hope that it’s not inflicted with an awful disease which, in reality, it has a very high chance of inheriting.’
‘I don’t think they’re in denial over the risks, Campbell. I just think they’re prepared to roll the dice and go with their lot.’
‘What about the child? It’s the one that’s going to have to live with it.’
Despite understanding his sentiments, Claire could more than see the flip side. The fact that he couldn’t irritated her.
‘You think people with genetic illnesses can’t live normal, fulfilled lives?’
‘It’s a debilitating lung disease,’ he said, exasperation tinging his voice. ‘I shouldn’t have to tell you that. That child will spend the majority of its life either in hospital, taking meds or having physio and then dying too young.’
‘If he or she has it.’
‘If they take the test, they’ll know. It’ll buy them peace of mind.’
Having refused testing herself, Claire understood their reasons. How could knowing you or your child had a genetic disorder give you peace of mind?
‘Ignorance can be bliss, Campbell,’ said Claire, her voice stilted.
‘I’m just saying … if it were me, I’d want to know. If it were me, I would think twice about bringing a child into the world if there was a history of genetic disease.’
And there it was. His statement hit her square in the solar plexus. They were only words but they could sure wound. She almost staggered from their impact.
Claire knew what he meant, felt exactly the same way. Wasn’t that why she had chosen to never have a baby herself? Why she’d even denied herself a relationship, so the temptation to conceive would never be an issue?
But, still, his statement stung. Any flutterings of attraction she may have felt for Campbell she needed to well and truly quash. If he knew the truth, he wouldn’t want her. She couldn’t bear to be rejected twice.
‘But it’s not you—is it?’ Claire knew it wasn’t a decision anyone else could make for you.
‘No.’ His admission was tinged with regret. He was silent for a moment. ‘Anyway,’ he said, shaking his head and pushing away from the window, ‘You needed something?’
Claire admired his ability to change focus so quickly. She was having trouble processing their conversation. If she took nothing else away when she left the room, at least she knew where she really stood with him, even if he was completely oblivious to the fact.
‘Claire?’ he prompted, and she looked at him blankly. ‘Wait? Maybe you didn’t need anything? Maybe you’ve come to wave the white flag and go out to dinner with me?’
He laughed and she smiled despite the fog clogging her brain. He recovered easily after such a heavy conversation. He was too quick on his feet.
‘Sorry, just a signature,’ she said, handing him the document.
‘Alas,’ he mocked as he signed it and gave it back. ‘I haven’t forgotten your little challenge, Claire. In fact, I look forward to it.’
‘You’re wasting your time,’ she stated, more calmly than she felt, turning on her heel and leaving the room.
She made her way back to the birth centre in a haze of mixed emotions. Something was happening to her which she couldn’t define. It was new and unwelcome and scary and all Campbell Deane’s fault!
Before he’d come into her life she’d had clearly defined goals. Establish a birth centre. Make it strong and successful. Offer a real alternative to the women of Brisbane. Suddenly it didn’t feel enough. She wanted more.
At least she now knew his views on genetic illness. He’d unwittingly given her the perfect weapon. All she had to do was tell him the truth and watch his interest die. See him run for the hills. Just like Shane.
But she knew she wouldn’t. She’d made such a habit of concealing it she doubted she’d even know how to start. She didn’t want people to treat her differently. She might have to live with it hanging over her head but she refused to let this disease define her.
It was her deep, dark, family secret. Her business and hers alone. And now, thankfully, a constant reminder to give Campbell Deane a wide berth.
WHEN Claire arrived at work the next morning a spectacular flower arrangement was waiting for her. ‘Let the games begin,’ she muttered to herself.
They were absolutely gorgeous. Claire knew they would have cost Campbell a fortune, with exotics like sprigs of wattle, grevillia, bird of paradise and dried rosellas. She fingered the card. Her impulse was to throw it in the bin but curiosity overwhelmed her. That they were from him was a foregone conclusion, but what words had he used to woo her? Romantic? Poetic? Flowery?
She glanced at the bold, black print. A gasp escaped involuntarily. Claire screwed it up and tossed it in her bin as if scalded.
LET THE GAMES BEGIN.
Was the man capable of reading her mind now? She didn’t like it that he’d chosen the same words she’d only just thought. She didn’t want to be on his wavelength.
Claire reeled in her frantic thoughts. It didn’t matter. It wasn’t going to happen. And if he thought that flowers would do it then he was sorely mistaken. Ignoring the part of her that loved, adored and appreciated things as beautiful as these flowers, she picked them up and marched them down to Obstetric Outpatients.
She dumped them in Andrea’s arms, ignoring her surprise and curiosity. ‘This place could do with some nice flowers to make it a little less hospital-like. Shove these in a few vases, will you?’
Andrea was well used to Claire’s private life being a taboo subject so she didn’t ask. They had become firm friends over the years despite Claire’s reticence over indulging too much personal information. Andrea knew that Shane had hurt her very badly, although Claire had never told her the reason for their break-up.
Before she could change her mind and snatch them back, Claire turned abruptly and left a stunned-looking Andrea in her wake. Mission accomplished, she sat down at her desk to review her day. Her concentration, however, was shot by the lingering scent of wattle.
‘Who were the flowers from?’ asked Pauline, entering the room and sitting at her desk. She was the centre’s receptionist.
‘Someone who hasn’t got the message yet,’ said Claire, her voice shorter and sharper than Pauline deserved.
‘What did you do with them?’
‘I gave them to Andrea down in Outpatients. It’s too clinical-looking down there.’
‘Claire,’ Pauline said, with all the exasperated patience of someone who was well used to Claire’s rejection of men. ‘Next time, I’ll have them. We could do with some around here, too.’
