Praise for

Carol Marinelli:

EXPECTING HIS LOVE-CHILD

‘EXPECTING HIS LOVE-CHILD is an extremely poignant love story that runs the gamut of emotions. Carol Marinelli illustrates how life is full of surprises and you never know who will end up being your soul mate.’

—RT Book Reviews

HIRED: THE ITALIAN’S CONVENIENT MISTRESS

‘In HIRED: THE ITALIAN’S CONVENIENT MISTRESS Carol Marinelli’s simple plot shines with engaging characters.’

—RT Book Reviews

Excerpt

‘Are you okay?’ Ben asked in concern.

‘Fine,’ she moaned, then looked up. ‘Stupid yoga!’

‘Are you having a contraction?’ He was assessing her; not wanting to just dive in and place his hand on her stomach, he thought he ought to introduce himself first. ‘I’m Ben. I’m a doctor.’

‘And I’m Celeste…’ She blew out a breath and then slowly unfolded. ‘And I’m not having a contraction; it’s a stitch.’

‘You’re sure?’ he pressed.

‘Quite sure!’

He was suddenly slammed back into the past again—just as he was almost every day and every night, not all the time now, but surely, given that it was nearly four years on, too many times.

‘So long as you’re okay,’ he clipped, and went to go.

But suddenly she was holding her swollen stomach with both hands, and blowing out a long, slow breath.

‘That,’ said Ben firmly, ‘is not a stitch.’

Carol Marinelli recently filled in a form where she was asked for her job title, and was thrilled, after all these years, to be able to put down her answer as ‘writer’. Then it asked what Carol did for relaxation and, after chewing her pen for a moment, Carol put down the truth—‘writing’. The third question asked—‘What are your hobbies?’ Well, not wanting to look obsessed or, worse still, boring, she crossed the fingers on her free hand and answered ‘swimming and tennis’. But, given that the chlorine in the pool does terrible things to her highlights, and the closest she’s got to a tennis racket in the last couple of years is watching the Australian Open, I’m sure you can guess the real answer!

One Tiny Miracle…

By

Carol Marinelli

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Chapter One

A NEW DAY.

A new start.

Another one.

Walking along the beach, Ben Richardson was head down and too deep in thought to really notice the glorious pink sky over the smooth waters of Port Phillip Bay. He had been accepted for a position as Emergency Registrar at Melbourne’s Bay View Hospital and would be there in a couple of hours to start his first day, only there were no first-day jitters as he made his way along the beach—after all, he’d had plenty new starts before.

This would be his fourth job in the three years since Jennifer’s death…no, it was nearly four years now. The anniversary was coming up soon and Ben was dreading it. Trying and failing not to think about it, trying and failing not to constantly think how life should be, had they lived. Had he stayed put at Melbourne Central, had life not changed so dramatically for him, he’d have been starting to apply for consultant positions now. But staying there hadn’t been an option—there were just too many memories there for him. After six months of trying, Ben had realised that he couldn’t keep working in the same place that he had once worked with his wife and had accepted, after some soul-searching, that things would never be the same again, could never be the same again. So he had moved on to Sydney—which had felt right for a while, but after eighteen months, well, that restless feeling had started again and he’d moved on to another Sydney hospital. Only it had been the same tune, just a different song. The place was great, the people too…

But it just didn’t work without Jen.

So now he had returned to Melbourne, but on the outskirts this time, and it was good to be back closer to his family and amongst old friends again.

No, he wasn’t nervous about this new start—the difference was that this time he was looking forward to it, ready for it, excited even by the prospect of finally moving on.

It was time.

He had decided to live by the beach and take brisk walks or jog each morning…except on day three after moving in he’d already pressed the snooze button on his alarm a few times!

Ben picked up speed, even broke into a jog, his large, muscular frame belying his deftness, and all too soon he reached his destination—the house that he had had his eye on for a couple of weeks now.

While working through his notice in Sydney, Ben had made the trip down to find a home close to the hospital. Looking online, speaking on the phone with real-estate agents, he had found several prospects to view over the weekend, determined to secure a home before he started his new job—deciding that maybe if he owned a property then he’d be more inclined to settle for longer.

The real-estate agent had been showing him a typical bachelor apartment, a new development along the beach, with gorgeous bay and City views. It was bright and airy and had all mod cons with the bonus of a huge balcony which would be nice when he had friends or family over. It had everything, really, and Ben had come close to purchasing it that day, but, standing on the balcony as the agent sorted out the documents, Ben had seen the house next door. An older house, it jutted out a touch further onto the beach than the apartment block. The garden, which had direct beach access, was an overgrown green oasis compared to the swish decking and clear-walled balcony that he’d stood on.

Instead of looking at the glorious beach, Ben had found himself gazing into his potential new neighbour’s garden. A huge willow tree shaded most of it, there was a slide and swing and a trampoline, but what had really caught Ben’s eye had been the boat parked along the side of the house—a man in his forties had been hosing it down and he had looked up and waved as they’d stepped out onto the balcony and Ben had given a quick nod back, only realising then that the man had actually been waving to the real-estate agent instead of himself.

‘I’ll be with you shortly, Doug,’ the agent called, then took a seat at the well-positioned glass table, sorting out brochures and papers and finally locating the contract.

‘Is it on the market, then?’ Ben asked.

‘Sorry?’

‘The house next door—is it for sale?’

‘Not yet,’ the agent said with a noncommittal smile. ‘Have a seat, Dr Richardson, and we’ll go through the small print.’

‘But is it coming onto the market?’ Ben persisted.

‘Perhaps. Though, really, it has none of the specifications you outlined. That house needs a lot of work, it still has the original kitchen and the garden’s a jungle…’ Only Ben wasn’t listening and the real-estate agent suddenly had that horrible sinking feeling that he was losing his grip on his certain sale. ‘The apartment complex is maintained, regularly serviced, there’s the gym and lap pool for tenants,’ he pointed out, pushing what he assumed were the benefits of living here for this tall, rugged-looking bear of a single guy, with the title of doctor. He had been so sure that low maintenance was the key to this sale.

He was wrong.

Ben was fast realising that high maintenance would be fantastic!

This was a garden and a house he could lose himself in, what with house repairs and oiling decking. And how about a boat…? How much better to fill up his limited spare time renovating a house or out on a boat on the bay than to be confined to modern, sleek lines of the apartment or burning off his endless energy in a lap pool? For the first time in a very long time, Ben found himself interested in something that wasn’t work, and, staring at the house, he could almost glimpse a future, a real future…So, instead of closing the deal and moving into the plush apartment complex, to the agent’s obvious annoyance, Ben took a gamble, put his furniture into storage and rented one of the cheap furnished units at the other end of the street, prepared to sit it out till the house came on the market.

It was win-win really, Ben thought this morning as he walked along the beach access path to the front of the house. In that short space of time, the bottom had fallen out of the housing market and the developers were having trouble selling the luxury apartments. Already the price had gone down a few thousand, so, if nothing happened with the house…

For Sale by Auction

He saw the board and gave a smile as he read that the auction wasn’t far off, just a few weeks away, in fact. And there was an ‘open for inspection’ scheduled at the weekend. Walking back toward the beach, this time he noticed the glorious skies and the stillness of the morning, seagulls sitting like ducks on the calm water, a dog running in and chasing them away. And then he saw her, standing in the glassy ocean, the water to her knees, legs apart and stretching, her hands reaching for the sky. She stood still and held the position and then slowly lowered her arms.

And then did it all over again.

God! Ben rolled his eyes. He had a great physique and made a very half-hearted attempt to keep it, relying mainly on walking a thousand miles a day in Emergency then burning it off with a swim, but this new-age, welcome-the-day-type stuff, or whatever she was doing…

Please!

Still, Ben conceded there was something rather spectacular about her lack of inhibition, something about her that made Ben smile as he walked.

And then she turned and his smile vanished as she bent over…doubled over, actually. Ben saw her swollen stomach and realised she was pregnant and visibly in pain. Picking up speed, he walked a touch more quickly along the sandy pathway and onto the beach—not wanting to overreact as maybe it was part of her exercise routine. But, no, she was walking uncomfortably out of the shallows now, still bent at an awkward angle, and Ben broke into a light jog, meeting her at the foreshore. He stared down at a mop of dark curls on the top of her head as, still bent over double, she held onto her knees.

‘Are you okay?’ he asked in concern.

‘Fine,’ she moaned, and then looked up. She had amber eyes and big silver earrings and was gritting her very white teeth. ‘Stupid yoga!’

‘Are you having a contraction?’ He was assessing her. Not wanting to just dive in and place his hand on her stomach, he thought he ought to introduce himself first. ‘I’m Ben, I’m a doctor…’

‘And I’m Celeste.’ She blew out a breath and then slowly unfolded. ‘And I’m not having a contraction, it’s a stitch.’

‘You’re sure?’

‘Quite sure!’ She stretched and winced and then rubbed the last of her stitch away. ‘Stupid new-age stuff!’ He couldn’t help but smile and then so did she. ‘According to my obstetrician, it’s supposed to relax both me and the baby. It will kill us both, more like!’

He tensed, standing on the beach on a glorious warm morning, and was slammed back there again—just as he was almost every day, every night. Not all the time now but surely, given it was nearly four years on, too many times.

‘So long as you’re okay,’ he clipped, and went to go, but she was holding her swollen stomach now with both hands and blowing out a long, slow breath. ‘That,’ Ben said firmly, ‘is not a stitch.’

‘No.’ Her eyes screwed up just a touch and this time he did place his hand on her stomach, felt the weak tightening flowing around her uterus, and held his hand there till it passed, satisfied that it was nothing more than a Braxton-Hicks’ contraction.

‘It’s just the baby practising for its big day.’ She smiled. ‘Honestly, I’m fine.’

‘You’re positive?’ he pressed.

‘Absolutely.’

‘If they get stronger, or start coming—’

‘More regularly, I know, I know.’ She gave him a very wide smile. The sun was up now and he could see her tan and her freckly face. She really did have an incredible smile…‘Well, thanks anyway,’ she said.

‘No problem.’

She turned to walk along the beach, in the direction he was going, and as he started to walk behind her, he half watched her to make sure she didn’t stop again, but she seemed fine now. Dressed in white shorts and a white tight-fitting top, she was curves everywhere, and Ben felt a touch awkward when her head turned around.

‘I’m not following you—I live up there,’ he explained.

‘Good!’ She slowed her pace down. ‘Where?’

‘In the units at the end.’

‘Since when?’ she asked.

‘Since the weekend.’

‘We’re neighbours, then.’ She smiled. ‘I’m Celeste Mitchell, I live in Unit 3.’

‘Ben, Ben Richardson—I’m at number 22.”

‘You’re at the quiet end, then.’ Celeste rolled her eyes.

‘Are you sure about that?’ Ben said, raising an eyebrow. ‘It certainly hasn’t been quiet the last two nights. Fights, parties…’

‘That’s nothing compared to my neighbours,’ she retorted.

They were there now, at the row of one-bedroom units that were a bit of an eyesore in such lovely setting. No doubt one day a developer would come in and swoop up the lot of them and build a luxury complex or a hotel, but for now they were just an old and rather rundown row of units that offered cheap rental and beach access—and were filled with backpackers looking to settle for a few weeks and the occasional regular tenant, which Celeste obviously was.

As they walked past her unit, it stood out from the rest—the little strip of grass at the front had been mowed and there were pots of sunflowers in the small porch.

Clearly this was her home.

‘Thanks again for your concern.’ She grinned. ‘And if you need a cup of sugar…’

He laughed. ‘I’ll know where to come.’

‘I was going to say you’ll have to go next door. The doctor just put me on a diet.’

He laughed again and waved goodbye. Heading up to his unit, he let himself in, put on the kettle and peered around the gloomy interior before heading for the cranky shower, wondering if it would spurt hot or cold this morning.

He hoped her flat was nicer than his. It was an odd thought to pop into his head, but he just hoped it was, that was all. It was certainly as neat as a pin on the outside—maybe her husband had painted it. And hopefully she had nicer furniture than his landlord had provided. Still, that wouldn’t make up for the noise…

Coming out of the shower, he could hear his neighbours fighting again and for Ben the auction couldn’t come soon enough.

He made some coffee and smiled again as he spooned in sugar.

She didn’t need to be on diet—she was curvy, yes, but she was pregnant. He thought of that lovely round bottom, wiggling up the beach in front of him, and just the image of her, so crystal clear in his memory, startled him, so that he immediately turned his mind to more practical thoughts.

Her blood glucose was probably high. She’d be around seven months or so…

He forced himself to push her out of his head, and wouldn’t let himself give her another thought—till he drove out of his garage, feeling just a touch uncomfortable in his slick four-wheel drive, and saw her watering her sunflowers and waving at him.

He waved back—reluctantly. Ben didn’t like waving to neighbours or, despite what he had said, dropping in for sugar, or popping over for a chat. Had she not appeared in pain, he’d have kept right on walking, have kept himself to himself—which was just how he liked things to be.

Whoosh!

As he drove past, Celeste could feel her cheeks redden even as she, oh, so casually waved.

He. Was. Gorgeous!

Gorgeous! Well over six feet and broad, his legs were as thick and as solid as an international rugby player’s, and that longish brown hair flopping over his eyes as he’d stared down at her on the beach already had her wanting to run her fingers through it. As for those green eyes…why the hell didn’t they have doctors like that where she worked?

Then she stopped being twenty-four and single and remembered she had sworn off men for the next decade at least. Also, she was, in a few weeks, going to be a mum.

Funny, but for a moment she’d forgotten. Talking to Ben, chatting as they’d walked, for a moment there she’d forgotten she was pregnant, had just felt like, well, a normal woman! Which she was, of course—there was nothing more womanly or normal than pregnancy. But this morning she’d been one who’d fancied and blushed and said all the wrong things in the face of a very sexy man. Celeste had assumed, though she’d neither read nor been told it, that the ‘fancy’ switch remained off during pregnancy—that you went into some sort of hormonal seclusion, where men were no longer attractive and you didn’t flirt or even look twice. And for six months it had been that way…

Would stay that way, Celeste told herself firmly.

Not that she needed to worry. A deft kick from her baby reminded her that she had no choice in the matter—she was hardly a candidate for romance!

Chapter Two

‘CELESTE, what are you doing here?’ Meg, the charge nurse, shook her head as Celeste handed her a return-to-work certificate as she joined the late-shift emergency nurses to receive handover.

‘I’m fine to work. I saw my obstetrician again yesterday,’ Celeste explained.

Meg scanned the certificate and, sure enough, she had been declared fit, only Meg wasn’t so sure. ‘You were exhausted when I sent you home last week, Celeste. I was seriously worried about you.’

‘I’m okay now—with my days off and a week’s sick leave…’ When Meg didn’t look convinced Celeste relented and told her everything. ‘My glucose tolerance test came in high, that’s what the problem was, but I’ve been on a diet for ten days now, and I’ve been resting, doing yoga and taking walks on the beach. I feel fantastic—some people work right up to forty weeks!’

‘Not in Emergency,’ Meg said, ‘and you’re certainly not going to make it that far. How many weeks are you now?’

‘Thirty,’ Celeste said, ‘and, as the doctor said, I’m fine.’

Which didn’t give Meg any room to argue and, anyway, here wasn’t the place to try. Instead she took them through the whiteboard, giving some history on each of the patients in the cubicles and areas. ‘When the observation ward opens, Celeste can go round there…’

‘I don’t need to be in Obs,’ Celeste said, guilty that they were giving her the lightest shift, but Meg fixed her with a look.

‘I don’t have the resources to work around your pregnancy, Celeste. If your obstetrician says that you’re fine for full duties and you concur, I have to go along with that—I’m just allocating the board.’

Celeste nodded, but no matter how forcibly Meg said it, Celeste knew she was being looked out for as far as her colleagues could—and for the ten zillionth time since she’d found out she was pregnant she felt guilty.

Finding out she was pregnant had been bad enough, but the fallout had been spectacular.

Her family was no longer speaking to her, especially as she had steadfastly refused to name the father, but how could she? Having found out that not only was her boyfriend married but that his wife worked in Admin at the hospital she worked in, even though no one knew, would ever know, guilt and shame had left Celeste with no choice but to hand in her notice. Then, just as it had all looked hopeless, she had found out that she been accepted at the graduate emergency nursing programme at Bay View Hospital, which was on the other side of the city.

She hadn’t been pregnant at the time of her application and the polite thing to do might have been to defer—perhaps that was what had been expected of her—but with such an uncertain future ahead, a monthly pay cheque was essential in the short term, and, as a clearly single mother, more qualifications wouldn’t go amiss. Also, moving away from home and friends would halt the endless questions.

It was lonely, though.

And now her colleagues were having to make concessions—no matter how much they denied that they were.

‘Cubicle seven is Matthew Dale, eighteen years old. A minor head injury, he tripped while jogging, no LOC. He should be discharged, Ben’s seeing him now.’

‘Ben?’ Celeste checked.

‘The new registrar. He started this morning. Here he is now…’ Meg waved him over. ‘What’s happening with cubicle seven, Ben?’

‘I’m going to keep him in. Sorry to open up the observation ward so early but…’ His voice trailed off as he caught sight of Celeste, but for whatever reason he chose not to acknowledge her, just carried on giving his orders for the patient. Although she had to offer him no explanation as to her being here, and though there was absolutely no reason to, again, for the ten zillionth and first time, Celeste felt guilty.

Almost as if she’d been caught.

Doing what? Celeste scolded herself, as she walked round to the closed-off observation ward, flicked on the lights and then turned back a bed for Matthew.

She was earning a living—she had to earn a living.

She had ten weeks of pregnancy to go and the crèche wouldn’t take the baby till it had had all its inoculations, so if she stopped now she wouldn’t be working for almost six months.

The panic that was permanently just a moment away washed over her.

How was she going to cope?

Even working full time it was a struggle to meet the rent. With no help from her family, she was saving for the stroller and cot and had bought some teeny, tiny baby clothes and some nappies, but there was so much more she needed. Then there was her bomb of a car…

Celeste could actually feel her panic rising as she faced the impossibility of it all and she willed herself to be calm, willed herself to slow her racing mind down. But that was no help either, because the second she stopped panicking all Celeste felt was exhausted.

Holding the bed sheet in her hand, she actually wanted to climb in, to lie down and pull the sheet over her head and sleep—and get fatter—and read baby magazines and feel kicks and just rest.

‘Feeling better?’ Celeste jumped at the sound of Ben’s voice. ‘After this morning?’

‘I had a stitch,’ Celeste responded just a touch too sharply. ‘And, before you ask, I am quite capable of working. I’m sick of people implying that I shouldn’t be here. Pregnancy isn’t a disease, you know!’

‘I was just being polite.’ Ben gave her a slightly wide-eyed look. ‘Making conversation—you know, with my neighbour?’

She’d overreacted, she knew that, and an apology was in order. ‘I’m sorry—I’ve had a bit of trouble convincing the doctor that I’m capable of coming back to work, and I’ve got Meg questioning me here. I just…’

‘Don’t need it.’

‘Exactly,’ Celeste said. ‘I’m hardly going to put the baby at risk.’

‘Good.’

She waited for the ‘but,’ for him to elaborate, for the little short, sharp lecture that she seemed to be getting a lot these days, but ‘good’ was all he said. Well, it was all he said about her condition, anyway.

‘I’ve booked Matthew in for a scan. He had a small vomit, and I’d rather play safe. He’s a bit pale, and I’m just not happy—they should call round for him soon. I’ve also found a hand injury to keep you occupied…’ He gave her a nice smile and handed her the notes. ‘Fleur Edwards, eighty-two years of age. She’s got a nasty hand laceration, probable tendon, though the surgeons won’t be able to fit her in till much later tonight. Given her age, it will be under local anaesthetic, so if you can give her a light lunch and then fast her—elevation IV antis, the usual.’

‘Sure.’

‘Could you run a quick ECG on her, too? No rush.’

He was nice and laid-back, Celeste thought. He didn’t talk down to her just because she was a grad, didn’t ream off endless instructions as if she’d never looked after a head injury or hand laceration before. And, best of all, he hadn’t lectured her on whether she should be here.

The observation ward was rather like a bus-stop—you were either standing or sitting around waiting, with nothing much happening for ages or everything arriving at once.

Matthew was brought around first, pale, as Ben had described, but he managed a laugh as he climbed up onto the bed as Celeste had a joke with him.

‘You do know exercise is bad for you?’ His mother and girlfriend had both come around to see him into the observation ward, but now he was there and settled they would be heading home. Celeste did a careful set of neurological observations, warning Matthew this would be happening on the hour, every hour. ‘Whether you’re asleep or not…’

She told Matthew’s family about visiting and discharge times and wrote down the hospital and extension numbers for them. Just as she was about to get started on the admission paperwork, the doors opened.

‘Another admission for you…’ Deb, a fellow grad, was wheeling round a rather delightful Fleur—with rouged cheeks and painted on eyebrows, she was dressed in a blue and white polka-dot skirt with a smart white blouse, which unfortunately had been splattered with blood. ‘Fleur Edwards, 82, a hand injury—’ Deb started.

‘Ben’s already told me about her,’ Celeste said, sensing Deb was in a rush. ‘Any family?’

‘Her daughter’s coming in this afternoon.’ They flicked through the charts. ‘No allergies, she suffers with arthritis, but apart from that she seems very well…’

‘I’ll sort things out, then,’ Celeste said, smiling over at Fleur, who was patiently sitting in a wheelchair, her arm in a sling. ‘Is it getting busy out there?’ she asked Deb.

‘It’s starting to—we’ve got a multi-trauma coming in.’

Though she smiled as she went over to help Fleur, Celeste was hit with a pang as Deb left, just a pang of something. She should be out there, would have loved to really immerse herself in this emergency programme, and though she hoped to when she came back from maternity leave, Celeste was also realistic enough to know that her head would be full of other things by then, and that she’d be exhausted for other reasons, namely the baby who was kicking at her diaphragm right now. Still, it wasn’t Fleur’s problem.

‘Hello, Mrs Edwards.’

‘Fleur.’ Fleur smiled.

‘I’m Celeste—I’ll be looking after you this shift.’

‘You should be the one being looked after.’ Fleur clucked. She really was gorgeous. Widowed for twenty years, she was an independent old lady, and she had cut her hand peeling an orange for her morning snack, Celeste found out as she took her history.

‘Well, for now we’ll get you into a gown and into bed, so that we can elevate your hand on an IV pole. You’ve had something for pain—has that helped?’

‘I can hardly feel it, the bandage is so tight.’ Fleur said. ‘Would you mind taking me over to the ladies’ before I get into bed?’

‘Of course.’ Only at that moment Matthew sat up, with that anxious, frantic look Celeste knew all too well, and with a quick ‘Won’t be a moment’ to Fleur she raced over, locating a kidney dish just in time and pulling the curtain around him.

‘It’s okay, Matthew,’ she soothed. ‘I’ll just fetch you a wet cloth…’ And run another set of obs, Celeste thought. He really was terribly pale.

‘I’ve got to get work,’ Matthew muttered. He wasn’t a particularly large 18-year-old, but none the less he was trying to climb out of bed and he resisted as Celeste tried to guide him to lie back down. ‘I have to get to work, I’m going to be late…’

‘You’re in hospital, Matthew,’ Celeste said. ‘You’ve had a bang on your head, remember?’

She was trying to reach for the call bell to summon help, worried that if he became agitated he might fall if he did get out of bed and hurt himself further, but as quickly as it had happened, Matthew seemed to remember where he was and stopped trying to climb out of bed and instead lay back down. ‘Sorry.’ He gave a wan smile and said it again. ‘Sorry. I’m fine now.’ And he seemed so, except, like Ben, Celeste was now worried.

‘Matthew. Do you know where you are?’

‘Hospital.’

She went through his obs—they were the same as before, his blood pressure a smudge higher, but his momentary confusion still troubled Celeste and she buzzed on the intercom. ‘Can you send a doctor round to the observation ward?’

‘Is it urgent?’ Meg checked. ‘They’re just assessing a multi-trauma.’ Celeste looked over at Matthew’s pale but relaxed face and wavered for a moment. He seemed absolutely fine now and his obs were stable but, still, she just wasn’t sure.

‘I need the head injury assessed again,’ she said, thinking it was likely Meg was rolling her eyes now. ‘Let Ben know—he saw him.’ She headed back to Matthew and Fleur gave a worried nod when Celeste said, ‘I’ll be with you soon.’

‘Look after him!’ the old lady said. ‘Don’t worry about me.’

Of course, by the time Ben arrived Matthew was sitting up and joking about his moment of confusion and refusing the oxygen that Celeste was trying to give him. ‘Look, I’m sorry to pull you away,’ she told Ben.

‘No problem. The trauma team is with the patient and he’s actually not that bad. So what’s going on with Matthew?’

‘Nothing!’ Matthew said and it certainly looked that way.

‘He was fine,’ Celeste explained. ‘In fact, he seems fine now, but he had a vomit a little earlier and was certainly confused and restless for a moment. He didn’t look at all well—’ She was trying to think up reasons to justify pulling a registrar out from an emergency, but Ben quickly interrupted.

‘I agree.’

He didn’t seem remotely annoyed that she had called him. Instead, he was checking Matthew’s pupils and his blood pressure for himself as Celeste explained that he had tried to climb out of bed, insisting he had to get to work.

‘How are you feeling, Matthew?’

‘Fine. Well, a bit of a headache…’

‘Okay,’ Ben said, ‘I’m just going to lay you flat and have a good look at you.’ It was Ben who never got to finish this time as Matthew started to retch again, his face more grey than pale now, and he was moaning loudly about a pain in his head.

‘How do you get urgent help around here?’ Ben asked, and it was only then that Celeste remembered that it was his first day here—he seemed so assured and competent. He was also a lot bigger than Matthew. He ignored the patient’s protests to push off the oxygen mask and attempts to climb out of bed as Celeste pressed the switch on the wall. The light flashed above the door like a strobe as one of the team came to the intercom and Celeste explained what was happening.

The trauma team was still with the multi-trauma, so it was Belinda Hamilton, the rather snooty but exceptionally good-looking senior emergency registrar who came, along with Meg and a porter to get the patient to Resus if required. Had Matthew still been on a gurney it would have been easier to wheel him straight to Resus, but time was of the essence and the observation ward was set up, like any other ward, for such an emergency, so instead Celeste wheeled over the crash trolley. Matthew was like a tethered bull now, and it was Ben doing the tethering as he rapidly explained what had occurred to his senior. But he didn’t await her verdict, just told her what was required. ‘He needs to intubated and sent for a scan,’ Ben said. ‘Can you alert the neuro surgeons?’

Celeste was busy opening packs for the intubation, her heart hammering in her chest, stunned at how quickly Matthew had deteriorated.

Though Meg had also come to assist, she didn’t take over, just guided and advised Celeste, who was setting up for the intubation. Raji, the anaesthetist, arrived just as Matthew started seizing, his body jerking violently. The whole thing was horrible. In a matter of moments Matthew’s condition had become critical—his family would have barely made it to the car park.

Raji was shooting drugs into the patient as Ben gave him the lowdown and thankfully the jerking stopped. Matthew was taking long, laboured breaths, but at least he wasn’t seizing or fighting any more, though Celeste could feel her blood pounding, surely up near Matthew’s as she wrestled to remove the bedhead to give Raji more access to the patient’s airway.

‘Here.’ Ben must have seen her struggle and removed the bedhead easily for her. Raji was a pleasure to work with, a laid-back guy who really just got on with things, checking all the drugs she had prepared and pulling up for himself the others he required. Matthew was on a cardiac monitor, the seizing had stopped, but he was gravely ill and as Celeste watched Raji intubate the patient, Meg liaised with the porters and Imaging.

‘Should we let his family know?’ Celeste asked. ‘They only just left.’

‘Let’s just worry about the patient for now,’ Belinda snapped, and Celeste felt herself redden.

‘I’ll call them as soon as I can,’ Ben said. ‘He’ll probably go straight up to Theatre from Imaging.’

It took ten, maybe fifteen minutes at the most before Matthew was paralysed and intubated and on a trolley, being wheeled up to Imaging and probably then on to Theatre. All that was left from his time in the obs ward was a mountain of paperwork and a lot of chaos. The suction equipment was still on and gurgling, and would need cleaning, the oxygen tubing and masks would need replacing; the bedhead was abandoned on the other side of the room, there were packs open everywhere. The crash cart was in chaos and there were syringes and vials on its surface. Everything would need to be tidied and checked and replaced and then checked again.

‘So much for giving you a quiet afternoon!’ Meg gave her a sympathetic smile, but her pager went off, and there really was no chance of her staying to help.

Letting out a long breath, forcing herself to just get on with it, Celeste turned around and saw Fleur’s worried face.

‘Will he be okay?’ she asked worriedly.

‘I think so,’ Celeste said, and came over, her heart sinking as the proud, dignified lady burst into tears and said sorry over and over.

‘I’ve wet my pants!’

‘I’m so sorry!’ It was Celeste saying it to Fleur now. ‘It was my fault for not taking you.’

Ben was at the desk ringing the unfortunate family to tell them what had happened to Matthew, and Celeste and Fleur were in the bathroom. Fleur’s wet clothes were off and her hand was wrapped in plastic and elevated on an IV pole, with the old lady sitting in a little shower chair.

‘Let’s both stop saying sorry, shall we?’ A lot older and a lot wiser, Fleur caught Celeste’s eyes and smiled. ‘You could hardly leave the young man, could you?’

‘I know.’

‘I just don’t want my daughter to know that I’ve had an accident—she’ll be in soon, and she’ll think I’m losing my faculties.’

‘Of course you’re not!’ Celeste exclaimed. Still, she’d have been embarrassed too, so she came up with a plan. ‘Why don’t I rinse out your clothes?’ Celeste suggested. ‘They’re covered in blood anyway. I’ll tell your daughter that’s why I washed them.’

‘What about my knickers?’

‘I’ll wash them and hang them by the vent.’ A little bit ditzy at times, Celeste could also be very practical. ‘They’ll be dry by the end of my shift—no one will ever know.’

‘You’re very kind.’

Not really, Celeste thought. Anyone should do it. She still winced when nurses stuffed filthy clothes into bags for relatives, wondering how they’d like it. Still, she couldn’t change the world, only her own actions. So she filled a sink with water…

‘Cold water for blood,’ Fleur prompted, and Celeste did as she was told then set about showering her patient. Firm friends now, Celeste smiled when Fleur asked what was surely a rare favour. ‘Would you mind giving my back an good wash?’ she asked. ‘I can never reach it.’

‘Of course.’ Fleur’s back was indeed grubby from, most likely, years of neglect, as her arthritis simply wouldn’t allow her arms to reach it.

‘I bought a brush from the chemist,’ Fleur said as Celeste gave it a good scrub. ‘You know, on a long stick, but I still can’t get there.’ So Celeste took her time to wash it as thoroughly as she could, wondering how best to approach this proud lady.

‘You’ll be needing some help with your hand out of action…’

‘I will not!’ Fleur said, as Celeste wrapped her in towels. ‘I’ll manage fine with one hand.’

‘You probably will,’ Celeste said, ‘but there are so many aids, like hand-held showers, and there are brushes for your back but with curved sticks. I’m not sure of all the things that could help, but maybe we could get you assessed.’

‘I like my independence.’

‘Well, this will help you keep your independence.’ Celeste shrugged. ‘You may as well while you’re here…Have a think about it.’

Fleur was right, Ben thought. Sitting at the desk for a moment, having made a very difficult call to Matthew’s mother and not ready to head back out there, he’d overheard the conversation between the two women. Celeste was kind, very kind indeed.

It was so easy to become hard working in Emergency—he’d seen it happen to so many colleagues. It was necessary almost if you wanted to survive in this area. He had become hardened too—switched off on certain occasions, because at times it was easier to deal with a patient than a person, kinder to yourself not to think about a family and friends and futures that were being obliterated, to just get on with the job in hand, rather than look at the bigger picture. But watching Celeste wheel out a smiling Fleur, all powdered and warm and well looked after, Ben was a mite conflicted.

Because pregnancy was his thing. One of his many things if he actually stopped and thought about it, which he tried very hard not to do.

Most people had one—Belinda had just told him on the walk back from Imaging how her younger brother had almost died from a head injury. The staff hadn’t noticed his deterioration and it had been Belinda herself who had recognised the signs when she had come to visit. Yes, they all had their things. And pregnancy was Ben’s—the one thing where he just had to detach and deal with a foetus rather than a baby, look at a set of numbers instead of the person.

He didn’t want to be hard, didn’t want to be bitter—except he was.

Yet watching Celeste rub her back after helping Fleur into bed, reluctantly watching the shape of her pregnant belly, he resisted the urge to just walk away, to shrug his shoulders and let her get on with it. She wasn’t a nurse, or a set of numbers, or a pregnant woman, she was Celeste, who was kind and tired and had had a difficult start to her shift and a lot of mess to clean up.

‘I’ve spoken to Matthew’s family…’ As he chatted to her, he lifted the metal bedhead from the floor and replaced it, then easily dragged the portable oxygen cylinder back to its spot—just doing a couple of little things that he didn’t need to, in the same way Celeste had done for Fleur, only she could never know the effort behind his easy gestures, because being around her was becoming unbearable for Ben. ‘They’re on their way back. I’ve told them to come to the front desk, but if they arrive here, just give me a buzz.’

‘I will.’ She pulled over a linen skip and stripped the bed. ‘Do you think he’ll be okay?’

‘He’ll be in Theatre by now,’ Ben said, ‘so, hopefully, yes. I’ll let you know when I hear.’

Her quiet shift was anything but. By the time it came to a close the crash cart was checked and put away, the eight beds had been filled with patients, Fleur had agreed to a visit from Occupational Therapy and now that visiting time was over, the ward was actually neat and in order—at least the night nurse should have a quiet shift!

‘Thank you, Celeste.’ Fleur smiled as Celeste helped her into clean, dry undies before she headed off home. ‘For all your care and for washing out my clothes—my daughter never suspected a thing.’

‘That’s good. Theatre just called and it shouldn’t be too much longer till they’re ready for you.’

‘And I’ll just stay in for one night?’

‘If all goes smoothly, which I’m sure it will. I’ll see you in the morning.’ Celeste smiled. ‘I’m back on at seven.’

‘You work too hard,’ Fleur fussed. ‘I know it’s what you girls do now. Still, I hope your young man’s at home with dinner waiting so you can put your feet up.’

‘I shall!’ Celeste smiled and then blushed as she realised that Ben had come in. ‘’Night, Fleur.’ She walked over to Ben. ‘I don’t want her worrying.’

‘Sorry?’

Celeste hurried to explain. ‘Well, it’s just easier to sometimes let people think that there is a Mr Mitchell at home…’ Her blush darkened as it was only then she realised Ben would have neither known nor cared that she had just been caught fibbing to Fleur. ‘Have you heard anything about Matthew?’

‘That’s what I was coming to tell you about. I’m heading home, so I just rang ICU. I didn’t get a chance till now. Apparently his pupil blew in Imaging. They got him straight up to theatre and evacuated a massive subdural haematoma—so I came to say well done. It was a good pick-up—a lot of people might have hesitated seeing as his symptoms were so fleeting.’

‘How is he now?’ Celeste asked, warming at his praise. Matthew’s brain had been bleeding, the pressure building inside his skull, causing his symptoms. It was the scary thing about seemingly benign head injuries—and the reason patients were often admitted for observation afterwards. She had read about it, studied it, learnt about it, but now she had witnessed it for herself. The chore of regular neuro obs would never be considered a chore again.

‘On ICU. It will be a good forty-eight hours before we know anything, but there is hope…’

Which was always nice.

She handed over her patients and headed for home in a car that was making more new and rather worrying noises. She slowed down at the gates and indicated left for the block of units. She climbed out of the car, leaving it idling, too worried to turn off the engine, because one day it surely wouldn’t start again! Absolutely bone weary, she opened the gates and then realised someone had pulled up behind her.

‘I’ll close them,’ Ben called out, which he did, and she drove another hundred yards and then pulled on her handbrake and climbed out of her idling car again to open the garage, because the landlord was too mean to put in automatic doors.

‘I’ll get that.’ He walked over from the gates and made light work of the garage door, and even waited till she had driven inside and closed it for her as she walked out.

Which didn’t sound like much, but every stretch was one less stretch that she had to do and she was so tired that all she was was grateful.

‘Thanks for that.’ Celeste was too weary to even summon a smile.

‘No problem,’ Ben called, heading back to his own car to repeat the ritual for his own garage. And still he didn’t deliver a lecture. Still didn’t check that she was okay, or ask if she was sure she should be working.

Had he asked, Celeste thought, as she let herself into her little unit, she might just have burst into tears.

She had to eat, but she was too tired to cook, so she had a bowl of cereal instead.

Then a very quick shower. Knowing she’d regret it if she didn’t, she put out a fresh uniform for the morning, checked her alarm and slipped into bed, too tired to worry, too worn out for tears or even to think really.

She had to be back there tomorrow at ten to seven!

Chapter Three

BEN didn’t worry.

He was concerned for his patients at times, but he didn’t do worrying.

The worst day of his life had happened a long time ago and he knew things could never be that bad again, so consequently he just got on with things, didn’t fret or dwell—or, well, worry!

He hadn’t in years.

Yet there was this niggle now and, no matter how he tried to ignore it, still it persisted.

His second day at Bay View Hospital and the floodgates had opened.

One drowning had been brought in as well as victims of a multiple pile-up on the beach road. It was over forty degrees and people were collapsing everywhere. It was just one of those days where everyone ran to keep up and everyone worked up to and beyond their limits.

Including Celeste.

He could see her ankles swelling as the shift progressed, see her blow out of her mouth and onto her red face as she stripped yet another trolley and prepared it for the endless list of recipients, could see the effort in her movements, and then finally the sheer relief on her face at 3:30 p.m. when her shift ended. As he watched her waddle out, like it or not, Ben was worried.

‘What are you doing tonight?’ Belinda was tapping away on the computer. In her late thirties, and absolutely stunning, she was also witty. With a tumble of black hair, she had almond-shaped brown eyes, full red lips, and dressed like she’d stepped out of a magazine. Thankfully, very thankfully, Ben didn’t fancy her a jot, which meant there was no trouble sharing a tiny office and they could chat easily about things—which they did as Ben wound up his day and packed up his briefcase. It was only his second day and already paperwork was starting to pile up.

‘I’m stopping in at the real-estate agent’s, then the deli to buy salad and chicken instead of a burger and then…’ Ben thought about it ‘…I will make myself go for a jog this evening. What about you?’

‘I’ll show you…’ She gave a wicked smile. ‘Come here.’

Curious, Ben walked over and looked at the screen and stared at the image of a rather ordinary-looking guy.

‘A GP, late thirties, has children but doesn’t want to involve them yet…’

‘Sorry?’ Ben had no idea what she was going on about.

“That’s good,’ Belinda said. ‘The last one I saw brought his children along on the second date! We’ve chatted on the phone,’ Belinda explained to a bemused Ben, ‘and he seems great—we’re meeting for coffee tonight.’

‘You’re going on a date with him?’

‘Coffee.’ Belinda laughed. ‘You should try it—you’d be a hit!’

Ben shook his head. ‘Internet dating isn’t for me.’

‘Don’t knock it till you try it.’

‘Be careful.’ Ben frowned. ‘Shouldn’t you go with someone when you meet him? He could be anyone!’

‘He’s who he says is.’ Belinda winked. ‘I’ve checked his registration.’

‘Well, good luck.’

The real-estate agent was being nice to him again—there had been a little bit of initial sulking when Ben hadn’t bought the apartment, but he’d obviously got over it and he was Ben’s new best friend again now that he had a genuine prospective client for the house.

‘Can I have a look around?’ Ben asked.

‘Not till the “open for inspection” at the weekend,’ the agent said. ‘After that, I can arrange a private inspection for you.’

‘I’m actually working this weekend,’ Ben said, ‘so don’t worry about it.’

‘You will come and have a look, though?’ the agent said anxiously.

‘Like I said…’ Ben shrugged ‘…I’m working—but it’s really no problem. I’m actually going to look at another house tonight.’

That soon got him on the phone! A private inspection was arranged within the hour and Ben wandered through the house he was seriously thinking of calling home. It did need a lot of work—the kitchen was a bomb and the downstairs bathroom would need to be ripped out, but the master bedroom had already been renovated, with floor-to-ceiling windows that took in the bay view and a fantastic en suite that did the same.

Yes, it was way too big for one, but it just felt right.

He could renovate it, Ben thought, take his time, pull out the kitchen, do up the back garden…Standing in the master bedroom, staring out at the bay, Ben felt the first breeze of contentment he had in years, the first, the very first glimmer of how finally coming home should feel.

Despite his nonchalance with the agent, despite the shake of his head when he found out the reserve price and that the vendor wanted a quick settlement, he was just playing the necessary game. For Ben, the auction couldn’t come soon enough.

A wall of heat hit him as Ben opened the door to his unit. He opened the windows, turned on a fan and put his dinner in the fridge then peeled off his clothes and hoped that the shower ran cold this evening—which thankfully it did.

After showering, he pulled on some shorts and nothing else, then headed for the kitchen. Suddenly, out of the blue, there was this sort of long groan as everything ground to a halt.

It had been happening all over Melbourne—the power outages every evening as the lucky people who had air-conditioning selfishly cranked it up to full. Ben just had a fan—which now, of course, wasn’t working.

He went outside to check the power box, just in case it was only him, and glancing down the row of units he saw Celeste checking her power box too.

She was in lilac shorts this time, and a black singlet. Her hair was wet and she looked thoroughly fed up.

‘Again!’ She rolled her eyes, gave him a brief wave and headed back into what would surely soon be a furnace—unlike his unit, Celeste’s got the full questionable glory of the afternoon sun.

And that was when that niggle hit him again—an unfamiliar, long-forgotten feeling that gnawed at his stomach as he pulled open the dark fridge and pulled out the plastic containers he had got from the deli—a strange niggle of worry for someone else.

Ben didn’t want neighbours who dropped in on him and he had certainly never thought he’d be a neighbour who did just that—but there he was on her doorstep. She had come to the door holding a bowl of cereal and was clearly irritated at the intrusion but trying to be polite.

‘The electricity should come back on in a couple of hours—it’s been happening a lot lately,’ Celeste said, and went to close the door. She wasn’t actually irritated with him and didn’t mean to be rude, she was just trying not to notice he was wearing only shorts. Which was normal, of course, in the middle of a heat wave. Had he knocked just two minutes later, she’d have had to put her top back on herself before answering the door!

The sight of all his exposed skin made her own turn pink, though, and she didn’t want him to notice!

‘Have you had dinner?’ he said to the closing door, and she paused, glancing guiltily down at the bowl of cereal—which was probably not the best dinner for a heavily pregnant woman and she was instantly on the defensive. ‘I can hardly cook with no electricity.’

‘No need to—I’ve got plenty.’ He held up the dishes to tempt her. ‘Let’s go and eat on the beach—it will be cooler there.’

It was. There was a lovely southerly breeze sweeping in and Celeste walked in the shallows. Ben could practically hear the sizzle as her hot, swollen, red ankles hit the water.

‘I should have come down earlier.’ Celeste sighed in relief. ‘I keep meaning to, I mean, I’m so glad I did when I get here…’

‘I’m the same.’ Ben smiled, and it was so nice after such a busy day to just walk and say not much, to watch the dogs and the boats and the couples—to just be.

And then to sit.

Chicken in tarragon and mayonnaise, with a crisp Greek salad, was certainly nicer than cereal, and washed down with fresh fruit salad, it was bordering on the healthiest dinner of her pregnancy. The baby gave an appreciative kick as she sank down onto her back.

‘That was yum—thank you!’

‘You’re welcome.’ Ben gave a small uncomfortable swallow. ‘Look, I’m sorry if I dismissed you a bit at work.’

‘You didn’t.’ Celeste frowned.

‘I did,’ Ben said, ‘or rather I didn’t let on that we’d already met.’

‘That’s okay.’

‘I just like to keep work separate…’

‘That’s fine,’ Celeste said. ‘This evening never happened.’ She turned and smiled at him where he still sat. ‘How are you enjoying your new job?’

‘It’s good.’ Ben nodded.

‘You were in Sydney before?’ Celeste checked because she’d heard Meg say so.

‘Yes.’ Ben didn’t elaborate. ‘How long have you worked there?’

She didn’t reply for a moment as she was busy settling herself back on the sand, closing her eyes in sheer pleasure. ‘Nearly three months.’ One eye peeked open. ‘I don’t think they were particularly thrilled when I turned up for my first shift.’

Thankfully he wasn’t so politically correct that he pretended to have no idea what she was talking about. Instead, he just grinned and Celeste closed that eye and finally, finally, finally she relaxed.

‘God, this feels nice,’ she sighed after five minutes of lovely comfortable silence.

And it also looked nice, Ben thought, it looked very nice indeed. Her lashes were fanning her cheeks, her knees were up, and her stomach was sort of wriggling of its own accord—like Jennifer’s had, Ben thought, and then abruptly stopped that thought process.

‘So there is no Mr Mitchell?’ he asked.

‘Nope.’ Her eyes were still closed.

‘Do you see him at all, the father of your baby?’

‘Nope.’

‘Does he know?’ Ben asked, even though it was none of his business. ‘I mean, is he helping you out?’

‘He thought he was,’ Celeste said. ‘He gave me money to have an abortion.’

‘Oh.’ Ben stared down at her.

‘I was on my maternity rotation at the time I found out I was pregnant, babies everywhere—not that it made me want one, it terrified me actually, but…’

‘You don’t have to say anything else if you don’t want to.’

But she did want to—lying there with her eyes closed, lost and lonely and really, really confused. Maybe, as everyone said it would, talking might help clear her head. It was worth a try, anyway, because yoga certainly hadn’t worked!

‘He’s married.’ She opened her eyes then and closed them—and even in that teeny space of time she saw it pass over his features. That moment where you were judged, where opinions were cast, where assumptions were made. ‘I didn’t know that he was, not that that changes anything.’

‘Did you go out for long?’ he wanted to know.

‘Three months.’ Celeste sniffed. ‘He was my first real…I just believed him. I mean, I knew why we didn’t go out much, and why we couldn’t go to each other’s homes…’

‘Sorry?’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ she muttered.

‘So where did you go out?’

‘For drives, for dinner, to a hotel sometimes…’ She gazed up into his clear green eyes. ‘He’s a bit older than me, quite a bit older actually,’ Celeste said, and then she was silent for a while.

Rightly or wrongly, he did judge—he tried not to, but he did.

Why didn’t people think? Why were people so careless?

And now there was this baby…

He closed his eyes and thought of Jennifer—of the plans they had put in place, how much they had wanted a baby, and though he didn’t say a word, she could feel his disapproval.

‘So you’ve never made a mistake?’ she said defensively.

‘I’ve made plenty,’ he admitted.

‘But no affairs, nothing you regret.’

‘Oh, there’s a lot that I regret,’ Ben said.

‘You’re single, divorced…?’ It sounded like the questionnaire on Belinda’s dating site, and he winced inwardly.

‘Widowed,’ he said, and it was her turn to judge, Ben knew—he had been through it many times before.

‘Do you miss her a lot?’ she asked gently.

‘Yep,’ Ben admitted, and that was enough. He ran some sand through his hands, concentrated on the little grains instead of himself then glanced at his watch. ‘The power must be back on by now.’

‘So what if it is?’ Celeste smiled. ‘I’m enjoying talking—you were saying how much you miss her?’

God, she was persistent. Really, he should stand up and leave, but she’d said so much about herself and, picking up another handful of sand, he let it run through his closed fist, and admitted some of his truth. ‘I miss it for Jennifer too.’ Her silence was patient. ‘She loved living.’ He looked out to the water and could almost see her, blonde ponytail flying as she jogged. ‘She’d be out there running or swimming now—cramming some exercise in after work.’

‘Was she fit?’

‘Very.’ Ben nodded, but there was this savage rip of thought there because, despite doing everything right, despite her healthy lifestyle, it hadn’t counted for anything in the end.

‘What did she do?’

‘She was a doctor as well—in Emergency.’

‘What happened?’ Celeste asked, but Ben shook his head, not willing to go there. ‘Come on.’ It really was time to go now, and not just because he didn’t want to talk about it. He was doing her a favour. A woman in Celeste’s condition really didn’t need to hear about how Jen had died. So he held her hands and heaved her up and they walked back slowly, idly chatting about not very much at all, till Celeste wormed her way back in again.

‘Have you dated again—I mean since…?’

‘She died three, nearly four years ago,’ Ben said, answering the unspoken question.

‘Oh.’

‘A bit.’ He gave a shrug. ‘Though it was probably too soon.’

‘Are you still comparing them to her?’ Celeste asked, boldly striding in where no one else really dared to go, but Ben just ignored her question and, glad of the diversion, opened the gates to the units, but Celeste stood patiently waiting.

‘Are you?’ she asked.

‘Sorry?’

‘Comparing them?’

She was a persistent little thing, like a little woodpecker, peck, peck pecking away—

‘I used to,’ Ben admitted. ‘But not now—that’s not fair on anyone.’

‘Especially as she sounds like Superwoman,’ Celeste grumbled, and her response was so refreshing Ben actually smiled. ‘So,’ she pushed, ‘are you ready now?’

‘Perhaps, though not anything serious.’

‘Ooh, I’m sure there’ll be plenty of takers.’ Celeste grinned. After all, she’d heard the giggles and gossip in the staffroom—Ben could take his pick!

‘What about you?’ They were sitting on her steps now, the conversation, and the friendship, too new, too fragile to snap it by asking him in. And anyway the power was still off, so they sat on the steps and got to know each other just a little bit better.

‘I’m hardly in a position to date.’ Celeste rolled her eyes. ‘Can you imagine me out clubbing?’

‘I guess not!’

‘And I’m still in that “all men are snakes” place.’

‘It’s probably a very wise place to be right now,’ Ben agreed. ‘I’ve been a bit of a snake myself lately.’

‘Do tell!’ She did make him laugh, she was so eager for gossip, and so easy to talk to, that somehow he did.

‘I went out with someone for a while—she was great, but even though I told her from the start—’

‘She didn’t listen?’ she finished for him.

‘She did at first, said she wanted the same thing—then, well, it got a bit more serious. She started to hint at wanting different things.’ He looked into her smiling amber eyes. ‘Like moving in.’

‘Not for you?’ she said wisely.

‘Maybe one day, but she also started talking about children. And one thing I do know is that I don’t want kids.’

‘Never?’

‘Never,’ he said emphatically.

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