Midwives On-Call. Alison Roberts

waiting for one to reach them.

      ‘Here it comes,’ Oliver called, watching as a wave broke far out. ‘Here it comes, Gretta, ready or not. One, two, three …’

      And he swung Gretta back against his chest, hugging her as the water surrounded them, washing Gretta’s legs, swishing around his body.

      He was wearing board shorts. He was naked from the waist up.

      She’d forgotten his body …

      No, she hadn’t. Her heart couldn’t clench like this if she’d forgotten.

      ‘More,’ Gretta whispered, wriggling her toes in the water, twisting so she could see the wave recede. Her eyes were sparkling with delight. She was so close to the other side, this little one, and yet for now she was just a kid having fun.

      A kid secure with her … Her what?

      Her friend. With Oliver, who couldn’t give his heart.

      Silently Em handed her phone to her mum and waited until Adrianna had seen the video.

      Adrianna sniffed. ‘Oh, Em …’

      ‘Yeah.’

      ‘Do you think …?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘It’s such a shame.’

      ‘It’s the way it is,’ Em said bleakly. ‘But … but for now, he’s making Gretta happy.’

      ‘He’s lovely,’ Adrianna said stoutly.

      ‘Don’t I know it?’ Em whispered. ‘Don’t I wish I didn’t?’

      ‘Em …’

      The door opened. Their massage ladies entered, silently, expecting their clients to be well on the way on their journey to complete indulgence.

      ‘Are you ready?’ the woman due to massage Em asked. ‘Can you clear your mind of everything past, of everything future and just let yourself be. For now there should be nothing outside this room.’

      But there was, Em thought as skilful hands started their skin-tingling work. There was a vision of her ex-husband holding her little girl. Making Gretta happy.

      Massages were wonderful, she decided as her body responded to the skill of the woman working on her.

      They might be wonderful but thinking about Oliver was … better?

      He sat in the waves and watched—and felt—Gretta enjoy herself. She was a wraith of a child, a fragile imp, dependent on the oxygen that sustained her, totally dependent on the adults who cared for her.

      She trusted him. She faced the incoming waves with joy because she was absolutely sure Oliver would lift her just in time, protect the breathing tube, hug her against his body, protect her from all harm.

      But harm was coming to this little one, and there was nothing anyone could do about it. He’d mentioned Gretta to Tristan and Tristan had spelt out the prognosis. With so much deformity of the heart, it was a matter of time …

      Not very much time.

      That he had this time with her today was precious. He didn’t know her, she wasn’t his kid, but, regardless, it was gold.

      If he could somehow take the pain away …

      He couldn’t. He couldn’t protect Gretta.

      He couldn’t protect Em.

      Hell, but he wanted to. And not just for Em, he conceded. For this little one. This little girl who laughed and twisted and buried her face in his shoulder and then turned to face the world again.

      Em loved her. Loved her.

      An adopted child.

      He’d thought … Yeah, okay, he knew. If Em was able to have her own child it’d all change. Gretta would take second place.

      But did he know? Five years ago he’d been sure. He’d been totally judgmental and his marriage was over because of it.

      Now the sands were shifting. He was shifting.

      ‘More,’ Gretta ordered, and he realised two small waves had washed over her feet and he hadn’t done the lift and squeal routine. Bad.

      ‘Em wouldn’t forget,’ he told Gretta as he lifted and she squealed. ‘Em loves you.’

      But Gretta’s face was buried in his shoulder, and that question was surfacing—again. Over and over.

      Had he made the mistake of his life?

      Could he …?

      Focus on Gretta, he told himself. Anything else was far too hard.

      Anything else was far too soon.

      Or five years too late?

       CHAPTER NINE

      BY THE TIME Em and Adrianna arrived home, Oliver had the kids squeaky clean. He’d bathed them, dressed them in their PJs, tidied the place as best he could and was feeling extraordinarily smug about his child-minding prowess.

      The kids were tired but happy. All Em and Adrianna had to do was feed them and tuck them into bed. He could leave. Job done.

      They walked in looking glowing. They both had beautifully styled, shiny hair. They both looked as squeaky clean as the kids—scrubbed? They’d obviously shopped a little.

      Em was wearing a new scarf in bright pink and muted greens. It made her look … how Em used to look, he thought. Like a woman who had time to think about her appearance. Free?

      And impressed.

      ‘Wow.’ Both women were gazing around the kitchen in astonishment. The kids were in their chairs at the table. Oliver had just started making toast to keep them going until dinner. ‘Wow,’ Adrianna breathed again. ‘There’s not even a mess.’

      ‘Mike took them all to the beach,’ Em reminded her, but she was smiling at Oliver, her eyes thanking him.

      ‘Hey, I had to clean the bathroom,’ Oliver said, mock wounded. ‘I’ve had to do some work.’

      ‘Of course you have.’ Adrianna flopped onto the nearest chair. ‘Hey, if we make some eggs we could turn that toast into soldiers, and the kids’ dinner is done. Kids, how about if I eat egg and toast soldiers too, and then I’ll flop into bed, as well. I’m pooped.’ But then she turned thoughtful. ‘But, Em, you aren’t ready for bed yet. You look fabulous, the night’s still young, the kids are good and Oliver’s still here. Why don’t you two go out to dinner?’

      Em stared at her like she’d lost her mind. ‘Dinner …’

      ‘You know, that thing you eat at a restaurant. Or maybe it could be fish and chips overlooking the bay. It’s a gorgeous night. Oliver, do you have anything else on?’

      ‘No, but—’

      ‘Then go on, the two of you. You know you want to.’

      ‘Mum, we don’t want to.’

      ‘Really?’ Adrianna demanded. ‘Honestly? Look at me, Em, and say you really don’t want to go out to dinner with Oliver. Oliver, you do the same.’

      Silence.

      ‘There you go, then,’ she said, satisfied. ‘Off you go. Shoo.’

      What else could they do but follow instructions? The night was warm and still, a combination unusual for Melbourne, where four seasons were often famously represented in one day. But this night the gods were smiling. Even the fish-and-chip kiosk didn’t have too long a queue. Oliver ordered, then he and Em walked a block back from the beach to buy a bottle of wine, and returned just as their order was ready.