Healed By The Midwife's Kiss: Healed by the Midwife's Kiss. Fiona McArthur
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was distracted again by the wriggling child. Finlay popped her down in the sand on her bottom and put a spade and bucket beside her.
‘There, miss.’ He glanced up at Trina. ‘Her aunt came today and she’s ruined our sleep routine.’ He paused at that. ‘Speaking of routines, this is late in the day for you to be on the beach.’
‘Nice of you to notice.’ She wasn’t sure if it was. There had been a suspicious lift of her spirits when she’d realised the woman he’d shared lunch with was his sister. What was that? She didn’t have expectations and he wouldn’t either—not that she supposed he would have. She wasn’t ready for that. ‘Don’t get ideas or I’ll have to leave.’ Almost a joke. But she explained.
‘Today is my first official Friday off for a long time. I’m off nights and on day shifts for the next year. Monday to Thursday.’ She looked around at the little groups and families on the beach and under the trees at the park. Pulled a mock frowning face. ‘I’ll have to talk to people and socialise, I guess.’
‘I know. Sucks, doesn’t it.’ The underlying truth made them both stop and consider. And smile a little sheepishly at each other.
Another urge to be truthful came out of nowhere. ‘I’m a widow and not that keen on pretending to be a social butterfly. Hence the last two years on night duty.’
He said more slowly, as if he wasn’t sure why he was following suit either, ‘My wife left us when Piper was born. A day later. I’ve morphed into antisocial and now I’m hiding here.’
Died? Or left? How could his wife leave when their daughter was born? She closed her mouth with a snap. Not normal. Something told her Piper’s mum hadn’t died, though she didn’t know why. Postnatal depression then? A chilling thought. Not domestic violence?
As if he read her thoughts, he added, ‘I think she left with another man.’ He seemed to take a perverse pleasure in her disbelief. ‘I need to start thinking about going back to work soon. Learn to stop trying to guess what happened. To have adult conversations.’
He shrugged those impressive shoulders. Glanced around at the white sand and waves. ‘I’m talking to Piper’s dolls now.’
Still bemused by the first statement, the second took a second to sink in. Surprisingly, Trina giggled. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d giggled like a schoolgirl.
He smiled and then sobered. ‘Which means Piper and her dolls must go into day care if I go back to work.’
‘That’s hard,’ Trina agreed but wondered what sort of work he could ‘start thinking about going back to’. Not that there were screeds of choices around here. ‘Maybe part-time?’
‘I think so.’
‘Are you a builder? The house looks good.’
He laughed at that. ‘No. Far from it. Piper’s taught me everything I know.’
Trina giggled again. Stop it. She sounded like a twit. But he was funny. ‘I didn’t have you pegged as a comedian.’
His half-laugh held a hint of derision at himself. ‘Not usually. Remember? Antisocial.’
She nodded with solemn agreement. ‘You’re safe with me. If you need a protected space to tell your latest doll story you can find me.’ She waited until his eyes met hers. ‘But that’s all.’
‘Handy to know. Where do I find you? You know where I live.’ Then he turned away as if he regretted asking.
‘Of course I know where you live. It’s a small town and single men with babies are rare.’ Trina looked at him. ‘I meant...find me here. But I’ll think about it. I’m happy to have a male friend but not a stalker.’
She felt like an idiot saying that but thankfully he just looked relieved. ‘Hallelujah. And I promise I will never, ever turn up uninvited.’
‘We have that sorted.’ She glanced at Piper, who sat on the sand licking white granules off her fingers, and bit back a grin. ‘It’s good when children will eat anything.’
Finn focused instantly on his daughter and scooped her up. Trina could see him mentally chastising himself. She imagined something like, See what happens when you don’t concentrate on your daughter, and she knew he’d forgotten her. Was happy for the breathing space because, speaking of breathing, she was having a little trouble.
She heard his voice from a long way away. ‘Sand is for playing—not eating, missy.’ He scooped the grains from her mouth and brushed her lips. His quick glance brushed over Trina as well as he began to move away. ‘Better go wash her mouth out and concentrate. Nice to meet you, Catrina.’
‘You too,’ she said, suddenly needing to bolt home and shut her door.
* * *
Ten minutes later the lock clunked home solidly and she leant back against the wood. Another scary challenge achieved.
Not that she’d been in danger—just a little more challenged than she’d been ready for. And she had been remarkably loose with her tongue. Told him she was a widow. About her job. The hours she worked. What had got into her? That was a worry. So much so that it did feel incredibly comforting to be home. Though, now that she looked around, it seemed dark inside. She frowned. Didn’t just seem dark.
Her home was dark.
And just a little dismal. She frowned and then hurried to reassure herself. Not tragically so, more efficiently gloomy for a person who slept through a lot of the daylight hours. She pulled the cord on the kitchen blind and it rolled up obediently and light flooded in from the front, where the little dead-end road finished next door.
She moved to the side windows and thinned the bunching of the white curtains so she could see through them. Maybe she could open those curtains too. Now that she’d be awake in the daytime. Moving out of the dark, physically and figuratively.
So, she’d better see to lightening it up. Maybe a few bright cushions on her grey lounge suite; even a bright rug on the floor would be nice. She stared down at the grey and black swirled rug she’d bought in a monotone furnishing package when she moved in. Decided she didn’t like the lack of colour.
She crossed the room and threw open the heavy curtains that blocked the view. Unlocking the double glass doors and pushing them slowly open, she stepped out onto her patio to look out over the glittering expanse of ocean that lay before her like a big blue shot-thread quilt as far as the eye could see. She didn’t look down to the beach, though she wanted too. Better not see if there was the figure of a man and a little girl playing in the waves.
Instead she glanced at the little croft to her right where Ellie and Sam lived while Sam built the big house on the headland for their growing family. She wondered if they would keep the croft, as they said they would. It would be strange to have new neighbours on top of everything else.
The three crofts sat like seabirds perched on a branch of the headland, the thick walls painted white like the lighthouse across the bay and from the same solid stone blocks. Trina’s veranda had a little awning over the deck the others lacked. A thick green evergreen hedge separated the buildings to shoulder height.
On the other side of her house lay Myra’s croft. Originally from Paddington in Sydney, stylish Myra ran the coffee shop at the hospital and had recently married the older Dr Southwell—her boss. Ellie’s father-in-law.
Two brides in two months, living each side of her, and maybe that had jolted her out of her apathy as much as anything else. Surrounded by people jumping bravely into new relationships and new lives had to make a woman think.
She stepped out and crossed to the two-person swing seat she’d tussled with for hours to assemble. Her last purchase as a flat-pack. Last ever, she promised herself.
She’d never seen so many screws and bolts and instructions in one flat-pack. Then she’d been left with a contraption that had to be dragged inside when it got too windy here on top