by Kate Hardy
Although they’d kept apart after that, the guilt and worry had eaten away at Karen, and the upcoming scan had been the last straw. Not wanting to lie to Ben any more, she’d told him the truth. Told him that she wanted Patrick. And, even if the baby turned out to be Ben’s, she’d fallen out of love with him and she wanted to make her life with Patrick instead.
Ben had been horrified. What if the baby was his? What then?
But Karen had been adamant. Either way, she didn’t want to be married to Ben any more. If the baby was his, they’d come to some sort of access arrangement, but she didn’t want to live with him for the baby’s sake. It wouldn’t be fair on any of them.
As for finding out who was the baby’s father, she’d done some research on the Internet. She’d found a non-invasive test, based on a simple blood sample from her and a mouth swab sample from himself and Patrick. The sample would analyse the cell-free foetal DNA in her blood—avoiding the risk of miscarriage that could be caused by an invasive test such as chorionic villi sampling—and it would compare genetic markers between the baby’s DNA, Patrick’s and Ben’s. Five thousand of them, so the test would be conclusive.
And so they’d all done the test. Karen had stayed at her mother’s for the two weeks it took for the results to come back, not having any contact with either Ben or Patrick until she knew for sure which of them was the father. Ben hadn’t wanted to see Patrick, to hear his excuses—plus he didn’t trust himself not to be so overwhelmed with emotion that he’d actually punch his ex-best friend.
Those two weeks had been the longest of his life. The seconds had dripped by like treacle. Although they knew that a court of law wouldn’t recognise the test, instead asking for a post-natal DNA test for final proof, everything Ben had read about the procedure and the results told him that there was a probability of ninety-nine point nine per cent of inclusion and one hundred per cent of exclusion. That was more than good enough for him.
At least Karen had told him the results face to face. She’d actually given him the results sheet so he could see it for himself.
Patrick was the baby’s father.
And Ben’s world had imploded.
He’d lost everything. His wife, his baby and his best friend.
He tried to push the thoughts away and finished writing up his notes.
There was a rap at his door.
‘Yes?’ he called with irritation.
The door opened. ‘Ben, I was wondering—’ Toni began.
‘What now?’ he snapped—then hated himself for being so rude. It wasn’t her fault and he shouldn’t take it out on her. ‘Sorry,’ he muttered. ‘I didn’t mean to snap at you.’
‘What’s wrong?’ she asked.
‘Nothing.’
‘Uh-huh,’ she said. And he didn’t blame her for not believing him.
‘I get that you might not want to talk,’ she said, ‘but right now you look like crap. Why don’t you come running with me? It’ll make you feel better.’
Part of Ben wanted to tell her to mind her own business, because he was just fine—except he wasn’t fine. And he knew that Toni had a point. The endorphins from going for a run would help his mood, and the sheer mechanics of running, putting one foot in front of the other, would clear his head. Plus it would be nice not to be alone with his thoughts. ‘OK,’ he said finally.
‘Get your running stuff and meet me in the car park outside Scott’s Café in half an hour,’ she said.
When he drove into the car park, Toni was already there, dressed for a run, leaning against her car with the dog sitting patiently next to her.
Remembering the other night, he put out his hand; the dog took a sniff and then licked his hand. Instead of feeling repulsed, Ben felt warm inside, which he hadn’t expected. Comfort from a dog. He would never have guessed that was possible.
‘No talking. Just run, when we’re on the beach, because I think you need this,’ she said, and led the way down the wooden steps to the dog-friendly end of the beach. She let Archie off the lead and began running when the dog raced off.
It had been a long, long time since Ben had run with anyone. And he was truly grateful that Toni didn’t push him to talk. The tide was out, and they just ran, both adjusting their stride so they were running side by side. There were other dog-walkers on the beach; Archie bounded up to one or two, whose owners clearly knew Toni and put up a hand in acknowledgement as they passed.
They ran all the way to the dunes, where she stopped. ‘Hydration break,’ she said. Obviously this was something she did a lot with Archie, because her small backpack held bottles of water and a bowl for the dog. She poured a bowl of water for the dog first, then looked at Ben. ‘Did you remember to bring some water?’
‘I forgot,’ he admitted. His thoughts had been too full of the past.
She handed him a bottle. ‘Here you go. It’s a new bottle and it’s chilled.’
‘Thanks.’
She waited until he’d finished drinking before she asked softly, ‘Do you want to talk about it?’
Yes and no. Part of him wanted to bury it, but part of him knew it was better to let it out before the memories turned even more poisonous and made him miserable. He blew out a breath. ‘This is all in confidence, yes?’
‘Of course.’
‘One of my patients is pregnant—it wasn’t planned and she was pretty upset about it. And I guess it stirred up a few memories for me.’
She waited, not interrupting or asking questions. Just as he did with patients when he wanted to give them the space to talk, knowing that eventually they would fill the silence.
‘My wife—ex-wife—was pregnant,’ he said quietly. ‘Two years ago. The pregnancy wasn’t planned.’ He had to swallow the lump in his throat. ‘And the baby wasn’t mine.’
She reached over to squeeze his hand briefly. ‘That’s a tough situation.’
‘It was a mess.’ Which was the understatement of the year. It had broken him.
‘Had you been married for long?’ she asked.
‘Five years. I’d just started getting broody. I was thrilled when she told me she was pregnant. I was really looking forward to being a dad. But it all went wrong.’ He gave her a wry smile. ‘But I guess we both made a mistake. I wasn’t the one she really wanted.’
‘So how did you find out?’
‘She told me, when she got the appointment for the twenty-week scan. She didn’t want to lie to me any more. So we did a prenatal paternity test.’
Her eyes widened. ‘CVS?’
‘No. We didn’t want to do anything invasive. It was a blood test for her and mouth swabs with me and...’ What would she say if he told her who the other man was? His best friend, the man he’d loved like a brother?
But he didn’t want her pity.
He shrugged. ‘The other guy. Nothing I could say or do would change what happened. Karen and I had a long talk that night, and she admitted they’d had a fling while I was away and the timing meant she wasn’t quite sure who the father was, him or me. What I’d thought was pregnancy hormones making her snappy with me—it wasn’t that at all. She felt guilty and angry with herself, and she couldn’t help taking it out on me.’
‘That’s tough for both of you.’
He nodded. ‘When I found out, I was so hurt and angry. And the DNA tests showed that the baby wasn’t mine. That broke me a bit. But talking to my patient today has made me think about what my ex went through. She was in a mess. The baby was going to change everything. And she did love me when she married me. It was just...’ He shrugged. ‘She fell out of love with me and in love with him.’
‘Did he love her?’
Ben nodded. ‘He always had. He tried to fight it for my sake.’
‘So you were friends?’
He might as well tell her the whole sorry truth. And if she started pityi
ng him, he’d walk away. ‘Yes. He didn’t seem to like her very much and he always seemed to avoid her. It never occurred to me that there might be another reason why he did it—like that film my sister, Jessie, watches every single Christmas, where Andrew Lincoln stands in the doorway with those oversized flashcards and tells Keira Knightley that he’ll always love her, even though she’s married to his best friend.’
He grimaced. ‘Jessie always said that was so romantic—but it really isn’t. Not when you’re on the other end of it and you realise that everyone’s lied to you. And everyone gets hurt. That’s not love.’ He looked away. ‘After Karen and I got married, Patrick moved to Edinburgh for three years. He told me it was for the sake of his career—but in hindsight I realise that it was actually to put some space between himself and Karen. To keep her out of temptation’s reach. But it happened anyway.’
‘It sounds like one of those situations where, whatever happened, you were all going to get hurt,’ she said gently, taking his hand and squeezing it briefly. ‘That’s rough.’
He risked a glance at her. There was definitely sympathy in her eyes—but to his relief there was no pity. ‘Yeah.’
She waited, giving him a chance to spill the rest.
So he did.
‘The baby wasn’t mine, so there was no fight over custody. She went to be with him, and we tried to sort everything out without making it any worse than it already was.’
‘Did you stay in your house?’ she asked.
He nodded. ‘Until we managed to sell it. Then I rented somewhere near the surgery where I worked. But I got sick of facing all the pity and then all the matchmakers who were so convinced that if they found Ms Right for me everything would be OK again. That’s why I jumped at the idea of coming here. It meant a new start, where nobody knew what had happened.’
‘I can understand that,’ she said, sounding heartfelt. ‘And what you’ve just told me will stay strictly confidential, I promise you.’
He believed her. ‘Thank you.’ He gave her a wry smile. ‘It’s pretty much put me off the idea of marriage and relationships.’
‘Hardly surprising. If it makes you feel any better,’ she said, ‘I’m not very good at picking Mr Right, either.’
‘No?’ He hadn’t expected that. He’d already worked out that Toni was very capable.
‘When Gran was first diagnosed with dementia, my ex said that Stacey and I should put her straight in a nursing home. He pretty much gave me an ultimatum—if I came back here to help Stacey look after Gran, we were through, because he didn’t want to live in a backwater and he didn’t want to have to drive to the middle of nowhere every time he wanted to see me.’
Now he understood those brief shadows in her eyes when she’d talked about London. ‘That,’ Ben said, ‘is incredibly selfish. Especially as I’m guessing he knew that she looked after you when your parents were killed and you grew up here.’
‘Exactly. It wasn’t a difficult choice.’ She smiled grimly. ‘I told him that he needn’t bother giving me an ultimatum because we were through anyway. And it took him all of half a week to replace me.’
‘What an idiot,’ Ben said.
She laughed. ‘Yes. He was a total stereotype: the epitome of an arrogant surgeon. I should’ve listened to the theatre nurses who said he was vile to work with.’
‘I know the sort.’ Patrick was a surgeon, too. But he wasn’t arrogant. He was one of the good guys. Which made it hurt even more: how could such a nice guy betray him like that? Ben still didn’t understand. ‘You’re worth more than that.’
‘You bet I am. But, actually, I like my life as it is. I love my job, I love being part of this community, and my closest family live nearby. Wanting anything more would be greedy.’
‘I should be grateful for what I have, too,’ Ben said. Instead of wishing things were different and that he’d been enough for Karen.
‘You’ve got a great job, you’re finding your place in a brilliant community, you’ve got the sea on your doorstep and right now the sun is shining. It doesn’t get better than this,’ Toni said.
He lifted his empty water bottle in a toast. ‘I would drink to that, so just pretend there’s some water left.’
She smiled. ‘Come back for dinner, if you like, and we can make that toast with wine. It won’t be anything fancy, though. Just whatever’s in the fridge or I can dig up from the garden.’
‘You cooked for me last time, so it’s my turn. Plus it will prove I’m capable of making more than just cake.’
‘As friends,’ she said.
‘As friends,’ he agreed. Which was the sensible thing to do. Even though regret twinged through him, because in another time and in another place they might have been more than just friends. Much more.
‘Then thank you. That will be lovely. Archie can keep Shona company,’ she said. ‘And I’ll bring pudding. You don’t have to worry about allergies or food dislikes—absolutely anything is fine by me. Well, except chocolate cake, but you know about that already.’
‘I do indeed. Let’s run back to the car.’ He paused. ‘And thank you for listening, Toni. I think I needed to let that out.’
‘Any time,’ she said. ‘And if you don’t want to talk to a human, you can borrow Archie. He won’t talk back or ask awkward questions, though he might decide to wash your face.’
And the sweetness in her smile made him want to hug her.
Except they’d just agreed this was a friendship only. He wasn’t going to cross the line and spoil it.
CHAPTER FOUR
BACK AT HER HOUSE, Toni showered quickly, popped next door with Archie and made Shona a mug of tea and a sandwich, then collected some strawberries from her garden and a tub of salted caramel ice cream from her freezer before driving over to Ben’s house.
Ben had clearly showered and changed into jeans and a T-shirt when he’d got home, and it made him look younger than he did at work—and much more approachable. Though, now he’d told her about his past, she knew she needed to keep her distance. He could offer her friendship and nothing more.
‘Hi.’ She handed him the strawberries and the ice cream. ‘Bit of a cheat, I’m afraid.’
‘Are these home-grown strawberries?’ he asked.
She smiled. ‘Picked just before I walked out of the door. You can’t get much fresher than this or have fewer food miles.’
‘And Scott’s ice cream. Moira told me on my first day that it was the best ice cream in town; I’ve tried a few flavours and this one is my favourite. Thank you.’
‘Archie loves the doggy ice cream, too,’ she said. ‘It’s really more like frozen yoghurt, so there’s no added sugar to wreck his teeth.’
‘I’m still getting my head around the concept of ice cream for dogs,’ he said. ‘Come in. Can I get you a glass of wine?’
‘I drove over—so the ice cream didn’t melt—so no, thanks—just water for me.’ She sniffed appreciatively. ‘Something smells nice.’
‘The sauce is home-made,’ he said, ‘but I’m afraid the ravioli and flatbread aren’t.’
‘I won’t hold it against you. I love ravioli and flatbread,’ she said.
Ben’s house was neat and tidy, but it felt more like a show house than an actual home. There was nothing personal on display; in the kitchen, there were no notes or photographs stuck to the fridge door with a magnet. Her fridge had pictures of family and friends, her shopping list, recipes she wanted to try cut from magazines. She hadn’t let Sean’s behaviour isolate her from the rest of the human race; but, then again, he hadn’t betrayed her in the way Ben’s wife and his best friend had betrayed him.
If you’d been hurt that much, it was only natural that you’d see your home as a place to sleep, not a place to live. And she’d be very foolish to think she could change the way he felt. He was being polite, but it was obvious to her that he’d s
hored up all his barriers, not letting anyone close. It felt as if he regretted confiding in her. So it was time to back off, make it clear she was offering him friendship and expecting nothing more. ‘Are you busy next weekend?’ she asked.
‘Yes. I’m keeping up with my professional development,’ he said.
Studying? ‘In that case, can I tempt you out to play on Saturday?’ she asked. ‘Just it’s the nineteen-forties weekend.’
‘Nineteen-forties weekend?’
‘You might have seen the posters around the village. Everyone dresses up, all the local businesses join in, and so does the steam train in the next village. And there’s a nineteen-forties-themed dance in Great Crowmell Village Hall on the Saturday night. All the proceeds go towards the cost of running events for the local kids over the summer holidays.’
* * *
Ben thought about it. Dressing up, a steam train and an evening dancing. It sounded a lot less lonely than the whole weekend spent doing an online course.
‘The food is themed as well,’ she added. ‘So you’ll have the delights of corned beef and Spam sandwiches, lentil sausages, homity pie and dairy-free cakes. Oh, and the fish bar is going to have a pop-up stall—on the grounds that fish and chips weren’t rationed—and a local brewery is doing the bar. Beer, cider and old-fashioned lemonade.’
‘That sounds good. Where do I get a ticket?’
‘For the steam train, you buy one at the station. But I can organise your ticket for the dance,’ she said with a smile.
‘Thanks. Let me know how much I owe you.’
‘Will do. And, if you fancy baking some scones to a wartime recipe, the Village Hall committee would love you for ever.’
The penny dropped. ‘You’re on the committee, aren’t you?’
‘Yup,’ she confirmed. ‘We do all sorts of things. There’s a dog show later in the summer.’
‘Why do I get the feeling that was your idea?’ he asked wryly.
