Her Four-Year Baby Secret

by Alison Roberts

  The bitterness had gone from his tone but Fiona still wanted to make amends. To ease the awful guilt that was taking over that stupid resentment she’d harboured all these years.

  ‘Why did you ask about the time of day I left London?’

  ‘Because I tried to ring you. I rang and rang the following afternoon and got no answer.’

  ‘I left at about lunchtime. Mum had to get back because Dad was in hospital. Here, in fact. He’d had another stroke. It was her idea that I came back with her and somebody pulled some strings and got me a ticket. I didn’t know you were in London, Nick. Nobody told me.’

  ‘I didn’t tell anybody. I wanted to keep it quiet.’

  ‘I didn’t have anything to stay for and I was worried about Dad.’

  ‘Of course you were. It never occurred to me that you might have gone away, though. When I finally had my call answered, a woman told me that you didn’t want to talk to anyone. Even when I told her who I was, she said you weren’t taking calls. From anyone.’

  ‘I had someone stay in the house to make it look like I was still there. I didn’t want to be followed. I thought if I bought enough time, the story would be of no interest to anyone. And then, when I found out I was pregnant, it was really important that no one knew where I was.’

  ‘I wrote letters but they just got sent back.’

  ‘I changed back to my maiden name. There’s only a few people here that know the connection and they love Sam. They want to protect him as much as Mum and I do.’

  Fiona was still holding Nick’s hand. She could feel a tear escaping but she was smiling at the same time. She could make amends. She could not only get rid of a shadow from her past that had haunted her, she could make life better for the people she loved the most.

  ‘You’ll love him, Nick. He looks…’ Fiona’s gaze was slightly blurred but she could see the features of the man sitting so close to her clearly enough. A blunted version of the rugged good looks Al had had. Softer but with the same floppy, dark hair, the same brown eyes, the wide smile that came more slowly with Nick but could still light up a room.

  ‘He looks a lot like you,’ she finished softly.

  ‘So he really is my nephew?’

  Fiona let the implied insult pass. Of course this was a shock. Sam was now the only close blood relative Nick Stewart had in the world.

  ‘I was nearly five months pregnant by the time I found out. I thought the stress of Al’s death and then coming home and helping to look after Dad had been responsible for making my cycles irregular. I was so…I guess shocked is the only word for it, really.’

  ‘Yeah…’ Nick’s gaze had softened. ‘I know the feeling.’

  ‘It feels weird, doesn’t it?’ As Fiona held his gaze she realised she was still holding Nick’s hand and it suddenly felt completely inappropriate. She let it go and her smile felt embarrassed.

  Curiously shy, even.

  ‘It is good to see you, Nick. I’ve often thought how much Sam would love to meet his uncle.’

  Nick had pulled his abandoned hand closer to his body. He looked away and cleared his throat. Was he embarrassed as well? Then he nodded. Slowly, giving the impression that something was falling into place in his head. When he looked back at Fiona his gaze was steady and the slow smile so like the Nick she remembered that an odd, melting sensation happened somewhere inside her chest.

  The kind of sensation she now associated with moments when she checked on Sam late at night and stood looking down at her sleeping son.

  ‘I can’t wait to meet him,’ Nick said.

  ‘Come home with me,’ Fiona urged. ‘The house isn’t huge but we’ll find room.’

  ‘I don’t need to stay. I’ve got a hotel I can go to.’

  ‘No.’ Fiona shook her head firmly. ‘You can’t go to a hotel, Nick. No way.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because…I want you to meet Sam. And my mum.’

  She could see the uncertainty in his face but she could also see longing, and Fiona’s heart squeezed again as she wondered if this man had always felt left out. She had a glimpse of the boy she remembered and a sudden insight that he could have been running all these years because he hadn’t had somewhere he could feel like he belonged. Somewhere he was genuinely loved and wanted.

  He had been Al’s kid brother.

  He was her son’s uncle.

  And quite apart from those connections, he was, simply, Nick.

  ‘Come home,’ she said softly. ‘You’re family, Nick. It’s where you belong.’

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ‘BUT I’ve got lots of uncles.’ The small boy in Fiona’s arms had a singularly unimpressed expression as he took another look over his shoulder at the newcomer his mother had brought home. ‘There’s Uncle Hugh and Uncle Steve and Uncle Shane and—’

  ‘Good heavens!’ Fiona’s mother, Elsie Murchison, gave an embarrassed laugh. ‘It sounds like you have endless men in tow, Fi.’

  ‘They’re friends,’ Fiona said casually. ‘And all good role models.’ She gave her son another cuddle and then set him down onto a well-worn carpet that suited the old house. ‘Nick’s different, sweetheart. He’s your real uncle. He was your daddy’s brother.’

  ‘Oh, my!’ Elsie said, not for the first time. She wiped her hands on her apron. ‘I still can’t believe it. It’s been…How long has it been, Fi? Since the wedding?’

  ‘Ten years.’

  Nick didn’t want the inevitable awkward pause to emphasise the breakdown of the bond he had once had with these people. ‘You don’t look a day older, Mrs Murchison.’

  ‘Call me Elsie,’ Fiona’s mother instructed. Then she flapped her hand and smiled broadly. ‘And flattery will get you everywhere, young man. Come in! Don’t stay standing by the door. You’re family after all.’ She beamed at Nick. ‘This is…wonderful!’

  Sam’s eyes were the size of saucers. He watched Nick walk further into the lounge and find a seat on one of the sofas near a log fire that was burning merrily.

  ‘Were you friends with my daddy?’

  Nick dragged his gaze from the cluster of framed photographs on the mantelpiece. Baby photographs of Sam. Pictures of Fiona with her parents. A large photograph of Alistair in his racing colours, holding an enormous silver trophy aloft and with a grin that couldn’t advertise anything other than triumph.

  ‘Sometimes.’ Nick smiled at Sam but the humour went over the child’s head. ‘He was my big brother,’ he added, with another, involuntary glance at the photograph. ‘He was really important and clever and brave.’

  ‘He raced cars!’

  Nick nodded gravely. ‘I know.’

  ‘Like the ones I saw today with Ga.’

  ‘Ga?’

  Fiona came to his rescue. ‘Sam had trouble with “Grandma” when he started talking and “Ga” kind of stuck.’ She turned her to mother and lowered her voice. ‘How much did he see?’

  Elsie gave her head a small, reassuring shake. ‘We heard the crash, of course, and saw smoke but that was all. We were talking to Bernie Johns, of all people. I went to school with Bernie and hadn’t seen him for more than forty years…Anyway,’ Elsie dismissed the conversational distraction. ‘We came straight home. I’ve heard a bit on the news since…’

  Her expression was questioning but Fiona echoed the headshake. Not in front of Sam, the gesture said. Her arm moved as well, a protective touch that brushed the top of the dark head close to her leg.

  ‘Do you race cars, too?’ Sam asked Nick.

  ‘No.’ Nick kept his smile with difficulty. Was Alistair’s son going to make him feel like he didn’t make the grade? Could it be an inherited talent?

  ‘Do you know…’ Fiona bent her head and spoke with the air of someone imparting a secret ‘…that your uncle Nick is a doctor—just like Uncle Hugh.’

  Sam’s gaze was assessing. His nod suggested that being a doctor was an acceptable profession. ‘Luke’s my friend,’ he announced. ‘We play cars. Would you li
ke to see my cars?’

  ‘Sure.’

  Fiona had turned to her mother. ‘Nick’s here as a locum for Hugh,’ she said. ‘He’s going to be here for a month.’

  ‘Oh, my! Did you know he was coming? Why didn’t you say something?’

  ‘I didn’t know. I’m sure Hugh never mentioned a name. He just said it was someone who came with astonishingly good references in the field of emergency medicine.’

  Nick shrugged modestly but Fiona smiled. ‘You more than lived up to your reputation today and you haven’t even officially started work.’

  Again, the reminder of what had happened at the rally created a blip in the conversation and the adults all glanced at the child in their midst, who was making his way towards the sofa, a toy car clutched in each hand. Nick could see that Sam was aware of the attention. He even gave the impression that he was aware of the undercurrents, though he might not understand them.

  ‘There was a crash today,’ he said to Nick in a stage whisper as he climbed onto the sofa beside him.

  ‘I know,’ Nick whispered back. ‘I was there, too.’

  ‘My mummy had to help fix the people who got hurt.’

  ‘Nick was helping, too,’ Fiona said.

  ‘Did the driver get hurt, Mummy?’

  ‘Not badly, sweetheart.’

  Sam turned back to Nick. ‘My daddy got hurt in a crash,’ he said matter-of-factly. ‘That’s why he’s not here any more. He’s deaded.’

  Nick glanced at Fiona with concern but she seemed perfectly at ease with the exchange. Did they talk about Al a lot? Enough to make him more of a presence in this household than just an image on the mantelpiece?

  It felt that way.

  And it felt odd.

  A link to a past Nick had left behind such a long time ago.

  A link he had chosen to break himself, well before the death of their parents had removed the anchor of a shared family home. He couldn’t help a sweeping glance around the comfortable room he was in right now. There were lots of books and photographs. Toys strewn around the floor. Washing that was waiting to be folded using up an armchair. The smell of something delicious wafting in from the kitchen.

  His childhood home had never felt like this. How could it have when his parents had used their dwelling as an advertisement for their wealth and status? When they’d died it had become apparent they had lived beyond their means so there hadn’t been too much of an inheritance for their sons but, as Al’s widow, Fi must have inherited millions. It had to be a deliberate choice to live modestly. Part of protecting Sam, maybe?

  If so, the little boy was lucky. Life might have been very different if Nick had grown up in a home like this. One that was clearly filled with love and laughter and good things to eat.

  Elsie seemed to be reading his thoughts. ‘Dinner’s almost ready,’ she said. ‘Sam, could you move your paper and crayons off the table, please?’

  ‘But I’m showing Uncle Nick my cars. See?’ A small red and white toy was shoved close to Nick’s face.

  ‘Later,’ Fiona said. ‘There’ll be plenty of time before you go to bed and Uncle Nick might even stay with us for a few days.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘You could use Sam’s room,’ Fiona continued. ‘Sam still sneaks into my bed as often as not, anyway.’ She wasn’t going to allow time for any protest from Nick. ‘Excuse me for a few minutes,’ she said. ‘I’m going to jump into the shower so I can get out of this uniform. Can I get you a glass of wine or something?’

  ‘I’ll do that,’ Elsie said. ‘And I’ll talk Nick into staying while you get changed. Red or white wine, Nick? Sorry, but we don’t have a beer at the moment.’

  ‘A glass of red would be fantastic,’ Nick said. ‘Thank you.’

  Elsie held out her hand to her grandson as Fiona left the room. ‘Sam, do you think you could find a packet of crisps in the cupboard?’

  ‘For me?’ Sam slid off the couch with a grin that gave Nick a jolt. It was so like Al’s grin. Radiating the kind of charm that had always won him instant friends.

  ‘For you and Uncle Nick. You can share.’

  Sam trotted after Elsie towards the source of the wonderful smell. ‘I’m good at sharing, aren’t I, Ga?’

  ‘You are, darling. Very good.’

  Nick found himself sitting alone on a sofa. Or not quite alone. A small red and white car was on the cushion beside him. He picked it up without thinking, staring at the object without really seeing it.

  This feeling of total bemusement was foreign. It probably had a lot to do with displacement. Jet-lag. The aftermath of dealing with some horrific trauma that had shattered lives as well as limbs today.

  But a large part of it stemmed from seeing Fiona again. It was like someone had taken his life and shaken it. The places he had been, the people he had known, the things he had learned seemed fragmented. Any sense of moving forward or even continuity had been disrupted to a point that was leaving him confused.

  Almost lost.

  Nick leaned back with a sigh and closed his eyes for a moment. The feeling was not pleasant and that in itself was confusing because this room—the whole atmosphere of this small house and the warmth of the people it contained—had to be one of the most pleasant places he had ever been.

  An ability to rinse away both the grime and the emotional involvement in her work was a skill Fiona had developed as a mother. As much as was possible, Sam became her focus as soon as she stepped over the threshold of her home.

  Usually, by the time her uniform was discarded in favour of her favourite faded denim jeans and the soft, clinging merino wool tops she loved, Fiona would be well on the way to shutting down the professional compartment of her brain. Or, at least, putting it on standby.

  Something felt different tonight, however. Standing in the still steamy bathroom, Fiona brushed out the kinks her braid had left in her hair and found she was still thinking about medical matters.

  Not so strange, really, given the magnitude of the incident they’d had to deal with today. Any one of those cases were the sort that Fiona would want to discuss at length with Hugh when they both had the time and energy. To go over her assessment and treatment and see if there was anything she could have done better.

  She could do that with Nick while it was all still fresh in her mind. Gain a new perspective on pre-hospital emergency care from someone more qualified than herself who was very experienced in working on the front line, from all accounts so far. The attraction of that possibility was unsettling in itself because Fiona had worked hard to separate home and work compartments and create the haven her son deserved.

  By the time Fiona returned to the lounge she had dismissed the notion of such a discussion. There were too many other things she wanted to talk to Nick about when Sam had gone to bed.

  Personal things.

  A burning curiosity was beginning to surface. Why was Nick here? Why was he still single? Or did he have a partner—a wife, even—who was planning to join him in New Zealand?

  And why was that idea as unsettling as anything else to do with this man’s sudden reappearance in her life?

  The man responsible for her mental disruption was currently lying on his stomach on the floor of the lounge, bathed in the glow of firelight, head to head with a small boy in an identical pose. They both had small cars in their hands and they were driving them around a bowl that contained what looked like crisp crumbs. They were also both making enthusiastic engine noises.

  Fiona started to smile but something caught her lips and made them wobble.

  Would Al—the superstar rally driver—have ever lain on an old carpet and played with his son like this?

  A ghostly laugh played somewhere in the back of her mind.

  ‘Kids? Me? Not in this lifetime, babe.’

  The carpet really was getting too old. The wheels of Sam’s bright blue car caught on a patch of exposed threads.

  ‘I’m stuck, Uncle Nick!’ He yanked the toy and a small
metal bar with a plastic wheel on each end popped off. ‘Oh, no!’ Sam cried forlornly. ‘I’m broken!’

  ‘Pit stop,’ Nick said calmly. He took the pieces of the toy and clicked the wheels back into place. The movement brought Fiona into his line of vision.

  Nick grinned, seemingly unembarrassed at his rather un-dignified position, and then Sam grinned up at his mother and the likeness between the adult and child was unmistakable.

  Stupidly, Fiona actually had to blink back tears. This was what was missing in Sam’s life, wasn’t it? It didn’t matter how many wonderful male role models she had available, there was something about a family tie that just couldn’t be replicated.

  Elsie saved her from anyone noticing her reaction.

  ‘Dinner’s ready,’ she announced, wiping her hands on her apron as she came into the lounge. ‘Sam, why don’t you go and get your pyjamas on?’

  ‘But I want dinner, too, Ga.’

  ‘You had your dinner, darling. Before Mummy came home, remember? You must be getting tired by now.’

  ‘No. I’m not tired.’ Sam held his eyelids open as widely as possible with his fingers. ‘See?’

  Everybody laughed as Nick and Sam got to their feet but then Sam started coughing. A dry cough that became more noticeable as they all sat down at the table, where Elsie’s roast chicken sat on a big platter surrounded by crisp vegetable portions.

  He coughed again as Fiona poured some gravy over the tiny amount of chicken and potato she had placed on his plate.

  ‘I think we’d better get your huffer, sweetheart.’

  ‘I’ll get it, Mummy.’ Sam glanced at Nick to make sure he was listening and then added proudly, ‘I know what to do.’

  Nick paused before selecting a wedge of pumpkin to add to his plate. He watched Sam race towards the door. ‘Asthma?’ he queried.

  ‘Just mild.’ Fiona nodded. ‘Responds well to medication.’ She pushed her chair back. ‘Excuse me for a second. I’ll go and help him.’

  ‘I had asthma when I was Sam’s age.’

  ‘Did you?’ Fiona swung back to give Nick an astonished glance. ‘I never knew that.’