Surprise Twins For The Surgeon

Luke could go to hell in a wheelbarrow. A rusty one with a flat tyre. There were other men out there.

Exhaustion pulled at her.

A sad sigh escaped. She would have a great time despite going solo. She really, really would, as soon as she’d had a snooze. Yeah, sure. Her eyes stung, proving she wasn’t quite ready to let go the hurt. But crying was not happening. Rarely since the day when she was ten, and stood at her brother’s graveside to drop onto the coffin the silver clock shaped like a Labrador and small enough to fit in the palm of Ryan’s hand, had Alesha given into tears. The clock had been bought out of hard-earned pocket money mowing lawns for Dad and the people next door. Ryan had been meant to get better and take it with him wherever he went in the future.

She laid back and closed her eyes, savouring the sun as she’d done so often on family holidays a good many years ago. Sun, sea, surf. It was what Kiwis made the most of every summer around Christmas and New Year. A relaxed, exciting time with family and friends, just mucking about in the water, catching fish...

* * *

A light breeze tightened her skin. Alesha dragged her eyes open and rolled onto her back. ‘Ouch.’ Sitting up, she looked over her shoulder, got an eyeful of red skin. The tube of sunscreen was still inside her case. Probably where her brain was too. Protecting her skin from the sun was always a priority. Not today. The sun was disappearing behind the hills. And she’d wasted the afternoon getting sunburnt.

A gust of wind swished across the pool and deck, and behind her a door slammed. Her fiery skin was intensely cold for a moment then back to flaming. She shivered. Time to put on some clothes.

That door that banged shut must’ve been hers. But it was all right. It wouldn’t be locked. Not when she stood in her bikini with only a towel to wrap around her and the keys still in the pocket of her shorts lying on the floor inside.

The door didn’t budge when she turned the handle, nor when she pressed a shoulder against the wood. Seriously? No way. Someone was playing a joke on her.

She was not locked out of her apartment without clothes, money or her phone. When her stomach was complaining about lack of food. Her day had just gone from average to worse. What else could go wrong? Tipping her head back, Alesha made to shout her frustration, but hauled on the brakes at the last second. What was the point? Screaming wouldn’t miraculously unlock the door, or hand her phone over with Karolina’s number. Had she got around to putting the woman’s number in her database? She couldn’t remember. Too much emotion had been whirling around in her mind.

Looking up at the apartment above, Alesha saw a light on in the lounge. Relief was instant. Whoever was in there would have the phone number she needed to resolve this glitch.

Loud knocking on that door brought no more success than trying to open her own. The light was on but no one was home. Nor was there anyone in the other apartments when she banged on their doors. Seemed she wasn’t only alone but she might be sleeping on the lounger if she didn’t find a way of contacting Karolina.

This would be hilarious if it hadn’t happened to her. It might even be funny in a few days’ time when she recounted it to her flatmates back in London, but right now it was downright scary. Another shiver wracked her while her sunburnt skin burned and chilled equally. ‘I can’t sleep outside.’ Her stomach rumbled. ‘Yeah, and you can wait and all. There’s no dinner coming your way until this is sorted.’

Looking around the complex, she smothered the panic threatening to overwhelm her. Think. She was safe in here, cold and hungry, yes, but no one was going to get through the outside door leading from the road. Waiting until other guests came home was her only option, although who knew when that would be? Down on the narrow road cars went by slowly. From the far end of the pool she stared out at the view, which would have looked beautiful if she weren’t just a tiny bit afraid she was going to spend the whole night out here.

Lights flickered on in the next-door house. Of course. Neighbours.

Wrapping the towel tight around her, she headed for the gate and out onto the footpath. The gate snipped shut behind her. Her stomach nudged her toes. How stupid could she get? She was out on the street in a bikini and it was getting dark. Lying on the lounger by the pool all night suddenly seemed almost like fun.

Neighbours, remember. Someone would know the owner of the apartments. They had to.

They might’ve but they didn’t speak English. No one at the four houses she tried understood a word she said; instead they looked at her as though she was a madwoman gibbering away in a foreign language—she was fast approaching becoming one—and closed their doors in her face. She should’ve learnt a few more words of Croatian other than hello and thank you, though it would never have occurred to her to learn ‘how do I get in touch with Karolina?’ or ‘I need a locksmith’.

Back on the street Alesha blinked away the irritant in her eyes. Crying was not happening. This was a holiday, shambolic yes, but a holiday in a beautiful place, and meant to be enjoyed. All she had to do was find a way back into her apartment. How hard could it be?

A couple was walking up the road, talking and laughing.

Relief lifted her heart. ‘Hello. Do you speak English? Can you help me, please?’

They did stop and look at her, before shaking their heads in bewilderment and carrying on up the hill.

That had to be a no, then.

A woman came around the corner, a phone plastered to her ear.

‘Excuse me. Do you speak English?’

Apparently not. The woman didn’t even slow down.

Alesha walked down the road a hundred metres, asking everyone she saw the same questions, getting the same result.

The night stretched ahead interminably. What she wouldn’t give to be back in her flat eating yesterday’s leftovers and throwing darts at the board after she’d pinned a photo of Luke to it. It had all started with him, hadn’t it?

No, it went way further back than him.

* * *

Kristof Montfort strolled up the hill, hands in pockets, glad the day was done and the temperature was dropping to something near bearable. Once in a rare year London might get as hot. Might. A cold beer beckoned, and his feet moved faster.

The little girl found curled up, shivering, in the bushes by the Dubrovnik Bridge had been brought in to his mother at the Croatian Children’s Home during the night and had stolen into his heart when he hadn’t been looking as he worked with her. He must be getting soft because the tiny child’s big fear-filled eyes, her gaunt cheeks, and scrawny body had angered him, destroyed his usually well-controlled emotions and let her in where he never let anyone. It had taken all day to get his equilibrium back. How could a parent abandon their child to the vagaries of street thieves and child porn operators? His father might’ve made a mockery of all he taught Kristof about being an honest, reputable gentleman, but he’d never physically hurt him, and the emotional slam dunk had happened when he was old enough to fend for himself.

They were yet to learn the child’s name so in the meantime everyone was calling her Capeka—little stork—for her inclination to stand on one leg with the other twisted behind her knee as she huddled in a corner.

He’d done all he could for Capeka today; operating to fix an arm with multiple fractures, stitching deep, badly infected cuts on her thighs and forearms, putting her back together physically. Food, clean clothes and a warm bed had been priorities. The mental stuff would be taken care of by his mother and her colleagues, and would take a lot longer to resolve, if ever. The counsellors and the nurses at the Croatian Children’s Home spent hours with their little patients and lost souls, but there was a gross shortage of caring nurses, the pay being minimum on a good day. Even the most fervent care-giver had to eat and find shelter and wear clothes.

‘Excuse me.’ A young woman dressed in a towel appeared in front of him, looking wary although desperation was rippling off her.

‘Yes?’

‘You speak English?’ Surprise warred with disbelief.

‘I am English.’ And Croatian, but that was another story. ‘What’s your problem?’ There went that cold beer. Somehow he just knew this wasn’t going to be a quick question and answer session. There was something about those earthy coloured eyes that strummed him, and warned him. The woman was in trouble.

Or was trouble.

She jerked a thumb over her shoulder. ‘I’ve gone and got myself locked out of the apartment I’m staying in. As well as the complex,’ she added in a rush. ‘I need to get hold of the owner but I don’t have a phone.’ Her cheeks pinked. ‘Or her number.’

‘You’d be talking about Karolina.’

Hope flared. ‘You know her?’

He didn’t want to dampen that hope; it made her look less drawn, beautiful even. ‘A little, but, better than that, my mother is friends with Karolina’s.’ Tapping his mother’s number, he held his phone to his ear. He listened to the dial tone while studying the woman before him. Temptation in a towel. ‘Fingers crossed my mother has her phone with her. She has a habit of leaving it all over town.’

Her shoulders drooped. ‘Oh.’

‘Is that you, Kristof?’

Kristof raised a thumb in his distraction’s direction. ‘Yes, Mum, it’s me. And before you start in on me about not taking a partner to the fundraiser dinner tomorrow, I’ve got someone here who’s got herself locked out of the Jelinski Apartments and needs to get in touch with Karolina.’ As in the lady he was not taking to the dinner even if his mother had begged him to.

‘She came here to pick up her mother and left five minutes ago. I’ve tried to give you Karolina’s number so many times.’

So you have. Your persistence is admirable, but please use it on more important issues.

He liked Karolina. He didn’t have the hots for her, or love her, or want to get to know her better, though he’d do anything for her if she asked because that was who he was these days, and she felt the same about him. Though she might not do anything he asked. Their respective mothers had other ideas and wouldn’t listen to them. What did they know? Kristof’s mother, in particular, refused to accept that he’d decided not to marry again, ever. Why would he when his ex-wife had cheated on him more times than he could count? Had laughed when he’d told her he loved her and that monogamy was part of their relationship. A deal breaker for him, but her idea of love included adventurous affairs on the side.

The woman before him was looking at him as though he was her saviour, and shivering, wrapped only in that towel and who knew what underneath? Nothing? ‘Mum, please let Karolina know she’s needed at the apartments urgently.’