Newborn Baby For Christmas. Fiona Lowe

you to be the father.’

      His building anxiety exploded, sending his blood swooping to his feet and making his head spin. The crushing weight of unease pressed down so hard on his chest that it made breathing difficult. Of all the things he’d anticipated her asking, this wasn’t one of them.

      He half fell onto his chair, sending it skating backwards. ‘What the …? Georgie, I don’t want to be a father.’

      Her mouth flattened on one side. ‘I know you don’t and I’m not asking you to be one.’

      He shook his head, trying to quieten the white noise so he could make sense of what she was saying. ‘You just said you want me to be the father of your baby.’

      She wrung her hands. ‘I know. Sorry. This isn’t coming out right.’

      ‘Damn right it isn’t.’ His tight throat and dry mouth barely allowed words to be formed. ‘You and Luke should be having this conversation, not you and me.’

      ‘Luke’s in Perth. We split up three months ago.’ The words fell flat as her breasts rose and fell. ‘He doesn’t want to be a father.’

      ‘Neither do I,’ he heard himself yell.

      She sat down and pulled her chair up to the desk so she was opposite him and she leaned in close. Yearning burned so brightly in her eyes that he squinted.

      ‘Although it’s a shock to you, Haim, I’ve had time to think about this and to argue out every single pro and con. This isn’t a whim. Please hear me out.’

      Her entreaty penetrated his shock and a sigh rolled through him. What harm was there in listening?

      Plenty.

      But he couldn’t get past that desolate look in her eyes. ‘Shoot.’

      She gave a brisk nod of thanks and sat back on her chair, all businesslike and professional. ‘It’s no secret that I’ve always wanted a family. Growing up an only child is … quiet. Lonely. When Mum and Dad died …’ She bit her lip and breathed in deeply. ‘Since they died two years ago, it’s like I have this empty space inside me, constantly reminding me I’m alone. I thought when Luke suggested we buy a house in Perth it meant we were moving forward as a couple into the future. A future with children, a family.’

      Her voice wobbled for a moment. ‘But I was wrong. The moment I brought up the idea of children, Luke bolted and the relationship crashed and burned.’

      Hamish totally related to the running but he wasn’t fool enough to say so. All he knew was that when a woman he was dating started pointing to strollers in the street, he was out the door faster than an athlete on steroids.

      Georgie’s fingers drummed on the polished oak of his desk, her agitation palpable. ‘My biological clock isn’t just ticking, it’s on full scream continuous alarm. I’m running out of time. In three days I’m turning thirty-five,’ her voice cracked and rose. ‘Thirty-five, Hamish. The age you told me it was okay to panic.’

      An accusatory finger pointed at him, bringing back his off-the-cuff comment from so long ago to haunt him like a tormented ghost. How easy it was to spout words—they evaporated long before the mark they left started to fade.

      Her intensity had his heart pounding as tendrils of unease threatened to coalesce into fear. It was time to put perspective back into the conversation.

      ‘So all of this is because of your birthday?’ He tried a reassuring smile. ‘Come on, Georgie, you know I knew nothing at twenty-six. I was just talking through my hat and thirty-five was a random number I plucked out of the air to cheer you up at the time. You and I both know that thirty-five isn’t old.’

      She jerked in her seat as if he’d just fired a bullet through her and her mouth hardened. ‘You remember Sue Lipton?’

      Hamish nodded, wondering why someone they hadn’t seen in years was being brought into the conversation. ‘Sure, didn’t she do anaesthetics?’

      ‘Yes, and she married Ryan Spedding. They’re on the IVF programme.’ She pressed her forefinger of her right hand against the thumb of her left, numbering off. ‘So are Emily and Lewis Pearce, and Jessica James has been trying to get pregnant for eleven months.’

      He rubbed his forehead as an ache started behind his eyes. ‘And you’re telling me this why?’

      ‘Because they’re our age and they’re having problems. You’re a doctor, Hamish, and you know that every single day that passes reduces my fertility just that little bit more. I don’t have any more time to waste. If I want a family of my own I have to get pregnant now.’

      ‘I know you’ve always loved the drama of life but now you need perspective.’ He heard his voice—the tone he used to soothe distressed patients. ‘You do have time to meet someone else.’

      ‘Stop and listen to yourself, Hamish.’ Her arm shot out for emphasis. ‘You’re the perfect example of the men out there running from commitment. I respect your choice but because you and so many other men are making it, we both know my chances of meeting someone who wants marriage and a family are not remotely good betting odds.’

      She folded her hands in her lap as if she was searching for calmness, and when she spoke her voice was softer. ‘So I’m bypassing that step. I have a good job, I’m financially secure, sadly thanks to Mum and Dad’s deaths I can buy a house outright and I want a baby. I want my own family, Haim, and if I have to do it on my own then so be it.’

      Her abject frustration and disillusionment bounced between them. He’d never wanted a child but Georgie had longed for one for almost as long as he’d known her. That fact didn’t lessen the reality that her request of him was too much to ask.

      ‘I get it. You want a kid and you’re skipping the relationship part to get one. So use an anonymous donor.’

      She chewed her lip. ‘I could, but …’

      Every part of him yelled, Stay firm, don’t ask, but she looked so forlorn that he heard himself saying, ‘But what?’

      She leaned toward him again, her face earnest and bright and willing him to understand. ‘A donor’s bio of height, weight, eye, hair colour and job doesn’t tell me personality and that’s not reassuring. You’re my best friend and I know you, warts and all. Despite your love of a party, you’re great stock with a sturdy gene pool.’

      ‘You make me sound like a racehorse,’ he spluttered as effrontery swirled around the ego-warming compliment that she wanted her child to have his genes.

      She shot him a wry smile. ‘You’re intelligent, healthy, giving and most importantly not a psychopath. I want my child to have the smarts to deal with life.’

      He spun in the chair, trying to cache his thoughts so he could separate them from the abject terror that thundered through his veins at the thought of a child. ‘I’ve spent years making sure I didn’t create a little Hamish and now you want me to do it deliberately? Aren’t you worried you might be adding another male to the world who isn’t interested in playing happy families?’

      She rolled her eyes. ‘I might be adding a girl or perhaps a boy like your brothers or a throwback to your dad. As a father of three sons he obviously had no concerns about being a father.’

      Four sons. But he didn’t correct her because he’d never told her about Aaron. Once he’d left his home town of Jindi River to go to university, he’d never mentioned his beloved younger brother to anyone—not even Georgie. It was so much easier that way.

      She unzipped her massive handbag and pulled out some printed pages bound with green tape and laid them on the table between them. ‘I’ve thought long and hard about this, Hamish, and I want to reassure you that all I want is your sperm. Not you, not your time or your money. This will be my baby.’

      A niggle of concern jabbed him under his ribs. ‘And when the kid asks about his father?’