‘I don’t suppose it was so very different to being in care.’
He gave a hollow laugh. ‘I don’t know. Probably not, really, except I imagine you were mostly with underprivileged kids who had an excuse, and I was with spoilt little rich kids who just expected Mummy and Daddy to buy them out of trouble and didn’t give a damn who they hurt. I expect the end result was much the same.’
‘Kids are kids, Sam. They can be amazing, and they can be unspeakably cruel. But you learn how to keep out of the way, and you move on and try not to make the same mistakes over and over again, but it doesn’t always work and you never really forget. It’s always there, lurking in the background, waiting for an unguarded moment, which is why I don’t talk about it.’
Her hand came up and cupped his cheek, her face tilting up to his as she turned his head so she could kiss him. ‘Make love to me, Sam,’ she whispered. ‘Make me forget it all.’
How could he refuse? That first night, he’d used her to help him forget his grief, so he knew that it worked, if only for a while. He could do the same for her.
He threaded his fingers through her hair, cradled her head and kissed her back until there was nothing left in the world but him and her, and the fire raging between them burned away the pain.
* * *
They were nearly late for work, not least because they’d woken late and shared the shower to save time, which had nearly derailed them completely.
‘Later,’ he promised, towelling himself roughly dry as he left the bathroom, and she bit her lip to stop the smile, dragged the knots out of her hair, cleaned her teeth and ran to the bedroom, to find him dressed in the clean clothes he’d grabbed from the cabin the night before on their way home.
He was the only tidy thing in the bedroom, and she scooped up a pile of washing, threw it out of the way, found some clean underwear and clothes and followed him downstairs to the car with ten minutes to go before their shifts started.
‘Cutting it fine,’ James said drily as they walked in, and she saw Sam’s lips twitch, which just gave her the giggles.
‘Hussy,’ he muttered. ‘You’ll give us away.’
‘And the whisker-burn won’t? And anyway, do you really think there’s anyone in the hospital now who doesn’t know we’re an item? Dream on.’
‘Well, we’d better give them something to talk about, then,’ he said, setting the smile free, and pulling her to a halt he dropped a kiss on her startled lips and walked away, whistling softly to himself.
‘Whoa. He is smokin’ hot!’ Petra said, coming up behind her and gazing after Sam.
‘Petra! I haven’t seen you for ages. How was your holiday? Did you have a good time?’
‘Not as good as you, apparently,’ Petra said, her eyes still on Sam. ‘We need to go out tonight, and you can tell me all.’
She gave a slightly crazed laugh, and shook her head. ‘I can’t go out tonight, I’m busy, and anyway, I wouldn’t know where to start. Well, I would. January.’
‘He’s the hot guy?’ Petra squealed, and Kate flipped her mouth shut with a finger and wondered why she’d told her friend so much.
‘Shh. Actually, it’s all a bit more than that. We’re—’ She didn’t know quite where to take that one, so backtracked hastily. ‘Look, I’ll tell you another time, but there is one thing. We’re having a baby.’
Petra’s mouth fell open again. ‘Oh, my... Kate, are you OK? What are you going to do? Are you getting rid of it?’
‘No! And keep your voice down,’ she hissed. ‘Nobody knows, and it hasn’t been easy. His fiancée died two years ago.’
Petra’s eyes widened, and she grabbed Kate’s hand. ‘Honey, are you OK? Seriously? Because that sounds like a whole cartload of baggage. If I was you I’d run for the hills.’
Yes, you would, she thought, and a few days ago she would have done, too, but now nothing was further from her mind and she wondered what on earth she and Petra had really had in common, apart from both being single.
‘I’m fine,’ she said, then glanced at the clock and yelped. ‘Seriously, I have to get to work. I’m not even in scrubs and I’m ten minutes late. I’ll see you later.’
‘Promise?’
‘I promise. I’ll call you, if nothing else.’
She fled, changed at the speed of light and reached the doors of Resus at the same time as the patient who was being wheeled in.
Sam was there waiting, and he frowned questioningly and mouthed, ‘Are you all right?’
She was, she realised. Very all right. She smiled back, nodded and took her place in the team.
* * *
Annie sent her a text during the morning, and she skipped her lunch break with Sam and ran up to Maternity and found her in SCBU with a baby in her arms.
She beckoned her in, and Kate gowned up and went over to her, giving her a careful hug.
‘Hi, I got your text. So who’s this? He’s gorgeous.’
‘Theo. Here, sit down and give him a cuddle.’
‘Are you sure? He’s so tiny—I don’t think I’ve ever held a baby this small before.’
‘Ah, well, you’d better start practising. Here you go.’
And there she was, with another baby in her arms, but so tiny this time, so precious, so fragile, and she felt a surge of protectiveness and fear in equal measure.
‘Oh, Annie,’ she breathed, staring at him as if he was the most amazing thing she’d ever seen, and right then he opened his eyes and stared up at her, and she blinked.
‘Oh, he’s so like Ed!’
‘I know. It’s hilarious. He’s so tiny, but he’s Ed to a T.’
‘And the other one?’
‘He’s like me. We’ve called him Freddie, for my father,’ she said, a tender, bittersweet smile on her face. ‘He would have loved them all so much...’
‘Oh, Annie,’ she said again, and then laughed at herself. ‘I’m sounding like a stuck record,’ she said a little unevenly, and looked down at Theo again, at the tiny face the image of his father’s, and she wondered if her baby would be like Sam. She hoped so. ‘I can’t believe this is going to happen to me,’ she said softly, and Annie reached out a hand and squeezed her shoulder.
‘Get used to it. It’s amazing.’
‘It’s terrifying.’
‘Well, that, too, but you soon get used to it.’ She searched Kate’s eyes. ‘So how are things with Sam? Did you like the house?’
‘I loved the house,’ she said. ‘There was nothing not to love about it. And—Sam stayed with me last night. He’s moving in later, properly.’
‘Oh, Kate, that’s wonderful!’
‘Well, I hope so. It is at the moment, I just hope it lasts. Wish us luck.’
‘You don’t need luck, you need guts and determination and compassion, and you’ve got all that in spades. You’ll be fine, Kate. You wait and see.’
Theo started to cry then, so Annie held her arms out and winced, and Kate felt a pang of guilt as she handed the baby over.
‘I haven’t even asked how you are,’ she said lamely, and Annie gave a wry laugh.
‘Oh, I’m a bit sore, but so, so happy.’
‘Worth it, then?’
‘Oh, yes.’ She gave a contented, happy laugh and looked back down at the baby in her arms, her face softened by love. ‘Every single moment.’
* * *
Sam moved in properly that night, and while he packed up the cabin and discussed solicitors and timescales with James and Connie, she loaded the washing machine, blitzed the bedroom and scrubbed the bathroom within an inch of its life.
By the time he got back with all his things, the bed was made up with fresh linen, and she’d cleared space for him in the wardrobe in the spare bedroom, consigning the other half to charity shop bags.
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And her spare set of keys were on his pillow in her room.
He picked them up, hefted them in his hand and smiled. ‘Thank you.’
‘Don’t thank me. It’s only so I don’t have to run downstairs and let you in all the time,’ she teased, and he chucked them back on the bed, pulled her into his arms and kissed her, then looked around and blinked.
‘Good grief, you’ve been busy.’
‘I needed to be, it was a slum.’
‘Not quite.’
‘Verging on it. I’ve made you space in the wardrobe next door for shirts and stuff, and there’s a drawer in there for your underwear.’
He nodded. ‘Thanks. Have you eaten?’
She shook her head. ‘No, not really. I was waiting for you, but I’ve grazed on a ton of chocolate. You?’
‘Connie fed me a sandwich, but that’s all and it was ages ago. Want me to cook while you put your feet up?’
‘No. I’ve got some stuff in the freezer. Why don’t I do it while you unpack?’ she said, touched that he’d offered, and she was almost done when he came up behind her, put his arms around her and rested his chin on her shoulder.
‘So what are we having?’ he asked, nuzzling her ear.
She laughed. ‘Well, I thought it was chilli, so I cooked some rice, but turns out it’s Bolognese sauce.’
She felt his chuckle through her shoulders. ‘I’m sure it won’t kill us,’ he said, and for a second the words echoed in the air around them before he straightened up and moved away, his warmth replaced by a chilling draught that came from nowhere.
‘I’ll get the plates,’ he said, and she stood at the sink draining and rinsing the rice and wondering if Kerry’s ghost would overshadow them for ever.
* * *
They ate their meal in a polite silence, hardly exchanging a word, and when it was finished he thanked her, cleared the table and ran the water to wash up.
‘I can do that—’
‘No. Go and put your feet up. You’ve done enough today.’
He should have turned and smiled at her, softened it, but he couldn’t meet her wounded gaze, and as he heard her leave the room, he plunged his hands into the hot water, leant over the sink and closed his eyes.
Just when it was all going so well, he thought, and swallowed a block of emotion that threatened to choke him. The grief he recognised, but guilt, too—guilt for betraying Kerry by moving on so readily with Kate, guilt for short-changing Kate because a part of his heart would always be with Kerry, guilt for fathering a child in such unpromising circumstances—the list of his emotional crimes was endless, and he had an overwhelming urge to curl up in the corner and cry, but he’d done enough of that.
More than enough. It was time to man up and deal with reality.
He finished the washing up, wiped down the kitchen, cleared and polished the sink—Kerry there again, being fastidious beyond reason—and stuck his head round the door.
‘Can I get you a drink?’
She shook her head. She’d turned away from him so he couldn’t see her face, but he knew with a sickening certainty that she’d been crying.
He went over to her, crouched down in front of her and turned her face towards him, tsking softly at the clumped lashes and the dribble of mascara sliding down her cheek.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said heavily.
‘Don’t be. It’s too soon for you, I know that.’
Her voice was cracking, and he shifted to the seat beside her and drew her into his arms with a sigh.
‘It’s two years, Kate, I should be over it, but sometimes it just creeps up on me and takes me by surprise. One of those unguarded moments you were talking about last night, I guess, but it’s not a part of us, of what we have.’
‘Yes, it is, because I’m just a constant reminder of what you’ve lost. I’m just there, in your face, getting in the way of your memories, being the wrong person in the wrong place at the wrong time, and I can’t do it, Sam. I can’t compete with her for your affection—’
‘You don’t have to! This is nothing to do with her, and you’re not the wrong person, Kate, you’re just you.’
‘And that’s supposed to be a good thing?’
He let out a sigh. ‘Yes. Yes, it is, for us. I wasn’t trying to replace her—I wasn’t trying to do anything when I met you except forget, just for a little while. I certainly didn’t expect this to happen, but it has, and, no, it’s not the same, but that doesn’t make it bad or unworkable. It just takes getting used to, and that’s going to take time, but we’ll get there.’
She nodded, snuggling closer, sniffing a little until he handed her a tissue.
‘Here. Blow your nose. I’ll get you tea.’
He brought it in, but she didn’t linger after she’d finished it, just took her mug back to the kitchen when the programme she was watching ended, and told him she was going to turn in.
‘Don’t feel you have to rush, I just fancy an early night,’ she said, and went into the bedroom and pushed the door to.
He stared at it for an age, then dropped his head back and let out a long, quiet sigh. She hadn’t shut it completely. He supposed that was a signal that he was still welcome in her bed, but maybe just not yet.
He’d give it a while, he decided, and then go and join her, but he wouldn’t expect a rapturous welcome—unlike last night, when she’d opened her heart to him and told him the story of her sad and fractured childhood. Well, the walls were up again now, without a doubt, and he had to respect her boundaries.
He turned off the television, washed up their mugs and went quietly into the bedroom, undressing and slipping into bed beside her without disturbing her.
‘Night, Kate,’ he murmured, but there was silence, so he punched the pillow, turned away from her and closed his eyes.
No good. She wasn’t asleep. He could tell because her breathing was too even, too measured, too—conscious?
He rolled onto his back and turned his head towards her. ‘Kate?’
In the dim light from the streetlamp outside he saw the soft sheen of tears on her cheek, and with another wave of guilt and regret he rolled towards her, pulled her into his arms and kissed her tears away.
‘Don’t shut me out, Kate,’ he murmured. ‘I’m sorry I hurt you—’
‘You didn’t hurt me. I just can’t be her—’
‘You don’t have to be her. Just be you. There’s nothing wrong with you.’ He kissed her again, trailing his lips over her cheek, her nose, her eyes, then down again to her mouth, taking it in a long, slow, tender kiss that made her sigh.
He felt the tension go out of her, her arms creep round him, and he gave a quiet sigh of relief, shifted her further into his arms and held her as she settled into sleep.
CHAPTER NINE
IT WAS DIFFERENT after that.
They’d stopped being so wary around each other, having to weigh every word, and they settled into a comfortable routine. She’d thought it would be difficult, that she’d find it hard to have him there all the time, day and night, but it grew easier with every passing day.
They told some of the people at work, of course, and got mixed reactions, but she’d expected that and she knew some of them would be waiting for her to mess up, but she was determined not to, and she kept her head down and avoided the doom-mongers, and gradually it slid down the gossip charts.
They’d been sharing the flat over a week when they heard that Tom, the young man who’d had the cardiac arrest, was out of danger, and Sam went up to see him and brought her back a celebratory coffee from the canteen.
‘How is he?’ she asked, conscious of the fact that Sam had found his case especially hard, but he was genuinely happy.
‘He’s great. He’s got a long way to go, but he’ll get there. I’
m just so relieved for him. Oh, by the way, the house paperwork came through in the post this morning after you left. We need to sign the contract and get it back.’
‘Wow. That was quick!’
‘It had to be. Right, I’d better get on.’
He dropped a kiss on her lips, lingered just a moment too long and then winked as he walked away, and her heart gave a happy little jiggle.
* * *
They exchanged contracts on the house within the four weeks James had stipulated, and then he started to make lists of things they’d need.
Lists of furniture, lists of curtains, lists for the kitchen, for the nursery—it was only the nursery that really interested her, and for the first time she expressed a preference.
‘I want white. White everything. It’s easier.’
‘I thought babies were supposed to have bright, stimulating colours?’
‘Not in their bedrooms,’ she said, although she didn’t actually know that for a fact, but she knew if she was in a room filled with colour it was harder to settle to sleep, whereas a white room with soft grey and putty accents lowered her stress levels and soothed her instantly. ‘And anyway,’ she added, ‘I don’t want to get anything yet. Not so soon.’
‘We can still look. Let’s go shopping,’ he said, turning off his tablet with its endless images and pulling her to her feet.
‘What—now?’ she said, hanging back, because she still didn’t really feel it was her house, and she didn’t want to make a massive emotional investment in it. In her mind it was something he and Kerry had done, and she just felt it would be an utter minefield.
‘Yes, now. It’s Saturday morning, the shops are open, we can go and wander round them and choose what you like.’
‘Sam, I really don’t mind—’
‘Of course you do. I know you’re being noble because you think it’s my house, but it’s not, it’s our house, and I want you to like it and help me make it a home, so stop being so noncommittal and tell me what you like or we won’t have a stick of furniture to sit on.’
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