Gold Coast Angels: Two Tiny Heartbeats. Fiona McArthur
in charge of the NICU here and is looking after Sally’s baby.’
‘Yep. I remember her. She seems nice. It was just him I didn’t know. I guess I’ll recognise everyone soon.’
They reached the ground floor and the lift light changed to indicate ‘up’. Lucy realised she hadn’t directed the lift to take her further down to the laboratory.
Nikolai shook his head and pressed the lower-ground button for Pathology to override the person above. He put his hand across the doors to hold them open. ‘Are you working on Monday?’
‘One in the afternoon.’
‘Perhaps you’d like to see me to get your results before you start. My rooms. Twelve-thirty? In case you forget to make the appointment.’
Ooh. It was her turn to give him the look. ‘Fine. Thank you.’ As he took his arm away from the doors she said, ‘Are you this helpful to all your pregnant ladies?’
He shrugged and she couldn’t read the expression on his face. ‘Only the really vague ones who forget to have their bloods done.’
‘Touché,’ she said cheekily, and he smiled. She watched him walk away until the doors shut and the lift sailed downwards. Well, she had been vague to forget again but she needed to sleep. As soon as she got home she was going to bed and sleeping the clock round.
Nick’s hand tightened on his briefcase as he strode to the doctors’ car park. She had a point. But the memories of Chloe, gaunt and drawn, haunted him and when he’d seen Lucy was looking so tired it had brought it all back. He needed to stop worrying about her. She wasn’t Chloe, neither was she his responsibility. Although even Chloe would have a fit if she thought he still felt the need to keep her under his wing.
His phone rang. His registrar. Thoughts of Lucy shifted to the back of his mind again as he turned back to the hospital.
THAT NIGHT, AFTER a nap and crossing her fingers after her less-than-traumatic disclosure to Flora May, Lucy decided to talk to her mother. She glanced at the clock. It was too early for the dinner date her mother always had before clubbing with her friends on Friday nights but hopefully late enough to be after the ritual bath and nail preparation that took place prior to departure.
‘Mum? It’s Lucy.’ There was a vague affirmative and Lucy bit back a sigh. One day she was going to stop hoping for a shriek of pleasure from her mother that she’d rung.
‘I know you’re going out. Can I talk for a minute?’
The conversation went downhill from there. If being told she had always known she would let her mother down, done the exact thing her mother had told her not to do, been called an immoral, stupid little girl, being told that no way was she ever minding her brats or even admitting to being a grandmother counted as a conversation going downhill.
Lucy was pretty sure it was, because she could feel herself curling into a protective ball as the tirade continued. She just got more numb and wasn’t even aware of the tears as they rolled down her cheeks.
When her mother paused for breath, Lucy finished by whispering, ‘And by the way, I’m having twins.’ There was a further stunned silence and Lucy decided to put the phone down gently. Enough.
Yep. It had been as bad as she’d feared. Probably worse. She sucked in a breath and forced her shoulders to loosen from the deathlike squeeze she had them in.
Her hand crept to her belly. She wasn’t having brats. She was having gorgeous babies and Maybe they would be better off without a vitriolic grandmother. Maybe she would finally be able to separate her mother’s idea of who she was from her own version. It might take a bit of practice but she had six months to do it before her babies were born.
Surprisingly, or perhaps not surprisingly given her exhaustion and mental distress, Lucy slept most of the night for the first time in ages.
On Saturday she did the bare minimum of housework and lazed and snoozed all day, recharging her batteries for next week’s onslaught.
She started a journal, wrote down her thoughts and all the things she had to be grateful for, and began to talk to her babies. It was amazing what a difference a small change like that made.
By Sunday morning she was rested and felt more like her old self. In fact, she felt better than better. Maybe it was knowing that the dreaded call, despite being as horrific as she’d dreaded, was over. Done.
Some time in the night she’d felt the first real joy of what was to come. So this was her path. What she couldn’t change, she would just do better.
Her midwifery would be put on hold, but at least it might have prepared her a bit for what was ahead.
Pregnancy, birth, maybe not twins but, hey, twice the joy. She’d been chosen for that double blessing for a reason, she just hadn’t figured out what that reason was.
So, it was a beautiful day, her stomach growled with hunger for the first time in weeks, and she lived in a fabulous part of the world with the ocean right outside her landlord’s front door. What wasn’t to celebrate?
Filled with new vigour, Lucy tidied her cabana and afterwards scooted around the big house, plucked dead leaves off ornamental ferns, cleaned the aquarium filter and steam-mopped the outside terrace because the salt was crusty underfoot from the storm a few days ago.
Besides, she loved the front terrace, where she could look out over the white sand just behind the boundary fence, watch the paddle-boarders and hope to catch a glimpse of a whale or a dolphin.
As she hummed a country ballad the gate screeched as she took the garbage out, so she hunted out the lubricant spray, sang a few words and patted her stomach as she wandered back to fix it. ‘We’ll be okay, kiddos.’
Nick’s Sunday morning wasn’t going as planned. He’d knocked on Chloe’s door to see if she was interested in them having breakfast together. It was handy having a sister in the flat next to his. He was starving and maybe they could catch up.
But after the third knock nobody came to the door, so she was either out or not answering. He’d go for a jog and see if she was there when he came back. He tried to check the impulse to find out where she was or who she was with. Just check she was okay, he reminded himself.
Nick was sick of his own company—which was almost unheard of—and just a little bored. As he set off he reminded himself that exercise often worked to shut the voices down.
The beach felt great under the soles of his runners but while the long jog along the sand had helped his restlessness it had also stoked up his appetite for that iconic Sunday breakfast—one of his favourite times on the Gold Coast. With so many great places showing off the ocean, choice was a problem but the idea of eating alone, again, was less than appealing.
Not that there wasn’t activity and people everywhere. Kids were learning to be lifesavers on the beach with their little tied-on caps and colourful swimmers. Paddle-boarders skimmed the backs of waves and made him wish he’d bought one. Apparently it was a useful and not sexually orientated exercise diversion—as his sister had wryly commented.
He didn’t know why Chloe had a thing about his carefree love life. He wasn’t promiscuous, he just didn’t feel the need to belong to anybody.
He was happy to concentrate on his work and have fun with like-minded women. He wasn’t out to break anybody’s heart, and relationships were for dalliance, not drama.
Still, a diversion would be nice, he thought as his shoes slapped the footpath and he finally spied a shapely little surfer girl in a tiny bright skirt and floaty top ahead, kneeling beside the driveway of one of the mansions. She was doing something to a gate. He couldn’t help his appreciative smile as he jogged closer.
The sunlight danced in a deep auburn cascade of hair that hid her face and the