From Heartache to Forever

by Caroline Anderson

  ‘She’s tired. I ought to take her to the vet and talk about this pregnancy.’

  ‘I thought you were going to rehome her?’

  He shrugged, his mouth pulling down at the corners in a wry grimace. ‘I will, when I can. But in the meantime I need to know what to do for her.’

  ‘What, apart from letting her sleep on your bed and dominate your every waking moment?’

  The wry grin turned into a chuckle. ‘That’s the one. Still, I talked to Reg when I got home and he seems happy to let her out and feed her in the middle of the day, so it’s not as urgent any more. Right, I’m starving. What are we going to eat?’

  * * *

  ‘Coming in for coffee?’

  Beth hesitated, but he had a slightly guilty look in his eyes, as if he had an ulterior motive.

  ‘I’d like your help,’ he added when she didn’t answer. ‘Again.’

  ‘With?’

  ‘My job application. The closing date’s Friday, and it’s already Wednesday, and it needs some serious work. I haven’t updated my CV recently, and—well, a lot’s changed. There’s all my aid stuff, and I’ve only got a basic CV for locum work. It’s not nearly adequate for a consultancy.’

  ‘So what do I know about it? It’s James you need to talk to. He’s so keen to have you he’ll probably write your application letter for you if you ask him.’

  She knew there was no way he’d ask him, but she left it hanging, and he shrugged.

  ‘I think I can manage without doing that,’ he said drily. ‘And don’t worry if you’d rather not, I’ll be fine,’ he added, obviously reading the reluctance in her eyes, but she relented and smiled at him.

  ‘It’s all right, I’ll help you. You’ve bought me lunch and supper today, so it’s the least I can do—and anyway, I haven’t got anything else planned.’

  ‘Thank you.’ He returned her smile, opened the door and headed for the kitchen. ‘I need to feed the dog, then I’ll make some coffee.’

  ‘I thought you didn’t have coffee?’

  He grinned at her. ‘I don’t, not bean to cup, at least, but I have got a cafetière and some ground coffee so I’m not entirely deprived.’

  He disappeared into the pantry. ‘Stick the kettle on,’ he added over his shoulder, but she was already at the tap with it in her hand, staring across the marshes to the river path in the distance. She could just about make out the stile. Did he stand here looking at it like that?

  Wondering how it had all happened, how something that was meant to be harmless fun had gone so wrong?

  She put the kettle on its stand, her eyes drawn back to the stile, picked out on the horizon by the setting sun. There’d been a strange expression in his eyes today as he’d looked up at her on the stile, as if his feelings had bubbled close to the surface. She wondered what would happen if he set them free, and felt a shiver of anticipation.

  ‘Tatty, sit.’

  She dragged her eyes off the stile and turned to see the dog obediently sitting, her eyes fixed on the bowl, tail lashing back and forth across the worn-out tiles.

  ‘Good girl,’ he said, putting it down and giving the dog a little pat, and then he straightened up and met her eyes.

  ‘What?’

  Beth shrugged, suppressing a smile. ‘Nothing.’

  ‘I’m not going to be mean to her just because I can’t keep her.’

  ‘If you say so.’

  He made that grunty, snorty noise that was becoming all too familiar as a punctuation point in their conversations, and then reached down two mugs and the cafetière, spooned coffee into the jug and poured water on it, releasing the aroma.

  ‘Oh, that smells good. It’ll probably keep me awake all night, though.’

  ‘Want to change your mind?’

  ‘No, I’ll just hate you all night instead.’

  ‘I’ll get some decaf for you,’ he promised with a chuckle, and picking up his coffee, he headed for the sitting room with Tatty in hot pursuit. He threw her off the sofa, sat down on one side and patted the other for Beth, pushed Tatty off again and opened his laptop.

  ‘Right. Let’s nail this CV.’

  * * *

  ‘I’ve got an interview on Tuesday.’

  Beth glanced up from her patient notes and grinned at him. ‘Well, there’s a surprise. Did you get a letter?’

  He shook his head. ‘No. James just told me. They gave it a few days longer, but there’s only been one other serious applicant and James thinks he’s looking for a nice quiet seaside town to wind down into retirement.’

  She felt her eyes widen. ‘He told you that?’

  ‘Off the record. Apparently he’s got more experience than me—well, on paper he has, I’m sure, as he’s older, but I’ve done a lot so maybe that’ll balance it.’

  He had. She’d seen his CV—she’d practically written it for him a week ago—and it was packed with a huge variety of things he’d seen and done. He might not have great depth of experience, but he certainly had breadth.

  Which meant he was in with a good chance of getting the consultancy.

  Which meant she was in with a good chance of having him here, in Yoxburgh, for the foreseeable.

  Did she want that? Even now, not quite two weeks into their new—no, not relationship. That sounded like something else, something they definitely didn’t have. Friendship, then. Two weeks into their new friendship, she still wasn’t sure if she could live with him so near. So near and yet so far?

  No. Friendship didn’t say enough. They’d been friends before, but this—this was different. This was life after Grace, and that changed everything, every aspect of their interaction with each other.

  It was broader than a friendship, deeper than a physical relationship, more complicated than an ex-relationship but without its depth. Although they’d certainly plumbed the depths in their grief, if not together. And then there was that kiss last week, and the sizzling look he’d given her last week by the stile—

  ‘Beth? Are you OK?’

  She found a smile, contemplated lying and gave up. ‘I was just trying to work out what we are to each other.’

  His answering smile was wry, with a wealth of sadness that made her want to weep. ‘I gave up trying to work that out days ago. I don’t think there is an accurate definition, but at the very least, we’re friends. Well, I hope we are.’

  ‘Of course we are.’

  ‘Good.’ He gave her a gentle hug, then let her go, leaving a tidal wave of emotions in his wake. ‘I’m needed in Resus. James had to do a thoracotomy in a field. Literally. A car overshot the junction, ripped through a barrier and cartwheeled down into a field. I gather it wasn’t pretty.’

  She winced. ‘It doesn’t sound pretty. How on earth did that happen in broad daylight?’

  ‘I don’t know. The driver was dead at the scene. He might have had a heart attack or a stroke—who knows. I think this is the front seat passenger coming in. I’ll let you know more when I find out.’

  ‘Good luck with it. I’m off to sort out an ingrowing toenail.’

  ‘Sure you don’t want to delegate and come and help me?’

  She smiled and gave him a push towards Resus. ‘Quite sure. I had enough of Resus at the weekend. Go on, shoo. I’ll see you later.’

  ‘Dinner at mine after a dog walk?’

  She hesitated, and he frowned.

  ‘Tatty misses you. She hasn’t seen you for days.’

  ‘Three days. I saw her on Sunday evening.’

  He smiled coaxingly. ‘That’s a long time in a short life and you’re on nights all over this coming weekend, so she’ll hardly see you then. If I’ve even still got her,’ he added in a blatant attempt at emotional blackmail, and she rolled her eyes.

  ‘Oh, all right, I’ll come for a dog walk and dinner—now go!’ He grinned, blew
her a kiss and strode off, leaving her wondering how she’d given in so easily. And she’d been trying to keep him at a little more distance, too.

  ‘Weak.’

  ‘Who’s weak?’

  ‘Oh, hi, Livvy. Nobody. I’m just trying to work out how long I have to get an outfit for your wedding.’

  ‘More than a week! Try three and a half.’

  ‘Are you ready for it?’

  She laughed. ‘Emotionally, yes. Are all my ducks in a row? Probably not! Still, I’ve got Mum on the case. She’ll pick up the slack, she always does. She throws the best parties. Did you want me to have a look at this ingrowing toenail? I hear it’s pretty horrendous.’

  * * *

  His furniture arrived that weekend, delivered from the storage unit where it had all been lurking for over two years, but he’d given up trying to manage without it, even though he’d only been offered an interview for the permanent post and might well not get it. Still, previous or not, he needed some of the things he’d had in store, and in between shifts he spent the entire weekend trying to work out where to put it all. Not that he was going to unpack everything. Not yet.

  His study was the last thing he needed to worry about, because he’d need bookshelves for all the endless boxes of books and notes and paperwork, so he stashed all study-related stuff in that room together with other things that he simply didn’t need yet, if at all, and shut the door on it and tackled the rest.

  That in itself was quite enough, and it was made worse by the fact that Beth had been working all weekend on nights, so he hadn’t even been able to enlist her help.

  Not that that was fair. He’d asked enough of her as it was and she’d been more than generous, and anyway, he was beginning to think he was just using the house as an excuse to spend time with her, so he ploughed on alone. Safer that way, because working with her was becoming a bit of a minefield, the tension starting to build again as it had before, but sorting the house alone was getting very, very dull.

  He was contemplating the mess and tearing his hair out when she breezed in early on Monday afternoon, all smiles and bearing a carrier bag. She delved into it and pulled out a cake, and suddenly everything seemed doable.

  ‘Oh, I love you,’ he said fervently, and all but snatched the cake out of her hands.

  ‘Hey! Where are you going with that?’

  ‘The top shelf of the pantry until we get round to it. I’ll make coffee first. My bean-to-cup machine arrived.’

  ‘I can see that. Are you assuming it still works after being in storage?’

  He laughed again, ridiculously pleased to see her. ‘Are you kidding? It was the first thing I unpacked. It works—I’ve nearly worn it out in the last two days. So, what’s it to be? Cappuccino?’

  She smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners and making him want to kiss her. ‘Definitely. Oh, and while I think about it, you’d better put this in the fridge for later.’

  She delved into the bag again and pulled out a bottle of something fizzy. ‘I figured as you were properly moving in now and claiming it, at least for a while, we ought to christen it.’

  ‘Ah, Beth, you’re a sweetheart. Thank you! We’ll definitely have it later.’

  He took it from her, stashed it in the fridge and pulled her into his arms for a brief hug, but she settled against his chest as if she belonged there, and it was a real struggle to let her go, because it just felt so right.

  No. Don’t go there. Too messy, and you’ve done enough damage, and anyway, she doesn’t want you. He dropped his arms and stepped back.

  ‘Right. Coffee and cake in the garden, then I’ve got a job for you.’

  ‘You have? What a surprise. Go on, then, hit me with it.’

  But she was smiling, so he relaxed and smiled back.

  ‘Pictures. I’m going to put my old bed together for the spare room so my mother can come and visit me sometime, and I want you to look through the pictures and work out where they need to go. Not all of them, just the odd one here and there to make it feel like home. But first, cake.’

  * * *

  He didn’t have a huge number of pictures, but there were a few she remembered, including one of a wild, rugged landscape that had hung over his bed, and it made her body tingle just to look at it.

  How many times had they made love on the bed beneath it? Dozens, every one of them memorable. She put it to one side and sorted through the others, the less contentious ones. Or less evocative, at least, of their past, the pre-Grace period before he’d gone away for the first time, when their lovemaking was smoking hot and nothing else was taken seriously.

  He’d made her laugh, made her gasp with ecstasy and weep with frustration, but always, always, he’d set her on fire. It had been the perfect antidote to Rick’s cheating and lying ways, and just what she’d needed. Intensely passionate, and yet light and frivolous—or it would have been if things hadn’t turned out the way they had, but the heat, the passion, was still there smouldering under the surface, and it was getting harder and harder to ignore.

  ‘I like this one,’ she said, turning her head when she heard him behind her, and he nodded, coming right up close to look over her shoulder at the painting.

  ‘I got it in a gallery in Cumbria when I was visiting my uncle shortly before he died, and I’ve never got round to hanging it. I just love the miles of flat sand and the distant sea. It all looks so harmless and peaceful, but look at the menace in the sky, and when that tide comes in...’

  Like their relationship, which had seemed harmless enough, and would have been, if tragedy hadn’t intervened. She sucked in a breath and looked away.

  ‘Where do you want it?’

  He shrugged. ‘I don’t know. On that wall, opposite the sofa?’

  ‘Go and hold it up, then, let me look at it.’

  She sat on the sofa, instantly joined by Tatty, and her hand found the dog’s head and lay on it while she gave him directions.

  ‘Right a bit—down—OK, hold it there. Have you got a pencil?’

  ‘No. Come and take it from me and hold it here, and I’ll find one.’

  She squeezed under his arm and took it from him, all too aware of his body against her back, the closeness of his head to hers, the soft whisper of his breath against her hair.

  ‘Stand back and have a look at it while you’re at it, but be quick, it’s heavy,’ she said over her shoulder.

  ‘Perfect. Right, keep still,’ he said, and leant in against her, his arm coming round her to mark the bottom of the picture.

  The back of his hand brushed against her breast and she jerked, the frame knocking the pencil so it slid a little on the wall.

  ‘Sorry—lost my grip,’ she muttered, which wasn’t far from the truth, although only in a metaphorical sense, and he backed away with a chuckle as she put the picture down.

  ‘I wasn’t trying to grope you, Beth.’

  Pity...

  ‘I didn’t say you were. Want to try again?’

  His eyebrows shot up, and she struggled to keep a straight face.

  ‘Not that, idiot. The picture.’

  His chuckle was infectious, and she got the giggles in spite of herself.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said, when she could speak again, but he just shook his head and pulled her into his arms and hugged her.

  ‘Don’t be. It’s lovely to see you laugh, Beth. I’ve missed it.’

  ‘I’ve missed it, too.’ Missed him, missed his arms around her, missed his body entwined with hers. Missed lying in his arms afterwards, listening to his heart beat as she fell asleep. Missed all of it.

  She smiled, a wonky little smile by the feel of it, and eased away from him. ‘So, the picture.’

  He looked at the mark on the wall and shrugged.

  ‘That’s good enough. I can hang it a fraction lower to cover it,’ he said, hi
s voice suddenly gruff, and she backed away, her legs like jelly, because the air was suddenly full of something wild and dangerous and totally not on her agenda. Or it shouldn’t be.

  He measured the wall, marked the centre, measured the height for the hook and banged it into the wall. Firmly.

  ‘Right, how’s that?’ he asked, settling it on the hook.

  ‘Good. Great,’ she said without giving it a glance. ‘So what else is there?’

  ‘More coffee?’ he asked, heading for the kitchen, and she followed him, her body still reeling from that accidental touch.

  Stupid. It happened all the time at work when they were reaching round each other to get to the patient, so why did it feel so different now?

  Because we’re alone, playing house, and it’s all getting a bit real...

  ‘I fancy another bit of cake—going to join me?’ she asked, and hoped her voice sounded normal, because the rest of her body certainly wasn’t. It was clamouring for that wild and dangerous something she’d seen in his eyes, and she put the slice of cake on his plate and slid it towards him, picked up her own and retreated to the window, standing with her back to him while her body screamed at her to turn round, walk into his arms and forget every scrap of common sense she had left.

  She stayed firmly where she was...

  CHAPTER FIVE

  THEY HUNG A few more pictures, but this time he held them and she made the pencil mark, on the grounds that he was, as he put it, less likely to lose his grip.

  She didn’t argue. Frankly, ducking under his arm and being that close was complicated enough, especially when they were standing on his bed hanging the picture right over it.

  The one that had hung over his bed before, the one that brought back memories that did nothing for her already compromised peace of mind.

  ‘How’s that?’

  ‘Perfect.’ If you wanted to be tortured...

  She made the mark, he banged the nail in, hung it and stood back.

  ‘Good. Right, that’ll do. I’ve got my interview tomorrow and I need to check my suit and iron a shirt.’