The Chocolatier's Secret (Magnolia Creek, Book 2) (3 page)

Chapter Four

Molly

The rain lashed at the windows of the hospital and the thunder rolled for the fourth time in a row.

‘There’s one hell of a storm brewing,’ said Freya. ‘Not sure I can be bothered with the pub tonight. You up for it, Molly?’

Molly’s hand stilled on the paperwork she hadn’t even dealt with, her mind on a completely different birth. ‘Not if all you’re going to talk about is your holiday to Malta.’

‘You know what they say?’

Molly had a feeling she knew where this was heading.

‘If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em.’

‘Now how did I know you were going to have another dig?’ Molly grinned.

‘You’re missing out,’ said Freya. ‘I’ll hold your hand personally, I promise.’

Molly’s fear of flying had meant missing out on this trip to Malta, as well as the previous two trips her girlfriends at the hospital had organised. Last year they’d skied in Andorra, two years ago it’d been a holiday soaking up the sun in Turkey. Molly thought of all the kids born to celebrities who dragged them across the globe right from when they were in nappies. Maybe if she’d been on a plane as a little girl, if it was as regular as catching a bus or a train, she wouldn’t have let stories of pilot error or terrorist attacks fuel her fear.

‘Hopefully I’ll join you next year,’ said Molly.

‘I’ll hold you to that. Are you still in the support group, or whatever it’s called?’

‘It’s a Facebook group.’ She smiled. Up until now she’d missed out on holidaying with friends, but with Isaac getting married in America in July, Molly had even more reason to work through this. Sometimes she swore he’d met and got engaged to Claire, from Connecticut, just so he could force his sister to face her fear.

A couple of months ago, Molly had discovered and signed up to join a Facebook group founded by an Australian guy called Ben. The online group was there for support and advice for anyone who had a fear of flying. Some people on there were time wasters and the admins of the group were pretty sharp at blocking them, others were in a lot deeper than her and couldn’t see their fear ever being conquered. But some members had recently taken their first flight and posted pictures of the places they’d been, and she hoped it wouldn’t be long before she could do the same.

Josie, the senior midwife, answered the phone at the nurses station and warned of a new patient coming in. ‘Could you check on Mrs Antrim, Molly? She’s having trouble breastfeeding.’

‘Sure thing.’ Molly set her paperwork aside. Midwifery wasn’t only about caring for the mother during labour, but also being there afterwards as support. Confident and strong anyway, Molly’s job made her even more so. After all, no mother wanted a midwife who didn’t look or sound like they knew exactly what they were doing. They wanted to know their midwife would take control of a situation. Mind you, there was a balance. During her training she’d heard bolshy midwives say it was nonsense to find breastfeeding a struggle. They’d get the baby, get the boob, shove them together and bam.

As Molly talked to Mrs Antrim, whose baby girl Annabel had, by now, latched on and was suckling at her breast, she wondered what those first few days in the hospital would’ve been like for her own birth mother. Since the day she’d turned up on her birth mother’s doorstep, Molly had checked the post constantly, willing the opening letterbox to drop some kind of hope onto the doormat. But nothing.

The rest of Molly’s day passed in a busy blur, and as visiting hours came to a close and the department quietened, she heard a voice behind her.

‘I need to see her,’ said the man. ‘My girlfriend, I think she’s here. At least, it’s the only place she can be.’

Molly recognised the signs: Anxious Father Syndrome. She came out from behind the desk. ‘Come and sit down.’ She led him to the three chairs lined up opposite the nurses station. ‘Now tell me, what’s her name?’

He seemed relieved to be supported by the plastic chair. ‘Her name’s Sophie and she’s having my baby.’

‘Can you give me her surname?’ Molly wasn’t about to confirm or deny, even though she suspected this was the boyfriend studying to be a doctor.

‘Philpott,’ said the man.

‘And you are?’

‘Allan. She broke up with me. She thinks I can’t handle being a dad, not yet. But I can. I want to.’

Molly pressed her hand on top of his in a reassuring gesture. ‘Let me see if I can find something out for you, see if she’s here.’

‘Thank you.’ He put his head in his hands as Molly went to see Sophie. As she walked along the corridor and smiled at the orderly wheeling an empty trolley past her, Molly wondered again what the scene in 1985 had really been like. Had her mother been all alone like Sophie? Had her birth father been at the hospital desperate to see her, like Allan was here to see his newborn now?

She smiled at Sophie. Sophie had laid Max in the cot next to her bed but couldn’t quite let go enough to close her eyes and sleep.

‘There’s someone here to see you,’ said Molly.

‘Who?’

‘Allan.’

Sophie sat up in bed, fully awake now. ‘How did he know?’

‘I’ve no idea. But I think he’d really like to see you. Both of you.’

Sophie shook her head and the tears began to fall.

Molly sat on the edge of her bed. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘I can’t let him see me. I can’t let him see Max.’

‘Why ever not?’

‘Because then he’ll want us,’ Sophie sobbed. ‘We were only seeing each other casually. I never meant to get pregnant. I don’t want to be with Allan any more, I don’t love him enough.’

Molly found it hard to supress her opinions sometimes, and this was one of those times. ‘But he’s the father. He has a right to see his baby.’

Had she overstepped the mark?

Sophie lay back and stared at the ceiling. ‘I said no. I won’t see him and when I leave here later today, I’ll be taking Max away for good.’

It wasn’t Molly’s place to judge, but that didn’t make her job any easier. After she told him, Allan shouted at her. It wasn’t his fault, he was upset. Molly tried her best to diffuse the situation. Freya came to help, and an orderly escorted Allan out of the ward. Molly had no idea now what would become of him, of Sophie, of Max, but the look in that father’s eyes stayed with her for the rest of the day. She even took on another patient and let Freya deal with Sophie when it was time for her to leave the hospital with her newborn. It was usually one of her favourite parts of the job. But she couldn’t watch it this time.

At the end of the shift, Molly headed to the pub with Freya, Georgia and the rest of the group. She ordered a mulled wine as the rain of the day turned to snow and a cheer went up around the table. A conversation about snowball fights and snowmen-building competitions ensued, and Molly let her drink warm her right through as she watched the snow highlighted from the yellow glow of the streetlamp outside the mullioned window. She thought some more about Allan and his reaction when she’d told him he couldn’t see his baby. Some men walked away, she’d seen it often enough, but not all of them did. Not all of them were given a choice.

Molly laughed and chatted with her friends, but she was distracted wondering about her own birth father and whether he’d ever regretted what happened all those years ago, whether he’d tried to see her like Allan had tonight with a steely look of determination from someone who cared more than they were allowed to. Nothing could be as painful as having her biological mother stand on a doorstep and tell her to go away. So perhaps now it was time for the truth. And whatever the outcome, at least she’d know everything, once and for all.

As the snow began to line the ledges of the windows outside, Molly made her decision. Come morning she hoped to see the blanket of winter, the scene she loved when all around her fell silent and everything looked brand new, a fresh start, with not even a single footprint in the snow that had fallen overnight. And tomorrow she’d be ready to take the next step.

She was going to find her birth father.

Chapter Five

Gemma

Gemma Bennett loved weekends as much as the next person. She loved time with friends, in the city with the hustle and bustle of Melbourne and its eclectic mix of people, away from the quietness of Magnolia Creek. But these days, meeting up with best friends from university didn’t hold the same clout as before, and she wasn’t looking forward to today quite as much as she should’ve been.

She stepped off the train into the heat of the afternoon and walked across the pedestrian footbridge to the other side of the Yarra River, grateful she’d worn a loose-fitting cotton dress with the summer temperature still lingering in the thirties.

‘Hey you.’ Darcy was already at the seafood restaurant they’d chosen and waved over to Gemma as she arrived.

‘I thought I’d be the last one here.’ Gemma opened her arms to hug her friend, feeling guilty she hadn’t really wanted to come along today. There was no sign of Carmen or Sofia, both of whom lived closer to the city than Gemma and Darcy.

Darcy checked her iPhone and left it on the table. ‘Sofia texted to say her twin boys were tag-team crying, and Carmen’s still pumping out milk to leave in a bottle for her husband to do the next couple of feeds.’

Gemma couldn’t imagine how busy it was having young kids, but she wished she knew. ‘I’ve ordered the most gorgeous mobile from the gift shop in town,’ she gushed, willing herself to show enthusiasm for her friend and her five-week-old baby. ‘The only one left had been on display for a while and had faded in the sunshine.’

Darcy put a hand over Gemma’s as she rambled.

‘I’m fine,’ Gemma insisted.

‘I know you are,’ said Darcy. ‘But I also see how hard it must be for you. Don’t shut us out, but
do
tell us to shut up if you need to.’

Gemma dismissed the suggestion with a wave of her hand. ‘I’m sure it won’t come to that.’ She smiled when she saw Carmen approaching the table.

‘Carmen!’ They greeted their friend in unison.

All four women had been a tight-knit group since their university days and the only thing separating them now was time and distance. And non-existent babies, which Gemma knew were driving a wedge, even if she was determined not to let it happen.

Carmen hugged her friends, and when Sofia came bustling into the restaurant, all four of them disturbed the peace in the venue as their voices fought one another to catch up with everything since they’d last seen each other. And for now, Gemma knew she was really happy to see these girls.

‘How’s Joshua doing?’ Gemma could do baby conversation; she’d done it plenty of times before. And her friends knew not to ask her anything about her attempts. She’d told them as much last time they met up, before Joshua was born. They’d had a picnic on the banks of the Yarra with babies in tow, and she’d broken down and sobbed when she held Darcy’s ten-month-old, crying into her soft, downy hair while her friends reassured her they were all there for her. She’d asked them to steer clear of any conversation about her getting pregnant, because the last thing she wanted was for them to start keeping things from her for fear of upsetting her. She wanted them to be as they always were, even if it meant being oblivious to some of the goings on in her life. And that was why she wasn’t going to tell them about her latest miscarriage.

Carmen, her belly still swollen from baby number two and her breasts aching – her explanation, not Gemma’s observation – said, ‘Well, he’s finally sleeping for four or five hour stretches at night. Which is a godsend.’

‘I’ll bet.’ Gemma dipped the complimentary bread into olive oil, trying to pick up some of the balsamic vinegar beneath.

The conversation got round to university days, and Gemma enjoyed the turn in topic as they reminisced about the last holiday they’d all been on together up to the Blue Mountains, when heavy snow had delayed their return for two days.

‘How’s Andrew?’ Sofia asked. Gemma had guessed the question would come up sooner or later.

‘He’s good.’ Gemma sipped her orange juice. Nobody else was drinking, but Gemma had caught the train to the city today and suddenly she wished at least one of the others were having a few drinks. She needed to kick back and relax. But Sofia was driving, Carmen was breastfeeding and didn’t feel it would be right, and Darcy said if she had one she’d want many more and her daughter Tegan turned two tomorrow so she would be in Full Mummy Mode, policing a party for ten rambunctious kids.

‘And how’s the chocolate business? Booming?’ This from Darcy.

Gemma smiled. ‘It’s early days, but it seems to be going really well. You know what Andrew’s like, he loves his work.’

‘He loves his woman too,’ Sofia remarked with a cheeky grin.

Gemma let herself smile. She and Andrew were still so in love, but their idyllic existence had been marred with the stress of trying to start a family, muting the special and tender moments, even though she did her best not to let it.

‘What was it?’ Darcy laughed. ‘Chocolates on the pillow? Talk about cliché!’

Sofia’s hands covered her heart. ‘And then the big chocolate he made asking you to marry him. Gosh. Tyler doesn’t have a romantic bone in his body. You’re so lucky.’

And she was. Of course she was. She had a man who loved her, and when they left the restaurant full of food and satisfied with a friendly catch-up, she felt better than she’d felt all week. She had a lot to be thankful for, and she was determined to focus on the positives rather than the pressures they faced right now.

‘I’ll collect your present soon,’ Gemma told Carmen as they said goodbye. ‘I’m really sorry I didn’t have it earlier.’

Carmen hugged her friend and squeezed both of her hands. ‘It’s fine. Honestly. And it’ll give us a good excuse to get together again soon, right?’

‘It certainly will.’ Gemma hugged each of her friends goodbye.

‘Don’t squeeze too tight,’ laughed Carmen. ‘My boobs might explode.’

Gemma looked down and couldn’t help but laugh. Carmen’s shirt was stretched tighter than it had been earlier. ‘You’re a machine!’

‘What can I say? I should’ve been a cow.’ She hugged Gemma again, and Gemma was more than glad she’d come. She never wanted to lose these women, and she wouldn’t let herself push them away no matter how hard it was with babies popping up in every family except hers.

*

Gemma arrived home in Magnolia Creek and from the station she walked down Main Street. She passed the fire station and waved at Owen Harrison – they’d got to know him well when he’d renovated the annexe ready for Louis, and nothing had been too much trouble. Gemma raised a hand to Bella across the street and finally greeted Mal when she reached Magnolia Gifts. He’d been sweeping away leaves from the doorway but looked up when she approached.

‘Hey, Mal. Any news on the mobile I ordered?’ She loved how quickly they’d established a presence in town and how they were on a first name basis with most of its residents already.

‘As a matter of fact, we got a delivery this afternoon.’ Mal indicated for her to follow him into the shop. ‘Emily’s out back, I’ll get her to find it for you.’

Gemma hadn’t met his sister Emily. She knew of her, but they’d never actually exchanged a greeting. The girl was quiet as anything. Last week Gemma had seen her walk past the fire station on her way to catch a train and when Gus, one of the CFA crew, had said hi to her, she’d gone the fiercest red and not a sound had come out of her mouth.

‘Here you go, Mrs Bennett.’ Emily’s voice came from behind the box containing the mobile as she appeared in the shop.

‘Thanks, Emily.’ She took the box, and Emily scurried away without so much as another word.

Gemma reached Magnolia Creek Chocolaterie and poked her head in the door, called a hello over to Andrew, who was busy up a ladder stacking a top shelf with empty gold and silver boxes they’d had made to advertise their brand, and then headed home where she wrapped the present ready to give to Carmen, trying to remember the resulting high should she ever doubt the need to have an afternoon in the company of friends.

Gemma turned her mind to preparing dinner and took out the pre-prepared meat mixture from the fridge, grabbed the lasagne sheets from the cupboard, plus all the ingredients she needed to make the béchamel sauce. She hummed away as she worked the flour and the milk together in a pan. She grated a generous helping of cheese – a mixture of cheddar and mozzarella – and knowingly smiled. Andrew and Louis had always wanted as much of the cheesy topping as they could get. Like father, like son. Except now, with Louis’ restricted diet, he wouldn’t even be able to enjoy this. She’d steam a piece of white fish for him later and serve it with roasted summer vegetables. She’d have been happy to follow the same or at least a similar diet to her father-in-law but right from diagnosis, he’d insisted they keep up some semblance of normality.

She assembled the various layers, and as she finished with the béchamel sauce, the fly screen at the back of the house creaked open and there was Louis’ familiar knock at the wooden kitchen door. Always the same … the popular door knock pattern of five knocks, a short pause, then another two knocks.

‘Come in,’ she called chirpily, sprinkling the cheese across the top of the lasagne.

‘Do you want me to leave this open?’ Louis asked, patting the wooden door. ‘The cool change is through.’

‘Yes, please,’ Gemma called over her shoulder as she slotted the dish into the oven and set the timer. She opened the window above the sink and immediately felt the welcome breeze. They had air conditioning in the house, but she tried not to switch it on unless she really had to.

‘Something smells good.’ Louis opened the door wide and fixed it in place with a doorstop.

Gemma grinned. ‘I’m not sure what’s worse for the waistline.’ She stole a pinch of grated cheese she’d deliberately left on the plate. She’d only had a light seafood lunch and was hungry again already. ‘This or chocolate.’

‘They’re both good and bad for you. You can’t win.’ Louis lowered himself onto one of the six mahogany chairs at the kitchen table. ‘I could murder a big slice of whatever you’ve got cooking.’

Gemma smiled kindly. ‘Your dinner will be delicious, I promise.’ She opened a bottle of French red wine but didn’t offer it to Louis. He hadn’t drunk wine in a long while, and it made her sad thinking about some of the long evenings when they’d indulged together and talked late into the night. She poured a glass for herself and joined Louis, taking a seat opposite. ‘The test results should be back tomorrow when we go for your dialysis session.’

‘Good, good.’

‘Did you manage to sleep this afternoon while I was out?’

He nodded. ‘A little.’

Gemma lifted her glass but managed to miss her mouth and slop wine onto the table. She tutted and went to get a cloth and, trying to wipe up the spill, knocked the glass again and deftly caught it in her other hand.

Louis laughed, his old, crinkled face like a painting she wished she could capture. ‘Were you on the booze this afternoon with your friends?’

‘No!’ She laughed along with him as she wiped the side of the glass and tried again, this time successfully, to sip her wine. ‘See, managed it perfectly that time.’

This was the Louis she always wanted to remember, the Louis who always came to mind when she talked about him. The man in front of her now, laughing at something so inconsequential. Sometimes, especially since he’d become sick, she’d gone out to the annexe only to walk away and leave him to it when she’d spied him through the window, sitting in his favourite tartan armchair, staring into space. It seemed like such an old man thing to do, and it was out of character for her father-in-law, but she’d never once asked him about it. She’d assumed it was all part and parcel of the kidney disease and had never wondered whether there was anything else bothering him. But now she was curious and wished he’d open up to her.

Perhaps, in time, he would.