LITMIR.BIZ

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thing for him to knock a hole in his living-room wall and let Jill and Lily into his life. To give Lily up now…

      ‘We want her,’ he said, watching Jill, and he knew by Jill’s bleak expression that Jill was expecting the worst.

      ‘Get married, then,’ Tom snapped.

      ‘We can’t,’ Jill whispered.

      ‘Yes, we can,’ Charles said, spinning his wheelchair so he was facing Jill directly. ‘For Lily’s sake…why can’t we?’

      It seemed they could. When the shock of the question faded, Wendy was beaming her pleasure, seeing in this a really sensible arrangement that meant she didn’t have to relocate a child she was still worried about.

      Tom was satisfied.

      ‘But do it fast,’ he growled. ‘I want her off our hands real quick. A month’s legal? I’ll give you a month to get it done or she’s gunna be adopted by someone else.’

      He bade them a grim goodbye and departed. No, he didn’t want to see Lily before he went. He never did. He might be her uncle but he didn’t care.

      ‘This is wonderful,’ Wendy said as the door slammed behind him. They were sitting in Charles’s office at the Crocodile Creek medical base. The hospital was wide and long and low, opening out to tropical gardens and the sea beyond. Wendy looked out the big French windows to where Lily was swinging on a tyre hanging from a vast Moreton Bay fig tree. ‘This is fantastic.’

      ‘It’ll mean she can stay here,’ Charles said, casting an uneasy glance at Jill.

      ‘It means more than that,’ Wendy said warmly. ‘What Lily needs is commitment.’

      ‘We are committed,’ Jill said, startled out of her silence, but Wendy shook her head.

      ‘No. You’re doing the right thing. Neither of you give yourselves. Not really.’

      ‘What the hell do you mean by that?’ Charles demanded.

      ‘I mean you two are independent career people. Both of you have been hurt in the past. I’m no mind reader but I can see that. You’ve gone into your individual shells and you’ve figured out how not to get hurt. Both of you are lovely people,’ she said, gathering her notes with an air of bringing the interview to a close. ‘Otherwise I’d never have let Lily stay with you. But both of you need to learn to love. That’s what that little girl really needs. Children sense—’

      ‘We do love her,’ Jill interrupted hotly.

      ‘Yes, you do,’ Wendy said, smiling. ‘Enough to marry. It’s come as a surprise to me—a joy.’ She stooped to kiss Charles on the forehead and then she hugged Jill. Jill stood rigid, unsure.

      ‘You’ll figure it out,’ Wendy said. ‘You and Charles and Lily. It’s fantastic. Get yourselves married, learn to expose yourselves to what loving’s all about and then I can rip up Lily’s case file. Oh, and invite me to the wedding. Tom’s not leaving you much time—I guess you’d better start organising bouquets and wedding cake now.’

      She left them, skipping down to say goodbye to Lily with a bounce that was astounding for a sixty-year-old, grey-haired social worker.

      Jill and Charles were left staring after her.

      Not looking at each other.

      ‘What have you done?’ Jill said finally into the stillness, and the words sounded almost shocking.

      ‘I guess I’ve just asked you to marry me,’ Charles said.

      ‘I… We can’t.’

      ‘Why not?’

      ‘In a month?’ she whispered, and he nodded. But he was frowning.

      ‘It’s a problem,’ he agreed. ‘We’ve got so much on.’

      They did. Six months ago a tropical cyclone had ripped a swathe of destruction across the entire coastline of Far North Queensland. The damage had been catastrophic, and only now were things starting to get back to normal. Here on the mainland things were reasonably settled, but their base out at Wallaby Island—a remote clinic plus Charles’s pet project, a camp for kids with long-term illnesses or disabilities—had been decimated. With government funding, however, and with the sympathy and enthusiasm of seemingly the entire medical community of Queensland, they had it back together. Better. Bigger. More wonderful. The first kids were arriving this week, and the official opening was on Saturday.

      ‘I guess it doesn’t take long to get married,’ Charles said cautiously. He wheeled out to the veranda. Jill followed him, unsure what else to do. They stood staring out to sea, lost in their own worlds.

      ‘I shouldn’t have said it without asking you,’ Charles said at last, and Jill shook her head.

      ‘It doesn’t matter.’

      ‘You do want Lily.’

      ‘Of…of course.’

      ‘And this seems the only way.’

      ‘I guess.’

      ‘You are divorced?’ he asked suddenly, and she bit her lip on a wintry little smile.

      ‘Oh, yes. You think I’d have stayed married…’

      ‘Jill, if you ever want to marry anyone else…’ Charles spun his chair again. He was as agile with his chair as many men were on their feet. Shot by accident by his brother when he’d been little more than a kid, Charles had never allowed his body to lose its athletic tone. The damage was between L2 and S1, two of the lowest spinal vertebrae, meaning he had solid upper muscular control. He also had some leg function. He could balance on elbow crutches and move forward, albeit with difficulty. He had little foot control, meaning his feet dragged, and his knees refused to respond, but every day saw him work through an exercise regime that was almost intimidating.

      Jill was intimidated. Charles had a powerful intellect and a commanding presence. Tall, lithe and prematurely grey, with cool grey eyes that twinkled and a personality that was magnetic, he ran the best medical base in Queensland. He might be in a wheelchair, he might be in his forties, but he was one incredibly sexy man.

      And he’d asked her to marry him.

      No. He’d said they’d marry. There was a difference.

      ‘You don’t want to marry me,’ she whispered, and he smiled.

      ‘Why would I not? You’re a very attractive woman.’

      ‘Yeah, right.’

      ‘No, but you are.’

      She stared down at her feet. She and Lily had painted their toenails that morning. Crimson-tipped toes peeped out from beneath faded jeans.

      She was wearing ancient jeans and a T-shirt with the sleeves ripped out. She’d pulled her thick chestnut hair back into an elastic band. She left her freckles to fend for themselves. Make-up was for kids.

      She was thirty-seven years old. The young medics who worked in Crocodile Creek hospital looked fabulous, young, glowing, eager. In comparison Jill felt old. Worn out with life.

      ‘You know you can trust me in a marriage,’ Charles said gently. ‘It’s in name only. If you hate the idea…’

      She turned to face him. Charles. Wise, intelligent, astringent. Funny, sad, intensely private.

      How could she think of marrying him?

      ‘O-of course it w-would be in name only,’ she stammered. ‘I… You know I wouldn’t…’

      ‘I know you wouldn’t,’ he said, sounding suddenly tired.

      ‘Tom won’t let Lily stay with us if we don’t marry,’ she said, turning away from him. Fighting for composure. ‘And…and you do want Lily?’

      ‘You want Lily, too,’

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