The Fling That Changed Everything. Alison Roberts

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      So, here they were, piling into the kitchen that was a long room, where Adriana Roselli presided over the benchtop and oven at one end and the scrubbed pine table that could fit ten people—if they squeezed up—filled the other end of the room. Fitting a wheelchair in made it a little more complicated, of course, and that was why the noise level was so high right now.

      ‘Ow... You ran over my foot, Fiona. Watch where you’re going.’

      ‘If you didn’t have your stupid ears full of your horrible music, you would have seen us coming. Move yourself, Guy.’

      ‘Not until you say you’re sorry. You’ve probably broken my toe.’

      ‘You’re the one who should apologise. Look, you’ve made Angel cry...’

      ‘Look out, all of you. If I drop this lasagne, you’ll all be sorry. Mamma mia...’ Adriana held a vast steaming tray over her head as her youngest son elbowed his way past her. ‘Why don’t my children ever grow up and act their ages? What have I ever done to deserve this? Lia, why isn’t the bread on the table?’

      ‘I’m coming... Oh, is that the phone?’

      It took a moment for the effect of her words to sink in. Adriana almost dropped the lasagne onto the centre of her table and then covered her mouth with her hands, her gaze—like that of everyone else in the room, apart from Angel—swivelling towards Nico.

      Was this the call they’d all been waiting for today?

      ‘I’ll get it.’

      ‘No, I will.’

      ‘It’ll be for Nico. Let him get it.’

      But Nico was looking like a possum caught in headlights—too scared to move.

      ‘I’ll get it.’ Lia shoved the long basket piled with fragrant homemade bread at her brother Guy, but he had his eyes shut, his head nodding to whatever mesmerising beat he was still listening to, and she was too late, anyway. Her younger sister, Elena, had reached the phone first.

      ‘Lia? It’s for you.’

      ‘What?’ Lia shook her head. Who would be calling her on her day off? Her life consisted of her work and her family and that was it. One glance around the room would have been more than enough to remind her of why there was no room for anything else. And she wouldn’t want it any other way, either. This was her home and her heart all wrapped up in one delicious-smelling, messy, noisy parcel. She loved every person here so much it could be a physical ache.

      ‘Tell them to call back, then. I’m busy.’

      She put the bread on the table beside one of the salads, smiling at her father, who was already in his place at the head of the table, silently waiting for chaos to morph into a more civilised mealtime. She glanced at the place settings Elena had been put in charge of. Where was the special, modified cutlery that Angel needed if she was going to feed herself?

      ‘It’s Bruce,’ Elena shouted. ‘And he says it’s important.’

      Bruce? Her boss at the ambulance station? More than her boss, in fact. He’d been the one to push her into her specialised training that had given her the qualifications to gain her dream job on the helicopter crew. He was her mentor and a good friend. If Bruce said something was important, it was.

      Were they calling in extra crew for some major disaster?

      ‘Coming...’ The noise level around her was rising again but Lia was barely aware of the small spat as her mother pulled the ear buds away from Guy. Or that Fiona was berating Elena for forgetting the special cutlery. She couldn’t miss that Nico was staring into space and clearly needed some reassurance or that her father’s silence was deeper than his customary patience, but paying attention to those things would have to wait.

      ‘Bruce?’ Lia pushed her long, unruly curls out of the way and pressed the phone to her ear so that she could hear properly. ‘Hi. What’s up?’

      The noise level was still too high to hear properly so Lia slipped out of the kitchen and into the hallway.

      ‘Say that again. You want me to do what...?’

      * * *

      The silence was one of the things Sam Taylor loved best about Wildfire Island. Especially at this time of day, when the sun was almost gone and the scent of tropical flowers grew so much stronger.

      He drew in a deep breath, shutting his eyes for a moment. And then he opened them and looked out from the vantage point he had chosen to the ocean surrounding this island, which had been his home ever since he’d begun working at the hospital here several years ago.

      He’d taken the highest road on the island as he’d walked from the hospital and now he was on ground that was above the gold mine that had been the catalyst for so many people besides the islanders being able to call this place home. To one side he caught a glimpse of the village and the rocky promontory with the little church on top. He couldn’t see over the cliff tops to Sunset Beach on the other side, but this wasn’t an evening to chill out, watching the fiery show on the cliffs that had given the island its European name, anyway. Dense clouds were scudding sideways, intermittently hiding the sun, and it wouldn’t be long before they joined forces and unleashed the kind of tropical downpour that was a regular feature of the cyclone season.

      Maybe it was that atmospheric tension that had pushed him into taking this strenuous walk after a busy day that had left him feeling physically jaded. They were short-staffed at the moment and having Jack, the helicopter pilot, take one of his nurses on a mission had made things a lot more stressful. It was a good thing that the plane was due in tomorrow, bringing in some new FIFO—fly in, fly out—personnel. And this time there would be a paramedic as well as a nurse so he would not only have extra hands in the hospital, they wouldn’t get borrowed just when they were needed in Theatre or something.

      He let his breath out in a long sigh and felt more of the tension ebb. He could always find peace in this view. Excitement, even, as he looked out at the darkening shapes that were the outlying islands. The biggest one, Atangi, had been settled for the longest time and had the infrastructure of shops and schools. He could see the misty outline of islands that he knew well due to the clinics they ran on places like French Island. He could see the tiny humps of the uninhabited ones, too, and one of them was now his own.

      How lucky was it that so many tradesmen had come to the islands to work on the upgrade of the laboratory and conference facilities that was now a feature of Wildfire Island? He’d been able to quietly offer some of them more work, building his dream house and the jetty for his yacht on a bush-covered island paradise that he had yet to name.

      In the not-too-distant future, he wouldn’t be walking home to the accommodation provided for both the permanent and FIFO staff that kept the hospital and clinics running in this remote area. He’d take a boat and go home to picture-perfect solitude and the sheer beauty of nature. Not his yacht, of course. As much as he loved sailing, he’d have to be able to travel fast to get back here in an emergency, so he was looking at getting a new speedboat. An inflatable, probably.

      For some reason, though, the prospect of that beauty and solitude wasn’t generating the excitement it usually did.

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