‘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