THIRTEEN
SIMON LOOKED AWAY from the road as he drove and across to his sister. Saw the tiny furrow in her brow even while she was sleeping. His eyes returned to the car in front. So she was still angry with him. Where had he gone wrong? All he’d ever wanted to do was protect his family. Protect Maeve from making the same mistakes their mother had made.
Maybe he felt more responsible than other siblings because the day he’d found out he was only a half-brother to Maeve and the girls had been devastating and he did wonder if he’d over-compensated.
But he was concerned about Maeve. About the way she’d been taken for a ride and she still couldn’t see it. If Simon was honest with himself, he was just as hurt because he’d thought Rayne was his friend and he’d been suckered in as well. His sister’s predicament had been all his fault.
Simon could feel his knuckles tighten on the wheel and he consciously relaxed them. He needed a holiday, and Maeve needed somewhere safe away from the baby’s father if he ever came back, so maybe Lyrebird Lake was a good choice, like Maeve said.
And it was Christmas.
Two hours later they drove into the driveway of the Manse Medical Centre, Lyrebird Lake. The long day drive north from Sydney had been accomplished with little traffic issues or conversation. The last hour since they’d turned away from the coast had been unusually relaxing as they’d passed green valleys and bovine pedestrians. It was good to be here finally.
Simon felt that warmth of homecoming he’d forgotten about in the rush and bustle of his busy life—almost like he could feel one of Louisa’s enthusiastically warm hugs gearing up—as he slowed the car.
The engine purred to a stop and Maeve woke. She smiled sleepily, then remembered they were at odds with each other, and the smile fell away.
He watched her twist awkwardly in her seat as she took in the dry grass and huge gum trees ‘I’ve heard such a lot about this place over the years. Thanks for bringing me, Simon.’
The tension in his shoulders lessened. At least she was talking to him again. He should never have mentioned his reservations about her idea of giving birth at Lyrebird Lake. That had been his obstetrician’s point of view. Life had compartments, or should have, and he usually kept everything separate and in control.
Look what had happened when Maeve had lost control.
Simon’s eyes travelled over the familiar sights—the hospital and birth centre across the road from Louisa’s house, the sleepy town just down the road, and the sparkling harp-shaped lake to the left behind the trees.
Unexpectedly, considering the mood he’d been in when he’d started out for here against his will, he couldn’t do anything but smile as he eased his car under the carport at the side of the house.
‘Curious.’ Simon admired the old but beautifully restored Harley-Davidson tucked into a corner and then shrugged. He couldn’t imagine Louisa on it but there were always interesting people staying at the manse.
It didn’t seem ten years since he’d first come here with his new-found dad, Angus, but this big sprawling house Angus had brought him to all those years ago looked just the same. He’d arrived expecting awkwardness with his fledgling relationship with his birth father, and awkwardness staying with strangers in this small country town. But there hadn’t been any.
He glanced at Maeve. ‘Louisa will have heard us arrive.’
‘Louisa used to be the housekeeper before she married your grandfather? Right?’
‘Yep. They married late in life before he passed away. I stay with her when I come at Christmas.’
Simon climbed out quickly so he could open her door, but of course, Maeve was too darned independent. By the time they reached the path out front Louisa stood at the top of the steps, wiping her hands on her apron, and beamed one of Lyrebird Lake’s most welcoming smiles.
Simon put his bag down and leapt up the two stairs to envelop the little woman in a hug. She felt just as roundly welcoming as he remembered. ‘It’s so good to see you, Louisa.’
‘And you too, Simon. I swear you’re even taller than last year.’
He had to smile at that as he stepped back. ‘Surely I’ve reached an age where I can’t keep growing.’ He looked back at his sister, standing patiently at the bottom of the steps. ‘Though with your cooking there is a possibility I could grow while I’m here.’
He offered a steadying hand but Maeve declined, made her way determinedly balancing her taut belly out front, as she climbed to the top of the stairs, so he guessed he wasn’t totally forgiven.
He missed the easy camaraderie they used to have and hoped, perhaps a little optimistically, that Lyrebird Lake might restore that rapport as well. He guessed he had been out of line in some of the things he’d said about her choice in men and choice in birthing place.
‘This is my youngest sister, Maeve. Maeve, this is my grandmother, Louisa.’
Louisa blushed with pleasure. ‘You always were a sweetheart.’ She winked at Maeve. ‘Grandmother-in-law but very happy to pretend to be a real one.’
Maeve held out her hand. ‘It’s nice to finally meet you. Simon’s told us a lot about you and everyone here. He says you’re a wonderful cook.’
He saw Louisa’s kind eyes brush warmly over Maeve and Simon relaxed even further. Of course Louisa would make them both feel wanted. ‘Boys need their food.’ He smiled to himself because he wasn’t sure how he qualified for boy when he’d left thirty behind.
Louisa went on, ‘You’re very welcome here, dear,’ as she glanced at Maeve’s obvious tummy. ‘It will be lovely to have a baby back in the house again, even if only for a wee while.’
Simon squeezed her plump shoulder. ‘Dad and Mia not here?’
‘They’re coming over for dinner tonight. They thought it would be less overwhelming for Maeve if she had a chance to settle in first.’
She turned to Maeve. ‘And we’ll take it gradually to meet everyone else. There’s a huge circle of family and friends who will want to catch up with Simon and meet you.’
Simon went back to pick up their bags and followed Louisa and Maeve into the house. The scent of cedar oil on the furniture made his nose twitch with memories—overlaid with the drifting promise of fresh-cut flowers and, of course, the tantalising aroma of Louisa’s hot pumpkin scones.
His shoulders sagged as his tension lessened with each step he made into the house. He should have come here earlier. Leaving it until now had
