Dynamite Doc or Christmas Dad?

‘How dare you come near me with your lies and your schemes? My son would never have a child with the likes of you. Get out of my house; you’ll not get a penny out of me. Nothing.’

It had taken her two years to calm down, to find the courage to write. This time she’d enclosed a picture of Dusty, who looked just like his father, saying that even if he didn’t wish to help support Dusty, she’d like some kind of recognition that Dusty had had a dad.

She’d received a lawyer’s letter in response, threatening her with a defamation suit.

She could prove it in a minute, she thought. Nate had known it; that’s why he’d grudgingly paid child support. DNA testing would be conclusive, either from the old man or from Nate’s brother.

But what was the point? Prove paternity she already knew? Pay a fortune she didn’t have in lawyer’s fees?

Dusty needed to forget it, as she almost had. ‘There’s nothing we can do,’ she told Dusty now. ‘I know this is hard, but you need to accept that your dad’s dead. So’s your grandpa. There’s nothing left to show you of your dad’s family.’

‘You said Dad had a brother.’

‘He hardly talked of him. I don’t think they liked each other.’ She didn’t think the whole family liked each other.

‘So let’s find him.’

‘Dusty, he won’t want to see us. He’s probably grouchy like your grandpa.’

‘No, but we could see him,’ Dusty said. ‘It’d be like an adventure. Just … looking. I might be able to take a picture with my zoom lens. Then when Mike asks I can say he’s a secret and we had to sneak a look …’

And it’d be something to talk about, Jess thought. A game …

‘I’ll look him up on the internet,’ she promised. ‘I’ll see.’

‘It’s all I want for Christmas,’ Dusty said, belligerent. ‘To see my dad’s brother.’

‘What about a skateboard?’

‘Not even a new gaming console,’ Dusty said grandly. ‘And looking at an uncle would be cheap.’

Sneaking a photograph of this uncle wasn’t going to be cheap. It was free.

With Dusty in bed, she searched the internet and up he came. Ben Oaklander.

Nate’s brother was in Australia, and information about him was everywhere.

Apparently he was a doctor, an obstetrician, just as she was, only this guy was seriously good. He was five years older than she was, but about twenty years older in terms of career.

She remembered the first time she’d met Nate. He’d been studying law, and she’d been in first year medical school. Her friend introducing her as ‘my friend, Jess, who’s just started medicine.’

‘What, a save the world do-gooder like my sainted brother?’ Nate had snapped, but then he’d looked at her, focused, apologised for his bad manners and set himself out to be charming. Which had been very charming indeed.

His brother had hardly been mentioned again.

And here he was. Nate’s brother.

A do-gooder?

Not so much.

She was at a site advertising a conference being held in December, at somewhere called Cassowary Island off Australia’s Queensland coast. Keynote speaker, Benjamin Oaklander.

A biography.

One of Australia’s most eminent obstetricians. Youngest professor … Contributor to three texts, author of thirty journal articles. Top of his field. Highly regarded researcher.

A picture. He was dark where Nate had been blond. He was about the same height, though, standing tall among a group of colleagues at an award ceremony, and he had the same lovely eyes, a deep, azure blue. He was smiling straight at the camera, and that smile …

She remembered that smile. Dangerous.

But this would do, she thought. There was no need for sneaky zoom lenses when she could show Dusty this.

She closed the computer with a snap.

But then she thought—it wouldn’t do. She knew Dusty. He didn’t see the internet as real. He wanted real contact.

Maybe when he was older she’d try and contact this man.

She opened her laptop again.

That smile …

She was so over that smile. Just looking at it … the arrogance, the lies, the deceit. ‘I’ll take care of you for ever …’

Well, she’d looked after herself, she told that smile. There was no way any insidious smile could breach her defences. Once was enough.

‘Mum …’

Ouch. She flicked the backward arrow on the internet. It wouldn’t do to show Dusty a blank screen. He came up behind her, rubbing sleepy eyes. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Don’t ask questions,’ she managed, trying to sound Santa-Claus mysterious.

But he was already behind her, looking. ‘Oh, yum,’ he breathed. ‘Is that an island?’

She looked then—really looked. Cassowary Island, close to Australia’s Great Barrier Reef. A small research centre dedicated to cassowaries, with a privately run, wildlife rehabilitation sanctuary attached.

Nothing else, apart from an international-standard conference centre with eco-resort accommodation. Miles of glorious beaches, turquoise waters, rainbow coral, multicoloured fish, turtles, dolphins … Resort mantra: ‘Take only Photographs, Leave only Footprints.’ Oh …

‘Oh, Mum,’ Dusty breathed. ‘Are you thinking about holidays?’

‘Just dreaming,’ she said.

And suddenly she was. How long since she’d had a proper holiday?

She’d gone over her head into debt to finish her medical training. Then her mother’s health, always precarious, had failed even further. She’d died two months ago. This would be their first Christmas without her.

Christmas without her mother didn’t bear thinking of.