Fever Cure

by Phillipa Ashley

  “Good-bye, Tom,” she murmured. “Do what you have to do.”

  “You too,” he whispered, his breath warm against her cheek. “Good-bye, Keira.”

  Then he turned and opened the door to the flat and walked out, without looking backwards or uttering another word. She heard his footsteps growing quieter on the stairs until there was only silence.

  Keira did not go in for weeping as a rule. She saved that for major trauma and soppy films. For when her mum had told her she needed the biopsy, for instance, and for when the surgeon had given her the news that she was on the road to recovery. She saved crying for when she watched something really silly like Pretty Woman or Ghost. She saved her tears for the two extremes. The stuff that didn’t matter and the stuff that really, really did.

  Parting from Tom really, really mattered, and finally, after all these weeks, she knew she had to let her emotions out, otherwise she’d do it in school during the nativity play or in the playground or shopping or round at her mum’s for tea.

  Grabbing a box of tissues, she curled up under the duvet on her bed and waited. It took a whole hour, and finally it was the sound of an old diesel engine rattling past the window that did it. Before long, the pillow was soaked, her nose was running, and she knew, dimly, as she hurled her pain into the darkness, that her anguished howls must be breaking every noise rule in the flat’s lease.

  And she didn’t give a damn, not a single, bloody damn, she told herself as she ripped another fistful of tissues from the box. She didn’t care about anything at that moment but the fact that Tom was gone forever and she was carrying his child, and what on earth was she ever going to do?

  Back at the Lodge Tom threw his keys on the kitchen table and leaned against the worktop. Keira’s note was still lying on the kitchen worktop where he’d left it, accusing him. It was stained with coffee now, the purple pen oozing into the paper, he’d read it so often. “Maybe in another time, another place—but not here and now.” That had been her final word to him as she’d practically pushed him out of the flat.

  Next to the note was an A4 manila envelope with a London postmark. He knew what it would be without opening it: an information pack and a contract to sign.

  Leaving was just a formality now, and yet he felt his gut twisting, an anger rising in his heart, his mind. He brought his arm down and swept the papers off the worktop, sending them flying onto the shiny tiles.

  It was three in the morning when he woke up cold and stiff on the sofa, having spent the rest of the evening checking through the kit in the dining room. In a few days, he was off to London to discuss the schedule for his new posting.

  He had to conquer this. He had work to do, and staff to brief ready for his new post. He owed it to the job to give 100%, and by Christmas he would be back in the village amongst the people who needed him. That was where his body belonged, and one day, if he worked as hard as he could, he hoped his heart and mind would follow too.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Over the next few days, Keira tried her hardest to obliterate the pain of losing Tom by planning for the future. She’d put in her application for the deputy head’s job at a nearby school and tried to work out how she could afford a bigger flat with room for the baby. She’d have to go straight back to work and hope her mum would help out with the childcare, because she wasn’t sure she could afford a full-time nursery place. Of course, she had every right to ask Tom to pay for the child’s upbringing, but that was a last resort. The two of them would have to be out on the streets starving before she’d let him know about the baby.

  “Are you okay, hon?”

  In an effort to cheer her up, Su had asked her round to help hang some new curtains at her house, but she had had to climb down from the stepladder and sit on the sofa.

  “Yes. I’m fine.”

  Su dropped the curtain on the sofa and frowned. “You don’t look fine. I hope you’ve not got that bug that’s going round.”

  Keira managed a weak smile. “I’ve had every bug going. I’m a teacher, remember? I’m surprised I’m not immune by now.”

  “Well, you look pretty awful, and you’ve lost weight. Maybe you should make an appointment at the doctor’s. Oh. Shit. I’m sorry.”

  “I think I should steer well clear of doctors for a while. I’ll be fine. I just need a good night’s rest.”

  Su’s arms slid around her shoulders, and Keira gulped back a sob. “Keira, I am sorry, but it will pass, you know. You will get over him.”

  Accepting Su’s offer of a tissue, Keira blew her nose. “I know.”

  “At least you won’t have to see him every day at work or anything horrible like that.”

  Keira smiled at her friend’s practical logic. “That’s true, although I haven’t escaped entirely.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’ve got to pop round to the Lodge at some point.”

  “Why?”

  Keira gave a sigh. “Blame one of my pupils.”

  A few days later, Keira was very much blaming Ben Chalmers. She’d honestly thought she would never see Carew Lodge again, yet here she was guiding the car between the stone pillars at the entrance to the Carew estate.

  It was the last place she wanted to be.

  She blinked against the winter sun, which was so low in the sky she was almost blinded as she drove down the track. Then the trees cast their long shadows over the car, and she could see all again, clearly. There it was, the old yew tree, standing proud and black by the mossy wall.

  It was a stunning morning, the kind of day where the sky was so deeply blue, the sun so bright, that it might have been tropical. The frost lying under the shadow of hedges bore witness to the fact that this was England in winter. Beautiful, stark and bone-numbingly cold.

  Changing down a gear, she anticipated the speed ramp and glided over with a soft bump. There was a gentle thud as the cardboard tube on the passenger seat rolled forward and dropped into the footwell. Keira felt her heart sink a little, hoping the picture inside would be safe. Then again, if it couldn’t survive a few miles on English roads, how would it ever make it to the rainforest?

  She was moments away from the Lodge now, her heart pounding and stomach churning. She was here against every better judgment, but she hadn’t been able to let down Ben.

  “Will you give this to Dr. Tom?” he’d begged her just yesterday as she’d been tidying the classroom desks on the last day of term. How busy she’d been, packing away books, barely glancing at the piece of paper he was holding out to her proudly.

  “Please, Miss. I spent ages doing it,” he’d pleaded, and she’d reminded herself. She was a teacher, and Ben was a student who deserved her attention, no matter how preoccupied she was with her private life.

  She’d spread the picture on the desktop and had to stop her hand flying to her mouth. She could have wept at the bright flowers, the brown river and the huts on stilts. In the foreground was a tall man surrounded by children.

  “Do you like it, Miss?”

  “It’s amazing, Ben. Beautiful—truly.” Her fingers lingered on the man.

  “That’s Dr. Tom,” he’d said, pointing at the figure, “giving out medicine to the children…and that’s a giant spider,” he’d told her proudly. “And that’s a dugong.”

  Keira gave him a big smile. A dugong in the river, she thought to herself. How Tom would love that.

  “No pirates?”

  “Don’t be silly, Miss. There are no such things.”

  She could see him, waiting hopefully for her answer as she stood at the table with a silly expression on her face.

  “Will you give it to Dr. Tom?”

  “I don’t know, Ben, he’s gone back to Papua now.”

  His lip began to tremble. Ben, who never cried, not even when he’d broken his wrist playing football for the school. If it meant that much to him…and she knew it would mean so much to Tom. She had the story board. Why shouldn’t he have something just as unique to remember her and
the children by?

  “I tell you what, Ben. I’ll post it to him,” she’d said, knowing she had no address for him, not even a mobile or e-mail. So here she was.

  She could have phoned Charlie, of course, or e-mailed him, but he would have asked her round anyway, and with Tom safely on his way to Papua, there would be no chance encounter this time and no run that accidentally on purpose brought him to her feet.

  As she drew level with the tree by the gate, she stopped the car and wound down the window. Wrinkling her nose, she smelled the tang of wood smoke on the flinty air. Someone had a fire going. Then she heard the whine and rattle of an engine as it tried to splutter into life. It sounded like a hopeless task, judging by the way it tailed off after a few seconds.

  Terminal, Tom would have said.

  Her heart beat faster as she opened the car door and got out, the cold air a slap in the face after the blast of the car heater. Over the hedge, she could see the Land Rover clearly. A tall, dark man was opening the driver’s door and climbing down deftly from the seat. Walking to the front of the car, he wrenched up the heavy bonnet and propped it up on its metal rod.

  Her heart dropped to her boots as Charlie Carew caught sight of her and waved. Keira exhaled, her breath a cloud of white vapour in the clear air. The danger had passed, and surely that feeling, like a lump of stone in her stomach, was relief, not bitter disappointment?

  It had to be relief that Tom was not there, because her store of strength had been used up the night he’d brought her the story board. If she ever had to come face-to-face with him again, she wouldn’t be able to hold back her secret any longer. How could she have been silly enough to have thought that Tom was at home? He wasn’t even in England, let alone at the Lodge. Besides, what business would he have trying to resurrect an old vehicle he would never need to use again?

  “Hello there, Keira!”

  Charlie was walking towards her now, wiping his oily hands on an even oilier rag and grinning. “What brings you here? It’s marvellous to see you.”

  She summoned her best sports-day smile and allowed him to kiss her cheek. “I meant to drive straight to the hall, but I saw you here, and I have a favour to ask.”

  A look of puzzlement crossed his face, but he hid it well and was beaming again. “Anything, darling. Just name it.”

  He had given up on the oily rag now and was trying to wipe his hands on his jeans as she held out the cardboard tube.

  “I’ve brought this for Tom.”

  “Ah.” He stopped wiping his hands, and his mouth twisted. “I’m afraid he’s already gone, but then you knew that, didn’t you?”

  She nodded mutely. Of course he had, and that was good, wasn’t it? Hearing it said out loud started the hot tears pricking at the back of her eyes. Oh, no, please, don’t let me cry in front of Charlie. Dragging a tissue from her pocket, she blew her nose noisily.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Fine. It’s just the cold.”

  Charlie’s face, full of kind concern, was going a fair way to setting her off again. “We should go inside,” he said.

  No. Not inside the Lodge. That would make things ten times worse. To see the place where they’d laughed and made love and shared their lives, if only for a short time. It couldn’t be.

  “I won’t come in, if you don’t mind, but I’m glad I caught you. I knew Tom had left, and I just wanted to see if you could send this on to him. It’s from the children at my school.”

  Charlie took one look at the tube and laughed. “That’s one hell of a packet of Smarties.”

  She had to smile at this, even though she felt wretched inside. “It’s a painting done by one of the children in my class. Ben Chalmers. You might have met him. He came to the adventure day.”

  “Daring, cheeky blond?”

  “That’s him.”

  “How could I forget? And yes, I know all about the talk Tom gave. He mentioned it rather more often than you’d think, Keira.” She saw now how uncomfortable he looked, his eyes full of something like pity—which had to be worse than anything. It was time to get rid of the painting and get out of here.

  “Ben painted it for Tom when he heard that he was going away, and I promised I’d bring it. I thought you could make sure he gets it.”

  “Of course I will. I know Tom will be touched.”

  Why didn’t he take it from her and let her leave. Why?

  “Look… I am so sorry…”

  “About what?”

  “About Tom leaving. I tried everything to get him to stay, you know, and I thought he would stay, but he’s so stubborn, so hell-bent on thinking he can save the world single-handed. I’m afraid he’s gone back there for all the wrong reasons.”

  Shaking her head, she pasted on a smile of sorts. “It’s not your fault, and besides, I’m fine. I always knew the score. We both did. What could you have done?”

  “Helped him more. Listened. Not taken ‘no’ for an answer. I assume you know about that business with Sarah and David.”

  She nodded.

  “He wouldn’t let anyone talk to him and refused to see a counselor. In fact, he blew up whenever I tried to make him see it wasn’t his fault. But I thought you might have got through to him… Keira, I know how much he cared for you—how much he still does.”

  Keira wanted the ground to open now. Charlie was lovely, he really was, but every sympathetic word cut her to the bone. A shiver ran through her.

  Charlie threw the rag on the bonnet. “You’re frozen. Come inside and get warm by the fire.”

  “No, I can’t. Please just take the picture for me.”

  His voice was kind now, as if he were trying to persuade a child to take its medicine. He held up his blackened palms. “Of course, darling, but I can’t take it with these. You’ve come all this way. Come into the Lodge.”

  Her shoulders slumped, and she gave in. These days she didn’t even have the energy to protest. It must have something to do with her pregnancy, but it seemed far beyond that. The weariness seemed to have seeped into her very soul.

  The Lodge looked so inviting and mellow as she followed Charlie to the porch. The soft winter sunlight cast honeyed beams on the stone façade. If only she could have stayed here forever with Tom. His lover, his wife, mother to a baby son or daughter. But that was ridiculous. Fairy tales did not happen to ordinary girls like her. She’d known that at the start, and now it had been graven in stone as surely as the name plate by the door. She would have to manage on her own, just as her mum had done.

  Charlie showed her into the drawing room, insisting she sit in the armchair next to the fledgling flames of a log fire.

  “Has Ted made this up?” she asked.

  He smiled. “No, I have, so don’t be surprised if it goes out.” He showed her a dirty hand. “Look, I won’t be a mo, but this oil’s a bugger to get off.”

  As he disappeared into the kitchen, Keira held her hands up to the fire, wincing as the fierce heat brought the blood tingling to her fingertips. The chaise longue was empty now, the cushions plumped and neatly arranged, not strewn on the carpet like the night they’d made love on it and over it. Above the fire, the ninth earl and his lady still stood together, nervous, unsure and silent. A log split and cracked in the hearth, sending a shower of sparks into the grate.

  The noise made her jump, and she realised then. This really was no place for her. It was time to go, and she hoped Charlie would understand.

  She murmured to the painting above the mantelpiece, “I have to go. I just can’t hold back any longer.”

  “What can’t you hold back, Keira?”

  It was that voice. In the quiet of the room, above the gentle hiss of the fire, it rang out deep and clear and set her spine tingling. Her back was to the door, her face warm from the glow of the fire, and she dared not, could not, turn round. Her legs had frozen up, and it wasn’t frostbite that had caused it. There was a dull thud like something heavy being dropped on the floor. She heard footsteps coming
over to her chair; then they stopped behind her.

  Then long, strong fingers threaded their way through her hair, lifting it and letting it fall gently again.

  “What can’t you hold back, Keira, darling?”

  She closed her eyes and let her head fall back against the chair back as his hands drifted through her hair, softly, gently… It can’t be him. I’m imagining it, hallucinating, I’ve fallen asleep in front of the fire and I must be dreaming…and she was right, there were no fingers winnowing her hair now, so it must be a dream. Instead, they were pressing her chilled hands together now, half roughly, half gently, rubbing them back to life.

  “You’re not here,” she said through a husky throat. “You can’t be here, Tom.”

  “I can assure you I am, and if you open your eyes, I’ll prove it.”

  It was the sting of tears in her lashes that stopped her believing him. He knelt in front of her, not quite in focus, but what she could see of him was as inviting and as dangerous as ever.

  She was in serious danger of blubbing. “Charlie said you’d gone.”

  “Only as far as London. Now I’m back.”

  Back for a day? A week? She didn’t have the strength for this. She refused to have another parting, she told herself, even as he tried to wipe a tear from her cheek with the pad of his thumb.

  His voice was like dark honey. “Keira.”

  “That’s for you.” Waving her hand in the direction of the cardboard tube on the coffee table, she managed to push herself onto legs that weren’t frozen now but had turned to jelly. She pushed Tom away roughly, nudging him off balance just enough to get free. She stumbled across the room, bumping into the sofa as she tried to reach the door to the hall. Then, somehow, Tom was there, blocking the way to the door, a solid wall of muscle and power. He spoke to her, but she couldn’t hear him properly above the noise in her ears.

  “Let me go,” she called as he grabbed her wrist and pulled her to him, one arm round her waist, the other supporting her arm. The rough cloth of his suit pressed against her hot, wet cheek as she hid her face against his chest.