The Single Dad's Marriage Wish (Bachelor Dads) (13 page)

‘Now that I think of it, she was a bit peaky-looking this morning,’ he offered rather unconvincingly, ‘Maybe she’s coming down with something—’

‘I’m not worried that she’s sick, Hamish.’ Helen interrupted. ‘This morning really upset her.’

‘A two-year-old just died, Helen.
Everyone’s
upset.’

‘Yes—but we’re not all running out the door. In fact, when I’ve sorted out some cover and grabbed a few hours’ sleep, I might head over and see her. You don’t mind if I go to your home?’

‘Feel free.’ Hamish shrugged and Helen went to bustle off but then changed her mind.

‘You know, she never moans, you never hear that girl moaning about a single thing, which is great, of course, but it got me thinking.’ Worried eyes met Hamish’s and all of a sudden he was worried, too, all the little questions he had asked himself joining up into one big one. ‘Is anyone really
that
happy with their lot in life?’

Hamish wasn’t known for hiding in his office, yet, if the department had allowed it, he would have.
Thoughts about Charlotte blew in like a blizzard all through the day, but they never got a chance to settle—his time consumed with grief-stricken relatives on top of his usual workload and a staff that was, thanks to Charlotte’s rapid departure and the failure to find a replacement, struggling to keep up with the load. But by two o’clock he couldn’t stand it any longer. He handed over his pager to his registrar and for the first time in memory took a lunch-break at home, his stomach gnawing not with hunger but with something he couldn’t identify—scolding himself the whole drive home for being unable just to blitz her from his mind.

‘Seems you were right!’ Helen gave a tight smile as he pulled up in the driveway. ‘She’s gone out for the day.’

‘She could be at the doctor’s.’

‘For five hours?’ Helen’s eyebrows shot up to her hairline. ‘I stopped by on my way home this morning. I think I’ll stop worrying about Charlotte and get some well-earned rest—I’m back in that godforsaken place tonight. I really believed that little minx when she told me that she was going home.’

He barely even said goodbye to Helen, just let himself into the house, appalled at how empty it felt, even with her fat cat running up the hallway and her happy spaniel following suit to jump up to greet him.

For once he didn’t notice or care as the pair, sensing weakness, followed him up the stairs. Pushing open her bedroom door, seeing the neatly made bed, inhaling her delicious scent, he then closed the door and went downstairs. The cups, the plates were all as they’d been this
morning and a sense of foreboding filling him as he realised she hadn’t been…

Home.

Yes, she was, he realized. She was at her mum’s.

Relaxing a touch, Hamish filled the kettle. She’d just headed up there early, that was all.

Making a sandwich, he settled on the couch for his lunch, but still he couldn’t switch off. He took one bite of it then put it down—that horrible knot in his stomach gnawing away at him as his eyes came to rest on her pile of boxes.

It was the least noble thing he’d ever done—a complete invasion of privacy, Hamish told himself. Only he wasn’t listening. Instead, he was opening a lid and feeling sick to the stomach, somehow sensing before he even saw it what he was about to find.

There she was…He held the picture in his hand for a second and stared at the pretty, familiar face, turning it over and reading the handwriting on the back, before reaching in and pulling out a few more photos, screwing his eyes closed when his shuffling pulled up an ace, his eyes closing in regret for a second before opening again.

And there was Charlotte.

His heart contracted with love at the angry, pinched face that glared in the vague direction of the camera, at a little girl who was sure she wasn’t beautiful
hating
having her photo taken. Working his way through, peering at her life, each photo lacerated him further, if that were possible, he could see her struggling to keep up with the sister that looked so much like her, but who had developed so much earlier into a beauty, watching
her trying so hard to fit in. There she was again, hugging a much younger Scottie, actually smiling this time—utterly unaware that her photo was being taken.

‘Poor Charlotte.’ His voice halted, his heart stilling as he realised all she must have been through that morning, hearing again the urgency in her voice as she’d begged him to get in the other twin.

When she’d spoken to Andy she’d been telling the truth.

‘Bastards!’

He said it again, sneered it at the unknowns who had made this little girl’s life hell—but it was more directed at himself.

He’d shrugged her off, snapped at her when she’d begged him to bring in the other twin, had accused her, in his own mind, of not caring, not understanding. Only now did he realise that she’d understood more than most. And if the past few days had been awkward, for the first time he truly regretted their one night of love. Wished for different reasons that he’d held her just a little bit longer before kissing her, wished he’d spent just a bit more time trying to get inside that beautiful complicated mind.

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ Hamish moaned to the photo as the phone trilled beside him.

‘Work said you were home…’ It was Belinda, checking up on him. ‘I haven’t heard from you for a few days—I just wanted to check that things were okay.’

‘Things are fine,’ Hamish answered, staring at a picture of Charlotte and her sister. ‘I just wanted an hour away from the place.’

‘Yeah, I don’t blame you.’ Belinda gave a sympathetic sigh. ‘I heard about the two-year-old when I was doing clinic this morning—it must have been awful.’

‘He was a twin.’

‘Poor little thing, just taken like that…’ Belinda answered, and for the first time, and completely without malice, she said entirely the wrong thing, Hamish’s hand gripping the phone as she forgot about the person who would possibly miss that little boy most. ‘And those poor, poor parents…makes you wonder how they’ll cope. Hey, Hamish…’ He closed his eyes as she changed the subject. ‘I’m thinking of starting those salsa lessons Charlotte’s organised.’

‘You?’

‘Yep, me.’ Belinda laughed. ‘Rick’s delighted—he wasn’t at first, but when I showed him the new outfit I’d bought and Charlotte says that I have to get shoes…’

How
did
she cope?

Hanging up the phone, Hamish pondered the question that had so riled him when others had asked him.

Only he actually tried to answer it.

She coped by smiling…by keeping on going when her horse died or her mother upped and moved interstate. She coped by pushing her feelings right down.

Charlotte coped because she had to, because she had no choice, he told himself. She coped however she could—just as he had in the past eighteen months, and if she wasn’t ready for a relationship then that was her right…

If she didn’t want to take on him and his son, Hamish
could more than understand. God, he was a miserable bastard, Hamish thought with a dry smile. Most guys would kill to have her doing a salsa step and shimmying in front of them—any man worth his salt would kill for a night of no-strings sex with a woman like Charlotte. Try taking
that
tale of woe down the pub and expect an ounce of sympathy—they’d laugh him all the way out of there!

He’d say sorry, Hamish decided, just bite the bloody bullet and tell her that he’d found out about her twin, tell her…

Charlotte’s mewing cat broke his introspection and Hamish got up to feed her—or him, he could never quite remember—but food wasn’t on Maisy’s mind. Instead, he rubbed his massive body against Hamish’s legs and miaowed more loudly as Hamish glanced at his watch.

‘Was that the problem?’ Hamish asked as he filled his water bowl and plonked it down, watching as Maisy lapped furiously. ‘She’s got a cheek, forgetting to give you water considering how much she guzzles…’ he started, but didn’t finish. Seeing her lying exhausted out on the stretcher yesterday, standing in the kitchen last night, popping out headache tablets, her flushed face as she’d gulped water from the tap, hearing her footsteps as she’d clattered up the stairs to get to the loo all through the night, the utter weariness in her voice as she’d contemplated the massive task that lay ahead over the next couple of days.

She wasn’t just upset—Charlotte
was
ill.

Only she didn’t know.

Reaching for his car keys, punching numbers into his mobile, he called his sister and then the hospital, told them something urgent had come up and that for now they’d just have to cope without him…because something urgent had come up. Calling real-estate agent after real-estate agent as he ignored the speed limit, it took his most authoritative doctor’s voice and eventually a shouting match to extricate the address of a house on acreage, owned by a Ms Josie Porter, that settled on Monday and praying that he could get to Charlotte soon.

He’d thought the very worst of her.

And all the time she’d been doing her very best.

‘H
ANG
in there, young lady!’

Seeing her lying on the bathroom floor, and gently rolling her on her side, Hamish popped on a mask and turned on the portable cylinder of oxygen he’d brought. Even though he had to call for help, even though his arm was bleeding from breaking a window to get in, Hamish dealt with the necessities first.

He’d diagnosed her diabetes at the house, could smell the ketones her body was producing on her breath, didn’t really need to do a blood sugar to confirm his diagnosis. But he followed procedure, an IV line already in and hanging from the shower, insulin already drawn up, before the reading came through, then delivering her the first of the drugs she so desperately needed, before punching in the emergency number and summoning assistance. Then he quickly strapped up his arm, watching her all the time and wondering, with limited supplies, what more he could do.

What would Charlotte want him to do?

Seeing this funny, proud independent woman lying
on the floor, where she had clearly been for hours, it wasn’t that hard a question to answer.

He’d better cope with the
real
necessities!

Racing through the house, he located her bedroom, knowing it was hers in an instant, not from the photos on the wall or the bags in the door but from two twin beds in the room, imaging the agony she would have silently endured, watching the charity shop take them the following morning.

Opening her little overnight bag, Hamish pulled out some fresh knickers and leggings and paused for a second at the door…

Maybe she had been fishing for him to come and help her, Hamish thought. Maybe in her own roundabout way, she had, for once, been asking for help.

‘This isn’t how it looks,’ Hamish muttered to himself, wrestling off her damp jeans and dressing her in clean knickers and leggings, and doing a quick tidy-up of the floor, relief flooding him when finally the sound of sirens could be heard.

The sound of boots crashed through the door and raced up the stairs and Hamish called out to them. Nameless paramedics changing over oxygen cylinders and attaching her to monitors as Hamish told them all he knew.

‘What’s the story?’

‘Newly diagnosed diabetic.’ Hamish gulped. ‘Hyperglycaemic coma—she has ketoacidos. I took a blood glucose. I think she’s been lying here for hours.’

‘When did you find her?’

‘Twenty minutes ago.’

‘You’re sure about that?’ The paramedic frowned, and rightly so. A patient this sick, one who had been lying there so long, should surely appear a little less dignified!

‘I cleaned up a bit.’ Hamish, met the paramedic’s eyes. ‘I’m a consultant at Camberfield, I mean Northern District Emergency. Believe me, she really is as bad as she seems…’ Staring down at Charlotte, he didn’t notice the paramedic’s eyes widen in recognition.

‘Sorry, Doc. I didn’t realise it was you.’

‘Just worry about her,’ Hamish urged, stepping back a bit as they set to work, feeling completely useless as he stood in the hall and they negotiated the stretcher out of the bathroom.

‘Just move back a bit, Doc, would you?’

Which he did. He stood at the door of her bedroom and stared at the two single beds that had been and surely always would be her world, swearing that if he lived to a hundred then that was what he would do…worry about Charlotte and make sure that she was happy.

‘I should have called an ambulance the second I guessed.’

‘And told them to break into her mother’s home on a hunch…’ Helen was screwing in yet another IVAC around Charlotte’s bed. Adding yet another drug to yet another intravenous line as Charlotte lay there, still unconscious, lips raw and cracked, her face dry and flushed under the oxygen mask, her body wrapped in a space blanket to conserve her temperature as they
struggled to get her blood sugar down and balance her dangerously abnormal electrolyte and bicarbonate levels.

‘A bit more than a hunch. I’m an emergency consultant—she’s been guzzling water and running to the loo every five minutes, it should have been obvious she had diabetes. I thought she was flushed because she’d been out s—’ He snapped his mouth closed, hating how cheap he’d thought her.

‘Doing her blessed salsa dancing!’ Helen laughed. ‘She’s as mad as anything—do you know, she begged me to come along with her? Said it would fun. I’m sixty years old and she was telling me to dress like a tart—put on high heels and a sexy skirt…’

‘That’s Charlotte! She doesn’t know when to give in…’ Hamish laughed but it changed in the middle and he had to actually grit his teeth together to stop himself breaking down.

‘It was actually a lot of fun!’ Helen corrected as Hamish wilted—that wild group of friends and lovers he’d envisaged so, so pathetically wrong. ‘She’s hardly been here five minutes and she’s got a whole group of us going out dancing—even Mike the old porter comes along when he can. Did you not read the notice she put up, inviting us all along? I never thought I’d go, let alone have such a laugh, but heaven knows we could all use one, working in this place. I told her I’ll be back at it next week when I finish nights! Hey, Charlotte…’ she spoke into her ear, ‘we might have to give it a miss next week—but as soon as you’ve got all your regime sorted, we’re going out dancing again!

‘Come on, now,’ Helen said to Hamish as his face started to crumple. She summoned another nurse to Charlotte’s gurney. ‘We’re going for a coffee, and don’t even think of arguing.’

He didn’t.

Since he’d found her on the floor, he hadn’t left her side, willing the paramedics to hurry, cursing the fact the local hospital had closed down and working on her in the helicopter as she had been airlifted to his hospital. And not once had she opened her eyes, not once had she given any sign that she could hear him.

But this time round he knew that maybe she could.

This time he
knew
that there was hope, that with the right treatment, which she was getting,
this
woman he loved was going to be okay.

‘Now, forgive me for being nosy…’ Helen handed him a steaming mug as she gave herself permission to boldly cross the line. ‘I’m assuming there’s a bit of romance in the air between the two of you.’

‘Leave it, Helen.’

‘I will not,’ Helen chided. ‘Did you break up? Is that why you thought she was out with another young man?’

‘We didn’t break up because we were never together,’ Hamish muttered.

‘Well, excuse me for getting it wrong.’ Helen patted his knee. ‘But lately I’ve never seen you looking better—well, not since Emma was here anyway. And more relaxed,’ she added, ‘and chatting about young Bailey doing so well, like any proud father.’

‘I’ve always been a proud father.’

‘You just didn’t have a moment to notice!’ She stood up to go. ‘Till Charlotte arrived, that is!’

‘We were sort of…’ Hamish’s voice halted her in the door. ‘Well, one night…Oh, just leave it.’ He gave a shrug of irritation. ‘You wouldn’t understand.’

‘Of course I wouldn’t—you think I’ve never had sex! Five kids and I’ve no idea how they got here—and forty years working in Emergency and hearing tales that would make your hair curl, yet I still believe that everyone’s a virgin on their wedding night. So don’t even try telling me, Hamish! Don’t even try talking about it or asking someone you trust for a bit of help!’

‘Close the door,’ he groaned, embarrassed and appalled and scarcely able to believe he was about to discuss his rather sparse sex life with Helen, of all people. But what the hell, Hamish decided. She was a woman, wasn’t she? And right now he needed all the help he could get in dealing with the most complicated one of them all!

‘On Sunday her horse—I mean, her pony—had to be put down.’

‘Poor pet—she must have been beside herself.’

‘She didn’t seem it.’ Hamish shook his head. ‘She was just, well, Charlotte. And then there was the house fire and then she
did
seem upset and the next thing…’

‘I get the picture.’

‘She dumped me the next morning.’ He gave a dry, mirthless laugh. ‘Greeted me with that happy smile and basically told me she had been having a rough night and I had been a better option than a sleeping tablet.’ As
Helen gave a dubious frown, Hamish relented a touch. ‘Well, not in so many words.’

‘But that was how you took it?’

‘Believe me, the message was pretty clear!’

‘Did you not stop to think that maybe she was just getting in first?’ When Hamish frowned, Helen elaborated. ‘Before
you
dumped her.’

‘Why would I dump her?’ Hamish shook his head.

‘Guilt over Emma. I mean, it’s only been eighteen months…’

‘As if I don’t know that,’ Hamish answered. ‘You know, I never in my lifetime expected to feel this way again. Okay, maybe I did feel a bit guilty, but to tell you the truth I haven’t had time to really think about it—I haven’t stopped for breath since Charlotte came into my life. Why would I dump her when I’m crazy about her? Why would I get rid of the best thing that’s happened to me in ages?’

‘You told her all this, I assume?’

‘She didn’t give me a chance!’ Hamish barked, and then softened. Helen was, after all, only trying to help. ‘Charlotte’s…complicated,’ he attempted, but how could he tell Helen what he’d found out when he wasn’t even supposed to know himself? How could he explain what he didn’t yet understand?

‘Did you ever ask her out for a good old-fashioned date?’

‘Sort of. I tried a couple of times—asked her if she wanted to share a take-away on Friday…’ Hamish attempted, realising as he said it how vague he had been. ‘You’ve no idea how hard that was to do, Helen.’

‘She was out dancing on Friday—you should have come along.’

‘I thought she was out partying with hundreds of other men at a rave!’ Hamish groaned.

‘Oh, it was a rave!’ Helen winked. ‘Best Friday night out I’ve had in ages. I’m surprised she didn’t ask you.’

‘She did.’ Hamish swallowed. ‘Well, sort of.’

‘Did you ever stop to wonder how hard that would have been for her? The notice has been up for a while now and you haven’t shown a shred of interest in coming along.’

‘I didn’t even read it,’ Hamish said glumly.

‘There’s a good case for virgins on their wedding nights!’ Sounding far more like the old Helen, she stood up. ‘Sex is the easy bit, Hamish, feelings are the ones that take a bit of working. But you lot…’ Banding anyone under forty, and especially Hamish, with the hormones of an adolescent she wagged a finger at him. ‘Well, you just jump on in without even bothering to talk. I suggest you give it a try.’

And he would, but not yet.

For now he sat through the night in Intensive Care. The receptionist had finally located her next of kin and he rang her mother, angry with Josie and disappointed for Charlotte that Josie took his reassuring words rather too literally, that by the end of the conversation Josie had, instead of trying to book a flight from Queensland and heading for the airport, decided to ‘wait’ and see how things looked in the morning.

And later, when things were looking up, when Charlotte, still groggy, had definitely turned the
corner—he headed to Belinda’s to say sorry for dumping his little boy on her again and to have a quick, longed-for cuddle with Bailey, glad, so glad and so very, very lucky to have a family that actually cared—a sister who a couple of weeks into a new job would ring in sick and look after her nephew, without asking for information, just accepting that her brother needed her to. Heading for home, he rang Trevor to check if everything was in order at the house and what, from this end, he could do. Then he fed the pets and walked the dog then packed her a little bag. Heading back to the hospital, he managed a wry smile as halfway out of the drive he turned back and added lipstick and her perfume to the toiletries—utter essentials where Charlotte was concerned.

Waiting, waiting for their time to talk.

Wondering what, if anything, Charlotte would have to say.