the perfect night and it was only seven-thirty p.m.
To be honest, as she looked over he seemed a bit taken back by what had happened.
‘Bridgette…’ Please don’t say sorry, she thought. ‘I had no intention…’ He looked at her stricken face. ‘I mean…I had a table booked and everything.’
‘You’re not sorry, then?’
‘Sorry?’ He looked over to her. ‘I couldn’t be less sorry, just…’ He might even be blushing. ‘I did want to talk, to take you out. We could still go…’
‘If you can sew on your own buttons!’ Bridgette looked at his shirt. ‘But first you’d have to find a needle. And thread,’ she added after a moment’s thought.
They settled for pizza. Bridgette undressed and slid into bed, and there would be time for talking later, for now they filled the gap and her roaring hunger with kissing until the pizza was delivered, and then he undressed and got into bed too.
And they did have that grown-up conversation. It sort of meandered around other conversations, but the new rules were spoken by both of them. It was difficult and awkward at times too, but so much easier naked in bed and eating than at some gorgeous restaurant with others around. They spoke about nothing at first and then about work.
‘I don’t get close.’ Dominic shook his head. ‘I’m good at my job. I don’t need to be like some politician and hold and cuddle babies to be a good doctor.’
‘Never?’ she checked.
‘Never,’ Dominic said. ‘Oh, I held little Esperanza, but that was more for the parents, for the abuela, but…’ He did try to explain it. ‘I said she was cute and, yes, she is, but they’re not going to get a touchy-feely doctor if they are on my list.’ He said it and he meant it. ‘I can’t do that. I know all that might happen—I can’t get involved and then in a few weeks have to tell them that the news isn’t good.’ He was possibly the most honest person she had met. ‘I’ll give each patient and their parent or parents one hundred per cent of my medical mind. You don’t have to be involved to have compassion.’ It was too easy to be honest with her, but sometimes the truth hurt. ‘I couldn’t do it, Bridgette. I couldn’t do this job if I got too close—so I stay back. It’s why I don’t want kids of my own.’ He gave her a nudge. ‘That’s why I don’t get involved with anyone who has kids.’
‘I don’t have kids.’ Bridgette said. ‘And I think it wasn’t just the long-term viability of our future you were thinking about that night…’ She nudged him and he grinned, though she didn’t repeat midwife-speak to him; instead she spoke the truth. ‘Here for a good time, not a long time…and not have the night interrupted with crying babies.’
‘Something like that.’
‘Didn’t Arabella want kids?’
‘God, no,’ Dominic said.
The conversation sort of meandered around, but it led to the same thing.
They both knew it.
‘I will be moving back to Sydney.’ He was honest. ‘It’s not just work. It’s family and friends.’ And she nodded and took a lovely bite of cheesy dough and then without chewing took another. She couldn’t blame him for wanting to be with them. She took another bite and he told her about his brother, that he’d been thirteen when Chris was born. ‘To be honest, I was embarrassed—I was a right idiot then. So was my dad,’ he said. ‘They broke up when he was three. I was doing my final year school exams and all stressed and self-absorbed and Chris would just come in and want to talk and play—drove me crazy.
‘He didn’t care that I had my chemistry, couldn’t give a stuff about everything that was so important to me—except clothes. Even now he likes to look good, does his hair.’ Dominic grinned. ‘Loves to dance!’ He rolled his eyes. ‘Loves women…’
‘Must be your brother!’ Bridgette smiled—a real one.
‘When I was doing my exams I’d be totally self-centred, angry, stressed. “What’s wrong, Dom?” he’d ask. And I’d tell him and he’d just look at me and then go and get me a drink or bring me something to eat, or try to make me laugh because he didn’t get it. You know, I stopped being embarrassed and used to feel sorry for him. My dad didn’t have anything to do with him, but then I realised Chris was the one who was happy and feeling sorry for me!’
‘We’ve got it all back to front, you know,’ Bridgette admitted.
‘He’s great. And you’re right…’ He saw her frown. ‘I’m not like a paediatrician. I was like my dad growing up—just me, me, me. Without Chris I would have been a sports doctor on the tennis circuit or something—I would,’ he said, and she was quite sure he was right, because he had that edge, that drive, that could take him anywhere. ‘I’d certainly have had a smaller nose.’
‘What?’ She frowned and he grinned. ‘My father thought I needed a small procedure. I was to have it in the summer break between school and university. He had it all planned out.’ He gave a dark laugh. ‘The night before the operation I rang him and told him to go jump.’
‘Do you talk now?’
‘Of course.’ He looked over. ‘About nothing, though. He never asks about Chris, never goes in and sees him on his birthday or Christmas, or goes out with him.’ He gave her a grin. ‘I can still feel him looking at my nose when he speaks to me.’
‘He’d be wanting to liposuction litres out of me!’ Bridgette laughed and he did too.
Dominic lay and stared up at the ceiling, thought about today—because even if he did his best not to get close to his patients, today he hadn’t felt nothing as he’d stood and had that photo taken. He’d been angry—yes, he might have smiled for the camera, but inside a black anger had churned, an anger towards his father.
He’d walked up to NICU and Tony had walked alongside him, had stood with his baby for every test, had beamed so brightly when the good news was confirmed that her heart was fine.
‘I’ll come back to Maternity with you in case Maria has any questions,’ Dominic had said, even though he hadn’t had to. He had stood and watched when Tony told his wife the good news and wondered what he’d have been like had he had Tony as a father. He didn’t want to think about his father now.
‘How long have you been looking after Harry?’ he asked instead.
Bridgette gave a tense shrug. ‘It’s very on and off,’ she said.
‘You said she was a lot younger…’
‘Eighteen,’ Bridgette said. He’d been so open and honest, yet she just couldn’t bring herself to be so with him. ‘I really would rather not talk about it tonight.’
‘Fair enough,’ Dominic said.
So they ate pizza instead and made love and hoped that things might look a little less complicated in the morning.
They didn’t.
‘Do you want to go out tonight?’ he asked, taking a gulp of the tea she’d made because Bridgette had run out of coffee. ‘Or come over?’
