no dropping over, no hearing the baby cry as he walked past the unit.
Celeste got under his skin.
From the very first moment he had seen her on the beach she had entranced him—and every now and then, when she was around, somehow he forgot his rules.
But closing the door on the unit for the last time, there was a pang of something—a wave of homesickness almost for the weeks he had spent there, despite the argumentative neighbours and the lack of air-conditioning. It hadn’t all been bad, Ben thought as he picked up his sunflowers, which now were up to his shoulders inheight, and loaded them in the back of the hire truck, along with the rest of his belongings.
It had almost passed as home.
‘I’m sorry to trouble you…’ Ben was instantly awake, but as it was only his first night in his new home he struggled to find the light. He could hear the panic in her voice and it had him searching for his jeans the second it was on. ‘My car won’t start, and I can’t get a taxi for an hour…’
‘Wait outside,’ Ben instructed, not asking what the problem was, because clearly there was one—Celeste would never ring at two a.m. otherwise. ‘I’m on my way.’
Used to dressing for an emergency dash to the hospital, he was in jeans, T-shirt and running shoes in less than a minute. Another two had his car out of the garage and down the street, and she was there outside the units, waiting for him.
She’d got so thin. Even in these last few days the weight had fallen off her and she was as white as a sheet in the glare of his headlights. He pulled open the car door and she jumped straight in.
‘Thank you. You’ll be sorry you gave me your phone number,’ she gasped.
‘I’m not sorry at all—I’m glad you rang.’ He could hear that she was trying not to cry, trying to stay calm, and he didn’t push her with questions, just drove and let her speak and tell him the bits she wanted to.
‘The car wouldn’t start,’ Celeste explained. ‘I think it’s the battery.’
‘Don’t worry about that now.’
‘They said that she’s had a couple of apnoea attacks…they haven’t happened in a while.’
‘Okay…’ He forgot to indicate at the roundabout and cursed himself for his error as a car angrily tooted—hell, he did this drive most nights when the hospital called him in. He had to concentrate.
‘Her temperature’s high as well, so they’re doing bloods…’ He didn’t answer, just stared at the road as she talked nervously. ‘I told them to ring…’ She gulped and then managed to continue. ‘I mean, I told them that they were to ring me for anything. So maybe it’s not that serious…’
He doubted it.
Despite trying not to worry about Celeste, Ben was. He’d seen her toying with her yoghurt, seen her dramatic weight loss, her nervousness—and she’d practically told him that the nursing staff had insisted she have a night off, so they wouldn’t be calling her in the middle of the night for nothing.
‘She was doing so well!’ Celeste insisted, even though he wasn’t arguing. ‘I wouldn’t have left her otherwise.’ God, when did the fear stop? Celeste asked herself. When did you stop living in constant worry?
Get past the first trimester.
Get past thirty weeks.
Get her blood pressure down.
Get past a hellish labour.
Get past those first terrible few nights in Special Care.
Her leg was bouncing up and down, jiggling away.
When did it stop? When did she get to live without fear?
They were at the hospital and he could have justdropped her off, only of course he didn’t, so they parked in the emergency doctor spot and he used his swipe card to get them in the back way, without having to go through Emergency.
‘How is she?’ Celeste was shaking so much as she went through the hand-washing ritual. The unit was brightly lit even at night, but some of cots were covered in blankets to simulate night.
Not Willow’s.
She seemed to have more tubes and people around
Celeste got under his skin.
From the very first moment he had seen her on the beach she had entranced him—and every now and then, when she was around, somehow he forgot his rules.
But closing the door on the unit for the last time, there was a pang of something—a wave of homesickness almost for the weeks he had spent there, despite the argumentative neighbours and the lack of air-conditioning. It hadn’t all been bad, Ben thought as he picked up his sunflowers, which now were up to his shoulders inheight, and loaded them in the back of the hire truck, along with the rest of his belongings.
It had almost passed as home.
‘I’m sorry to trouble you…’ Ben was instantly awake, but as it was only his first night in his new home he struggled to find the light. He could hear the panic in her voice and it had him searching for his jeans the second it was on. ‘My car won’t start, and I can’t get a taxi for an hour…’
‘Wait outside,’ Ben instructed, not asking what the problem was, because clearly there was one—Celeste would never ring at two a.m. otherwise. ‘I’m on my way.’
Used to dressing for an emergency dash to the hospital, he was in jeans, T-shirt and running shoes in less than a minute. Another two had his car out of the garage and down the street, and she was there outside the units, waiting for him.
She’d got so thin. Even in these last few days the weight had fallen off her and she was as white as a sheet in the glare of his headlights. He pulled open the car door and she jumped straight in.
‘Thank you. You’ll be sorry you gave me your phone number,’ she gasped.
‘I’m not sorry at all—I’m glad you rang.’ He could hear that she was trying not to cry, trying to stay calm, and he didn’t push her with questions, just drove and let her speak and tell him the bits she wanted to.
‘The car wouldn’t start,’ Celeste explained. ‘I think it’s the battery.’
‘Don’t worry about that now.’
‘They said that she’s had a couple of apnoea attacks…they haven’t happened in a while.’
‘Okay…’ He forgot to indicate at the roundabout and cursed himself for his error as a car angrily tooted—hell, he did this drive most nights when the hospital called him in. He had to concentrate.
‘Her temperature’s high as well, so they’re doing bloods…’ He didn’t answer, just stared at the road as she talked nervously. ‘I told them to ring…’ She gulped and then managed to continue. ‘I mean, I told them that they were to ring me for anything. So maybe it’s not that serious…’
He doubted it.
Despite trying not to worry about Celeste, Ben was. He’d seen her toying with her yoghurt, seen her dramatic weight loss, her nervousness—and she’d practically told him that the nursing staff had insisted she have a night off, so they wouldn’t be calling her in the middle of the night for nothing.
‘She was doing so well!’ Celeste insisted, even though he wasn’t arguing. ‘I wouldn’t have left her otherwise.’ God, when did the fear stop? Celeste asked herself. When did you stop living in constant worry?
Get past the first trimester.
Get past thirty weeks.
Get her blood pressure down.
Get past a hellish labour.
Get past those first terrible few nights in Special Care.
Her leg was bouncing up and down, jiggling away.
When did it stop? When did she get to live without fear?
They were at the hospital and he could have justdropped her off, only of course he didn’t, so they parked in the emergency doctor spot and he used his swipe card to get them in the back way, without having to go through Emergency.
‘How is she?’ Celeste was shaking so much as she went through the hand-washing ritual. The unit was brightly lit even at night, but some of cots were covered in blankets to simulate night.
Not Willow’s.
She seemed to have more tubes and people around
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