A Miracle for His Secret Son Read online

  She thought of Nick again—her gorgeous, talented rascal of a boy—and she knew she had no choice. Taking a deep breath, she said, quietly but clearly, so there could be no mistake. ‘Nick’s kidneys are failing and he needs a transplant.’

  It was almost dark but Freya didn’t miss Gus’s reaction. It was like watching a man in agony turn to stone.

  Horrified, she began to shake and she closed her eyes, unable to bear the sight of his distress. I’m sorry, Gus. I wouldn’t have done this to you if I’d had a choice. But I had no choice. I’m so, so sorry.

  The awful silence seemed to stretch for ever. Somewhere overhead fruit bats screeched and chased each other, tattered black wings flapping noisily as they raced on their nightly raid of local gardens.

  It was a full minute before Gus spoke and, when he did, his voice was dull and lifeless, dropping into the tropical night like a handful of pebbles thudding onto sand.

  ‘I guess you’re on the hunt for a donor. That’s why you need me.’

  Freya tried to answer but when she opened her mouth a noisy sob broke from her. Blindly, she groped in her bag for her tissues.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ she spluttered. ‘I know this is the worst possible way to find out.’

  ‘You’re not wrong.’ His tone was disturbingly unreadable.

  She bit down on her bottom lip to stifle another sob. She couldn’t imagine how Gus felt, but she knew it would be beyond heartbreaking to be told one minute that he had an eleven-year-old son and then… Oh, by the way, we’re hoping you can give the boy your kidney.

  Gus couldn’t help but be shocked and angry but, when he spoke, his tone was almost expressionless. ‘I assume you’re not a suitable donor.’

  Freya shook her head. ‘Poppy and I both wanted to help, but we’re the wrong blood type.’ The breeze blowing across the water turned chilly and she shivered.

  ‘We’re both type B and Nick is O, so we knew that you must be O as well. Apparently, type B people can receive type O kidneys, but people who have O blood can only receive a kidney from another type O donor.’

  Beside her, Gus was moving, lurching to his feet. In a heartbeat he’d shifted from the rock onto the grass. When Freya tried to follow, he held up his hands, warning her to stay put.

  ‘Give me a moment,’ he said stiffly. ‘I just need to…to get my head around this.’

  ‘Of course.’

  He began to pace back and forth, jaw tight, hands thrust deep in his pockets, his dark hair lifted by the wind. Abruptly, he stopped pacing and stood glaring out to sea.

  Freya opened her mouth to say something—anything that might serve as a peace offering—but she had no idea what to say. She knew Gus was battling a storm of emotions and he needed space. Head space. Emotional space.

  She could only pray that, somewhere within that turmoil, he could find it in his heart to help Nick.

  Suddenly, he whirled on her, his face pale, eyes wild, arms stiff by his sides, fists clenched.

  ‘Gus,’ she said hesitantly, ‘are you OK?’

  Oh, God, what a stupid, stupid question.

  His cold laugh mocked her. ‘You’ve got to be joking.’ He prowled closer, his body taut as a hunter’s, his expression dark and menacing. ‘Of course I’m not OK. I’m mad, Freya. I’m mad with you. With Poppy. With a crazy universe that lets this happen to my kid. To anybody’s kid.’

  She hadn’t moved from the rock but she realised now that she’d drawn her knees up and wrapped her arms around them, turning her body into a defensive ball.

  She’d never seen Gus like this. ‘I don’t blame you for being mad with me.’

  ‘Hell. If this hadn’t happened, you’d never have told me about the boy, would you? You only made contact with me now as a last resort.’

  What could Freya say? It was the awful truth. Things might have been different if Gus hadn’t been away in the depths of Africa for nine years…or if her own father hadn’t turned up, out of the blue, proving that family reunions could be disastrous…

  ‘Damn it, Freya, if you or Poppy had been able to help Nick, you’d have let me go my entire lifetime without ever knowing my son existed.’

  She shook her head, but Gus had already spun away again. He’d had too many shocks at once and he was hurt, deeply hurt.

  She wished she hadn’t had to do this to him. Wished she’d made wiser choices earlier. But, even if she had been braver, even if everything had turned out miraculously and she and Gus had been married and raised Nick in a perfect fairy tale family, she couldn’t have stopped Nick getting sick.

  Gus still would have faced this challenge.

  But of course he had every right to be angry. She half-expected him to grab a rock and hurl it into the sea.

  Instead, he slammed a balled fist into his palm, then stood, hands on hips, breathing deeply, dragging in lungfuls of fresh sea air.

  Watching him, Freya felt a band of pain encircle her heart, squeezing painfully. Her vision blurred.

  She reached for the tissues again. She’d been tense for weeks and now she felt stretched to breaking point. She still didn’t know if Gus would help her.

  Was she asking too much of him?

  Poor man. He’d had such a lot to deal with—the death of his wife and the demands of Africa and, more recently, managing big remote area projects. And they were just the few things she knew about—heaven knew what else he had on his plate. And now, her news about Nick must have hit him like a bombshell exploding in his face.

  She remembered how she’d felt a couple of months ago on the day the doctor had given her the bad news. Heartsick and desperate, she’d paced along the beach and she’d soon found that she couldn’t stop. She’d forgotten to take a hat but she didn’t care. She’d walked the entire length of Sugar Bay and then she’d climbed over the headland and onto the next bay and the bay after that.

  She’d come home sunburnt and exhausted but she still hadn’t been able to sleep that night. Actually, she hadn’t slept properly since that day, and even when she had slept she’d either had nightmares about losing Nick or dreams in which Nick was cured and well, only to wake to cruel reality. She’d lived with gnawing fear as her constant companion.

  Now, Gus was turning back to her once more, his expression grave yet purposeful. Freya wondered if this meant he’d reached a decision and nervous chills chased each other down her arms.

  Her stomach bunched into terrified knots but she forced her facial muscles to relax. She didn’t want to let Gus see how frightened she was.

  As he approached her, she scrambled stiffly to her feet and, to her surprise, he held out his hand to help her down from the rock.

  Freya held her breath.

  ‘Relax, Freya. I’m more than willing to help Nick, if I can.’

  A massive wave of relief washed over her.

  She knew that at some point in the very near future she’d be ecstatic and dancing with gratitude, but right now she couldn’t manage words of more than one syllable. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Hey, you’re shaking,’ Gus said.

  He was still holding her hand and, for a moment, she thought he was going to put his arms around her. Her mind took a ridiculous leap, instantly imagining his embrace and her head cradled against his broad shoulder.

  Oh, heavens, how she longed to be there, in the protective shelter of Gus Wilder’s arms, whispering her thanks while she drew strength and comfort from him. She could almost imagine the remembered scent of his skin mingled with the fragrance of the tropical night.

  But of course Gus had no intention of hugging her. How silly to have even thought of it. She’d surrendered that privilege a very long time ago.

  ‘You’re cold,’ he said. ‘Your fingers are practically frozen.’ In a purely practical gesture, he rubbed her fingers between his warm palms and she loved it, even though she shouldn’t. ‘You should go inside, Freya. You’re dressed for summer.’

  ‘I didn’t think it ever got cold in Darwin.’

&n
bsp; ‘Sure it does. Every year there are at least three days when Darwinians have to put their jackets on.’

  He’d almost cracked a joke. Surely that was a good sign.

  Gus let her hand go and they walked side by side across the grass to the well-lit concrete path that led back to the hotel.

  ‘So,’ he said briskly, ‘I guess you’d better tell me what you know about Nick’s condition. I’d like to be fully in the picture.’

  He deserved no less, and she’d almost learned to talk about Nick’s illness dispassionately, the way the doctors did, hiding the personal terror that lurked behind every word.

  ‘It started with a bad case of stomach flu. Vomiting and a high fever. I realised Nick was getting dehydrated, so I took him to the doctor, to our local GP. He took one look at him and rushed him to hospital, to emergency.’

  She couldn’t help shuddering, reliving the horror. ‘Nick seemed to make a good recovery from that, but there were follow-up blood tests, and that’s when possible problems showed up.’ A sigh escaped her. ‘So we were sent to Brisbane then, to see a specialist, and they discovered that Nick had a disease called global glomerulosclerosis.’

  ‘That’s a mouthful.’

  ‘Yes. I’m afraid I’ve had plenty of practice at saying it. Nick calls it his global warning.’

  ‘What a champ.’ Gus’s smile was tinged with sadness. ‘It takes courage to make a joke about something so personally threatening.’

  ‘He’s been incredibly brave.’ Freya blinked back tears. ‘I’ve been a mess. So scared. I used to burst into tears without warning. Day and night. But then I saw how strong Nick was and I realised I had to toughen up for his sake.’

  Gus remembered young mothers in Africa, broken-hearted, watching their children grow weaker while they covered their fear behind a mask of stoicism. He hated to think of Freya bearing the same kind of pain for her son—their son.

  ‘Basically,’ Freya continued, ‘this disease means that Nick’s kidneys are filling up with scar tissue. Eventually it leads to complete kidney failure.’

  She stopped walking. They were almost back at the hotel and the carefree sounds of laughter and music from a jukebox spilled into the night.

  ‘He’s been on medication for the past couple of months,’ she said. ‘And it’s working really well. He feels fine but, unfortunately, the medication will only work for a limited time.’ She looked up and met Gus’s stern gaze. ‘That’s why he needs a transplant.’

  ‘Poor kid.’ Gus’s throat worked furiously. ‘Does he understand?’

  Freya nodded and, despite her tension, she smiled. ‘On the surface, he doesn’t seem too worried. He feels fine and he doesn’t need dialysis. That’s a huge plus. The drugs have allowed him to carry on as usual. He can still swim and play sport, take his dog for a run.’

  ‘He has a dog?’

  ‘Yes. An ugly little mix of terrier and heaven knows what from the Animal Shelter. Nick adores him. Calls him Urchin. They share every spare minute Nick isn’t at school. They’re the best of mates.’

  Gus’s eyes took on a misty faraway look and Freya was almost certain that he was picturing the boy and the dog, running on the beach at Sugar Bay. The fond warmth in his eyes made her throat ache.

  Next moment, Gus blinked and the soft light was gone. His expression was sober again. ‘So he understands about needing a transplant?’

  ‘Yes.’ She gave an imitation of Nick’s typical shrug. ‘But he doesn’t dwell on it.’

  ‘The benefits of being young, I guess.’ Gus dropped his gaze and sighed.

  ‘We don’t talk about the alternative,’ she said softly. ‘I’ve promised him I’ll find a donor.’

  ‘Have you tried elsewhere?’

  Freya looked away. ‘We’re on a waiting list, but the doctor said that you were our best chance, Gus.’

  He nodded grimly. ‘And the time frame?’

  ‘The sooner he has the transplant, the better.’

  ‘Let’s hope I can help then.’

  ‘It would be—’ Freya’s mouth trembled. She wanted to shower Gus with gratitude. This was such a huge thing he was offering—to submit to an operation, to hand over a vital organ.

  But her instincts told her that he wouldn’t welcome such effusiveness from her. He was still shocked and angry. Just the same, she had to say something. ‘I…I’m so sorry to land this on you. I know it’s a terrible shock and a huge imposition, and I—’

  He held up a hand, silencing her. ‘It’s not an imposition.’ Harsh anger simmered beneath the quiet surface of his voice. ‘I’m the boy’s father.’

  Chastened, Freya nodded. Gus’s reaction was just as she’d expected. He was prepared to help his son, and that was the best she could hope for. It would be too much to expect him to forgive her secrecy.

  ‘You never know,’ Gus said less harshly. ‘This might be Nick’s lucky day.’

  To her surprise, he smiled. Admittedly, it was a crooked, rather sad smile, but it encouraged an answering smile from her. ‘I certainly hope so.’

  ‘But it’s not just a matter of matching blood types, is it?’

  ‘Blood type is the major hurdle, but there are other tests they need to do. I know there’s a chest X-ray, but I’m not totally sure about everything else. I was ruled unsuitable before I got past first base.’

  It was then Freya realised that she’d been so stressed and worried about Nick that she hadn’t actually planned anything for this meeting beyond asking Gus for his help. Now, she wondered if she should ask him to join her for dinner. ‘Are you staying in this hotel?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Unexpected heat flamed in her cheeks. ‘Do you have plans for this evening?’

  ‘Nothing special beyond meeting you.’

  ‘I wasn’t sure…if you’d…like to have dinner.’

  Looking mildly surprised, he said dryly, ‘I certainly need to eat.’

  Had he deliberately missed her point? Freya felt confused but she also felt compelled to hold out an olive branch. She was so enormously indebted to him, and so very much in the wrong.

  Running her tongue over parched lips, she tried again. ‘Please, let me take you to dinner. After all, it’s the least I can do.’

  His wary eyes narrowed ever so slightly and she held her breath, knowing she would enjoy dining with him very much. There was so much to talk about, and they could possibly begin to build bridges.

  ‘Thank you, but not tonight,’ Gus said quietly and he reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out his door key, checking its number. ‘I’m in Room 607,’ he said. ‘Perhaps you could ring me in the morning to give me the doctors’ contact details.’

  ‘Yes, sure.’

  ‘For now I’ll say goodnight, then.’

  Freya swallowed her disappointment. ‘Goodnight, Gus.’

  Just like that, their meeting was over. No peck on the cheek. Not even a handshake. Clearly, no bridges would be built tonight. Maybe never.

  With a polite nod, Gus turned and, without hurrying, he moved decisively and with a distinct sense of purpose, away from her, up the stairs and into the hotel.

  CHAPTER THREE

  GUS downed a Scotch from the minibar, then ordered a room service meal. Promptly, a box of Singapore noodles arrived and he ate lounging on the bed, watching National Rugby League live on TV. The Roosters were playing the Dragons and normally he’d be riveted, not wanting to miss one tackle or pass.

  Tonight he was too restless to pay attention. The best he could hope was that the charging footballers and the voices of the commentators would provide a familiar and reassuring background to his rioting thoughts.

  He was out of luck.

  Before the game reached half-time, he set his meal aside, grabbed the remote and switched the TV off. Pushing the sliding glass doors open, he went out onto the balcony and looked out at the shimmering stretch of dark water.

  Breathing deeply, he told himself that he had to let go of his anger. Anger wasn’t
going to help Nick. The only way he could help the boy was to give him his kidney, although at this stage even that wasn’t guaranteed.

  The boy might die.

  Despair threatened to overwhelm him. He fought it off by concentrating on the positives of this situation. He was in a position to volunteer his help. He was fit and healthy and in the right blood group and he would donate the organ gladly. From what he’d heard about these transplants, there was every chance they’d have a good result.

  He just wished he could let go of the hurt he felt whenever he thought about the eleven and a half years that Nick had been on this earth.

  In many ways he felt as if he’d been living a lie. Not only had he married another woman, but he’d spent those years working hard to help people in Africa, to give them better lives. He’d even managed to feel noble at times, but all the while, here in Australia, he’d had a son he’d done nothing for.

  There could be no doubt that the boy was his. Freya wouldn’t have come looking for him otherwise.

  But it was so hard to accept that he’d made his girlfriend pregnant and then she’d chosen not to tell him.

  It was even harder to accept the reasons Freya had given him for keeping her pregnancy secret—that she’d felt unworthy, or a nuisance, or just plain unsuitable for him.

  Looking at it another way, he’d been deemed unworthy for a role most men expected as their right.

  Thoughts churning, Gus stared at the harbour. In total contrast to his turmoil, the water was still and calm, reflecting the smooth silvery path of the moon. His thoughts zapped back to Africa, to the many nights he’d sat on the veranda of his Eritrean hut with Monique, his wife, eating traditional flatbread and spicy beef or chicken, while looking out at this very same moon.

  He wondered what Monique would have thought about his situation.

  Actually, he knew exactly how she’d have reacted. As a doctor with a fierce social conscience, she would have expected him to donate a kidney without question. She would have supported the transplant, if she’d still been alive and married to him. Monique was a pragmatist and his illegitimate son from a previous girlfriend wouldn’t have fazed her. She’d had a realistic, unromantic attitude to relationships.