by Kate Hardy
Mental health was very tricky; he knew that one first hand from Jenny’s postnatal depression. Beatrice’s words sounded personal, too. Had someone in her family or one of her friends suffered from depression? he wondered. Not that it was any of his business, and he wasn’t going to pry. ‘We do what we can,’ he said.
‘Yes.’ She changed the subject. ‘Are you going to the team ten-pin bowling thing tonight?’
‘No. I’m looking after Iain,’ he said. ‘Are you going?’
‘Yes. I’m rubbish at bowling, but it’s fun—and it’s good to get to know people outside work.’
‘Well, if I don’t see you before the end of your shift, have fun,’ he said lightly.
‘Thanks. You have a good evening, too.’
Though Daniel had forgotten that he’d mentioned the team night out to his mother, who’d picked up Iain from school and given him his tea.
‘I really think you should go on that team thing. It’s Friday night. When did you last go out on a Friday night?’ Susan asked.
Daniel couldn’t actually remember, though he had a nasty feeling that his mother did.
‘You’re still young, Dan. You’re thirty-four,’ Susan said.
‘And my focus is on bringing up my son.’
‘Which is fine, but I’m not doing anything tonight so I can babysit for you. A night out with the team will do you good.’
‘I don’t need a night out, Mum, I’m fine.’
‘It’ll do you good,’ Susan repeated. ‘And Iain will be fine with me.’
‘I know he will, but I can’t ask you to give up your evening for me.’
‘I’ve already told you I’m not busy, and you’re not asking, I’m offering. And if you’re worried about packing his stuff to go to Jenny’s for the weekend, I can do that as well. It’s no problem.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘Dan, I made enough mistakes when you were young. I let you down then. I want to be here for you now.’
‘You have been there for me, Mum, when I needed you,’ he reminded her. ‘When it all went wrong with Jenny, I couldn’t have coped without you. And I feel bad enough that you’ve relocated from Glasgow to London because of me and Iain.’
‘You’re my son. I love you dearly. Of course I was going to move to be with you and support you. But right now I want to shake you,’ she added, folding her arms. ‘Are you still in love with Jenny?’
‘No.’
‘Good, because she’s married to someone else and she’s not in love with you any more.’
He winced. ‘Tell it to me straight, Mum, why don’t you?’
‘That’s the only way to tell it,’ she said. ‘What you need is to move on and start dating someone.’
He thought of Beatrice, and quickly shoved the thought away. ‘I don’t need to date anyone.’
‘Yes, you do, before you turn into a crabbit old man before your time.’ She paused. ‘What about Iain’s Princess Bee?’
He shook his head. ‘She’s my colleague. Technically she might even be my boss. We can’t date.’
Susan pounced. ‘So you have thought about it, then.’
Several times. ‘No,’ he fibbed.
‘Call her. Ask her if she’s busy. Or maybe she’ll be at the team thing tonight and you can see her there.’
Which was another reason why he shouldn’t go. Spending time with her outside work could be dangerous for his peace of mind. ‘Mum, I’m not looking for another relationship.’
‘Iain’s not going to be little for ever and ever. And I don’t want you to be lonely when you’re older.’
‘You always tell me you’re not lonely,’ he pointed out.
‘I’m not. I like my life. I go out with friends, I have a good time, and I enjoy working with my students.’ She narrowed her eyes at him. ‘You’re going out tonight, Daniel Capaldi, whether you like it or not. And you’re going to have a good time. Don’t argue with your mother, because she knows much better than you do.’
He gave it one last shot. ‘They had to book the places. They’ll be full up.’
‘There’ll be room for you, even if you have to take turns bowling with someone.’ She pursed her lips. ‘It’s a shame it’s not tomorrow night, or you wouldn’t have any excuses in the first place. But your excuses won’t wash with me. You’re going.’
And so he found himself going to the ten-pin bowling alley after he’d put Iain to bed and read him three stories.
‘Daniel! So glad you’re here—Kundini couldn’t make it at the last minute and we were going to be one short,’ Josh said. ‘You’re on Bea’s team.’
Oh, help. She was the last person whose team he needed to be on. How was he possibly supposed to keep his distance?
It was made worse when he saw her; wearing jeans and a T-shirt, with her hair pulled back and tied by a scarf at the nape of her neck, she looked young and approachable—just as he imagined her to have looked in her student days. And right at that moment he wanted to walk up to her, wrap his arms round her and kiss her.
Which was the last thing he should do.
Instead, he walked up to her and said, ‘I believe I’m your team’s new substitute.’
The warmth of her smile almost knocked him sideways.
‘Well, hello, there. Is Iain with you?’ she asked.
‘No, my mum’s babysitting,’ he explained. ‘And my mum’s not the kind of person you argue with, once she gets an idea into her head.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘She thinks a night out will do me good.’
‘Maybe she’s right,’ Beatrice said. ‘It’s obvious to me how much you love your son, but parenting is hard—and being a single parent is even harder. Sometimes you need to make time to do something for you.’
‘Maybe,’ he said.
‘Welcome to the team. I really hope you’re good at this,’ she said, ‘because you need to make up for me.’
He’d wondered if she was really as hopeless as she claimed; but then her first ball went straight down the gutter. So did the second.
‘Sorry, guys. I’m a bit better at emergency medicine than I am at this,’ she said with a rueful smile.
He wanted to give her a hug, but settled for putting up the bumper bars for her. She zig-zagged her way to a half-strike, everyone on their team cheered, and it encouraged her enough that she managed a full strike on her next turn.
‘Has anyone actually taught you how to bowl before?’ he asked.
‘Um, no,’ she admitted. ‘It’s not the kind of thing I normally do.’
‘Would you let me help you?’
She looked worried. ‘Are you sure that’s OK? The other team aren’t going to say you’re cheating?’
He grinned. ‘’Course it’s OK. Let’s start with the ball. You might be better off using a lighter one than the one you picked—which isn’t me patronising you,’ he said quickly.
‘No, it’s you explaining properly,’ she said. ‘Which is an important skill at work, and I wouldn’t expect anything less from you.’
He inclined his head in acknowledgement of the compliment; but it warmed him all the way through that she thought that highly of him. ‘You stand behind the line, bring your arm back behind you, then bring it forward and let the ball go—try and aim for the middle of the pins. The ball will follow the line of where you let it go,’ he said, ‘which is why you’re zig-zagging. You’re leaving it just that little bit too late to let it go.’
She tried a couple of practice bowls, which went horribly wrong. ‘Maybe I’d better stick to medicine,’ she said.
‘No, you can do this. Do you mind if I help guide your arm?’ he asked, knowing even as he said it that he really shouldn’t let himself get that physically close to her.
‘OK.’
Keep this professional. You’re helping her bowl a ball, not holding her as if she’s your date, he reminded
himself silently. He stood behind her, and helped her bring her arm back to the right position, then helped her move forward. ‘And now let go.’
‘That’s amazing! It didn’t zig-zag,’ she said, her tone full of wonder and delight as the ball went straight down the middle of the lane. ‘Thank you.’
And then she turned round and hugged him.
He hugged her back before he realised what he was doing.
Oh, help. This was bad. Really bad. Because Beatrice Lindford fitted perfectly in his arms. And he liked the feel of her arms round him, too.
But he wasn’t in a position to start anything with her. Even if she wasn’t sort of his boss, there was Iain to consider. How could he get involved with her? If things went wrong between them, and Iain had got close to her, it would devastate the little boy. And, even though she’d been good with his son at the football day, there was a huge difference between helping out at a team event and having a small child as part of your life. Who was to say she even wanted children?
As if she sensed the sudden tension in him, she blushed and let him go. ‘Sorry. I got a bit carried away with actually bowling properly for the first time ever.’
‘No problem,’ he fibbed.
He managed to keep a little bit of physical distance between them for the rest of the evening, even when they stopped midway through the game for tortilla chips, chicken wings and hot dogs. But then his fingers accidentally brushed against hers when they each dipped a tortilla chip into the guacamole, and his heart actually skipped a beat.
He couldn’t help looking at her. Her eyes had widened, her pupils were huge and her lips were slightly parted. So did she feel it, too, this weird pull of attraction?
Well, they weren’t going to act on it.
He concentrated on the bowling, and the evening went incredibly quickly.
But, at the end of the evening, his mouth decided it had had enough of playing by his brain’s rules, and he found himself asking, ‘Can I walk you home?’
She looked at him. ‘Am I on your way?’
This was his get-out. ‘Where are you?’
She told him her address.
‘No,’ he admitted. But then his mouth took over from his common sense again. ‘Though I’d like to walk you home.’
Her smile was slow, sweet, and felt as if it had poleaxed him. ‘I’d like that. Thank you.’
On the way back to her place, his hand brushed against hers. He wasn’t quite sure how it happened but, the next thing he knew, his fingers were twining round hers and they were holding hands properly.
She didn’t say a word, but it wasn’t an awkward silence.
How long had it been since he’d last held hands with someone? He thought back. It must’ve been with Jenny, before Iain was born. When they were still expectant parents, still in love, still thinking that the future was rosy and bright. Before her postnatal depression ripped their new little family apart.
She stopped outside a gate. ‘This is my flat,’ she said.
It was in one of the beautiful Edwardian townhouses that overlooked the park.
‘Very nice,’ he said.
‘You could come in for a coffee, if you like,’ she said.
It was tempting. So very tempting.
But it wouldn’t be fair to her to start something that he knew he couldn’t finish.
‘Thanks, but...’
‘But no thanks,’ she finished. ‘I understand.’
But there had been a flash of hurt in her eyes. It made him want to make her feel better. And all his common sense went out of the window, because he wrapped his arms round her. Lowered his mouth to hers. Brushed his lips against hers once, twice...
Her hands were in his hair and she was kissing him back when he came to his senses again and broke the kiss.
‘I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair of me,’ he said. ‘I’m not in a position to date anyone. I have Iain to think of.’
‘I know. And I’m not looking to date anyone. I’m concentrating on my career.’
Why was someone as lovely as Beatrice Lindford single in the first place? Daniel had the feeling that someone had hurt her—as much as Jenny had hurt him—but he didn’t have the right to ask.
‘If my situation was different,’ he said, ‘I’d ask you out properly.’
‘And I’d turn you down, because I’d still be concentrating on my career.’
Whoever had hurt her had really hurt her, he thought.
And she’d just been really kind to him. Taken away the guilt.
‘Message understood,’ he said. ‘Goodnight, Beatrice.’
‘Goodnight, Daniel. I’ll see you at work. And thank you for walking me home.’
‘Pleasure,’ he said. ‘See you at work.’
And he turned away before he did something stupid. Like asking her to change both their minds.
CHAPTER FOUR
SOMEHOW DANIEL WAS going to have to scrub that kiss out of his head.
He couldn’t get involved with Beatrice. The sensible side of him knew that. She was his senior at work, so it could be awkward. Their backgrounds were poles apart—she was from a posh family, and he couldn’t see them being happy to accept him as Beatrice’s partner, not when he was a single dad, and also the illegitimate son of a teenage mum who’d gone massively off the rails. He’d been brought up by his grandparents until he was ten and his mother had settled down again. He didn’t have a problem with his past; he was proud of the way Susan had turned her life around. But he also knew that not everyone would share his views.
And most importantly there was Iain.
What if he let Beatrice get close to Iain and things didn’t work out? It would devastate his son. It was hard enough for Iain, dividing himself between his parents. The little boy didn’t need any extra calls on his heart from someone who might not stick around.
So it was obvious that Daniel needed to keep things strictly business between himself and Beatrice. For all their sakes.
Dropping Iain over at Jenny’s for their usual alternate weekend together occupied part of Saturday morning, but the rest of the day dragged. Cleaning the bathroom, catching up with the laundry, doing the grocery shopping: none of it kept his mind off Beatrice or how it had felt to kiss her. How his lips had tingled. How he’d wanted to draw her closer. How he’d actually forgotten that they were in the street, in full view of any passers-by, because his head had been full of starbursts.
Saturday evening was worse. Why on earth hadn’t he made sure he was working both days while Iain was at his mother’s for the weekend? Several times Daniel picked up his phone—which was totally pointless as he didn’t actually know Beatrice’s number, and besides which she’d told him that she was focusing on her career and wasn’t interested in a relationship with anyone.
What was wrong with him?
For four years now he’d focused on his son. He’d turned down offers of dates. Women hadn’t appeared on his radar other than as friends, colleagues or patients. He hadn’t wanted to get involved with anyone.
Why had Beatrice Lindford got him in such a spin? What was so different about her? Why couldn’t he get her out of his head? The questions went round and round his head, and he just couldn’t find an answer.
* * *
Somehow Beatrice was going to have to scrub that kiss out of her head.
She couldn’t get involved with Daniel. Iain was almost the same age that Taylor would’ve been; he was a gorgeous little boy, but every time she saw him she’d remember her lost little girl, and the pain would rip another layer off her scar tissue. She wasn’t sure she was ready for a relationship with anyone, let alone with someone who had a small child. Plus, if she told Daniel about her past, would he assume that she only wanted to get involved with him so she’d have a ready-made family to help fill the hole in her life?
&
nbsp; This couldn’t work. Not in a month of Sundays.
And what was it about Daniel that drew her so much? Yes, he was physically attractive, but she’d met plenty of attractive men since she’d split up with Oliver. She just hadn’t really noticed any of them. Hadn’t dated any of them. Hadn’t wanted to get involved with any of them.
But Daniel Capaldi was different.
She’d felt that weird awareness right from the start, even when he’d been slightly frosty towards her. As he’d started to thaw out towards her, she’d found herself thinking of him more and more often.
Then he’d kissed her on Friday night, and every nerve ending in her body had reacted.
And it had scared the hell out of her. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d reacted like that to anyone—even to Oliver, because her emotions had just shut down after Taylor’s death.
She was pretty sure it was the same for Daniel, because he’d looked dazed when he’d broken the kiss. And he’d used his son as an excuse why they couldn’t see each other. She’d come straight out with the excuse that she wasn’t dating, she was concentrating on her career.
The whole thing was like a house of cards. Fragile. So easy to fall apart.
She didn’t want to risk getting involved again. Getting hurt again. Losing her heart again.
So she needed to keep things strictly business between herself and Daniel.
* * *
It wasn’t working.
Even though Sunday had been busy at work—and thankfully Beatrice had been off duty—and the evening had been taken up with Iain chattering about what he’d done at the weekend with his mum and Jordan, Daniel just couldn’t get that kiss out of his head.
Worse still, every time he caught Beatrice’s eye at work on Monday, there was a fleeting expression on her face that made him pretty sure she was remembering that kiss. That she, too, was in this weird state where her head was telling her this was a bad idea but she still wanted to repeat it anyway.
What was he going to do?
After another night spent fitfully waking from dreams of Beatrice—dreams where they were dancing together, holding each other, kissing—Daniel came to a decision in the shower.
