The January Wish (4 page)

He could have been the one, and now he was gone.

* * *

Grace put the takeaway food container in the garbage bin, and went inside the caravan to change into her pyjamas. Warmth filled her metal home, so all she needed was a thin cotton nightie. She picked up her phone as soon as it rang.

‘Hi Dad.’ Grace flopped on the small bed. ‘Yep, I met her this afternoon.’

‘Was she shocked?’ her father asked.

‘I think so at first, but not more than me. I fainted, can you believe it?’

‘You fainted? Are you okay sweetheart?’

‘Yeah I’m fine, don’t worry. Anyway, next thing I knew she was by my side helping me up.’

‘So what’s she like?’

‘She seems nice, I mean, we only talked for a bit, but…wow, I can’t believe how much we look alike, it feels so weird!’

Silence followed.

‘Dad?’

‘Yeah, I’m still here.’

‘Good. So anyway, we’re going to meet up tomorrow night for dinner. That’ll give us more of a chance to talk. And Dad?’

‘Yeah, sweetie?’

‘I have a feeling I might be staying here a while.’

Stay as long as you want. I’d be happy to spend some time getting to know you.
That’s what Sylvia had said. Her original, biological mother.

Grace had so many questions she wanted to ask Sylvia, and so much had happened in her short eighteen years on earth that she could probably write one of those bestselling memoirs. Maybe one day she would. But for now, Grace wondered, how much should she tell her?

After finishing the phone conversation with her dad, Grace opened the lid on her water bottle, tipped a small container upside down into her hand, and swallowed the tablets she took every night.

When she’d finally processed what had happened, Sylvia went to the bathroom and dabbed at her face with a cold cloth. Suddenly she was wide awake, even though it was ten o’clock and would normally head to bed about now, read for an hour, then fall asleep. But there was no chance of that tonight.

She patted make-up from her powder compact over her cheeks, swept a dash of eye shadow across her eyelids, and followed with a light coat of lip gloss. Needing fresh air, she grabbed her handbag and went outside. Café Lagoon would be open till eleven tonight. A frothy cup of coffee and a piece of cake would make her feel better. As Sylvia headed towards the town a light flickered in the house next door as Nancy Dillinger’s curtains swayed against the window.

‘Dr Greene, what brings you here so late at night?’ asked Jonah, the young barista.

‘It’s been a long day and I’d kill for a cup of your best coffee.’

‘Coming right up.’ He winked. Jonah knew how she liked her coffee. She’d been coming here regularly for several years, ever since his parents opened up the café, which was about the same time she started general practice at Tarrin’s Bay Medical Clinic.

‘Oh, and a big slice of hummingbird cake, please.’

Jonah widened his eyes. ‘Must have been a tough day.’

‘You could say that.’ She took a seat on one of only two remaining bar stools near the counter. The café was surprisingly busy, mostly filled with twenty-something’s who alternated between chatting, laughing, and texting. She felt quite old and pathetic, and considered asking Jonah to make it a takeaway coffee until the man next to her spoke.

‘Coffee, huh? You know, that stuff’ll keep you up all night.’

She turned to face a stunning man with skin the colour of, well, warm velvety coffee, and eyes a striking blue. ‘So I’ve heard. But with the day I’ve had, I think I’d be up most of the night anyway so I might as well indulge.’

As if on cue, Jonah placed the steaming coffee in front of her. The rich, welcoming scent instantly put her at ease. The cake arrived next, a dollop of cream by its side.

‘What are you drinking, is that decaf?’ Sylvia asked the man.

‘No, it’s dandelion chai,’ he said, before taking a long slow sip from the mug.

‘Dandy what?’ Sylvia furrowed her eyebrows.

‘Dandelion chai, it’s a type of tea.’ He took another sip. ‘You should try it sometime.’

Sylvia leaned back, cautiously eyeing his unfamiliar concoction. ‘I think I’ll stick to coffee, thanks.’ She took a sip then dove a fork into the hummingbird cake with gusto, wiping a smudge of cream from her lip with the heel of her hand. She could easily devour two slices.

‘Fair enough.’ His lips formed a gentle smile, and for a moment Sylvia forgot about Richard and their argument. Forgot how only hours ago she’d met her grown daughter for the first time, and how, amazingly, the wish she’d made had come true. Well, part of it anyway. Even if it
was
only coincidence. But right now, in this moment, she was entranced by the smile of a stranger, the taste of warm thick coffee relaxing her throat, and the sweet softness of the cake as it danced around her tastebuds.

‘Did you go to the Jazz Festival last weekend?’ The man widened his eyes, raising his voice and slowing his speech.

She mustn’t have heard him the first time. ‘Oh, um, no I didn’t. I was away,’ Sylvia replied.

‘You missed out, it was brilliant! The whole town was alive, music everywhere, and the weather was perfect.’ He took another sip of his seemingly endless cup of dandy-whatever.

‘I’m sure it was. Anyway, the markets are on this Sunday, they’re always good too.’

‘Maybe I’ll see you there.’ The man smiled his charming smile again.

‘Maybe.’ Sylvia found herself twisting a curl of her hair, just like Grace had done today.

Getting only five hours of sleep didn’t deter Sylvia from following her usual morning routine the next day. She rose at seven when the beep of her alarm clock hijacked a dream in which she was back at hospital as a sixteen-year-old, and her baby was too heavy to lift. Everyone laughed as she tried with all her might to lift Grace up, and as the alarm sounded, she thought it was meant to warn everyone in the hospital that she was unequipped to be a mother.

Sylvia shook the absurd dream from her mind as she got out of bed and changed into her swimsuit before swimming thirty laps in her backyard pool.

This morning ritual started when she moved into the house a few years ago, and every day, bar heavy rain or freezing weather, she’d swim laps. Sylvia loved the feeling of the cool water enveloping her skin, the gentle silky pressure as her hands pushed through the water, and the repetition that helped her mind prepare for the day ahead.

Afterwards, she’d take a quick shower, eat breakfast, do her hair and make-up and get dressed in one of her ten work outfits. Friday’s combination was a burgundy short-sleeved cotton shirt teamed with cream-coloured wide-leg pants. Next Friday would be slightly different. She’d wear the same pants but with a navy version of the same shirt.

Sylvia liked that she never had to wonder what to wear each day. Five different outfits were washed, ironed, and ready to wear by Monday morning, hanging on wooden hangers labelled with a day of the week. She estimated that other women who weren’t as organised as her probably wasted an average of 60.66 hours per year deciding what to wear. That was enough time for a solid week of work, or a relaxing holiday!

At precisely eight-fifteen, she’d lock the house, wave to Nancy Dillinger peering through her window, and walk to work. Fifteen minutes there and back each day, combined with her morning swim, was enough exercise to maintain her figure. Although she’d probably have to add in a session at the gym to counteract last night’s cake and coffee. But she was making up for last night’s binge by eating a healthy albeit a little overripe banana while walking to work.

‘Good morning,’ said a bright-eyed Joyce when Sylvia opened the door to the clinic. It always seemed as if Joyce was a permanent fixture behind the reception desk, or at least on her chair, which rolled here and there as she manoeuvred her way around the desks and filing cabinets without needing to stand.

Ironically, Joyce chose that moment to stand. ‘Here’s your mail.’ She placed the envelopes into Sylvia’s unoccupied hand and followed her towards the hallway. ‘And I’d like you to meet our new practitioner, Mark Bastian.’ Joyce gestured towards the spare room where a man was kneeling down, opening a cardboard box on the floor. Sylvia had forgotten the new guy was settling in today.

At Joyce’s introduction, he stood and turned, his blue eyes meeting Sylvia’s, the halogen lights adding a glow to his warm coffee-coloured skin.

Oh God!
Sylvia’s face flushed with warmth.

‘We meet again,’ Mark said, holding out his hand and grinning.

All Sylvia could do was nod, tucking the envelopes under her armpit in order to give a limp shake of his hand. If she hadn’t gone out last night in her moment of heartbreak, she wouldn’t have met him, and they would have been introduced today without any fuss. But she’d let her professional guard down and somehow she felt…exposed.

‘You two know each other?’ Joyce glanced from Sylvia’s face to Mark’s and back again, waiting for a response.

‘Well, not really, but —’ Sylvia began, until the awkward introduction was gratefully interrupted by a knocking on the front door. The clinic wasn’t due to open for another twenty minutes or so, but a frantic looking mother holding a screaming baby begged to be let in.

The screaming amplified when Joyce unlocked the door, putting an arm around the mother and ushering her towards Sylvia’s room. It was Marisa, a single mother Sylvia had been treating since she got pregnant unexpectedly a year ago.

So much for a relaxing coffee before the onslaught of patient arrivals.

‘I don’t know what’s wrong, he won’t stop crying!’ Marisa said above the screaming. ‘I’ve fed him, changed him, and cuddled him. Can you help?’ Marisa’s eyes were moist and her chin quivered.

Sylvia did her best to examine the little one as he squirmed around. ‘When was his last bowel movement?’ She palpated his abdomen.

‘A couple of hours ago I think, and last night.’

‘But no diarrhoea?’

‘No.’

The baby winced as Sylvia placed the cold stethoscope on his abdomen. Nothing wrong there, although his little stomach muscles pulsed in and out from the crying. She placed a hand on his warm forehead, his face and neck red as he wailed. ‘I’ll check his temperature,’ Sylvia said, turning to get the digital thermometer. She instructed Marisa to hold him still while she tugged his ear backwards and inserted the end of the thermometer. It wouldn’t go through all the way, so she pulled it out and shone a pen light into the baby’s ear.

‘I know why your baby is crying, Marisa.’ Sylvia turned the pen light off momentarily and smiled. Marisa looked at her hopefully. ‘He has a bug of some kind trapped in his ear canal.’

‘Oh my God! Can you get it out?’ Marisa forced a look into her baby’s ear, then turned away, scrunching up her nose.

‘Shouldn’t be a problem, as long as we keep him as still as possible.’ Sylvia looked at Marisa in a way that said, ‘Are you ready for this?’ Marisa held one hand tightly around the boy’s head, and the other around his wriggly legs. Sylvia placed a headlight cap on her head to light the area, and moved in for the kill with a pair of tweezers. Screams engulfed the room, and Sylvia’s eardrums vibrated. She worked quickly, removing pieces of what looked like a beetle, until the canal was clear.

‘All done.’ Sylvia disposed of the remains and had one last look in his ear. ‘There’s a bit of redness, but the eardrum is still intact so he shouldn’t need antibiotics. I’ll give you a prescription for some ear drops though.’

Marisa nodded as her baby’s cries turned into whimpers. He took a few quick breaths in sharp succession before breathing out a heavy sigh, the corners of his mouth turned upside down. She patted the side of his face and kissed his forehead. ‘It’s all over, pumpkin.’

Marisa thanked Sylvia profusely, and apologised for barging in early without an appointment. Sylvia waved her apologies away. ‘That’s what I’m here for, and if he has any more trouble, let me know.’

Marisa walked out just as the first patient of the day walked in.

By one o’clock Sylvia was able to retreat to the staff kitchen and unwrap a sandwich she’d brought for lunch. Her time alone was brief, as Joyce walked in.

‘Your next patient cancelled, so you can take a few more minutes break if you like.’

‘Oh, thank goodness.’ Sylvia ran her fingers through her thick curls. ‘Thanks for letting me know, Joyce.’

Joyce walked out, then popped her head back in. ‘Are you okay?’

‘Me? I’m fine, why do you ask?’

‘You look a bit tired that’s all, and you’ve seemed a little…distracted today.’

Sylvia fiddled with the collar on her shirt. ‘I have?’

Joyce’s eyes looked inquisitively at hers.

‘I am a bit tired I guess, coming straight back to work after the conference.’ She looked down at her sandwich. ‘And Richard and I broke up.’

‘Oh Sylvia, I’m so sorry!’ Joyce walked to the table and placed a comforting hand on Sylvia’s arm. ‘Do you want to talk about it?’

‘No, thanks. I better keep focused on work today.’ Sylvia straightened and took a bite of her sandwich.

‘Right then.’ Joyce went to the door. ‘But if you need a chat, I’m all ears.’

Sylvia erupted in laughter, crumbs bursting from her mouth onto the floor like missiles.

‘What’s so funny?’

‘Sorry, it’s just that I’ve had enough of
ears
today.’ She relayed the story about the beetle incident. Normally she wouldn’t discuss a patient with anyone, but somehow this didn’t seem like a big deal, and she doubted Marisa would sue for revealing the details of her son’s bug predicament. Joyce wasn’t a gossip anyway. She was the type of person you could trust with your life. Although Sylvia tried to keep a strictly professional relationship with her since they began working together, she couldn’t help but become friends with her.

‘Oh, I can hear Karen. I better go and let her know what I’m up to with things.’ Joyce turned on her heel and left the room. Karen was the other receptionist who came in the afternoons, allowing Joyce an hour for lunch, and making the build-up of work in the second half of the day more efficient.