“It’s not a problem, is it?”
“Problem?” Swinging around for the first time she managed to actually look at him, her eyes frowning as they met his.
“Me,” Rory looked back at her. “Being here. If it is a problem, you just have to say. I don’t want to…” For a second he faltered. “I mean, if your boyfriend’s going to be worried by my staying here then you just have to say.”
“Why would it be a problem, Rory?” She looked at him, and barely managed a thin smile. “I’ve got an old friend staying for a couple of weeks until he finds somewhere else. Why would anyone have a problem with that?” She walked to her car, and thankfully the door was unlocked. Ally slid inside. Her shaking hands pushed the key in the ignition, and she attempted a smart reverse, but failed miserably, instead doing bunny hops the whole length of her driveway.
She’d sit in the movies alone if she had to.
Watch the same film twice if it kept her out until midnight.
She’d do anything other than let him glimpse at the effect his return was having on her.
“You’ll get over him.”
Anyone who’s ever had their heart broken will recognize this line—maybe you’ve used it on your girlfriend on a few occasions. In theory it sounds good. But, what if you don’t get over him? What if ages later, even if you’ve moved on and life is good, there’s still that little piece of you that hasn’t quite got over him?
That was the scenario I pictured for my lovely heroine Ally. She has a great job, fabulous family and friends, and has even had a relationship or two since Rory came, broke her heart and left.
I loved writing this story. Cheering Ally on from the sidelines as girlfriends do, and telling her in no uncertain terms she’d be a fool to give him a second chance—another line that sounds good in theory. Nevertheless, as Ally finds out, putting this into practice is not easy!
Happy reading,
Carol Marinelli
The Midwife’s Special Delivery
Carol Marinelli
CONTENTS
‘HEY!’
Gripping the phone receiver in her hand, Ally Jameson closed her eyes as the call she had been both half expecting and half dreading came when—as all her horoscopes had said it would—she was least expecting it.
Well, not quite.
Since she’d heard that the new registrar starting on Monday at Bay View Hospital was none other than Rory Donovan, she’d been wondering if, after three years, he’d ring and say hi.
Or ‘hey’.
So far tonight she’d had the two very un-Australian voices bidding her ‘g’day’ and telling her they could solve all her financial woes if she would only fill in a quick survey; one lovely lady telling her that if she wanted to leave her unwanted clothing and furniture on the nature strip on Monday, she would send someone to pick it up; and a rather irate gentleman demanding to know why she didn’t want to subscribe to the fabulous once-in-a-lifetime gym subscription he was offering.
Tired, ratty and horribly fed up, Ally had put on a face pack and painted her toenails scarlet, poured a glass of wine and convinced herself she was a fool for even thinking Rory would ring to tell her he was coming back to Bay Side. After all, why would he? They’d only shared a house for a few years, shared the same social group. In their time together they’d been nothing more than friends, hadn’t even dated.
And then the phone had rung.
For a second Ally wondered if it would be rather more dignified to pretend she had no idea who was calling, to pretend, after all these years, to have no idea who the voice on the other end of the phone belonged to.
‘Hey!’ Face pack crumbling as quickly as her resolve, Ally’s face broke into a wistful smile. ‘Long time no hear.’
‘I know.’ A lot of muffled background noise ensued and Ally frowned into the phone.
‘Where are you?’
‘At the airport—not Melbourne airport,’ he added quickly, the phone line crackling as if it had been dipped in hot oil. ‘So don’t worry, I’m not ringing to ask for a lift.’
‘Makes a change.’Ally smiled, shouting to be heard. ‘Where are you, then?’
‘Bali…’ The line crackled again. ‘End of season footy trip. I get in tomorrow. Did you hear the news? I’m coming back…’
‘You start Monday!’ Ally broke in when the line crackled yet again. ‘I heard. Congratulations, Rory.’
‘Any chance of renting a room from my old landlady?’
And the silence this time had nothing to do with the appalling line, nothing to do with the fact he was at a call box in Bali, and everything to do with the fact she hadn’t seen him for three years. Everything to do with the fact that the last time she’d seen him, he’d