A Special Kind of Family

Nathan’s head appeared again. ‘Sometimes I help my mum go to the bathroom,’ he said, sounding wise far beyond his years. ‘Do you want us to help you to the bathroom?’

He was a child in a million.

‘Yes, please,’ she said gratefully, and a minute later she had a small, living crutch at each side. She was on her way, via the bathroom, to meet the doctor’s family.

They’d be ready at lunchtime. Maybe.

What sort of father forgot to buy Easter buns? Well, okay, he hadn’t forgotten, but he had forgotten to put in an order, he hadn’t reached the shops until three and they’d been sold out. So he’d thought, no problem, he’d buy yeast and make ’em. Piece of cake.

Not quite. Not even on this, his second try. And he ought to check on Erin.

The door swung open. Erin. And boys. The kids were standing on either side of her, acting as walking sticks. She’d arranged the cashmere throw like a sarong, tucking it into itself so it hung from just above her breasts. Her curls were cascading in a tumbled mess around her shoulders.

She looked…fabulous, he thought, so suddenly that he felt a jab of what might even be described as heart pain. Or heart panic?

Two deep breaths. Professional. She was a patient. Nothing more.

He’d been over the idea of heart pain a long time ago.

‘Hey, welcome to the world of up,’ he said, and managed a smile he hoped was detached and clinically appropriate. ‘I hope you’re not weight bearing on that foot.’

‘I have two great crutches,’ she said, and smiled. ‘One called Nathan and one called Martin.’

‘Great job, boys,’ he said, and nodded, and both little boys flushed with pleasure. Which gave him another jolt. It was hard to get these kids to smile.

Dammit, why had he forgotten the buns?

‘Are they ready yet?’ Martin asked, almost as the thought entered his head.

‘Easter buns are for this afternoon,’ he said, and he knew he sounded desperate.

‘You said we could have them for breakfast,’ Nathan said. ‘The kids at school say they eat buns on Good Friday morning.’

‘I’ve been eating them all week,’ Erin chipped in, and he cast her a look that he hoped put her right back in her place. Talk about helpful… Not.

‘Dom says Easter buns are for Easter and not before,’ Martin told her. ‘Like Easter eggs. He says if the bunny sees us eat an egg before Sunday he’ll know he doesn’t have to deliver eggs to our place.’

‘So if he sees you eat a bun before this morning you won’t get any?’ Erin ventured, eyeing Dom with caution. ‘Your dad’s a stickler for rules, then.’

‘Rules are good,’ Martin said, though he sounded doubtful.

‘They are good,’ Erin agreed. ‘As long as there aren’t interruptions, like dogs having puppies and ladies crashing their car to take a man’s mind off his baking.’

‘Actually, the buns flopped before…’ Dom started, but Erin shook her head.

‘One good deed deserves another,’ she said, smiling at him from the doorway with a smile that said she knew exactly how disconcerted he was. ‘You’re starting another batch now?’

‘I started an hour ago but the instructions say it takes five hours.’

‘At least,’ she said. ‘So your buns will have to be Buns Batch Two.’

‘Pardon?’

‘Do you have self-raising flour?’

‘Um…yes.’

‘Butter?’

‘Yes.’

‘And dried fruit, of course?’

‘Yes. Look, you can’t—’

‘Do very much at all,’ she agreed cheerfully. ‘Marilyn and her puppies are asleep. There’s no job for me there. I’m just hanging around at a loose end in my very fetching sarong. But my foot does hurt. So what say you give me a chair and a bowl and all the ingredients I listed—oh, and milk. I need milk. And turn your oven to as hot as you can make it. In twenty minutes I guarantee you’ll have hot cross buns for breakfast.’

They did. True to her word, twenty minutes later they were wrapping themselves round absolutely delicious hot cross buns.

Or, to be more specific, hot cross scones, Dom conceded as he lathered butter onto his third. But who was nit-picking? He surely wasn’t. Neither were the boys. As per Erin’s instructions, they’d helped rub butter into the flour and helped her cut scones from the dough. They’d painted on glaze to make crosses, using sugar and egg white. They’d stood with their noses practically pressed against the glass oven door as the scones…buns!…rose in truly spectacular fashion. And now they were lining up for their third as well.

As was Erin. She was eating like she hadn’t eaten for a week. He thought back to the retching of the night before. She was running on empty. He should have given her something…

‘I wouldn’t have been able to eat even if you’d offered,’ she said, and his gaze jerked to meets hers.

‘How did you know I was going to say—?’

‘I could see it,’ she said, wiping a daub of melted butter from her chin. ‘You had that look my intern gets when he forgets to take some really minor part of a patient history. Like how many legs my patient has.’

‘Like…’

‘I came on duty one morning a few weeks back,’ she continued, placidly reaching for another scone. ‘According to my intern’s notes, a patient who’d come in during the night was suffering from tingling in his legs. That was all it said. The nurses had set a cradle from his hips down so I couldn’t see. I chatted to the patient for a couple of minutes, then asked if he could wriggle his toes.’

‘And?’ She had him fascinated.

‘And he’d lost both legs in a motorbike accident twenty years ago,’ she said, glowering, obviously remembering a Very Embarrassing Moment. ‘He’d come in because he was getting weird tingling in his stumps and a bit of left-sided numbness. It transpired he’d had too much to drink, gone to sleep on a hard floor, then woken and panicked. I figured it out, but not before the students who were following me on my rounds did the world’s biggest snigger.’

‘So the look I had on my face just then…’

‘Yep. It was like my intern looked when I came out of the ward and asked why a small matter like lack of legs wasn’t in the patient notes. Last night all you did was not offer me a three-course meal when I was still queasy. So you can stop beating yourself up and pass me the jam.’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ he said faintly. ‘These are great s…buns.’

‘They are, aren’t they?’ she said smugly. ‘I taught myself from the Australian Country women’s Association Cookbook, circa 1978.’

‘Your mother didn’t teach you?’

‘No,’ she said shortly, and a shadow crossed her face.

‘Um…your mother…’ he started.

‘What about my mother?’

‘Will she have hot cross buns waiting for your arrival?’

‘Probably. Designer buns, though,’ she said. ‘She’ll have ordered them from the most exclusive and expensive baker in Melbourne. She’ll have unsalted butter imported from Denmark. If she wasn’t staying at Charles’s parents’ place she’d be serving them on china that cost more than my weekly salary per piece, but Marjory will be making up for that. Marjory has exquisite porcelain all her own.’

‘Marjory?’

‘Charles’s mother,’ she said, and bit into her scone with a savagery that made him blink.

‘Um…’

‘Don’t ask,’ she said. ‘I love them but they drive me nuts. In a while I’ll phone and ask them to come and get me.’ She looked down at her sarong and winced. ‘I’m not sure what they’ll think of my fashion sense. What do you think, boys?’

The little boys had been staring at her like she had two heads. They were totally entranced.

‘It’s very…nice,’ Martin tried.

‘My mum wore a blanket sometimes,’ Nathan offered.

‘Your mum…’

‘I’ve washed your clothes,’ Dom said, thinking maybe now was a good time to deflect the conversation. ‘I put them in the washer last night—they’re in the drier now. I’d expect you’ll have decent clothes in about half an hour.’

‘I think I ripped them.’

‘You may have,’ he agreed. ‘Did you have any more? In the car?’

‘Of course.’

‘I let the police know about the crash last night. If the local cop doesn’t arrive with your gear, we’ll go and get it.’

‘Did you really crash your car?’ Martin asked.

‘I did.’ Then, seeing the boys’ desire for gory detail, she relented. ‘Marilyn, the dog, was in the middle of the road. I swerved to avoid hitting her. My car went off the road and rolled all the way down to the river.

‘Rolled…’ Nathan breathed.

‘Rolled,’ she agreed. ‘Over and over. It was lucky I was wearing a seat belt or I’d have been squashed.’

‘You must have been scared,’ Martin said.

‘I was.’ She nodded, looking satisfactorily ghoulish. ‘I could have been deader than a duck.’ Her dark eyes twinkled. ‘If it was a dead duck, that is.’

But Martin wasn’t to be deflected. He was off in his own horror story. ‘You might have rolled into the river and drowned,’ he said, and frowned. ‘I think my dad drowned. My aunty said he drowned himself in booze.’

‘I’m so sorry,’ Erin said, focusing directly on the little boy before her. Her playacting disappeared. Her expression was suddenly adult to adult, and Dom thought, This woman is skilled. Empathic. Kind. Her whole body language said she cared.

‘I can’t even remember him,’ Martin said. ‘I can remember Mum but she’s gone, too.’

‘Does that make you really sad?’ Erin asked. Cautious.

‘No,’ cos Dom’s looking after me,’ Martin said, cheering up. ‘And Tansy, but Tansy’s not here. But you’re here, and now Marilyn is, too.’

‘The dog’s here only till this lady goes home,’ Dom said warningly and Erin thought…

‘No,’ Dom said.

She looked startled. ‘What?’

‘It’s two who can play at face-reading,’ he retorted. ‘I’m sorry you crashed your car. I’m also very sorry for Marilyn but I can’t keep her.’

‘You can’t…’ She paused. ‘No. I… Of course you can’t.’

‘I’m looking after two boys and the medical needs of this entire community,’ he said. ‘Normally I have a housekeeper…’

‘No wife?’ she said before she could stop herself.

‘No wife,’ he agreed, and smiled at her evident confusion. ‘I’m sorry. Last night you assumed there was, and because you were scared it seemed more sensible to let you believe it. We normally have a live-in housekeeper—Tansy. She’s great, isn’t she, boys? But her sister had a baby last week so Tansy’s flown to Queensland to help out. Which means when I get an urgent callout the boys have to come with me. I can hardly take Marilyn and the pups as well. I can only take on so much.’

‘Of course you can,’ she said, hurriedly. ‘I…I’ll think of something.’

‘Of course you will,’ he said, and had to bite back the urge to say, Stay here. Of course we can keep your dog. We can keep you, too, if you want.

Which was ridiculous. There was no earthly reason why he should look at this woman and feel his heart hammer in his chest. She was a patient, who’d come to him for help.

She didn’t belong here.

His body was telling him she did.

His body had better go take a hike.

Maybe he had more of his mother in him than he thought. His mother had believed in love at first sight and she’d messed with both of their lives because of it. Her romantic ideals had turned into loser after loser. She saw life through rose-coloured glasses, and her dreams turned to nightmares every time.

‘I have work to do,’ he said abruptly.

‘I won’t interfere.’

‘I know you won’t,’ he said. And added silently as he left, for his ears only, Because I won’t let you.

* * *

She’d upset him. He’d walked out of the room like he couldn’t leave fast enough. Like she was contagious.

Ridiculous. She must be mistaken.

She ate another scone and had a second cup of coffee and talked to the boys. The tumble-drier whirred to a halt in the next room, and Dom appeared again, with an armful of clean, dry clothes.

‘Do you want to phone your family?’ he asked, brusque and businesslike. ‘You lost your cellphone, didn’t you. You can use my land line.’

She glanced at her watch. Nine. If she was driving from Melbourne this morning she’d hardly arrive before eleven. They wouldn’t be worrying. She could have a couple more hours…

Of what? Sitting in this man’s kitchen eating more hot cross scones while he stayed out of her way?

Stupid. She was avoiding the inevitable. She had to go.

And Marilyn? If she was careful she could get her onto the back seat of Charles’s or her father’s car, she decided. Sure, they shouldn’t disrupt her but it was a whole lot better than putting her down. Which was the alternative.

‘You could ring the local animal shelter,’ Dom said, watching her face and seeing her indecision. ‘They might be able to do something.’

‘On the first day of a four-day holiday? An injured stray with hours-oldpuppies?’ She shook her head. ‘I’llthink of something.’ She rose to her feet. Feeling shaky. Feeling unaccountably desolate.

‘I’ll fetch some crutches from the surgery.’

‘Thank you.’

‘We can be your crutches,’ Martin said stoically. But he was looking doubtful. ‘Are you taking the puppies away?’

‘They’re Erin’s puppies,’ Dom said.

‘Does she want them?’ Martin looked at Erin with eyes that said he’d been lied to in the past. His clear, green eyes were challenging.

‘Of course I want them,’ Erin said, forcing brightness. And then she glanced out into the hall and saw the heap of doggie contentment by the door. ‘Of course I want them,’ she reiterated, sounding more sure of herself. ‘It’s just a matter of convincing my family.’

Her family en masse—including Charles’s parents—were appalled. Erin tried to downplay the accident—a skid on a wet road to avoid a dog—but for her extended family, even a minor incident had the power to dredge up fearsome memories. It took a while to assure her mother she wasn’t hurt, honest, it had been a minor accident, and, no, she didn’t need their help, she only needed someone to fetch her.

Her mother put Charles on. So Charles hadn’t told them what had happened between them? Or maybe he had but he’d explained she was being silly. Hormonal, he’d said the last time she’d seen him, which had made her want to hit him.

By the time she spoke to Charles she was emotionally wrung out. She didn’t have energy left to explain she still had Marilyn.

‘I’ll be there as soon as I can,’ Charles said, and she knew she’d shaken him as well. She knew he’d come fast.

She didn’t want Charles. She wanted her dad to come, but of course they acted as a team.

They all cared for her. They cared for her so well she felt…stifled.

The doorbell pealed while she was getting dressed and her feeling of oppression deepened. But then she thought, surely Charles couldn’t be here already.

Maybe it was another patient. Maybe it was another need for Dom to face this Easter.

If he was called out… Maybe she could stay with the boys for a while, she thought. As a thank-you gesture. Charles wouldn’t mind waiting. He could have one of her hot cross scones.

She hauled her windcheater over her head and opened the living-room door with caution. Dom was at the front door, facing a stranger.

The man in the doorway was long, lanky and unkempt. He was maybe six feet four or so. He had limp, dirty hair that hung in dreadlocks to his shoulders. He was wearing tattered clothes and frayed sandals, and in his hands he was holding the biggest Easter egg Erin had ever seen. As big as two footballs, the thing was wider than he was.

‘I’m here to see Nathan,’ the man snapped, and then started coughing. Dom took the egg and waited until the coughing ceased.

‘Nathan,’ he called down the passage.

Marilyn was right behind him in the hall, between Erin and the front door, between Dom and Erin. As he glanced backward past the dog, Dom’s eyes met Erin’s. He gave her a blank stare—the sort of look doctors gave each other in the emergency department to say caution, act with care.

Nathan came running out of the kitchen. He saw who was at the front door—and stopped.

‘Here’s your dad,’ Dom said, gently, Erin noticed. ‘I think he’s brought you a present.

‘I can tell my kid that myself,’ the man said, aggressively.

‘Would you like to come in?’ Dom asked. He gestured to Marilyn. ‘Sorry about the mess. Our dog gave birth to puppies last night in just the wrong place.’

Our dog? Okay, maybe anything else would be too hard to explain, Erin conceded. For now Marilyn was communal property.

‘I’m not coming in,’ the man growled. ‘This place gives me the creeps.’

‘It’s a safe house, Dad,’ Nathan said in a small voice. ‘No one hits you here.’

There was moment’s deathly silence. The man seemed to freeze.

‘No one hits you anywhere,’ the man said finally, in a voice that said he didn’t believe it himself.

No one responded.

‘How’s the methadone programme going?’ Dom asked, and the man’s anger returned.

‘Bloody stuff doesn’t work. You know that.’

‘So you’re using again?’

‘Yeah, but I want the kid.’

‘You know the courts said you need to be clear for three months before they’ll consider it. Methadone and testing—you know the drill. We’ve been through it over and over. People are trying to help you.’

‘F…do-gooders.’

‘It’s all we can do, Michael,’ Dom said wearily. ‘Would you like some breakfast?’

‘Nah. I just want to give the kid the egg.’ He held it toward Nathan, not moving an inch inside the house. ‘Come on, Nathe,’ he said in a wheedling voice. ‘I bought it good and proper. With me pension money.’

‘It’s pretty big,’ Nathan said, but he didn’t look pleased. In fact, he looked close to tears.

‘So come and get it,’ Michael said.

Nathan edged forward along the hallway, inching his way past Marilyn. But it wasn’t the dog he was scared of, Erin thought. When he reached Michael his face was bleached white. Dom’s hand came down to rest on his shoulder.

‘Hey, it’s good that your dad’s brought you an egg,’ he said.

‘Y-yeah.’ Nathan took a deep breath, as if searching for courage. He reached out and the egg was shoved into his arms.

‘There,’ Michael said, satisfied. ‘You can’t say I don’t have contact with him. Can you?’ he demanded of Dom belligerently.

‘Of course I can’t,’ Dom said. ‘But if you want custody you need to get serious about the methadone programme.’

‘Yeah, yeah. After Easter. When I get me life in order a bit. But me and a mate are going surfing.’ He glanced out to the street where an ancient purple kombi van was clearly waiting for him. ‘I’d love to take you, Nathe.’

‘Yes,’ Nathan said, but his hand crept into Dom’s and held it.

The man noticed. His face darkened with anger. ‘Why, you little…’

‘Nathan’s had flu,’ Dom said quickly as the man’s hand raised. ‘He’s had almost a week off school.’

It was enough to deflect Michael. His hand paused.

‘My kid’s been sick? Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘I left a message at your boarding house.’

‘I haven’t been there for weeks.’ Out on the street whoever was driving the van was clearly getting impatient. There was a long, loud blast of the horn.

‘I hope the surf’s great,’ Dom said neutrally, and Michael cast him an uncertain look—deciding, Erin thought, whether to stoke his anger or not. And finally, blessedly, deciding not.

‘Yeah, it will be,’ he said at last. ‘I gotta go. But, Nathe, remember I gave you the egg. I do what I can. Love ya, mate.’ And he wheeled away and half ran back to the van. Leaving Nathan clutching Dominic’s hand.

This was none of her business. She should go back into her sitting cum bedroom. But she was too interested to retreat.

Dom and Nathan stayed with their backs to her, watching the van disappear. Nathan didn’t release Dominic’s hand. When finally the sound of the van retreated to silence he glanced up at Dom and his small face was a mess of tears. ‘The Easter Bunny won’t come now.’

‘Yeah, he will,’ Dom said, placid in the face of the little boy’s distress. ‘You know the rules. If the Easter Bunny sees you eating an egg before Sunday he knows he doesn’t need to deliver eggs. But lots of people give eggs before Sunday. Three of my patients left me eggs and they’re sitting on my desk right now. I just have to be very good and not eat them.’

‘So I can’t eat Dad’s egg?’

‘Not until Sunday. Not if you want the bunny to come,’ Dom said, with all the gravity in the world.

He was great, Erin thought.

He was…gorgeous?

Um…what? Where had that come from? Gorgeous? Hardly appropriate.

Or, actually, incredibly appropriate. The man’s kindness made her blink back tears. Sexy came in all forms. Sexy came in the guise of a guy holding a little boy by the hand and discussing the Easter Bunny with the same gravity he might accord World Peace.

‘I guess,’ Nathan was saying, still doubtful.

‘It’s true. All you need do is put it with the others that we’ll eat after Easter.’

‘Okay,’ Nathan said, his face finally clearing as he decided to believe. Then he added, ‘I’m glad he’s gone. Will he come back soon?’

‘I don’t know, Nathe,’ Dom admitted, and the little boy’s face clouded.

‘He might,’ he whispered. But then the clouds disappeared again. ‘But he said he was going surfing for Easter and that’s days and days. He won’t come back till after the Easter bunny’s been. I’ll tell Martin.’

And he handed his egg to Dom, edged past the bundle of canine contentment on the floor and scooted off to find his…brother?

She didn’t think so. A few assumptions were being stood on their heads this morning.

Dom was standing in the hallway holding the egg. It really was ridiculously large.

Marilyn snoozed at his feet, with her three puppies. Erin could hear Nathan talking to Martin back in the kitchen.

How many responsibilities did this man have?

‘The boys are your…foster-kids?’ she ventured, and he nodded. He was watching her, an expression on his face like he couldn’t figure her out.

‘What?’ she said.

He shook his head as if clearing fog. ‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘Um…yeah, they’re my foster-kids.’

‘But you don’t have a wife.’

‘You don’t need a wife to foster kids.’

‘I thought…’

‘If I wanted to adopt a cute baby with no strings attached then, yeah, I’d need to be married. I’d need references practically from the Pope himself. But I take kids when there’s a problem—a reason they need closer supervision than even foster-parents can give. If I’m willing to take a kid like Martin, whose mother’s disappeared but who might surface at any minute, in any state, or Nathan, whose dad is…well, like you saw him, then there’s not so much competition that you’d notice. References from the Pope might be waived.’

‘But you’re a doctor. Part time?’ she ventured.

‘In this town? Full time and part time as well.’ Then, as her confusion became obvious, he added, ‘It’s manageable. I have a great housekeeper and the boys come with me a lot. They come here traumatised, caught up in their own dysfunctional worlds. With me they see lots of other worlds, many of them just as dysfunctional, but I give them a solid base. I give them rules and I give them a hug when they need one.’

He broke off as the doorbell pealed again. Nathan’s head emerged from the kitchen, looking fearful.

‘It’s okay, Nathe,’ he said. ‘Hop it. I’ll deal with it.’

Nathan disappeared. Dom tugged the door wide.

It was Charles. Six feet two, blond and tanned, wearing cream chinos, a quality linen shirt with top buttons casually unfastened, and soft leather boat shoes. He really was absurdly handsome, Erin thought. Behind him, in the driveway, was his Porsche. Sleek and handsome as he was.

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