memories of any celebrations for his birthday.
Emily looked a little embarrassed. ‘It was really for Annie and Gran more than me. Some of these are from when Annie was only a toddler and just started to play with paper. See, that strip has part of her fourth birthday card on it.’
Marco shook his head and tried to imagine a home that stayed still long enough to hoard such things.
Rodney carried the ladder inside and they discussed their plan of attack.
Emily grinned at him. ‘You’ll be sorry you came. By the time you’ve finished blowing up the balloons—and they’re big ones that Annie loves—you’ll be exhausted. I’ve been dreading that job.’
Marco’s first sight of the balloons confirmed the reason she’d dreaded the thought.
‘They’re huge.’ Rodney was wide eyed.
Emily shook her head sadly. ‘I know. I had a pump but it broke and I’ve never got around to buying a new one.’
She frowned at the bag of hand-sized balloons. ‘I should insist on the little ones, these ones kill me.’ She looked up. ‘But Annie loves these.’
‘Maybe we could just do a couple?’ Rodney was looking dubiously at the balloon in his hand.
‘Not this year,’ Marco said with finality and a sideways look at Emily. ‘In these matters a woman’s wish is law. Perhaps if we do them one at a time, we will survive.’
They achieved the impossible, twelve enormous balloons, and all stood around admiringly at the colourful clump on the floor.
‘Rodney looks sick.’ Annie squinted worriedly at her beau.
‘It’s just a little headache,’ Rodney said gallantly, and Marco patted his shoulder.
‘Just.’ Emily smiled at Marco and Rodney was given a kiss by Annie. ‘We could not have done that without your big lungs. Thank you, both.’
Rodney blushed and Marco whispered in an aside, ‘That is why we do what they want. Worth it?’ Rodney nodded carefully.
‘So, Annie, if you tell Rodney where to hang the chains, Marco and I will sort the balloons. We’ll have it all finished by lunch.’
Much hilarity ensued as every time Rodney stretched the chains the loop broke and they had to strengthen the strips until Marco demanded a stapler and they began to staple the links together.
‘Some are older than others and fragile.’ Annie defended their chain and Marco shook his head. ‘Next birthday perhaps you could start with the stapler and then hang them.’ He glanced across and Emily was watching him.
Her face was quietly thoughtful. He saw her acknowledge that he would not be here for the next birthday. Or the one after that, because he had no continuity like these women and their years of family traditions epitomised by this handmade diary of life.
Suddenly he needed fresh air and a cold breeze on his face to snap him out of melancholy. He pulled his phone from his pocket. Pretended to glance at it. ‘Excuse me. I need to make a call.’
He left her standing in the middle of the room and Emily watched him go. She couldn’t help but wonder about his childhood. What had formed the man who froze at the idea of permanence? She crossed to the kitchen and looked out the window. He wasn’t on the phone. He was staring at the empty bird feeder and the silhouette of his face made her ache for the loneliness she saw in his usually smiling face.
She turned, picked up the seeds for the birds, and followed him out. ‘The lorikeet isn’t here today.’
‘I should not have come.’
‘Why? Because you don’t think you’re welcome?’
‘Because I cannot have a healthy future with any woman.’ He turned to face her squarely. Lifted his head. ‘I cannot be the man you deserve, Emily.’
Emerrrlee. Yes, it would have been nice. More than nice to have a normal, evolving relationship with Marco. One with a future and stability and new excitement every day. But in reality life wasn’t like that, she of all people knew that, and from this last hour she’d discovered she was still glad she’d connected with Marco D’Arvello and really believed she always would be.
She wished she knew what had him running so scared from forming relationships. ‘We don’t have to be intensely involved in each other, Marco. The last couple of days were just a mirage for both of us.
‘But if you want a family to join for the next couple of weeks before you head off on your next high-powered assignment, please join mine.’
She spread her hands. ‘We’d love to have you. Anyone who blows up my balloons is welcome at my door any time.’
He smiled but the humour was missing. ‘I worry that it will be difficult for you when I leave.’
Maybe it would be difficult for him too? She shrugged. ‘My problem, not yours. I’m single, free to have what friends I choose, and I think regret for time we could have spent together could be worse than being safe with no friendship at all.’
She touched his arm. ‘But it’s up to you.’
That night at work Emily couldn’t help thinking about the day. How it hadn’t been as awkward as she’d expected it would be. How Marco had been unobtrusively supportive of Rodney and Annie, and circumspect with her. Maybe too circumspect, according to Annie’s view of her mother’s love life.
But the idea of just getting to know Marco without actually touching him could be a good idea, could help her see that a globetrotting, super-specialist was not in the realms of reality for her life. The problem was she really did like the caring man she could see beneath the handsome exterior.
Today she’d been glad he’d come back inside. Stayed another hour and helped. Had steadied her while she’d climbed the ladder and precariously placed the last balloon on the lightshade so that everyone clapped when it was done.
The phone rang and she blinked her way back to on-duty. ‘Maternity, Emily.’
‘Emergency Department. We’re sending up a thirty-four-weeker in prem labour. Helen Roberts. She’s a booked Caesarean for foetal abnormality and we have the team coming in for that if you can get her ready. We’re up to our ears down here.’
She knew Helen from the antenatal clinic. ‘No problem. Thanks.’ Emily put the phone down and scooted over to the cupboard with all the pre-admission notes for the women booked to have their babies with Sydney Harbour Hospital.
She pulled Helen’s notes and flipped them open on her way back to the desk. ‘Prem labour coming in.’ Helen would be stressing.
‘Must be the month for it.’ Lily reappeared from her ward round with a torch.
‘Helen was a booked Caesarean for next month. Baby has an oomphaceal picked up on late ultrasound. I’ll grab the IV stuff and theatre clothes if you set up the catheter trolley.’
‘Who’s going to Theatre with them?’ Lily was an experienced plastic surgery nurse and Emily
