The Midwife's Secret Child

She held his gaze with her eyebrows raised.

His fingers released her.

Faith began to walk again and he fell into step beside her.

He hadn’t known?

Had she addressed the envelope correctly?

She’d addressed it so many times until at last she hadn’t torn up the letter. He’d told her his home town and she had based her identity search assuming he hadn’t lied about that or his true name.

‘Where did you send these letters?’ His mind must be running along the same lines as hers.

‘I looked you up. In the town you’d mentioned. Sent it to your house.’ She recited the address. Funny how she could still remember it. She glanced at him. ‘Two letters eight months apart. Don’t get the wrong idea. I knew where I stood. I wasn’t asking for anything. Just giving you information I felt you should have.’

His face had gone back to inscrutable. ‘Did you not think it strange when no answer returned?’

‘Of course. Though “strange” was not the word I would have chosen. Thoughtless. Uncaring. Bitterly disappointing.’ She shrugged.

It was a long time ago now and she was over it. Over him. ‘You said you would never return. I expected little. I did my part and it was not my fault if you defaulted on yours.’

‘I did not…’ His voice had grown harsher, risen just a little. ‘Default.’ Then the last word more quietly. He looked at her. ‘My apologies. This is…difficult.’

She laughed with little amusement. So was meeting a transient lover from years ago when she’d been young and silly enough to fall pregnant. ‘Take your time.’

Faith looked ahead to the tourist shop they’d almost reached. ‘Give me your helmet and headlamp. I’ll get my things and we can go for a coffee somewhere.’

She surprised herself with the stability in her voice when inside she was panicking and fretting. She wished her heart would settle into a cold calm. What did this mean for the world she had created for Chloe and herself? She hated not being in control—even if it didn’t show.

No. He would not cast her into turmoil again. She had this. She had to have it. She was comfortable in her shoes as the one who had done the right thing and as a single mother who loved her child more than life itself. He was the one who had had the shock and would have to change the way he thought.

By the time she returned from the shop the tracks he’d made with his pacing showed dirt underneath the mounds of blue metal road gravel. Worn away with his exasperation. She almost smiled at that but if he hadn’t known about Chloe at all then she could feel sympathy for his shock. She could still remember that cold horror from the unforgettable day her pregnancy test had shown a positive reading.

Yes, she had sympathy, but no, she wasn’t relaxing. She didn’t have the luxury of softness or at least she didn’t have the headspace for it just yet. Would Isabel think her mad or prudent to let him into their lives? Then again, her aunt was a sensible woman with few prejudices.

‘Which is your car?’ Hers was way across the car park under a tree and they’d have to drive to Lighthouse Bay for coffee. She didn’t want him following her straight to Chloe. They’d go somewhere first. Talk. She wasn’t taking him home. Yet.

He indicated the black Mustang Shelby not far from her vehicle, well splattered with dirt and mud from the road into the caves, and even from a distance it seemed to glower at the assortment of vehicles in the cleared space. Like Raimondo had glowered when he’d first arrived. She wasn’t taking attitude from either of them, gave the car a disdainful look then caught herself.

Silly, she chided. It was just a rental car and she was getting fanciful, but the model was unusual for these parts. Still, to him she raised her brows. Why was she not surprised he’d hire the most expensive and flamboyant one possible?

Years ago, when she’d searched on the web for him, she’d seen the terrifying extent of his family’s influence and power, their pharmaceutical company, backed by a photo of Raimondo and his brother and an elderly, strong-jawed, massive-shouldered man who had to be his late grandfather—long Roman noses making it clear they were all related—and was almost glad she didn’t have to meet that old man, that family, and parade her naïveté.

Though she’d decided when Chloe was older she could make the decision for herself as to whether she would contact her father or not and Faith would support her daughter’s decision.

Well, that was moot now. He was here to talk about Chloe. ‘That car looks like you.’

‘How so?’ His brow quirked.

‘Expensive. Black. Muscly.’ She had to smile. ‘Low to the ground doesn’t fit though.’

He was looking at her as if he couldn’t quite work her out. She guessed she had changed from the agreeable, star-struck twit she’d been when she’d met him all those years ago into a seemingly confident woman. No. Not seemingly. She was confident. She wondered if he was having a problem understanding why she had hadn’t fallen into hysterics when he’d appeared.

Time to show that maturity she had spent years acquiring. ‘We can have coffee at the little café down on the beach at Lighthouse Bay.’

If he’d found her here he could find the town beach. ‘I’ll meet you there.’

‘I will follow you.’ He touched her hand and she looked back at him. ‘When will I meet our daughter?’

She let the ‘our’ go. At least he’d shifted from ‘my’. ‘Soon. After we talk I’ll let you know.’

The hard stare that followed her response made her pulse jump a little. She hadn’t seen this side of him and she realised they’d both grown up. She reminded herself how he might be feeling and tempered her response. ‘It will happen.’ As long as you’re good, but she didn’t say that out loud. Might not be polite.

‘Faith!’ Dianne’s voice called out and Faith spun to answer the urgency she could hear in her boss’s call.

She jogged back to the shop and could hear Raimondo behind her, which was a good thing when she saw the lovely older gentleman from the cave tour, his iridescent shoes shining up at them as he lay face up on the floor of the shop with his wrinkled face quickly turning blue. Dianne knelt beside the man, shaking him. She had the box with the bag and resuscitation mask beside her but hadn’t had a chance to open it. She was fumbling with the catch.

Her eyes were huge. ‘He staggered in and then just sagged to the floor. I rolled him over but he’s gone blue.’

‘Dianne, you ring the ambulance then come back. We’ll start here.’ Faith knelt down to tilt the man’s head and check his airway. She placed her cheek near his nose and mouth but couldn’t feel any movement. ‘He’s not breathing.’

Raimondo nodded and shifted forward to lean over the man and begin efficient cardiac massage. Thank goodness she and Dianne weren’t alone to manage until the ambulance came. As quickly as she could, Faith assembled the bag and mask Dianne had left and positioned them over the elderly man’s face. She squeezed a breath into his lungs after every thirty compressions that Raimondo made.

After four cycles and no visible improvement they swapped places as Dianne came back. She was puffing from the run. ‘Ambulance is on the way.’

‘Do you have a defibrillator? An AED?’ Raimondo’s question made Faith’s head lift. She felt like slapping her forehead. Why hadn’t she thought to ask for that before Dianne went to the phone? She knew they had one. For every minute the patient didn’t respond their survival rate dropped by ten per cent. The sooner the defibrillator was attached the better.

Dianne stared at Raimondo for a second as her brain caught up. ‘Yes. On the wall.’ She spun around and disappeared then reappeared almost instantly, holding the yellow box with the small Automated Emergency Defibrillator.

‘Well done.’ Raimondo shot her a smile. ‘Can you take over the bagging from me after the next two breaths and I’ll take over the cardiac massage from Faith? Count to thirty compressions and then two breaths. Faith can position the defibrillator while we continue on.’

Faith looked at him. Nice. It was exhausting work even though she’d made sure she had her shoulders straight over her locked hands. She was slowing already and Raimondo could make a much more efficient compression of the chest walls than she could when tiring.

She heard the two breaths go in, Raimondo put down the bag and mask and slid in beside her to take over with very little interruption to the rhythm.

Very slick, she thought gratefully as she moved quickly to the man’s shirt and pulled it open. Luckily his chest had scarce hair so the connection would be good without the shaving they didn’t have time to do. Peeling off the backing paper, she slapped the adhesive pads onto his chest wall above the right nipple and the left pad below the heart.

Switching on the machine, the automated voice intoned ‘Stop CPR, do not touch patient, analysing.’

‘Clear the patient.’ Raimondo’s firm voice reminded them not to touch the man in case a rescuer’s pulse was counted accidentally by the sensors. Everyone sat back. Raimondo’s eyes met Faith’s. This was the man’s best chance but they also knew that a shock would only be useful if the rhythm was one that could be corrected by an electric surge.

‘VT or VF,’ Faith hoped out loud as she crossed her fingers.

Raimondo said to Dianne, ‘If it says shock, stay back and don’t touch him. After the shock we will begin CPR again for two minutes. Then the machine will reassess so we will stop again. If it says “no shock required” we will recommence cardiac massage.’

‘I never thought I’d see this thing used,’ Dianne said shakily.

‘Shock advised.’ Said the machine.