rolled his eyes and sort of heaved himself up. He sat there and she handed him a coffee without asking if he wanted one. ‘Thanks.’ He looked over at her. ‘Bridgette, why didn’t you say you were worried about Harry?’
‘And worry you too? I haven’t been ignoring things. I reported my concerns a few months ago, but I think I might have made things worse. I thought she was on drugs, that that was why she was always disappearing, but they did a screen and she’s not. He’s always been well looked after. Even now, he’s just missed a couple of baths.’ It was so terribly hard to explain it. ‘They lived with me for nearly nine months, right up till Harry’s first birthday.’ She missed the frown on Dominic’s face. ‘And it was me who got up at night, did most of the laundry and bathing and changing. I just somehow know that she isn’t coping on her own. Which is why I drop everything when she needs help. I don’t really want to test my theories as to what might happen to Harry…’
‘You could have told me this.’
‘Not really holiday-romance stuff.’
‘You’ve not exactly given us a chance to be anything more.’
‘It’s not always men who don’t want a relationship,’ Bridgette said. ‘I always knew you were going back to Sydney and that I would stay here. It suited me better to keep it as it was.
‘How was your weekend?’ she asked, frantically changing the subject. ‘How was Chris?’
‘Great,’ Dominic said. ‘It’s his twenty-first birthday this weekend, so he’s getting all ready for that. Gangster party!’ He gave a wry smile. ‘I’m flying back up for that.’
‘Have fun!’ She grinned and didn’t add that she’d love to be his moll, and he didn’t say that he’d love it if she could be, and then his phone rang.
He checked it but didn’t answer and Bridgette stood there, her cheeks darkening as Arabella’s image flashed up on the screen.
‘Well…’ She turned away, tipped her coffee down the sink.
‘Bridgette…’
‘It doesn’t matter anyway.’
Except it did.
He had seen Arabella—she’d found out he was back for the weekend and had come around. He’d opened the door to her and had surprised himself with how little he’d felt.
It would be easier to have felt something, to have gone back to his perfect life and pretend he believed she hadn’t meant what she’d said about Chris. Easier than what he was contemplating.
‘Bridgette, she came over. We had a coffee.’
‘I don’t want to hear it.’ She really didn’t, but she was angry too. It had been the day from hell and was turning into the night from hell too. ‘It’s been less than a week…’ She didn’t understand how it was so easy for some people to get over things. She was still desperately trying to get over Paul: not him exactly, more what he had done. And in some arguments you said things that perhaps weren’t true, but you said them anyway.
‘You’re all the bloody same!’
‘Hey!’ He would not take that. ‘I told you, we had coffee.’
‘Sure.’
‘And I told you, don’t ever compare me to him.’ He was sick of being compared to a man he hadn’t met, a man who had caused her nothing but pain. ‘I told you I’d have had this sorted.’
‘Sure you would have.’
And in some arguments you said things that perhaps were true, but should never be said. ‘And,’ Dominic added, regretting it the second he said it, ‘I’d never have slept with your sister.’
Her face looked as if it had been dunked in a bucket of bleach, the colour just stripped out of it. ‘And you look after her kid—’ Dominic could hardly contain the fury he felt on her behalf ‘—after the way she treated you?’
‘How?’ She had never been so angry, ashamed that he knew. ‘Did Vince tell you? Did Jasmine tell him?’ She was mortified. ‘Does the whole hospital know?’
‘I
