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The logical answer was for Becca to find a stepfather for the children. Someone who wouldn’t mind being an instant father. Grace had been trying to encourage her into a relationship for years. Probably in anticipation of Morgan’s eventual return. No doubt she still harboured fears Becca could lure the Cavanaugh pride and joy back into her web of destruction. They had no idea of how impossible that would ever be. In the wisdom of hindsight, her own hopes of long ago were totally naïve. Morgan would never forgive her for her supposed betrayal.
For herself, the thought of letting a man into her life made her cringe. Intellectually she knew men were not all tarred with the same brush, but after her experience with her stepfather and Dan pre-accident, it would take a special man to make her reconsider her single status. She was doing fine by herself. It wasn’t always easy, but it was better than the alternative. She wasn’t going to risk her children going through the same things she’d had to put up with growing up.
In the meantime, she could see no immediate solution. ‘I’ll be taking sandwiches and biscuits in. It’s the best I can do, Gabby. Grandpa Ned isn’t strong enough to lift sleepers either.’
The sulky moue on the girl’s lips didn’t reassure, but the washing up didn’t actually involve any breakages so she could be grateful for small mercies.
Tucking the pair of them into bed later, she remembered the conversation. Remembered wondering about Edward. He hadn’t said anything but he wasn’t a chatty boy at the best of times. The model ship lay on the desk with several pieces scattered around beside the half-finished hull. An uncapped bottle of glue sat rather drunkenly on a book. Usually he tidied up straight away but Becca suspected the challenge of building the sailing ship left him frustrated.
She rummaged around to find the lid and put it back on the glue bottle, straightening the desk automatically. Why tonight, of all nights? Gabby’s complaint should have been enough to deal with, yet in his own way, her son also cried out for a father. She tried to help him with his models, but he resisted. Without asking, Becca knew the models were a statement of masculinity in his female dominated world. He needed a man to spend time with him. To help him with the models, and to be a role model. Ned Cavanaugh did his best but his age and health impacted on what he could do with a small active boy.
Wryly she acknowledged the truth. The consciousness of what the children needed wasn’t new. But Morgan’s presence in town made the awareness acute. If things had been different, he would have been the father of her children in reality, not just biologically. The man they needed in their life. The man she had hoped for, truth be told. There had been no-one else for her in all those years, in spite of the matchmaking attempts of friends and neighbours. With the eyes of the town on her, she couldn’t afford to slip up again. The children would be the ones to suffer from gossip. Morgan wasn’t the answer. He hadn’t loved her. At least not enough to believe in her. She’d given him her trust, hard won. He’d failed to return it.
Brushing a strand of hair from Edward’s forehead she smiled down at him, meeting sleepy eyes that matched her own. ‘Love you, Mum.’
‘Love you too, baby.’ He didn’t protest as usual at the endearment, his lips curving in a faint smile as he let sleep overtake him.
Gabby lay sprawled across her bed, already asleep, her long legs and arms splayed like a pale spider. Covering her up took some energy, thrusting the wayward limbs back under the covers. The winter morning temperatures could be low in the high country.
In her own room, she stripped and pulled on the old t-shirt she used as a night dress. Thin almost to the point of indecency, it covered down to her knees. Years ago, when Grace cleaned out Morgan’s old clothes and passed them over, the older woman probably thought only of Dan. She would be disturbed if she knew Becca wore them to bed.
And rightly so. What kind of sick puppy clings to her ex-boyfriend’s old t-shirts and wears them to bed as part of her fantasy life?
Considering the state of her love life, non-existent to negative in quantity, it said far too much about the state of her shrivelled heart.
Sure, she loved her kids, she was fond of Ned Cavanaugh and tolerated his wife. Respected her even. With Dan, there would always be an ambivalence around what he’d tried to do and the price he’d paid.
Slipping between the cool sheets, Becca sighed with relief as she coiled herself into a comfortable position on the lumpy mattress. This was one of those times she could be grateful for her small size and light weight. Replacing the mattress and maybe the bedframe had been on her to-do list forever. It seemed likely to remain there.
Especially if Morgan decided he didn’t want to work with her at the clinic. It could easily happen, if the look of horror on his face when she’d stated her job position were any indication. Hours later her chest tightened painfully at the thought of his repugnance at working with his former teen girlfriend. But she wouldn’t cry. She never cried. Not once in twelve years had she let a tear escape from sometimes burning eyes.
They thought her cold, the people in town, but she worked hard all these years to earn their respect. No-one could say she didn’t pull her weight, working long hours at the clinic when necessary, volunteering at the school, attending church without fail every Sunday, the kids scrubbed to within an inch of their lives. Her mother had been pitied but not respected.
Respect was worth far more than pity and there’s no way on earth she’d let anyone pity her.
***
Cursing the fuse box, Morgan replaced the wire for the kitchen power points. First thing tomorrow he’d have to get an electrician out. It was a beautiful old timber homestead, with the wide verandah and elegant steps of a former era, but it hadn’t had an update in decades. Probably since long before he was born. He’d played with the Maiden kids as a child but they’d all left town once they finished school and their parents had followed a few years later, selling out to an investment company. They’d leased the land out to local farmers but let the building rot.
It had been an impulse to buy the property, spotting it on the real estate agent’s website when he’d been looking for a rental. Renovating it would give him something to do with his time when he was off duty. He’d have to do some socialising in his role as local doctor and hospital superintendent, but he had no intention of picking up the social links from his school years. Long before the breakup with Becca, he’d lost touch with his classmates, doing most of his socialising in Brisbane with his fellow medical students.
Shutting the metal box, he grabbed the torch and headed across the paddock to the spot on the fence where he’d crossed many a time on his way to hang with the Maiden boys. His mother had promised him a meal and with the stove not working and the fridge still warm after the power outage, it was his best option.
He’d barely arrived at the back door when his mother appeared, tears glinting in her eyes, caught in the outside light over the back stairs.
‘Morgan.’
Her arms wrapped around him in an unusual display of affection. She’d lost weight in the long months since they’d last seen each other. She gripped his upper arms and drew him into the kitchen. ‘Let me look at you.’
Her sharp eyes scanned his face while her fingers poked and prodded at his ribs. ‘You look dreadful.’
‘Thanks, Mum.’
She frowned at his wry tone and pursed her lips. Biting her tongue, no doubt. ‘You know we’re concerned. Doctor Farrell told us how dangerous your pneumonia could have been if you hadn’t been treated.’
‘I’m almost recovered. It wasn’t bad. It was more about where I was at the time. I was at a clinic in a fairly isolated part of the country.’ He shook off her hold and reached a hand to his father, who hovered in the background. ‘Dad?’
‘It’s good to see you, son.’
