Maybe This Time

chapter SEVEN



“DARCY, PHONE FOR YOU,” Kirsty called above the noise of the pub. She picked up a tray and headed off to deliver the drinks.

Darcy finished serving a customer and moved down the bar to pick up the landline. “Hello?”

“Your father’s going into the hospital for his operation.” His mother sounded breathless, as if she was in a hurry. “We’re leaving in a few minutes.”

“When’s the surgery?”

“Tomorrow morning. He’s in Ward 5G North.”

Darcy glanced around the pub. Not too busy but then it rarely was on a Monday night. “I’ll try to get in later to see him. Thanks for letting me know.” He hung up.

Emma worked on the geriatric ward now. Could he call and ask her to check on his dad if she was on duty?

No, that was the sort of thing you could ask a wife but not an ex.

Anyway, she’d only given birth two months ago. She would still be off on maternity leave. He hadn’t seen or talked to her since the day her son had been born. But not a day had gone by that he hadn’t wondered how she and the baby were doing. He wished he could pretend William didn’t exist but that wasn’t in his DNA. He thought about his son every single day, as soon as he woke in the morning and the last thing before he went to sleep at night.

An hour later Darcy stuffed a bottle of beer and a packet of chips in his pockets, left Kirsty in charge and headed to the hospital. He followed the green line down the corridor to Ward 5G North.

At the nurses’ station Emma and her friend Tracey had their heads bent over a computer. She turned away to cough then reached for a tissue to blow her nose. He stayed back a little, waiting for them to finish so he could ask where his dad was. They hadn’t noticed him.

Emma’s hair was clipped up, exposing the tiny mole on her neck he used to like to kiss. She laughed at something Tracey said, and Darcy smiled involuntarily. He used to think the whole world lit up when she smiled. He caught himself and his smile faded. On second thought, he didn’t want to talk to her, after all. He slipped unnoticed around the corner and went off to find his father.

Roy was in a room with three other elderly men. Darcy’s mother sat in a chair at Roy’s bedside. They were watching a game show on TV. Darcy paused in the doorway, taking in the reality of his big bluff father looking far too frail plugged into an IV drip.

“Mum, Dad.” Darcy kissed his mother on the cheek before taking a seat on the opposite side of the bed. He squeezed his dad’s hand then deposited the beer and the chips on the swing-arm table that held the remains of a half-eaten dinner.

“Thanks, son.” Roy yelled at the TV, “Lake Louise.” Satisfied he’d gotten the answer right, he turned to Darcy. “No need for you to come down here. I’ll be home in a couple of days.”

“He was mad at me for calling you. He didn’t want you to see him in the hospital,” Marge said in a stage whisper.

“I’m not deaf, woman.”

Darcy twisted the cap off the beer and handed it to his father. “Here, get your gob around that. Of course I’m going to see you the night before a big operation.”

Marge frowned. “Darcy, I don’t think beer—”

“I have until ten o’clock to eat and drink before I have to fast for the anesthetic.” Roy took a sip of beer. “As for the operation, it’s simple. Replace the ball and socket joint. A mechanic could do it.”

“Maybe you’d like your mate Ralph to perform the surgery,” Darcy suggested dryly. “He probably still has all his tools.” He opened the packet of chips and set it where his dad could reach them.

“What’s this, a party in Room 17?” Emma wheeled a trolley into the room. “Time for your meds, Roy. Sorry, but they don’t go so well with alcohol.” Tsking good-naturedly, she plucked the bottle out of his hand. Her gaze cut to Darcy. “You should know better.”

Behind the disapproval there was a hint of a smile but also a wariness when she looked at him. Up close he could see how worn-out she looked. Her voice was hoarse as if she’d been coughing a lot. Again, she reached for a tissue and had to excuse herself to blow.

“Have you got a cold?” he asked when she was done and rubbing her hands with sanitizer from a small container she’d pulled from her pocket. He was conscious that his mother was hanging on every word, every look that passed between them. His dad was still calling out answers to the game show. “You shouldn’t be working if you’re sick.”

“I’m okay.” She didn’t seem to know where to look so she checked the watch pinned to her chest. “Family hours are nearly over.”

“I’m going.” Darcy rose so his mother could have a few minutes alone with his dad. “See you tomorrow after your operation, Dad. Don’t give the nurses a hard time. Mum, call me and let me know how it goes.”

“I will,” Marge promised.

“Tell the boys at the pub I’ll be back next week,” Roy said. “I’ll challenge them to a footrace around the block.”

“I’ll let them know to start training.” Darcy touched Emma’s arm as he passed. “Can I have a word?”

“Sure.” She set a paper cup containing pills on Roy’s tray and poured him a glass of water. “I’ll be right back,” she said to Darcy’s mother. “You could help him take those if you like.”

He waited for Emma a few steps down the corridor, well aware Tracey watched him from the nurses’ station. He acknowledged her with a nod and turned away.

Emma came out of the room striding briskly. Her steps slowed as she approached. “Before I forget, thanks for the flowers. I meant to send a note but things got crazy.”

He was momentarily thrown. “Flowers?”

“The ones you brought the day Billy was born.”

“Billy. So that’s what you’re calling him.” Darcy moved to the side of the corridor as a couple went by. “How is he?”

“He’s wonderful!” she said brightly. “Such a good baby. He smiled for the first time the other day.”

“That must have been great.”

A shadow momentarily dimmed her animated expression. Or it might have been the fluorescent lights flickering. Emma gave another brilliant smile but it didn’t erase the lines of strain around her eyes. “It was amazing,” she enthused. “I recorded it straight into the baby book.”

“I’m surprised you’re at work. Shouldn’t you be on maternity leave?”

“The hospital cut maternity pay. I could use the extra money so I’ve come back part-time.” Darcy’s mother came out of Roy’s room. Emma stepped back to let her go past. “Good night, Marge. I’ll take good care of him. Don’t worry.”

“Thank you, dear.” Marge’s smile turned wistful. “I would love to see the baby sometime.”

“Uh, yeah, sure. When I get my term paper finished. I’m flat out at the moment.” Emma brushed wisps of hair back from her eyes. “I don’t even have time to get my hair cut.”

Marge glanced at Darcy then to Emma. “I’d be happy to babysit for you.”

“That’s really nice of you. But I’ve got it under control, honestly. He spends so much time at the day care when I’m at university that I like to have him at home when I can.”

Marge bit her lip, struggling to hide her disappointment. “If you need me, just call.” She hugged Darcy and walked quickly away toward the elevators.

Darcy waited until his mother was out of earshot. He glanced over at the nurses’ station. People were moving through the open area—orderlies, visitors, nurses—but no one was paying attention to him and Emma.

He turned to her. “Would it have hurt you to give her some time with her grandson? I don’t understand. You say you have everything under control but it sure doesn’t sound like it.” As she pulled a tissue out of her pocket, he added, “And you are sick. You shouldn’t be working.”

Emma stiffened, her chin lifting. “In case you’ve forgotten, we’re divorced. You don’t get to tell me what to do.”

“I’m not trying to tell you what to do. I’m asking you to be nice to my mother. She’s the baby’s grandmother, after all. Your mother’s not around. My mum would be happy to stand in for her.”

Emma didn’t reply.

Hell. He wanted to shake her. He wanted to kiss her. He missed her like crazy. Everything was so messed up. He couldn’t stand that she was working too hard and wearing herself out. It wasn’t necessary. “I offered you support payments. You didn’t have to return to work yet.”

“Oh, I get it. You’re afraid I’m not taking good enough care of our son. You’re afraid I’m neglecting him.”

“What? Did I say that? I don’t think that at all.” He drew back. “You’re a terrific mother—”

“I love him, okay? I love him to bits,” she added fiercely. “So you can just stay out of it.”

“Emma?”

“I’m sorry.” She took a deep breath and wrapped her arms around herself. “We’ve had this conversation already. I’m too tired to do it again.”

A tense silence sizzled between them. Emma glanced at the nurses’ station, at Roy’s room. Darcy knew she had tasks to do, but he didn’t want her to leave on a negative note.

“I came here that day, the day he was born.” He didn’t know why he was telling her this. “There were so many people in your room, I didn’t stay.”

She softened fractionally. “Did you see him?”

Darcy nodded. Remembering the difficult emotions he’d struggled with that day, it was hard to talk about his son without feeling like a jerk. He went back to trying to help Emma. “You’re working too soon. Plus you’re studying, too. And looking after a baby. You don’t need to do all that. You could accept my help and stay home longer.”

“I’m coping.”

“Are you? Your eyes are all red as if you’ve been up half the night. All the time I’ve been standing here, you’ve had a crease between your eyebrows. And your voice is too tight.... You seem like you’re about to snap.”

“Could that be because you’re criticizing me? You should go. This is my workplace. I don’t have time for personal conversations.”

“It’s not criticism. It’s the truth. But for some reason you don’t want to hear it.”

She stabbed a finger in his face. “You see me one time in months and you think you know what’s going on with me. Let me tell you, you don’t have a clue.”

“I don’t know the details of your life right now, but I can guess. And I can see you’re upset and uptight. You are usually calm and in control.”

“I have a new baby. And yes, I’m juggling work and school. It’s hard. Tell me something I don’t know.”

“You don’t know how to let people help you.”

“Money,” she said contemptuously. “That’s your idea of help. I don’t need money. I need practical assistance! I need someone to change a diaper, to help with the feeding, to give me a night off from the crying baby.” Tears sprang to her eyes. “Just one goddamn night without the crying. Is that too much to ask?”

“Whoa.” Darcy stepped closer and put a hand on her shoulder. “I know you wouldn’t want me to do anything with the baby but if you need help so badly, why didn’t you take up my mother’s offer?”

“She’s too...close to you. I know she has a right, but I’m not ready.” Emma blotted her eyes with the already-soggy tissue. “I’m still mad at you basically. I wish you could be who I want you to be and I’m angry that you can’t. Or won’t.”

Darcy let out a breath. This was emotionally exhausting for both of them. “I obviously struck a nerve a minute ago. Is the baby being difficult?”

“His name is Billy, remember?” She shook his hand off. “He’s just being a baby, doing what babies do. Cry, eat, sleep, cry, eat, sleep, cry, cry.” Her voice had risen in pitch with each word. Suddenly she seemed to notice and stopped, her face paler. “I didn’t mean to say that. He’s fine. I wasn’t asking for your time.”

“My mother—”

“I like your mother a lot, but she would be subtly working to bring us back together for the sake of Billy. We both know that’s not a good idea.”

“Something we agree on.” Darcy took a step back. “Okay, I’ll go. Try to take it easy. I’m sure you’re doing everything the baby needs and more. I was only saying you need to make sure you get enough rest or you’ll get really sick. And then what?”

“Thanks for stating the obvious.” Again Emma touched the corners of her eyes with the soggy tissue.

Ah, jeez. She never cried. Now she’d done it twice in the space of minutes. It undid him. “Don’t, Em.” He put his arms around her and drew her to him.

“I’m on duty. You can’t hug me.” She tried to push him away.

“Well, I am hugging you. What are you going to do about it?” He tightened his embrace. She didn’t resist but she didn’t go into his arms, either. “I’m sorry if I was harsh. I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

“I’m not crying. I’ve got a cold.”

“What was I saying? You’re making yourself sick trying to do it all. Even you aren’t superwoman.”

“I suppose you’re going to tell me some platitude like everything’s going to be all right.” She sniffed.

“It will be. Somehow.” He laid his head on top of her hair. For three long precious seconds he simply stood there and breathed her in.

Then before he could kiss her, she pulled away. Just as well. It was better they kept their distance. She and the baby were a package deal. Take one, take the other.

“If you change your mind about the money, you know where to contact me.”

He turned and walked to the elevators. Emma had revealed a lot, either deliberately or accidentally. She wasn’t coping. The baby was difficult. But what was Darcy supposed to do about it? She didn’t want him in their life. He had no reason to feel guilty because he wasn’t doing more. She had no right to expect his practical help and he doubted she would take it if he offered. Something fundamental was broken between them, and a baby wasn’t going to fix it.

* * *

TYPICAL. DARCY SWOOPS IN, pats her on the head, tells her she’s doing a great job then disappears to the pub. No one could push her buttons like him. Why did they keep hurting each other? Why did he try to appeal to her emotions when what she needed was practical assistance?

You told him you didn’t need or want him in your and Billy’s life, remember?

Emma forced her focus on her work. She didn’t have time to stand around brooding. She was in the middle of her evening rounds. She went into Roy’s room.

“Sorry, I got sidetracked with Darcy for a minute,” she said to Roy. “I see you’ve taken your pills. We’ll do your blood pressure now.” She strapped the cuff around his upper arm and set the machine. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” Roy said. “Aside from this bum hip of mine.”

“Which will be fixed up in no time.” Emma noted the systolic and diastolic measurement. His blood pressure was a little high. “I see your surgery is scheduled for tomorrow morning.”

“Have you got your tomatoes in yet?”

He was avoiding talking about his operation. After years on the wards she recognized the tactic among patients afraid of surgery. She and Roy used to be buddies, swapping plants and gardening tips, and she had a soft spot for him. “I’m in an apartment. I don’t have room for a garden.” Nor the heart for it, either. She’d lost that along with Holly.

“Nothing beats the taste of homegrown.”

“That’s true.” She wrapped the cords around the blood pressure cuff and replaced it on the trolley. “How many plants have you got this year?”

“A dozen, three of the cherry variety.” Roy tipped up the chip packet and the last one fell into his palm. “Funny you calling your baby William when you and Darcy have split up.”

“You shouldn’t eat that salty stuff with your blood pressure.” She stuck a thermometer clip on the end of his finger. “How come you planted your tomatoes so soon? You always told me to wait until the first week in November.”

“I had to get them in before I went into hospital. Marge wouldn’t get around to it if—”

“If what?”

His face settled into a frown that made his jowls droop even more than they ordinarily did. “You got a balcony? Tomatoes grow great in pots. I don’t even know where you live now. Darcy shouldn’t have let you go.”

“I’m in Mornington. It wasn’t a question of Darcy letting me go.” He’d walked out on her. Sure in hindsight she could see that maybe she drove him to it, but their problem was they hadn’t agreed on the things that really mattered—Holly, how they saw themselves as a family, what their plan was for the future. Emma managed a tight smile. “I believe it’s called irreconcilable differences.”

“I’ve seen plants that have been cut back to nothing, burned by summer drought, ripped out of the ground—you name it. You stick them in good rich soil, give ’em plenty of water and some nourishment and they survive, even thrive. Nothing can’t be fixed with a little TLC.”

“You’ve been reading Marge’s romance novels, haven’t you?” Emma recorded his temperature and removed the finger clip. Then she squeezed his hand and held it. “Don’t worry about the operation. Hip replacements are routine these days. You’ll be back in action in a few weeks.”

Roy started to bluster about how he was fine, then his gaze flicked to hers. “The doctor was in earlier—the one who’s going to knock me out. She told me I’m at risk because of my blood pressure.”

“They have to warn people. It’s a standard caution. You’re going to be fine. I promise.”

“What if I cark it on the table?”

“I’ll water your tomatoes,” she said lightly.

“Will you bring Billy around to see Marge?”

“Oh, Roy.”

“Promise me.”

If only he knew how much she would have loved for Billy to be part of the big, boisterous Lewis family, under the right circumstances, that is, if she and Darcy were together. He would have lots of cousins, including a boy nearly his own age. But how could she attend Lewis family gatherings when she and Darcy weren’t together? And Darcy was unlikely to take Billy on his own.

Nevertheless, she couldn’t leave Roy hanging. “I promise.”

A flurry of activity at the door made her turn around.

“Good afternoon.” Dr. Avery Pritchard swept into the room, his white coat flapping. “How is our patient today?”

Emma handed the doctor Roy’s chart on which she’d written her observations. “He’s doing well, Doctor.”

“Excellent.” He turned to Roy. “I’m Dr. Pritchard. I’ll be doing your hip replacement tomorrow morning. It’s a straightforward procedure....”

Emma wheeled out her trolley with the meds and blood pressure equipment, leaving Roy with Dr. Pritchard.

She wished Darcy wanted to be a part of his son’s life as much as Marge did. He was keeping himself at arm’s length with offers of money. She got that he was devastated by Holly’s death, but that was in the past. Billy was here and now. She didn’t care for herself, but for Billy’s sake she wished Darcy would let Billy into his life. How awful to think of her son growing up aware that his father lived nearby but didn’t want to know him. Besides everything that had gone wrong between them over Holly, she couldn’t ever forgive Darcy for that.

* * *

WHAT THE HELL was wrong with Emma? Darcy turned his truck out of the hospital parking lot and headed to Summerside. She was in trouble, forced back to work early. Why wouldn’t she let him help her by contributing financially? What was so wrong with him easing his conscience in that way? It was almost as if she was punishing him for not wanting to be a father to Billy.

She was really punishing herself. And the baby.

So be it. It wasn’t like he had a ton of spare cash to throw around. He’d done his monthly bookkeeping last night and business had fallen off since the wine bar opened.

He parked in front of the pub and got out in time to see two of his regular customers coming down the street—Greta, a hairdresser, and her boyfriend, Larry, a gangly apprentice baker. If it weren’t for people like Greta and Larry, who came in a couple of times a week, he would really be hurting. They didn’t drink a lot—they nursed a couple of beers and socialized—but he could count on them.

He lounged in the doorway, enjoying the first mild evening in months—spring was definitely here at last—and waited to greet them with some of that personal service he hoped would be the salvation of his pub.

Greta paused to peer into a boutique window. Larry tugged her away, waving a piece of paper in her face. Instead of coming straight to the pub, they crossed the street. Darcy’s stomach fell as he watched them walk into the wine bar.

He swore quietly. If even these two abandoned him, he was in trouble. Surely they couldn’t afford the wine bar prices. In about thirty seconds they’d be out the door again, over to his pub.

Hands on hips, he waited. Three minutes ticked by. Greta and Larry didn’t come out of the wine bar—but four more people went in. Wayne must be giving out more discounted drinks. It was almost as if he was trying to put himself out of business. Except that his strategy was drawing huge crowds. Customers were flocking to his joint and not to Darcy’s pub. Greta and Larry weren’t his only customers to defect in recent months. Oh, people still came to the pub, too, just not as often.

Thoroughly disgruntled, Darcy went back inside. He stood in the doorway and surveyed the room, much as Wayne had a few months ago. In contrast to the wine bar’s colorful furniture and paintings the wood-paneled pub looked dark and, to Darcy’s now-jaundiced eye, less than inviting.

Light. He needed more light in here. More windows and modern light fixtures. Maybe he ought to get a draftsman or a builder to look over those architect’s drawings for a garden room. Alternatively, if he didn’t want to go the whole hog he could paint, put in new carpets, buy those tall tables and stools....

“What’s the matter, boss?” Kirsty said, going past with a tray of drinks. “Is your dad all right? His friends came in and then left again. Complained they couldn’t play a proper game of darts without Roy.”

“He’s doing okay.” At least the wine bar had yet to put in a dartboard or shuffleboard.

A garden room with glass walls on three sides would solve the light problem. If he put in a kitchen, he could offer simple meals and snacks.

Garden room. Kitchen. He was talking about a major project. Suddenly it seemed daunting. If he and Emma were still together, he could have talked it over with her. She was great with practical stuff. And she had excellent color sense. Darcy couldn’t afford an interior decorator but Emma would know how to match carpet shades with seat covers.

“What do you think of the decor in here, Kirsty?”

She shrugged. “It’s cozy, warm. It’s a pub.”

If he changed the atmosphere to attract new customers, would he lose the ones he had? Hell, he was already losing them. He couldn’t sit still and do nothing while the wine bar stole his business.

If he did do major renovations, he would have to take out a sizable loan. Could he afford to do that?

Could he afford not to? Going into debt was a gamble, but if he didn’t do something he was in danger of going under, maybe not this year but possibly next. But possibly the wine bar really would be a novelty that would wear off. When people got tired of the red velvet couches they would come back to his pub.

What if they didn’t? The wine bar had been open nearly four months now and was busier than ever.

He’d been complacent, secure in the knowledge that his was the only bar in town. Circumstances had changed. Now he had to try harder. Maybe he should be grateful to Wayne for forcing him to lift his game. If he was going to go bankrupt, he might as well go out in style.

The pub was his livelihood, his home away from home, the place where the people he cared about hung out. He’d lost his wife and daughter. He’d lost his interest in Latin dancing and football. Since he’d split up with Emma the pub had become the center of his life. Hell, it had become his whole life. He lived in the upstairs apartment and worked every day behind the bar. All he had left was the pub. It represented everything that was important to him—his connection to family, friends and the community. If he lost it, he didn’t know what would happen to him.

He didn’t want to find out.

* * *

EMMA STRUGGLED TO fit the tubing onto the intake nozzle of the breast pump. Who made these stupid tubes so small? Dirty dishes were stacked in the sink and on the counter. Her dishwasher had broken and she hadn’t cleaned up in days. Her cold had worsened in the night and she longed to crawl into bed. But she was on duty at the hospital this morning and she wanted to be there when Roy went in to surgery. First she needed to try to pump enough milk for Billy to take to day care.

The phone rang.

“Perfect.” She put the tubing down and fished among the clutter for her phone. “Hello.”

“Hello, darling. How’s everything?”

“Hi, Mum.” Emma forced a cheery note into her voice. “I’m good. Where are you?”

“At a roadhouse in some tiny town in the outback of Western Australia. Your dad’s tanking up the car and I’m waiting for our food order. How’s my gorgeous little man?”

Emma glanced over at Billy, strapped into his car seat. He was quiet for once, playing with the plastic keys dangling above him. At times like these she felt the best about him, that is to say, neutral.

“He’s smiling. And holding his head up. He’s definitely going to have dark hair, although I think his eyes might be blue-green like mine.”

“You can’t tell at this stage. They won’t be set for months yet.”

“Mum, I’ve only got a few minutes. I’m getting ready for work.” Emma tucked the phone between her chin and shoulder and picked up the breast pump to have another attempt at assembling the pieces.

“That’s okay. I just wanted to say hi. I wish we weren’t on this big long trip when you had the baby.”

“You were here for the first two weeks.” There, was that right? Emma gave an experimental tug on the tubing. It came off in her hands.

After the birth her parents had flown home. During their stay Billy had been a model baby, sleeping most of the day and only waking at night to be fed and have his diaper changed. Emma had blithely urged her parents to resume their trip. A week after they’d left, Billy had developed colic. Two and a half months later he was still crying every night for hours.

“If you need me, say the word and I’ll fly back,” her mother said. “I don’t feel right leaving you, and I don’t like missing out on his early months. The first two weeks were wonderful, but he’ll be doing so much more now.”

“He’ll still be small when you’re here at Christmas.”

She couldn’t let on she was struggling. Her mother had been a rock when Holly died. Emma had also leaned on her when her marriage was falling apart. Her mother would return to Summerside in a heartbeat if she thought Emma needed her. However, her parents had planned and saved for years to travel around Australia in a campervan. They deserved this trip, and Emma wasn’t going to spoil it for them.

“I tried calling Alana, but she’s never home,” her mother said.

Emma pushed at the tubing, finally easing it over the nozzle. “She’s got a new job—” The words were out before she could take them back.

“She’s working? She didn’t tell me that.”

Uh-oh. “It’s new. Might not last. Don’t say anything to Dave. She hasn’t told him yet.”

“She hasn’t told him? Why not?”

“It’s a long story....”

“And you don’t have time right now. Okay, I won’t keep you much longer. How’s your milk supply? Alana told me you were having trouble.”

“I’m fine, really.” She glanced at the wall clock. “Sorry, Mum, I have to go.”

“I talked to Marge yesterday. She told me about Roy’s hip operation.”

“You talked to Marge? Why?” Giving up on a quick end to their chat, Emma sat at the kitchen table, pushed up her top and attached the pump. She flipped the switch and gently squeezed her breast, hoping for a trickle, something, so she wouldn’t have to give Billy formula again.

“Why wouldn’t we? Darling, we’re friends. And we’re grandmothers together. Of course we talk.”

“What else did she say—about Billy?” Emma pressed her fingers to her throbbing sinuses. Here it came. Would it be a gentle reproach or a stern lecture about allowing Marge access? If her mother were here, they could talk things out but she wasn’t and Emma didn’t have time to explain over the phone. It was all building up, becoming too much, her job, her studies, Billy and now the family.

“She said how adorable he was, how precious for his age. What a wonderful mother you are.”

Marge had covered for her. That was so like her, unselfish, concerned and caring. And Emma had repaid her by not finding time for her to see her grandson. Just then Billy began to cry. Emma felt like crying, too. She was completely, utterly inadequate in every way.

“Mum, I really have to go. I’ll talk to you later.”

She had to pull herself together and carry on. Billy needed her to be strong. But it was increasingly hard when she felt as if her life was spiraling out of control.

* * *

WEDNESDAY NIGHT WAS slow, too. So slow Darcy got out the architect’s drawings and unfurled them on the bar.

He could do a lot of the work himself, things like painting and ripping out old carpeting. Dan could do the wiring and Tony could do the brickwork. They would cut him a deal and he’d rather give them the business than some stranger.

The aspect that worried him most was the interior decorating. It wasn’t a top priority till the structural work was complete but now that he’d decided to move ahead he should at least start thinking about it.

He’d visited his dad in the hospital that morning before the pub opened. On his way home he’d swung by some paint and upholstery shops to pick up color samples and fabric swatches. He spread them out on the bar next to the architect’s plans, arranging them in different combinations, trying to visualize them incorporated into the pub’s decor. But he couldn’t mentally transform the tiny scraps of color into chair seats and walls. His brain didn’t work that way.

Riley came in dressed in civvies and pulled up a stool. “What’s all this? Are we redecorating our dollhouse? Cooper’s Pale Ale, thanks. Make it a pint.”

Darcy pulled a pint of ale and blotted the foam. “This is what I like to see, Summerside’s finest, keeping the streets safe from crime.”

“Even the senior sergeant is allowed to have a drink when off duty.” Riley glanced at the rectangles of color and fabric. “What’s with the samples?”

“I’m giving the old girl a makeover. What do you reckon?”

Riley shrugged. “I like her the way she is, but then I’m not competing with the new kid on the block.”

“Have you checked out the wine bar’s liquor license?” Darcy was only half joking. “The owner seems to me like a shady character.”

“You want me to shut him down, I’ll shut him down.” Riley grinned as he sipped his beer.

“Not good enough. He would reapply and be back in business.” Darcy leaned over the bar and dropped his voice. “You must know some crims who would torch the place. Put me in touch, then look the other way and five percent of my takings are yours.”

Riley chuckled. “Yeah, that’ll be a big help when Paula nails my ass and puts me in jail. Seriously, have you got a plan?”

“I’m fighting fire with fire.” Darcy nodded to the chalkboard above his head listing a dozen new wines by the glass. “And the makeover. Hope it’s enough. Speaking of renovations, how’s the extension on the police station coming along?”

“Slowly, but it’s getting there. I’ll be glad when I don’t have to dust my desk for sawdust every morning.”

Darcy rearranged the swatches once more. “Which do you like best, the green and brown together or the peach and blue?”

“Mate, you’re asking the wrong person, but I’d say neither.”

“Paula makes quilts, doesn’t she? She must be good at fabrics and color combinations. If I took these over to your house one night, would she give me some advice?”

“I’m sure she would—if she was around. She went up to Tinman Island for a couple of weeks to visit John and Katie and Tuti.”

John Forster, who’d given Darcy half the cruise ticket, used to be in charge of the police station until he’d left to take up a position on a remote island in tropical North Queensland with Katie, his new wife, and Tuti, his half-Balinese daughter from a previous relationship.

“I had an email from John last week. Sounds like he and Katie like it up north.”

“He’s glad to be back on active duty. Paula called today to report in. Katie’s working on her third children’s book, and Tuti’s learning to boogie board. Apparently they can’t keep her out of the water.”

“Excellent,” Darcy replied distractedly. He leaned his elbows on the bar and studied his color swatches.

Riley sipped his beer. “Emma did a good job decorating your old house. Have you asked her?”

“She’s got too much on her plate. Anyway, neither of us is interested in getting involved again.” Darcy pulled himself up. No one had mentioned getting involved. Was that a Freudian slip?

“I was talking about decorating. But now that you mention it, you two have a child together. It doesn’t get much more involved than that.”

Darcy stared at Riley. What was this backflip on Riley’s part? “You were against me having anything to do with Emma. You said she was bad for me.”

“I’m not talking about you and Emma. I meant you and your son.”

“Oh.” A muscle in Darcy’s jaw twitched. “I tried to offer her child support and she wouldn’t hear of it.”

“Money isn’t the only thing a kid needs.”

“I’m not father material.” How many times did he have to say it? “I’m never around. I’m not good at the hands-on stuff. I make more work for Emma when I do try to help. No, I don’t want to screw the kid up. Having no father is better than having a bad one.”

“I don’t believe for one second that you don’t care about your own kid. Even if Emma doesn’t want you to play an active role, you don’t have to accept that. And you weren’t a bad father to Holly.”

“I wasn’t there for her enough. I wasn’t competent enough to do things for her, change her diapers, feed her, bathe her. I was the playmate. Kids need more than that.”

“Nobody’s born knowing how to care for children. You have to learn. You were absent for Holly because you had to work, but when you were around she thought you hung the moon and the stars. I saw you. You were a great dad. In fact, I remember thinking that if I ever had a child I hoped I could be as good a father as you were.”

“If by good you mean I gave a lot of horsie rides, yeah, I was a great dad. Can we drop the subject?” Darcy didn’t want to get into this. There were some things he didn’t tell even his best mates. Like the fact that when he’d been changing Holly and she’d fallen off the changing table she’d landed on her head on a wood floor. She hadn’t gone unconscious, in fact, she’d barely cried and hadn’t seemed fazed in the least. He’d rushed her to the hospital where Emma had met him. Holly had been checked out by a doctor and pronounced fine.

He’d felt so badly afterward that he’d driven Emma nuts asking if Holly was acting normally, if she was on course for being at the right developmental stage for her age. Emma hadn’t reported anything amiss, but Darcy had always been waiting for the injury to manifest itself in some horrible, irreparable way.

Now Holly was gone and there was no point telling this particular story. But the experience had frightened the hell out of him as a new father.

“I saw Emma the other day at the gas station,” Riley said after a moment.

“How was she?”

“Not great. She has a bad cold or the flu. She could barely talk...she was too busy coughing up a lung.”

“I told her that would happen. What about the baby? Is he sick, too?”

“I peered through the car window because I haven’t seen the mystery kid yet. Even though I was godfather to your first child. His nose was running but that could have been because he was crying.”

Darcy didn’t want to feel a tug at his heart. But he did. Damn it, of course he cared about his child. Billy was a little over two months old. He must be starting to smile, and doing other stuff. He, Darcy, was missing out on all the stages of his child’s life.

He swept up the paint and fabric samples and put them in a big manila envelope. He hated to think of Emma trying to cope with everything and being sick, as well. It was one thing for her to play around with her own health, but she had no right to put his son’s health in jeopardy. “I’m going to go see Emma and Billy.”

Riley sipped his beer. “I thought you might.”