Tread carefully,’ Vanessa advised Danny. ‘Tread very carefully.’ They were snatching a quick break on night shift. With sixty nurses on the ED staff, and Vanessa and Danny amongst the most senior members, their rosters seldom coincided.
Danny was sick of thinking of and talking about Ross Fabello. While she recovered from the accident, she’d spent long hours worrying about him and what the repercussions of crashing the Criterion Construction truck would be at work. But it seemed that his friend, the Cocker Spaniel, who owned Criterion, had sacked the foreman and wasn’t going to sue for damages to his truck. Experienced ED nurses with Danny’s seniority weren’t exactly thick on the ground, which certainly helped her case, but she knew she was skating on extremely thin ice. She couldn’t afford to lose her job—it would play right into Ross Fabello’s hands—but that didn’t stop her from feeling annoyed when Vanessa kept advising caution.
Vanessa fiddled with her coffee mug. ‘How’s the little old lady?’
Danny had been looking after the wife of an elderly man who’d died not long after arriving in the re-suss rooms. It was one of the first deaths she’d had to deal with since Nella died. Vanessa and the other staff offered to care for Mr Reid and his little wife, but Danny had insisted. She might be only thirty-two, but she knew a lot about loss. It was Danny who took Mrs Reid into the unit as her husband of sixty-five years was worked on by the re-suss team so that she could see that everything possible was being done for him. It was Danny who thought to slip back the sheet from one of the old man’s pale feet so his wife could stroke and touch him one last time while he was still warm and clinging to life. And it was Danny who sat with Mrs Reid, held her hand and passed her tissues while she waited for her son and daughter-in-law to arrive.
‘Her whole world has fallen apart.’ Danny smiled reassuringly at Vanessa. ‘I’m OK, you know.’
‘You’re sure?’
She nodded. It was another milestone reached, another hill climbed. Every moment of every day took Danny further away from the last time she’d seen Nella. That was what hurt the most, knowing there was no way back—only forwards. Danny imagined Ross Fabello’s arrogant, sardonic face and launched into another tirade against him.
‘Perhaps you’re overreacting a bit,’ Vanessa suggested when Danny paused for breath.
‘What do you mean, overreacting?’ Danny asked indignantly.
‘You don’t think assaulting a guy with an apple in a supermarket isn’t overreacting?’
‘I was provoked!’
Vanessa sighed and placed her coffee mug on the scratched staffroom table. ‘He hasn’t said anything about taking the kids back to the States, has he? I mean for heaven’s sake, he’s a bachelor. Do you really think he’d want a couple of kids cramping his style?’
Was she the only one who could see through Ross Fabello? ‘What about those sisters he keeps mentioning? They might be quite happy to take on Matt and Mia. The way Ross talks about his family, it sounds as if two more wouldn’t matter.’
‘You’re jumping to conclusions,’ Vanessa insisted. ‘You’ve got to cool it until you know for sure what his plans are—or if he even has any plans.’ Her voice softened. ‘It doesn’t have to be a bad thing, Danny. Now they’ve got grandparents and aunts and uncles and cousins.’
She was right. The Fabellos could offer the children so much more than Danny could on her own. They could offer financial and emotional security. Danny was envious of his family.
And then there was the bigger issue, the biggest one of all, like a vulture hovering over Danny and the children. Danny’s mother and twin sister had both died of breast cancer at a young age. Once or twice Danny had tried to talk to Vanessa about her fears, but Vanessa went into nurse mode, pointing out that—unlike Rose and Nella—Danny attended all her appointments at the breast-screening clinic.
Vanessa got so upset that Danny eventually gave up talking about it. Instead, she took it out in the early hours of the morning and examined it, staring sightlessly into the darkness, picturing what would happen to her—and what would happen to Mia and Matt. She felt as if she spent her life holding her breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Danny reluctantly changed the subject. ‘He really is loaded, isn’t he?’
Vanessa prised the lid off the plastic container holding her 2 a.m. meal. ‘Loaded. Filthy rich. Stinking, malodorously—’
‘Yeah, yeah, I get the picture.’
‘John Doe is about to be released as a movie. Old RF wrote the screenplay and, according to Woman’s World magazine, there’s talk of him being nominated for an Oscar for best screenplay.’
Danny could never figure out why Vanessa got such a kick out of reading celebrity gossip. She watched her lick a dab of pasta sauce from the corner of her mouth. ‘Why don’t you try and get on his good side?’
‘How?’ Danny asked sarcastically.
‘Sleep with him. You’ve got a God-given talent. Beneath those shitty clothes you’re a hornbag—once men have sex with you, they’re putty in your hands.’
Danny checked to see if the other two nurses taking their breaks had overheard, but they continued to read their magazines and fork food into their mouths. She leaned towards Vanessa and hissed, ‘Ssssh! Will you shut up?’
‘Have you got a better idea?’ Vanessa demanded.
‘Perhaps it slipped your notice, but we hate one another!’
‘All cats are grey in the dark.’
‘Not when they’re sabre-toothed tigers.’
‘I just think it would be wiser to stay on his good side rather than piss him off. Making access to the kids difficult might not be the best way to handle the situation,’ Vanessa insisted.
In theory, Danny knew Vanessa was right, but she was worried about Matt and Mia getting to know their uncle and then being hurt yet again when Ross did the infamous Fabello disappearing act. He’d made no bones about the fact that he didn’t want to be in New Zealand and couldn’t wait to get home.
‘Just think about being nice to him,’ Vanessa urged. ‘OK?’
‘OK,’ Danny muttered.
‘And Danny?’
‘Yes?’
‘No more throwing food at the man. Find another way to cope.’
The next time Danny was swamped by homicidal thoughts about Ross Fabello, she plugged into her iPod and danced frenetically while Tim Finn sang ‘I See Red’. It was the only therapy she could afford.
Deirdre, his youngest sister, spoke carefully into the telephone. ‘She threw an apple at you in the supermarket?’
‘Yes.’ Ross was stretched out on the big L-shaped leather sofa in the living room of his apartment, nursing a glass of red wine and a whole heap of grievances. ‘The woman’s a menace to society. Not only does she think it’s OK to drive a truck into a wall of concrete blocks, she also attacks people with fruit. I guess I should be thankful there weren’t any coconuts nearby.’
‘Damn,’ Deirdre murmured. ‘If you ask me, hanging’s too good for her.’
‘I might have known you’d find it funny.’
Deirdre was more surprised by her big brother’s response than by Danny Lawton’s behaviour. He sounded irritated rather than angry. Once upon a time Ross would have thought the episode in the supermarket was funny, but he’d misplaced his sense of humour ever since the Simone Marchant business. Their mother liked to think that Ross’s heart had been broken by Simone. His sisters knew that it was more a case of hurt pride, and anger that he’d trusted Simone in the first place. Deirdre was sure that there was something else bothering Ross, too. He lived alone in his beautiful house on the coast, becoming more and more withdrawn and moody with each passing month. Getting him to open up was like trying to break into the Tower of London for an after-hours peek at the Crown Jewels.
‘You’re wasting your time with the touchy-feely stuff,’ Aoife, the outspoken twin, advised. ‘If Ross wants to play crab and hide in his shell, the best thing would be to take a hammer to him until he talks.’
‘Holy crap, Aoife,’ Carmel, the eldest of the sisters, said. ‘Are you sure you’re a woman?’
Annie, Aoife’s twin, opened her mouth to speak, but as usual Aoife hadn’t finished. ‘Don’t give me any of that Ross needs to get in touch with his feminine side bullshit. The only feminine side Ross wants to get in touch with comes with a nice rack and a pert ass. And we all know he’s never had any trouble getting in touch with that.’
Women had been throwing themselves at Ross and Pat ever since their voices had broken, and Aoife insisted that Ross had been getting it on with their babysitter while the rest of them watched Star Trek.
Deirdre listened to her brother’s complaints about Danny and decided that he wasn’t nearly as pissed by Danny’s behaviour as she’d expect him to be. In fact, she couldn’t recall the last time she’d heard him sound so animated.
‘What’s New Zealand like?’ she asked.
‘Beautiful. If I had the time, I’d spend a few weeks just driving around.’
‘Perhaps once everything is settled you can.’
Ross snorted. ‘The only way I’d do that is if I knew Danny Lawton was somewhere far away—like Greenland.’
Wow—she’d really touched a nerve. ‘How’s the writing going?’
Deirdre wondered if she imagined the tiny pause before Ross answered. ‘Fine.’
Was Ross having trouble with his writing? The idea had been nagging Deirdre since he’d left, and Annie agreed with her. Aoife and Carmel might pooh-pooh Annie’s dreamy, barely-in-touch-with-reality manner, but she had a knack for seeing things that the rest of them missed. Annie shared Ross’s creative nature and was herself a successful artist. Writing had always been his passion and solace. Deirdre thought back to the afternoon she and their mother had managed to rope him into the role of family emissary to clean up Pat’s last big mess.
They’d been sitting in the living room of their parents’ house, a room which would have been spacious if Breda hadn’t filled every square inch with her collections and memorabilia. China frogs of all sizes and colours covered every available surface, while a bookcase on one wall held hardback copies of the Reader’s Digest and first editions of Ross’s novels. A large framed painting of the Virgin Mary gazing out serenely from beneath a blue veil took pride of place above the rose-pink-velour buttoned sofa on which Ross and Deirdre sat. The rest of the wall space was covered by photos of the Fabello children and grandchildren, from naked babies posed on fluffy rugs to their First Communion. There was unanimous agreement that Deirdre and Pat had been the prettiest babies, and Aoife and Annie the ugliest because they were premature. Carmel and Ross fell somewhere in between.
A tea tray with a white china tea service decorated with pink roses sat on top of an overstuffed ottoman in front of Breda. Three cups of tea had been poured and left to go cold. The fact that Ross hated tea was one of the things his mother frequently forgot since Pat’s death, and he didn’t have the heart to correct her. Like his sisters, he’d increased his visits since Pat had died. It hurt them all to watch Breda and Vito’s shock and pain turn to shock and bewilderment in the months following Pat’s death as they learned he had two children living in New Zealand that he’d never bothered to tell them about. The bewilderment turned to despair when it became apparent that the auntie who was responsible for Pat’s son and daughter was doing everything she could to stop their father’s family becoming acquainted with them. It was right about then that Daneka Lawton became public enemy number one for Ross.
‘Why won’t she answer the letters?’ Breda cried for the hundredth time. ‘We’re their grandparents! They’re part of our family!’
Ross and Deirdre avoided looking at each another. They’d asked each other the same question, and had both come up with the same answer. If the aunt was using Pat as a yardstick, it wasn’t surprising she was reluctant to meet the rest of the family.
‘It doesn’t make sense,’ Breda insisted. ‘We just want to get to know them.’
‘Perhaps Pat and the auntie didn’t get along, Ma. Perhaps she thinks she’s protecting the kids,’ Ross said.
Deirdre looked at him sharply. Whilst she and her sisters agreed with Ross, none of them were dumb enough or brave enough to say it out loud, particularly to their mother, who had spoilt Pat rotten. And Ross definitely wasn’t dumb. Deirdre eyed her mother warily and waited for the explosion.
Breda didn’t disappoint.
‘And just what is that supposed to mean?’ The bright blue eyes she’d passed on to Pat and Deirdre emitted sparks.
Ross displayed patience Deirdre didn’t know he still possessed. ‘It means just what I said: if Daneka Lawton didn’t like Pat, she’s hardly going to welcome the rest of the family with open arms. Be honest, Ma,’ he said gently, ‘you know how Pat was.’
Breda looked away. ‘He wasn’t a bad boy, just a little hasty and thoughtless at times, but then young people are like that.’
Ross and Deirdre didn’t point out that the rest of them hadn’t indulged in Pat’s grandstanding antics, riding into their lives to cause chaos and out again when he’d succeeded in pissing everybody off.
Deirdre poked the toe of her sandal at the stack of old wedding magazines Breda kept on the bottom shelf of the coffee table. One fell off the pile. Deirdre picked it up and began flicking through the pages in an attempt to distract their mother and amuse herself by looking at the outdated bridal wear. Few things captured Breda’s interest more than weddings and babies—her children’s to be specific. Having gotten Carmel, Aoife and Annie successfully to the altar, she considered Ross and Deirdre long overdue to follow in their footsteps, and was irked that, despite her attempts to introduce them to several likely—and more importantly, Catholic—candidates, they refused to cooperate.
‘One of us needs to go down there in person so the auntie can see what we’re really like,’ she announced. ‘I think your father and I should go to New Zealand.’
‘No!’ Ross and Deirdre cried.
Letting their mother loose on Daneka Lawton would be disastrous. Breda made Ross look subtle.
‘Why not?’ Breda cried indignantly.
‘Because you and Dad have been through enough these past few months,’ Deirdre said quickly.
‘Yes. Somebody else should go.’ Ross looked at Deirdre meaningfully.
She narrowed her eyes at him.
‘Well, I think—’ their mother began.
‘Ross should go!’ Deirdre interrupted. ‘I think Ross should go!’
Ross started. ‘What?’
Breda nodded. ‘Just what I was about to say, you took the words right out of my own mouth, Deirdre.’
‘What? Why me?’ Ross cried. ‘I get the awkward, messy jobs, not the emotional stuff!’
Deirdre and Breda exchanged glances. Ross could almost see the wheels spinning around inside their heads. Damned devious women—his family was full of them. He had a horrible feeling he’d been set up.
‘I can’t go, Ross.’ Deirdre’s big blue eyes shone with treachery and deception. Suddenly Ross could picture her sitting at the side of the guillotine, knitting.
‘Why?’ His glare promised deadly retribution. Unfortunately, the look guaranteed to reduce most people to quivering wrecks didn’t have the same effect on his family.
Deirdre held up the bridal magazine. ‘Because I’m getting married.’
Ross blinked. Breda gasped. He tried to make eye contact with her, but Breda looked away.
He scowled at the Benedict Arnold of the family. ‘Surely you don’t mean Derek?’
‘Darren,’ Deirdre corrected. ‘His name’s Darren.’
‘Who cares what he’s called? He can hardly string two sentences together.’
‘Ross!’ Breda snapped.
He glared at her. ‘You said he was an idiot!’
She grabbed the sugar bowl from the tea tray. ‘Would you look at that? We’re all out of sugar.’
‘You can say that again,’ Ross snarled.
‘You’ve only met Darren twice!’ Deirdre exclaimed.
Ross pointed at Breda. ‘Two times too many, according to her.’
‘Be quiet, Ross!’
‘Do you know what it’s like meeting our family for the first time?’ Deirdre demanded. ‘It’s like watching One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, only suddenly you discover that you’re in it and nobody’s acting. Just ask Tom, Pete or Joe if you don’t believe me.’
Ross didn’t need to speak to his brothers-in-law to know his family was nuts.
Breda, however, was deeply offended. ‘We made Damian very welcome!’
‘Darren! His name is Darren!’
‘We made Darren very welcome! It’s not my fault the man is so awful quiet.’ Breda lowered her chin and intoned, ‘I’ve only got one thing to say to you, Deirdre: do not mistake a goat’s beard for a fine stallion’s tail.’
Ross and Deirdre rolled their eyes. Breda’s Irish folklore had stopped being funny once they’d reached the age of ten. Breda had been affronted when she overheard Aoife calling it ‘Ma’s mad Irish mammy act’, but then what else could you expect from a girl who paraded through downtown San Diego bare-breasted and carrying a placard in support of Breast Cancer Awareness? It had been weeks before Breda could show her face at church to do the altar flowers.
Deirdre played her trump cards. ‘Darren’s willing to convert and he earns seventy-five thousand a year after tax.’
Breda stilled. ‘Is he?’ she cried rapturously. ‘Does he?’ She snatched the magazine from Deirdre’s lap and began to flick through the pages. ‘There’s an absolutely beeyootiful dress in here with a wee bustle and a cathedral train that would look a treat on you, Deirdre.’
Deirdre began to look uneasy.
Ross smiled thinly. He hoped she tripped on her cathedral train and fell flat on her bustle.
When Deirdre finished speaking to Ross, she called Carmel to pass on the latest in the Ross Fabello versus Daneka Lawton battle of the sexes. Although the sisters hadn’t met the New Zealand auntie, they admired her for not caving in to Ross’s steel-trap mind and sarcastic tongue.
Carmel was in the last month of her fifth pregnancy, and had spent the past eight days ensconced on the sofa in the family den watching Jerry Springer and Oprah and complaining. She answered the telephone on the second ring.
‘What?’
‘And a hello to you, too.’
‘If you want sweet and nice, hang up!’ Carmel snapped. ‘My varicose veins ache, my haemorrhoids throb, and I’ve got heartburn like you wouldn’t believe.’
Deirdre shuddered.
‘Four girls I’ve had,’ Carmel continued bitterly. ‘Four girls and every single one of them had the good manners to arrive two weeks before their due date. None of them gave me as much trouble as this one, and why is that? Because this time it’s a boy, that’s why! To think that I actually cooperated with Tom. That I agreed to one last try for a boy and I let him knock me up. I must have been insane!’
More like horny, Deirdre thought.
Carmel wasn’t done. ‘He’s probably lying around in there with a remote control in one hand and a beer in the other watching football re-runs.’
‘Are you finished?’
‘Don’t you use that tone with me, Miss-Single-But-Pretending-To-Get-Married-To-Delbert-The-Lame. Just wait ’til it’s your turn.’
‘His name’s Darren. And for your information I don’t intend ever letting some guy knock me up, as you so romantically put it.’
‘Yeah, yeah.’ Carmel rearranged the sofa cushions behind her aching back. ‘Just hang onto that virginity and you’ll be fine.’
‘I am not a virgin!’
‘Oh yeah, I forgot. There was that one time in college.’
‘I’ve done it more than once!’
‘What? You mean you’ve done it twice?’
‘Shut up!’ Deirdre snapped. ‘That’s none of your business!’
She’d had sex three times and hadn’t enjoyed it. How did Carmel manage to do this? How did she always manage to bring Deirdre’s non-existent sex life into every conversation? And why had she ever confided in her in the first place? Ross would have been a far better choice if Deirdre could have swallowed her pride long enough to ask him what she was doing wrong. After all, he was a guy and Deirdre knew he was no monk. More importantly, Ross could be relied upon to be honest. Brutally honest.
‘Was this a social call or something more interesting?’ Carmel asked.
‘Ross called me.’
‘He did?’ She brightened. ‘What’s the auntie done to him now?’
‘She threw an apple at him in the supermarket. It whacked him in the side of the head.’
‘She threw an apple—’ Carmel burst out laughing.
‘And she keeps telling him he’s got a big nose.’
‘He has, although not as big as Uncle Carmine’s.’
‘Nobody has a nose as big as Uncle Carmine’s.’
‘Oh, I love that woman!’ Carmel cried. ‘Is Ross certain she isn’t Italian?’
‘Positive.’
‘Nope.’
‘There’s got to be something hidden in the mix somewhere,’ Carmel mused. ‘She sounds like she’s related to us, or at least she should be.’
Deirdre heard the thoughtful note in Carmel’s voice. ‘Don’t even go there. Ross will cause you more grief than your haemorrhoids and varicose veins put together if you start matchmaking. Besides, you’re beginning to sound like Ma.’
Carmel gasped. ‘That was cruel!’
‘I’ve got to go. Do you want to phone Aoife and Annie, or shall I?’
‘Oh, I will! I will!’