How To Mend A Broken Heart

by Amy Andrews

  ‘It’s okay, Mum,’ Fletch reassured her as he reached over and turned off the alarm on the clock that was sitting on the coffee table. ‘Remember, that just means your show’s about to start.’ His mother continued to look at him blankly. ‘Wheel of Fortune,’ he prompted.

  ‘Oh.’ Jean sagged a little and dropped her hand to her lap. ‘Oh, yes, oh, I love that show!’

  Fletch nodded as he picked up the remote and flicked on the big sleek screen to the channel that played non-stop 1980s television shows. ‘There you go, just starting,’ he said as the game-show music rang out.

  ‘Tess.’ Jean bounced like a little girl on Christmas morning. ‘Do you want to watch it with me?’

  Fletch watched the play of emotions mirrored in Tess’s eyes. She was obviously shocked by the many faces of Jean. ‘Actually, we’re going to go out on to the deck and have a chat,’ he said.

  But his mother wasn’t listening, engrossed in the show, her invitation to Tess already forgotten. He inclined his head at Tess, indicating they move away, and she eagerly complied, following him to the kitchen.

  ‘Would you like something a little stronger?’ he asked as he removed the mug she’d brought with her and placed it in the sink.

  Following a period after she’d moved to the UK when she’d drunk a little too often, Tessa didn’t drink much these days. But if ever she needed alcohol, it was now. Being with Jean was heartbreaking. And being with Fletch, seeing those pictures, was…disturbing.

  ‘Yes, please.’

  Fletch pulled a bottle of chilled white wine out of the fridge and held it up. ‘All right?’

  Tessa nodded. ‘Sure. Thanks.’

  He poured them both a glass and handed her hers. Normally he’d clink glasses with someone in this situation but nothing was normal about right now so he took a mouthful then led the way to the deck.

  Fletch, conscious of her behind him, put his arms on the railing and inhaled the late-afternoon river breeze. He took another sip of his wine then turned to face her.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Fletch,’ she murmured. ‘It’s…it’s so unfair.’

  Fletch’s lips twisted into a bitter smile as his mobile phone rang. ‘Since when has life ever been fair?’ he asked as he located his phone and answered it.

  Tess nodded. Truer words had never been spoken.

  She moved to the far side of the railing to give Fletch some privacy. She had absolutely no desire to eavesdrop on the conversation but it was hard not to when he was standing two metres from her.

  It was Trish and Tess gathered Fletch’s little sister was asking after Jean. Then she heard Fletch tell her that he’d been to the cemetery and reassured her three times that he was fine. Like Jean, Trish had been a tremendous support for them after losing Ryan. She’d worried about them, about her brother particularly, like a little mother hen. Tess knew that if Trish had been able to turn back time for them, she would have.

  Her name was mentioned and Tess wondered how Trish was taking the news that she was here. They’d been close once, like real sisters, but Trish was loyal to a fault and while she’d been supportive for that horrible year, she’d been angry with Tess over her desertion of Fletch.

  It had hurt at the time but blood was thicker than water and it was only right that she should stand by her brother.

  Fletch hung up. ‘Sorry, that was Trish.’

  ‘So I gathered,’ she murmured, swishing the wine in her glass absently. ‘How’s she and Doug doing these days?’

  ‘Great. Doug started his own computer repair business five years ago. It’s thriving. Trish gave up the childcare centre a few years ago to work full time taking care of the books side of things and managing the job schedule. They have Christopher, he’s almost two. And she’s seven months pregnant with number two.’

  Tess stilled, the swirl of the wine coming to a halt. She glanced at Fletch. Trish had a child? A little boy. A little boy only a few months older than Ryan had been when he’d died?

  And another on the way?

  She and Fletch had been trying for another baby just prior to Ryan’s accident.

  The ache that was never far from her heart intensified. In a split second she both envied and despised her ex-sister-in-law with shocking intensity.

  Fletch watched Tess’s face as a string of emotions chased across the taut face, which seemed suddenly paler. ‘She always wanted babies, Tess,’ he said gently.

  Tess breathed in raggedly. She nodded her head vigorously. ‘Of course.’ Trish had absolutely doted on Ryan. ‘That’s great,’ she said, forcing words past the husky lump lodged in her larynx. ‘So, you’re an uncle, huh?’

  Fletch nodded. ‘Yes.’

  Of sorts. He hadn’t had a lot to do with his nephew given how often he was out of the country. But he was a dear little boy who adored him. And if it was hard at times to hold his wriggly little body and not think of Ryan, not see the similarities between the two cousins, then he erected another layer around his heart and sucked it up.

  Tess heard the grimness in his response and knew that it couldn’t have been easy for him. She hesitated for a moment, went to take a step towards him until a shout of ‘Buy a vowel!’ coming from the lounge area halted the reflex before her foot had even moved.

  She smiled at him as the sound of Jean’s excited clapping drifted out. ‘How’s Jean with him?’

  Fletch felt his answering smile die. ‘She doesn’t remember him most days. It’s hard for Trish. Especially as Mum’s been living with them since just before Christopher was born.’

  Tess frowned. ‘How come she’s living with you now? I don’t mean to tell you how to manage Jean’s condition but I don’t think changing her living arrangements at this stage in her disease is such a good thing, Fletch.’

  ‘Trish had problems with her first pregnancy. She went into early labour at twenty-four weeks. They managed to stop it and get the pregnancy through to thirty-four weeks. A month ago she went into early labour again with this one. Which they also managed to stop. But given her history and her age, her obstetrician ordered bed rest and no stress for the remainder of the pregnancy.’

  ‘Ah,’ Tess murmured. ‘Not very easy when you’re looking after a toddler and your high-needs mother.’

  Fletch grimaced. ‘No.’ He rubbed the back of his neck. ‘Trish tried day respite but the unfamiliar setting distressed Mum, made her anxious, which flowed on into the nights. Mum stopped sleeping and she started to wander. She had a couple of falls.’

  ‘Oh, no,’ Tess gasped.

  Fletch shrugged. ‘Lucky she has bones made of concrete.’

  Tess laughed, remembering the time that Jean had slipped and fallen down a flight of stairs with not even a bruise to show for it. Fletch smiled at her laugh. It was as familiar to him as his own and yet not something he’d heard for a very long time.

  Another thing he’d missed with surprising ferocity.

  ‘We got a day nurse in but the same thing happened. An unfamiliar face just aggravated the situation. So…I took a leave of absence from Calgary and came home to step in and do my bit. Look after Mum until after the baby’s born.’

  Tess understood the conundrum he and Trish faced. The familiar was important to dementia patients, who clung to their repertoire of the familiar even as it shrank at an alarming rate around them. But, still, uprooting yourself from the other side of the world was a big ask.

  Although she guessed not for Fletch. He’d always been very family orientated, always taken care of his responsibilities.

  ‘It’s a good thing you’re doing,’ she said softly.

  He looked at her. ‘It’s family, Tess. Family sticks together.’

  Tess shied from the intensity of his silver-green eyes. Was there an accusation there? Sure, she’d asked for the divorce but he hadn’t exactly put up a fight. In fact, he’d been pretty relieved as far as she could recall. Did he really blame her for wanting to get as far away from it all as
possible?

  She took a deep breath. She wasn’t going to go there. She was finishing her drink. She was going back to her hotel room.

  Tomorrow she was getting on a plane.

  ‘So you’re not working, then?’

  Fletch shook his head. He looked into his drink. ‘That was the plan but St Rita’s approached me with an interesting proposition and I’ve accepted a temporary contract…’

  Tess blinked as the information sat like a lead sinker in her brain. ‘St Rita’s? In the…PICU?’

  Fletch glanced up into her huge amber eyes, flashing their incredulity like a lighthouse beacon. ‘In both the adult and kids’ ICUs. They want someone to head up a study on the application of hypothermia in acute brain injury. They’ve asked me. I didn’t come here to work but…how could I refuse? It’s a marvellous opportunity.’

  Tess was quiet for a moment while she processed the startling information. ‘Oh.’

  She knew that since their separation and his move to Canada, Fletch had become an authority—some might call it an obsession—on cold-water drowning, undertaking several world-renowned studies. In fact, he was probably one of the world’s foremost experts on the subject. She’d read everything he’d ever published from the impressive studies to journal articles and every paper he’d ever given at a conference or a symposium.

  None of them had brought Ryan back.

  ‘It’s part time, only a few hours a day with no real clinical role. I can do a lot of the work from home, which is perfect, leaves me a lot of time for Mum.’

  Tess nodded. It sounded ideal. She just wished she could understand how he could go back there. She knew, although she didn’t pretend to comprehend, why he’d chosen that particular field of research but how he could handle the subject matter was beyond her. And how he could enter St Rita’s without breaking down she’d never know.

  Her eyes sought his. She remembered how he’d told his mother earlier about the kids with the last of the winter bugs. She’d thought he’d been fobbing Jean off but obviously not. ‘You’ve…you’ve been into the PICU?’

  Their gazes locked. ‘Yes. Several times. In fact, I called in there on my way to the cemetery.’

  Tess let out a shaky breath. ‘Right…’

  What did she say now? How was it? Have you been into room two? Did it bring back memories? Was Ryan’s presence still there or had it been erased by years of other children and hospital antiseptic?

  Instead, she said nothing because she really didn’t want to know.

  Fletch’s stare didn’t waver. ‘It wasn’t easy, Tess.’

  She looked away. Had he thought it would be? Did he expect her sympathy? An embrace? Applause? Some kind of a shared moment where everything was suddenly all right because he’d confronted some ghosts?

  A surge of emotions knotted in her belly and she knew she had to leave. Get out. Far away from Fletch and all that reminded her of that dark, dark time.

  Denial had been working for her just fine.

  She just wanted to go to bed and sleep off the jet-lag and not have to think about any of it.

  ‘Well,’ she said, downing the contents of her glass in one long swallow. ‘It looks like you have everything worked out.’

  ‘Tess.’

  She ignored the reproach in his voice. ‘I’ve gotta go.’ She placed the wine glass on the table and headed for the door.

  ‘Tess,’ he said, catching her arm lightly as she brushed past him.

  Tess stopped. ‘Let me go,’ she said, staring straight ahead.

  ‘Tess, please, stay for a while.’

  She squeezed her eyes shut. ‘Fletch.’

  ‘I want to talk to you, Tess.’

  ‘I think we’re all talked out.’

  ‘It’s about Mum.’ He felt her arm strain against his hand. ‘Please, Tess, just hear me out. For Jean.’

  Tess sighed, and her muscles relaxed, knowing she was defeated.

  Damn it.

  And damn him.

  CHAPTER THREE

  TESS sat at the table, staring out over the Brisbane River, while Fletch was in the kitchen fixing them both a top-up of their glasses. A light breeze ruffled her utilitarian locks and she had to shake herself to believe she was actually sitting on her ex-husband’s deck, drinking wine.

  The whole scene felt surreal. Jean’s dementia had dragged her reluctantly into her past. A time when things had been simple and she’d truly believed that love could get a person through everything. It was a strange reality that warred with her present-day situation.

  What did he want to talk to her about regarding Jean? Surely he had better access to the medical side of Jean’s condition than she did? He probably had half a dozen gerontologists up his sleeve he could talk to. Or maybe he was after practical advice? How to care for his mother on a day-to-day basis? Or a recommendation for a good home-care agency, maybe?

  Whatever it was, she hoped he made it snappy because when she got to the bottom of her second glass she was walking away.

  Fletch paused by the sliding door, watching Tess’s profile for a moment, and wished he was sure of her. He needed her help. Once upon a time he could have counted on it. But a lot of water had flowed under the bridge since then and she was so very, very skittish.

  Plus he wasn’t so sure of himself now. His plan had sounded fine in theory but being with her again was confrontational on many levels. He’d thought he could handle it but standing two metres from her he realised it would be physically and emotionally harder than he’d ever imagined.

  Still…he was desperate and Tess was perfect.

  He took a deep breath and stepped out onto the deck. ‘Here you go,’ he said, placing her refilled wine glass in front of her.

  Tess glanced down at the offering and murmured, ‘Thanks.’

  She picked it up and took a decent mouthful, the smooth, fruity crispness against her palate not really registering. She placed the wine back down as Fletch sat opposite her, hearing the clink as it met the smoky glass of the tabletop. ‘You wanted to talk about Jean?’ she prompted.

  Fletch sighed. Obviously there wasn’t going to be any small talk. Which he’d have preferred. He had no idea how she was going to react to his proposition, although instinct told him it wouldn’t be very well…

  ‘I need to get someone in for Mum. Someone who can be here while I’m out. When I accepted the contract I thought I’d be able to juggle it and her. It’s only part time and Mum doesn’t need constant care and attention. But the truth is I don’t feel comfortable leaving her at all. I just don’t think she’s safe enough and I’d feel a hell of a lot better if she wasn’t here by herself.’

  ‘Like a home-care nurse?’

  Fletch shook his head. ‘No. I’m not after someone to help with her physical needs because she’s still capable, so far, of taking care of that. Although having someone who understands Alzheimer’s is a definite plus… I’m thinking more like a companion.’

  ‘You mean someone closer to her own age?’

  ‘I mean someone who knows her. She’s not great with strangers—they distress her.’

  Tess’s brow wrinkled. ‘That would be ideal, of course. Are you thinking of one of her old friends?’

  Fletch didn’t take his eyes off her. ‘I’m thinking of someone closer than that. Someone she knows really well who has experience with the elderly and with dementia sufferers. The best of both worlds.’

  Fletch watched and waited—waited for his meaning to sink in. It didn’t take long.

  Tess narrowed her eyes. Was Fletch thinking what she thought he was thinking? She shook her head at him. ‘No. No way.’

  ‘You’re perfect, Tess.’

  She shook her head again, mentally recoiling from the plea in his wattle-leaf gaze. ‘No.’

  ‘I know this is kind of out of the blue—’

  ‘Kind of?’ Tess spluttered.

  ‘I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t stuck.’

  Tess stared at him, wondering when
he was going to grow a second head. ‘Putting everything else aside, I’m leaving for the UK tomorrow.’

  ‘It’s just until after Trish is back on her feet. A couple of months.’

  Tess blinked. ‘I have a job, Fletch.’

  Fletch snorted. He’d always thought Tess squandering her critical care skills in a geriatric facility was such a monumental waste of a highly skilled nurse, even if it was to his advantage now.

  She glared at him. ‘That I love. Where I get an enormous amount of respect and job satisfaction.’

  It might just be a little nursing-home in the middle of the Devonshire countryside but people depended on her. The staff and the residents. When she’d needed a place to hide and lick her wounds they’d taken her in and given her a direction for her life. They’d helped her function again.

  ‘I’m sure they’d understand if you explained the circumstances. I can recompense you if it’s money you’re worried about.’

  Tess shook her head at his utter gall. Had he thought she’d just agree? They’d been virtual strangers for the past nine years and he expected her to just…comply? And that splashing some money around would sweeten the pot? Sure, she loved Jean, he knew that. He knew how close they’d been. But it was still a big gamble for him to take—betting the bank on her.

  The woman who had already turned her back on his family.

  ‘So this is it?’ she demanded. ‘This is your brilliant plan? Ask your ex-wife? Who just happens to be here at the same time you need someone to look after your mother? That’s crazy! What would you have done if I hadn’t been in town?’

  ‘It’s not crazy. It makes absolute sense. You’re the perfect person to ask. And, yes, the timing has been perfect too but, frankly, Tess, I would have gone to England to get you.’

  ‘To get me?’ Fletch held up his hands in a placatory manner.

  ‘To ask you,’ he amended.

  Tess wasn’t placated. ‘How about this, Fletch? How about you give up your job and look after your mum instead? Trish’s been doing it for two years. Surely you can take a lousy couple of months off to do your bit.’