Water and Fire - A Short Story

Part 12

Dinner was the result of a rummage through the freezer for anything we could throw on an oven tray. I don’t remember the food, because it wasn’t memorable, simply edible.

Dessert I remember, because Aidan had brownies hidden in the back of the fridge and some ice cream stashed in the freezer. Ably aided by the microwave, we devoured warm brownies topped with vanilla ice cream, accompanied by another glass of Aidan’s burning whiskey.

When I stood up from the dining table, I found I was unsteady, but I managed to stagger to the couch before falling gracelessly onto it. I watched Aidan take the plates from the dining table and dump them in the sink. His steps were more coordinated than mine; the whiskey affected him far less than it did me.

Irritated, I spat out the question that burned in my mind. “Why did you choose to become a doctor if you feel you’re so bad at it?”

Aidan draped himself across the couch opposite me. He didn’t seem fazed. “I didn’t. I chose to be an engineer, but I couldn’t get a job in Ireland. So, I went back to university to study graduate medicine, like my Dad wanted. The study was easy and so was the practical stuff, at first. It’s not till now, that people expect me to know what I’m doing and take charge, that I don’t want to.”

Surprised, I didn’t know what to say. After a moment, I asked the next question. “So, how old are you?”

“Thirty, last birthday,” he replied, his eyes on me. He looked as if he expected me to contradict him.

I was surprised – I had thought he was younger – but he probably thought the same thing of me.

When I said nothing, he surprised me for the third time, with a different question. “So, why did you choose to be a midwife? Is it because you love babies?”

I wet my lips. Perhaps it was the whiskey or perhaps it was a growing respect for the man, but I answered him honestly, if not completely. “I was pregnant, once, and my baby was stillborn, a few years ago. I wanted her so much, but she didn’t survive the birth. I thought that if maybe I studied to be a midwife, I could help other mothers to avoid a similar tragedy, or at least help them if I couldn’t.”

Aidan’s eyes were big and round. “What happened to her father?”

I was honest, if evasive. “He was long gone before my pregnancy was showing. He didn’t even know about her.”

“I…I’m sorry,” he said softly. He poured me another drink and handed it to me.

I wiped my weeping eyes with the heel of my hand, not wanting to drip salt water in my whiskey. I took a deep draught, savouring the burn in my throat. My head was swimming, all by itself.

A log collapsed in the fireplace and we both turned to look at the fire, which needed stoking. I tried to get up, but Aidan was both nearer and faster. He pushed the last remaining chunk of jarrah into the fire, before heading outside with the empty iron basket for more fuel.

A few minutes later, he returned, hefting a large load of wood. He piled the fire up with pieces of jarrah and unfolded a screen in front of it.

When he stood up, his face was red and sweaty from his exertions. “Is it warm enough for you in here?”

A considerable amount of warm inside air had swirled into the cold night each time he’d opened the door, so my first thought was to respond in the negative. It was his obvious discomfort that made me hesitate.

“I should be okay,” I replied after a moment. “Maybe you should take your sweater off so you’re more comfortable.”

“My sweater?” Aidan looked blank. “You mean my jumper? Sure.”

He pulled the garment over his head, the t-shirt underneath coming off with it.

I stared, my mouth wide open like a whale shark. I’d seen hairy men before, but not a man with red hair all down his front, from his chest to the waistband of his jeans. Aidan’s fiery chest hair had me mesmerised. I blamed the whiskey in my blood.