family.’
‘We don’t do family,’ he whispered, but her fury was still there.
‘Like hell we don’t. Who did you come back to when you were ill?’
‘That’s different?’
‘Why is it different? You know I slept with Fergus last night?’
‘I guessed,’ he said, and managed a wry smile. ‘Was it good?’
She smiled back, aware that her face was flushed but also knowing that there wasn’t a thing she could do about it.
‘It was excellent. The thing is…’
‘The thing is, what?’ he asked, closing his eyes and she withdrew her hand from his.
‘You’re so tired. I shouldn’t-’
‘I have all the time in the world for sleeping,’ he said, and the anger was in his voice now. He left his eyes closed but his hand still held hers. ‘The thing is, what?’
‘I fell in love,’ she said softly, and his eyes flew open again.
‘You fell in love.’
‘Just like that,’ she whispered. ‘And he left-he had a house call-and I lay there and I thought I’ve been trying to seal up the jagged edges. Every time there’s a death… Chris, Toby, Mum and now you… It hurts so much and I’ve been trying to shrink my heart, make it less and less exposed. And it’s been grey and horrid and I didn’t know what to do about it except to keep on shrinking. Only then, this morning, suddenly all those jagged edges opened up again and it was like my heart was suddenly…beating again.’
‘Oh, Ginny…’
‘It feels better,’ she said, almost defiantly. ‘Sure, it’s crazy-it’s terrifying if you like, but the alternative’s worse. You’ve had fun since you’ve been diagnosed. You’ve had lovers. The result of one of them is in our kitchen eating cookies right now. But you always knew you were going to die. It didn’t stop you learning to surf, seeing every part of Australia you could, having fun…’
‘Yes, but…’
‘But that’s what I’m saying,’ she whispered. ‘It’s the same thing. I figured it last night. Yeah, I might get hurt again but if I don’t take those risks then I might as well wither right now. So I’m taking on the dogs and I’m taking on Madison.’
‘And Fergus?’
She hesitated. ‘He has his own figuring out to do,’ she whispered.
‘He’s been hurt?’
‘He’s lost a child. Recently.’
‘A little girl.’
‘Mmm.’
‘Then it’s not fair to ask him to take on Madison.’
‘It’s not,’ she agreed. ‘And I’m not asking him to.’
‘But you want her.’
‘I’ll fight to the death to keep her.’
‘Even if it means losing Fergus.’
‘I don’t think I can lose Fergus,’ she whispered. ‘I don’t think I have him to lose.’
‘He loves you.’
‘I don’t think he’s figured what love really is,’ she said. ‘What it can be.’
‘So what will you do?’
‘Take care of my brother for as long as he needs me,’ she whispered, and stooped to kiss him lightly on the forehead. ‘Look after three dogs. Look after one little girl. And…maybe even look after the medical needs of Cradle Lake. For as long as Cradle Lake will have me.’
CHAPTER NINE
RICHARD slept.
Miriam arrived to take over nursing duties from Tony. She didn’t question the fact that there were now three dogs on the place, or that when she arrived Ginny was sitting under the trees with Madison. Heaven knew what Tony told her-probably every single damned thing, including her thoughts, Ginny thought, but she didn’t think it bitterly. Cradle Lake had seemed a prison for years. The community’s intimate knowledge of everyone’s nearest concerns had seemed claustrophobic. Now, suddenly, it seemed like a refuge.
‘You know, Madison’s a very long name,’ she told her niece cautiously as they finished the third reading of ‘A Poky Little Puppy’. Did your mummy call you Madison all the time?’
‘My mummy says Madison’s a lovely name,’ the child whispered. She was lying on the grass beside Ginny. When they’d first started telling stories Madison had been a good foot away. But then one of the dogs-the whippet-had crawled over to drape herself over Ginny’s stomach and Madison had come a little closer when Ginny had encouraged her to pat the dog, and now the child’s little body was hard against Ginny’s. It was a tiny measure of trust but it made Ginny feel…well, that maybe things could work. That maybe things were working. For her as well as for Madison.
‘Did she ever call you Maddy?’
‘Only when she was giggly,’ Madison said.
‘Was she often giggly?’
‘My mummy stopped being giggly,’ Madison whispered. ‘She says the pills took away her giggle. She used to cry.’
‘Sometimes it’s right to cry,’ Ginny said, stroking the little girl’s tousled curls. ‘Sometimes it’s the only way to say goodbye to people. I think your mummy was crying because she knew she was saying goodbye to you.’
‘I didn’t want her to go.’
‘No, but when something’s so wrong that even the doctors can’t make it right then there’s no choice. Your mummy would have stayed with you if she could, but she was too sick. Instead, she brought you here. To be with your daddy for a little bit, to get to know him until he has to say goodbye. Then to be with me. And Miriam and Tony and all these lazy, lazy dogs…’
The whippet chose that moment to turn and give Ginny a slurpy kiss. I hope she’s been wormed, Ginny thought, and then decided there was no way Oscar would have wormed his dogs but maybe worms were the least of their problems.
But she’d worm dogs and everyone associated with dogs right away. A nice uncomplicated piece of medicine.
‘Will we stay here for ever?’ Madison asked, and Ginny stroked her hair some more.
‘Would you like to?’
‘I’d rather stay with my mummy.’
‘You know you can’t do that. But me and the dogs might learn to be OK. You might get to like us.’ She stroked the child’s curls some more, fighting for the right words. ‘Your mummy and your daddy have been unlucky,’ she said at last. ‘I think you won’t have to say goodbye to me for a very long time. So far ahead you can’t even imagine.’
Was it the right thing? ‘Mmm,’ Madison said noncommittally, but her head stayed on Ginny’s lap and she snoozed into sleep. Ginny gazed up and saw that Miriam had been standing on the back step, listening. She wiped her eyes fiercely with the back of her hand, said, ‘Dratted hayfever,’ and disappeared into the house with speed.
Hayfever was catching. Ginny found herself sniffing and hauled herself together with a fierceness that was almost anger.
She’d lose Richard.
Did she have to lose Fergus?
Slowly the anger faded. She stared out over the sleepy rural landscape and tried to do a bit of crystal-ball
