Father for the Midwife's Twins
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Fiona McArthur
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17,8K
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27
PROLOGUE
THE BRIGHT SUNSHINE slipped behind a heavy cloud as Lisandra Calhoun climbed awkwardly from the taxi at her almost-in-laws’ house not far from Coolangatta airport. Small splats of rain had begun to fall with increasing force and she didn’t have an umbrella. Or a free hand to hold one.
That was okay. It was only water. And she was here.
She’d sent her flight numbers and hoped Josie and Clint would meet her at the airport but they hadn’t made it to the terminal by the time she’d picked up her luggage. Josie had said they would. She’d sounded so excited on the phone when they’d arranged for Lisandra to come as soon as she started maternity leave, even before her new house was ready. She’d tried to call but there’d been no answer. Must have been a mix-up, Lisandra had thought—they happened—so she’d caught a taxi.
The flight up from Melbourne had been smooth enough but being seven months pregnant with twins made it awkward and uncomfortable. And she’d been tense with nerves and exhaustion despite the idea of flying from the cold of Victoria up to tropical Queensland. Packing up your life took a toll, though in the end she’d left nearly everything behind to start fresh in the small semi-detached house she’d put a deposit on that was close to Richard’s parents. It was a doll of a house, she’d snatched it up as soon as it listed, and despite the long settlement date it had felt right. And there was very little else for sale in the current market.
After the last horrific six months, all she wanted was a safe and secure place for her babies. Despite leaving her Melbourne friends behind, it would be good to be near the only other family her babies would have, and Lisandra would be away from all the bittersweet memories she and Richard had rose-coloured their distant lives with.
At their son’s funeral six months ago, a ghastly blur in Lisandra’s memory, Richard’s mother had said Lisandra should move north, let her help with the baby, and stay with them until she found a place in the Gold Coast. And that had been before Lisandra discovered she was pregnant with Richard’s twins and the Smythes would be double grandparents.
She had wanted a change, she thought, as an uneasy foreboding dripped along with the rain down her neck, but she climbed the front steps, dragging her suitcase in noisy bumps upwards. Richard’s mother had invited her to come. Had urged her. Lisandra pushed back the disquiet.
It was the right thing to do. Everywhere at home had reminded her of the man she’d lost so painfully, so harshly and horrifically, just a month before their wedding.
Beginning maternity leave had meant sitting at home alone, missing Richard, cradling her bulging belly and waiting for labour to arrive.
No, it felt right to ensure her children knew their grandparents, from the beginning.
Josie would help her settle into her new home when it happened and the boys would know more family than they would have if they’d stayed in Melbourne.
The frosted-glass-panelled door swung open and the sweet face of Richard’s mother peered out. Lisandra felt hot tears sting behind her eyes, but she forced them back and smiled. Warm relief eased the cold dampness soaking her neck and shoulders from the rain. She’d lost her parents as a seven-year-old and this woman reminded her of the grandmother who had always been a loving haven for her. ‘Josie.’ The word puffed out in a little huff of relief.
Josie didn’t say anything, instead she glanced over her shoulder back into the house and chewed her lip. ‘Lisandra. My dear.’ Her hand opened and closed as if she wanted to reach out and couldn’t. ‘I’m so, so sorry.’ She didn’t open the door wider.
The rain grew heavier and, even though Lisandra stood under the porch eaves, bouncing water droplets splashed against her legs and soaked her shoes and ankles. It felt as if a yawning chasm had cracked open in a tectonic shift under her feet. Lisandra forced a smile. ‘Can I come in?’
The large figure of Richard’s father appeared at the door in such a swirl of dark emotion, both Josie and Lisandra stepped back. Josie twisted her hands and disappeared from view, murmuring, ‘I’m so glad the cab waited.’
All Lisandra could see then was the twisted face of Clint Smythe and the wild, frightening grief in the older man’s eyes.
‘Go away. Get out of my sight. I told Josie, no.’
Lisandra felt the words slap against her. ‘What?’
‘It’s your fault we lost our son. You should have saved him. Your fault.’
The storm of words hit her, like hail, like the lash of rain against her back. She stared aghast into the hard, unyielding, twisted face of Richard’s father and knew she’d made a mistake. A huge one. She moistened her suddenly dry lips and tried to make her brain work. ‘You’re wrong. I tried everything. The paramedics tried.’
‘We don’t want you.’
She heard Josie gasp and plead behind him but Richard’s father went on.
‘Get off our property and take your spawn with you. They’re not our Richard’s babies and you’re not foisting them on us.’
