‘Given how the sex-buddy thing didn’t work out too well?’ Anne Marie gave him a tight smile.
‘That was her idea!’ Luke’s face actually reddened a touch. ‘She doesn’t want kids, and I happen to come with two—so, no, it’s never going to work in the long term. Have a biscuit.’
Anne Marie’s hand reached out for one, then suddenly pulled back.
‘I don’t want one.’
‘Yes, you do.’ Luke frowned, because Anne Marie always did!
‘I really don’t,’ Anne Marie insisted.
‘Belgian chocolate,’ Luke teased. ‘And macadamia nuts.’
‘I can’t have one.’ Anne Marie’s face was bright red.
‘Can’t?’
‘I’m on a diet.’
‘Oh, sorry.’ Luke pulled the biscuits back over to him. ‘You should have just said.’
‘Well, you don’t always want everyone knowing your business.’ Anne Marie gulped, her face practically purple now. ‘There’s a big difference between don’t and can’t. Sometimes it’s just easier to say you don’t want something. I mean…’ Her eyes were urgent as she met his frown. ‘I don’t want you knowing all about my cellulite, now, do I?’
‘I guess not.’
‘So it’s easier just to…’ Her voice trailed off as Molly returned. ‘I’m going to do a check.’
‘I’ve just done one!’ Molly said.
‘Well, I’m doing another one.’
‘What’s up with her?’ Molly frowned.
‘Sick of us two, probably.’
‘Probably…’ Molly gave a watery smile then looked away.
‘I came on too strong yesterday.’
‘It doesn’t matter.’ Molly tried to focus on her notes.
‘But it does. You were wonderful with Amelia. If you hadn’t been there, I shudder to think what might have happened.’
‘Well, she’s fine now,’ Molly said without looking up, trying to write her notes as she felt him watching her.
And he watched.
Saw for the first time how the years had changed her.
Saw the hard shell she’d wrapped around the softest of hearts—because she’d had to, Luke realised with utter regret.
‘I can never win, then.’
He recalled her words and understood them—understood now about transition guys and holding back and never letting him get close so he couldn’t break her heart…
Again.
‘Can you feed Joseph!’ A harassed-looking Hannah dumped the baby and bottle on her boss. ‘I’ve got Louise screaming.’
‘Sure,’ Molly said, somehow holding the baby and bottle with one hand and still managing to write her notes with the other. Sort of bobbing him on her knee and chatting as she wrote, multi-tasking as women could.
She wanted babies. Luke knew it for certain now. But she didn’t want his—which meant, Luke finally realised, that she didn’t want him.
‘Friends are honest, Mol.’ It was Luke who broke the tenuous silence, watched as she looked up and swal lowed. ‘It isn’t about the twins, is it?’
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘Us. It’s not because of the twins that we didn’t make it.’
‘I don’t want kids, Luke.’ She flushed under his scrutiny. ‘The stepmum thing just isn’t—’
‘Molly, please.’
‘OK—I don’t want to raise the kids of the woman you left me for.’
‘But you know why now.’
He was inviting pain. Molly could feel her eyes well with tears as he pushed her to say what she didn’t want to.
‘It’s not about the twins, is it?’
‘No…’ She shook her head, a great big tear moving too fast for her hand as she attempted to drop her pen and catch it. ‘Well, not in that way…’
‘What way, then?’
‘You stayed.’ Two bleak words that somehow filled a forest, two little words that somehow got straight to the horrible point.
‘There was no other way.’
‘You should have found a way, Luke.’
And it was as simple and as complicated as that.
She could understand now, forgive him, even, for leaving her as he had, but the fact that he’d stayed, all that the twins had endured, was something Molly couldn’t get past.
It was as if every minute of the last five years had caught up with him, his face a map of weariness, regret and pain. ‘I’m going to lie down.’ His voice was strained, his face as white as the sheets on the linen trolley, his back taut with tension as he turned and walked away—then changed his mind. ‘Who the hell made you God and judge, Molly?’
It was the longest night.
Knowing, knowing they wouldn’t even come out of this as friends—that with the honesty he’d demanded they’d killed whatever they’d somehow salvaged.
Anne Marie’s usual happy-go-lucky demeanour was horribly absent as they stood in the drug room and checked the morning’s IVs.
‘You think he’s right—don’t you?’ Molly’s voice was strained.
‘I think he has a point.’ Anne Marie didn’t look up, the vials of antibiotics getting the most thorough of checks. ‘And, yes, I think you have one too.’
‘It couldn’t have worked—’
‘No,’ Anne Marie broke in, speaking the truth Molly had hoped she’d never hear. ‘It could never have worked out between you two—not if you don’t respect him as a parent. Oh, you wouldn’t…’ Anne Marie flicked bubbles out of a syringe and clamped her lips together.
‘Say what you were going to.’
‘No.’
‘Please…’ Molly’s face was pale, her lips taut as she confronted her friend. ‘You were going to say I wouldn’t understand.’
‘It’s hard, being a parent.’ Anne Marie was still tapping the syringe, not that there were any bubbles. ‘And sometimes you get it wrong, sometimes you make mistakes, sometimes little things and sometimes big. And when you do, you have to learn somehow to forgive yourself for not being a perfect parent.’
‘And that’s something I couldn’t possibly understand, I suppose?’ Molly snapped sarcastically. ‘Because I’m not one.’ And she waited for Anne Marie to back down, to apologise, perhaps, but instead Anne Marie nodded, turned to her very best friend and told her a grown-up truth.
‘Yes.’
Some mornings sped by, some mornings you didn’t even get a chance to realise that the world was waking up—and some mornings you wished almost it wouldn’t. And this was one of those mornings The hush on the children’s ward before the drug trolley clattered past or the first of many babies woke up, that little beat of peace before the race started as Molly did her final round—looking at the babies who, despite their best efforts, ignored policy and slept on their stomachs, thumbs in, bottoms up.
And Nathan, a smile on his face and a games console in his hand as no doubt he dreamt of Bernadette and the movie he’d promised to take her to just as soon as he got out.
And Amelia… That fizz in her stomach, that funny sensation she’d felt when Anne Marie had criticised the little girl was back, only in a different form now—a sort of deep well inside that Molly was too used to. That hole, that part of her that had never been fulfilled, that had lain dry and empty, had just had a brief glimpse of the sun—this feeling, this surge, this vision of what it could be like to have a child.
A real one.
Not the baby of her dreams, but a living, breathing child.
Luke had given up with the chair and had climbed up on the bed with his daughter. His feet were dangling over the end and the two fair heads were together, his arm protectively around his child. And Molly realised it was time to close the well, to haul the cover over and block out stupid thoughts.
Maybe Anne Marie was right. Maybe she didn’t understand what it was like to be a parent—but it was something she’d have dearly loved to have learnt. But she understood this much—Luke, her Luke, should have fixed it for his babies, should
have done his damnedest anyway. The Luke she’d thought she’d known, the Luke she’d thought she’d loved would have put his children first.
Many times she’d stood at the playroom window crying quietly, watching an ambulance pull into Emergency, Security walking through the staff car park, watching the sun come up after a wretched night and trying to comprehend that the world could carry on, that no one below could possibly know the huge loss that had taken place.
And while no one had died tonight, something huge had been lost.
That little bit of hope—which she’d denied even to herself that she carried; that little bit of hope that some day, somehow, when all their cards were on the table, they might just make it.
He should have protected them—should have moved heaven and earth to keep them in a safe, happy home, whatever the cost to himself.
Two little dots, as fair and as beautiful but so much more fragile than himself, should have been enough reason to find a way.
As blonde and as beautiful as Amanda.
The emergency nurses were out now, grabbing a quick break as they waited for an ambulance. Molly watched unseeingly the blue flash of an ambulance light as her mind whirred to an impossible place.
As blonde and beautiful as their mother.
And her head tightened at the possibility—how could she have not seen it?
Luke had had no choice but to stay.
‘Molly?’ His voice was as exhausted and as wretched as the man himself when she turned to face him, and her impossible question was answered. One look at him and she could see the burden he carried because Luke, her Luke, would move heaven and earth—at whatever the cost to himself. ‘There’s something I have to tell you… something you ought to know…’
‘Don’t.’ She put her hand up to stop him. ‘You don’t have to say anything.’
‘But I do,’ Luke rasped, ‘because I can’t lose you again.’
‘You could never lose me.’
‘If you say the word “friend” again…’ He managed a ghost of smile. ‘I love you, Molly—always have, always will.’
‘I love you too,’ Molly said, because she did.
Good or bad, right or wrong, together or apart, she absolutely did.
‘I love my kids.’ He closed the door. ‘I swore I’d never say this, I haven’t even told Mum. But I can’t lose you, Molly, not without at least giving you the truth. I don’t blame you for what you think—my parents were the same, over and over they told me to leave, to get out, that she was bringing us all down. And I tried to leave. I went to a lawyer, and I was all set to go.’ Molly closed her eyes at what was surely to come. ‘And then she told me that they weren’t…’
‘I know.’ Brave with his love, she looked at him, could see the confusion in his eyes—because how the hell could she know? ‘I know, because I love you—and I love you because of what I know you’d do if…’ Molly took a deep breath, closed her eyes and plunged into the crazy world of love. ‘You don’t have to say it. You never, ever have to say it.’
‘They’re mine!’ Tears swam in those gorgeous green pools. ‘I saw them being born, I held them first. If I’d left her, if I’d taken them and it had turned out she was right…’
‘Have you ever…?’ And she couldn’t say it, couldn’t demand neat, conclusive results from a DNA test for the very reasons Luke had given.
‘No. Because it won’t change how I feel.’
They were dancing on the periphery, and gladly so—gladly because he didn’t want to say it and she didn’t want to hear it—only this time it was for all the right reasons. Whatever words Amanda had hurled, be it truth or lies, whatever a blood test might prove otherwise, they were still his kids, and this beautiful, strong man had stayed—stayed for all the right reasons, even if to others they’d seemed very wrong.
‘I love them first, Molly.’
And it was almost a rejection, only one that didn’t sting.
‘They’ve always come first, from the day she told me she was pregnant.’
Which was exactly how it should be—for your kids.
‘I know they’re wild, but they’re honestly getting better. They grew up in chaos.’
‘Luke, they’re fabulous!’ Molly halted him, because he didn’t have to apologise for them. All he had to be was proud. ‘They’re funny and naughty and they’re amazing—and they’re a credit to you.’
‘They will be.’ Luke nodded. ‘Molly, I don’t need a wife, I don’t need someone to run around after me. The money’s starting to get sorted, and once I begin this job I can afford to get some help in.’
‘I know that now.’ She took a deep breath, forcing herself to be honest, hating the words she knew one day she’d have to say if she was ever going to let anyone in. ‘I can’t have children, Luke.’
And she waited. For what she didn’t know—disappointment, perhaps, or a bit of anger that she’d lied. She finally found the courage to look up and face whatever it was going to be.
‘I’m sorry,’ Luke said, ‘for the pain that must have caused you.’
‘It did…’ Molly gulped. ‘It does. You don’t mind?’
‘Mind?’ Luke frowned at her question. His voice was supremely cool, but inside his heart was pounding. Because he knew that what he said would be replayed over and over—that even if he’d got so much wrong before, this bit he had to get right. ‘I mind because I love you, I mind because it’s something you clearly want, but you’re asking if I mind like it’s some sticking point in a contract.’
‘It was for Richard.’ Tears tumbled out as she admitted the truth. ‘He said it wasn’t, of course, said that he didn’t mind that I couldn’t have children, but obviously he did. I’m over him.’ Molly added quickly, ‘Just in case you think I’m not.’
‘Just not over the hurt?’ Luke said, because he knew about that, and he held her, held her as if she were the most precious thing in the world. ‘I wish I could give you loads of fat, happy babies—’ still he held her ‘—because I’d give anything to make you happy.’
‘But you can’t.’ Molly shivered. ‘And one day you might—’
‘Molly!’ Snappy and to the point, he posed a conundrum. ‘Given what I didn’t just tell you, I don’t even know if I can have kids!’
‘Oh!’
‘Does that change how you feel about me?’
‘Of course not!’
He lifted her chin and looked into her eyes, could almost see the fog lifting as the truth hit home. ‘So why would it change the way I feel about you? Answer the question, Molly,’ he demanded when she paused in self-doubt. ‘Why wouldn’t it change the way I feel about you?’
‘Because you love me.’
‘Correct answer.’ Luke nodded. ‘I love you!’ As he said it he stared right into her heart, peeled off that last little piece of shell around it with his eyes. ‘All of you. Even that bit of you that can’t have kids. Yet somehow you work with them…’ His eyes were swimming with tears now. ‘And especially that bit of you that would consider loving mine.’
She really was a lousy, poor excuse for a transition girl, Molly realised, just a pathetic player at a no-strings affair, because she totally forgot to play it cool, didn’t hesitate for even a second, and didn’t make him sweat it out, telling him she’d get back to him. ‘I love you too,’ Molly answered. ‘All of you…’ Oh, how he’d scold later—say she wasn’t a transition girl’s bootlace—because she took just one very deep breath before plunging in gladly. ‘All three of you!’
EPILOGUE
‘THANK you!’ Luke called to Amelia’s departing back.
Hot and thirsty, and dressed in her very smart little school uniform, she’d demanded a drink from Molly, who, though breastfeeding a five-week-old, had pulled the angry little boy off her very sore nipple and given Amelia what she had wanted just as Luke had walked in.
‘She did say thank you.’ Molly winked at Amelia. ‘You just didn’t hear it.’
‘I need something
interesting for show and tell tomorrow!’ Amelia frowned at her half-brother. ‘But I’m not bringing him.’
‘You’re too soft,’ Luke said, once Amelia had stormed out.
‘She’s jealous.’ Molly put a very angry Hamish back on her boob and snuggled into the sofa. ‘And I don’t blame her a bit. I’m so lovely—why wouldn’t she want all of my attention?’
‘They are getting better, though.’ For the hundredth time Luke picked up the end-of-year reports that had come home today. ‘It’s thanks to you.’
‘It’s thanks to us!’ Molly corrected. ‘And them.’
‘I mean with all the changes—us, school, a new baby—you’d think they’d be more unsettled.’
They were thriving. Like two sunflowers, they just rose ever upwards, and no one could have been prouder than Molly. The feeling that had first fizzed when Amelia had had her accident bubbled over the edges now—fondness, liking, gradually growing till all it could be was love.
‘I’ve got homework!’ Angus said shyly. ‘Miss Lawson said that I have to draw my family.’
‘Fab!’ Molly beamed, even though she was exhausted. ‘Should I put lipstick on?’
‘You’re silly!’ Angus laughed, drawing random stick people and a big sun and a house and a tree. ‘Where do I put Mum?’
‘Up near the sun.’ Molly smiled, but it was a very misty smile as she caught Amanda’s eye.
There weren’t so many photos now—loads in the kids’ rooms and loads in the albums, but just one in the family room.
Which was where it should be.
She was their mum—and she’d loved them very much.
And they loved her too.
Which was how it should be.
Oh, Amanda…
As Luke ushered the twins off for bath and bed, she stared down at Hamish who, so happy to be feeding, barely flinched as two big tears plopped on his forehead.
She missed things for Amanda—so many times, so many days that Amanda should have seen and never had. The white-hot anger she’d first felt for her had now been replaced with a gentler understanding, a tolerance for others that had been a surprisingly welcome gift that helped in so many different areas of her life.
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