The Surgeon's Proposal

‘Because I love him. I…’ she searched for the right word ‘…champion him, in a way those very nice girls—really, they’re very nice—at child-care just don’t have time for, with their ratio of one adult to five kids.’

‘That high?’

‘It’s standard,’ she answered. ‘I believe in him, and know him well enough to bring out the best in him. I understand what he’s trying to tell me, which some people don’t. His speech isn’t very clear yet, and that frustrates him. I have the time and care to head off his difficult behaviour, and I know when he’s overdosed on other kids and needs some time to himself. We go to the park for hours, and just run each other down as if we were two little toys in one of those battery commercials on television. He sleeps well, if an hour or two less than most kids his age. And I’m pretty fit, as a result!’

‘Hmm,’ Dylan said. There was a pause. ‘And what will happen now?’

‘He’ll stay in child-care. Unless I can juggle my shifts at the hospital, which, of course, I’ll try to do.’

Which doesn’t deal with the mortgage. There must be some other areas where I can save. If I get an increase on my credit-card limit…

‘There’s no other choice? Your mother—’

‘Has emphysema, as you may have realised. She’s tired and breathless, gets asthma attacks quite often, and can’t do much for herself. She could sell her little unit and come and live here, yes, but she’s too ill to help with Duncan, other than overnight babysitting, and really too ill to live under the same roof as such an active little boy.’

‘Yes, I can understand that.’

‘She loves him, but she wouldn’t be happy here. Can you stop asking these questions, Dylan? Marrying Alex wasn’t just about solving my current family problems. There was a lot more. You mean well. I can see that. But you’re trivialising my life, and my choices. It’s not helping. Don’t try and help, please.’

She lifted her chin and met his gaze steadily, still far more conscious of their two bodies than she wanted to be. What was he thinking? She couldn’t tell. His dark eyes were clouded and thoughtful, and he was frowning.

At that moment, Duncan ran back out to the veranda, as expected, with his arms full of towels. One dangling end was dangerously close to tripping up his eager little feet. Turning away from Dylan, Annabelle took the bundle from Duncan quickly, and asked, ‘What about your cozzie? Know where that is?’

‘Onna line,’ he said confidently, and rushed off again, to the far corner of the crowded garden where the rotary clothesline stood, hung with pegged-up garments.

‘I should go,’ Dylan said, and Annabelle didn’t argue. ‘Please, think a little more about what I said.’

She laughed. ‘The marriage proposal? You didn’t mean it. I’m not going to think about it for a second.’

‘You’re right. I didn’t mean it. But think about it anyway.’ His dark gaze collided with hers again. It seemed to trap her, making her hot.

‘That doesn’t make sense,’ she told him.

‘Probably not,’ he agreed. ‘Although I wonder…Maybe one day we’ll both understand what it meant.’

Then he shrugged, smiled and stood up, looking long and strong and sturdy. Not at all the kind of man who should make whimsical marriage proposals that he admitted he didn’t mean but still wanted her to take seriously.

‘Enjoy the pool,’ he said, and touched her bare shoulder.

His hand left a warm imprint there, and was gone again in a second. Annabelle’s awareness of his touch was unsettling and unwanted. She took him quickly back through the house, and they got through a few last polite phrases, then she closed the door behind him and listened with relief to the confident sound of his feet as he loped down the twenty-seven steps.

She spent a shrieking half-hour in the pool with Duncan, got him dried and dressed and settled him with a video.

Then she phoned Alex.

‘I was wondering when you’d call,’ he said stiffly.

‘It’s just on eleven. I wasn’t sure whether to…’ She trailed off, feeling the phone line between them heavy with stony silence. She tried again, newly determined that there had to be a way to get through this. It was ridiculous to call off a marriage permanently because of one meaningless intrusion during the ceremony. They were both mature adults. Alex was almost forty, and she was thirty-two. ‘I really wanted to talk, Alex, but I thought we both needed to cool down after last night. I’m just as angry with Dylan as you are.’

Silence.

‘And if you still think I gave him any cause to make that idiotic objection, then I’m not sure what to do next, because I didn’t, and I’ve told you that, and he’s told you that…’ She paused expectantly.

Silence.

‘Which makes me start to wonder if you were just looking for an excuse.’

‘Don’t be so ridiculous.’

‘So we’ll get married. A small, discreet ceremony, with—’

‘That’s impossible. I’m not going to rehash it again.’

‘Tell me what you’re feeling, Alex!’ she begged him desperately. ‘Just blustering like this, stonewalling anything I say, it’s not telling me anything.’

Silence.

‘Shall I come over to your place, or do you want to come here?’ she suggested.

Silence.

‘Dylan wants to pay for the reception. I told him to talk to you about it.’

‘So you’ve seen him? When have you seen him?’

‘He came round just now. He obviously feels bad.’

‘I can’t believe you’re defending him, and that you talked to him before you talked to me.’

‘I’m not defending him.’ Am I? ‘I’m just letting you know that he’ll probably phone you, too. I don’t know why he came to me first.’

Silence.

‘So, should we talk about—?’

‘There’s absolutely nothing to talk about at all,’ Alex snapped. ‘It’s out of the question to have him pay for the reception.’

‘Well, yes, that’s what I thought, but since it was your money, I didn’t want to—’

‘And it’s out of the question to talk about scheduling another ceremony. I won’t get over this in a hurry, Annabelle. You’re the last person I would have thought the type to trail chaos and melodrama in your wake, but now I’m wondering how many other ex-boyfriends—’

‘Dylan Calford isn’t an—’

‘Or would-be boyfriends I can expect to crawl out of the woodwork. I was embarrassed to the core last night. People, no doubt, are already talking and making conjectures. And I don’t even think I could look at you at the moment, Annabelle.’

The reproachful crash of the slamming phone invaded Annabelle’s left ear, and stinging tears flooded her vision. Today, this hurt in a way it hadn’t hurt last night. Last night she’d been angry, and in shock. Now came the full realisation that Alex had dropped her like a hot coal, as if she were tainted in some way.

He’d almost said as much. He’d called her a ‘type’. Not the type to attract scandal. Not the type to compromise his reputation and his ambitions. Political ambitions. She knew he had them. President of the Australian Medical Association. Queensland State Minister for Health. But she’d believed herself to mean much more to Alex than a suitably well-bred and stain-resistant political wife, just as he meant more to her than a way out of her family problems.