A Single Dad to Heal Her Heart

by Caroline Anderson

  ‘Yes, Ed said he lived here for a while before his grandfather died. It’s interesting.’

  It was. It had started life as a typical Victorian semi, but the dining room had been opened to the hall and the kitchen, and a door led out via a conservatory to the back garden, so the whole room felt light and airy.

  It wasn’t everyone’s taste, but she loved it.

  ‘It is interesting, isn’t it? It’s a pity Daisy won’t sell. I sold my flat in London and I’m waiting for it all to go through, then I’m going to buy something, but I’m not sure where. Maybe here, maybe Audley, although if I want to go home I can always stay with my parents so I’m a bit undecided, but there’s no rush. I love this house and I’m quite happy here for now.’

  And then the conversation died, leaving them standing there in a slightly awkward silence while his coffee brewed and her green tea steamed gently beside it.

  ‘Matt...’

  ‘Livvy...’

  He laughed softly and gestured to her. ‘You first.’

  ‘I was going to ask you why you wanted to see me.’

  He frowned slightly. ‘I told you—I thought we could have a coffee.’

  ‘No. I meant—generally. Why you wanted to make time to do this.’

  His frown deepened, his eyes concerned and a little confused. ‘I thought we had this conversation on Monday?’

  ‘We did, but—I’m not really sure I know what you want from me. I’ve spent days trying to work it out, and I’m still not convinced I know the answer. It could be so many things. Friendship, an affair, friends with benefits—?’

  ‘Friends with benefits?’

  He stood up and walked over to her, stopping just inches away, hands rammed in his back pockets, a quizzical look in his eyes, and she shrugged helplessly.

  ‘Well, I don’t know—I told you I can’t work it out.’

  His soft laugh rippled over her and made her skin tingle. ‘Oh, Livvy. There’s nothing to work out. I don’t want anything from you, I just thought it would be nice to spend time together. And I think we both know it’s probably more than simple friendship, but if that’s all you want to offer me, I’ll happily accept it, and there’s no hurry. I just want to see you. I feel we hardly scratched the surface over the weekend, and there’s so much more to you that I don’t know, and I want to know more. I want to spend time with you, just be with you and hang out. No agenda. No pressure. Just see where it goes.’

  He looked down at the floor, then up again, his eyes sombre now as he spoke again, his voice low.

  ‘I can’t offer you a relationship, not one I can do justice to, but I’m lonely, Livvy. I’m ridiculously busy, constantly surrounded by people, and I’m hardly ever alone, and yet I’m lonely. I miss the companionship of a woman, and I’d like to spend time with one who isn’t either simply a colleague or my mother. A woman who can make me laugh again. I spend my days rushed off my feet, the rest of my time is dedicated to my children, and don’t get me wrong, I love them desperately, but—I have no downtime, no me-time, no time to chill out and have a conversation about something that isn’t medicine or hospital politics or whether the kids want dippy eggs or scrambled.’

  His mouth kicked up in a wry smile, and he shrugged, just a subtle shift of his shoulders that was more revealing than even his words had been, and she forgot the coffee, forgot her foot and her common sense, and walked up to him, put her arms round him and hugged him.

  ‘Scrambled, every time,’ she said, her voice slightly choked, and it took a second, but then he laughed, his chest shaking under her ear, and he tilted her head back and kissed her. Just briefly, not long enough to cause trouble, just long enough to remind her of what he did to her, and then he rested his forehead against her and smiled.

  ‘Me, too. Preferably with bacon and slices of cold tomato in a massive club sandwich washed down with a bucket of coffee.’

  ‘Oh, yes! I haven’t had one of those for ages!’

  He laughed and let her go. ‘I’ll cook you brunch one day,’ he said, and it sounded like a promise.

  ‘Is that a promise?’ she asked, just to be sure. ‘Not that I’ll hold you to it, and I’m not in a position to do a relationship justice either for various reasons—work, health...’

  ‘Health?’

  She shrugged, not yet ready to tell him, to throw that word into the middle of a casual conversation. ‘Amongst other things, but—whatever you want from me, wherever you want to take this, I’m up for it.’

  ‘Is that what you want from this? An ad hoc affair?’

  She held his eyes, wondering if she dared, if she had the courage to tell him, to let him that close, to open herself to potential hurt. Because she’d have to, if this was going any further.

  But there was nothing in his eyes except need and tenderness, and she knew he wouldn’t hurt her. She nodded. ‘Yes. Yes, it is, if that’s what you want, too.’

  His breath huffed out, a quiet, surprised sound, and something flared in his eyes. ‘Oh, Livvy. Absolutely. As long as we’re on the same page.’

  ‘We’re on the same page,’ she said, and he nodded slowly and dipped his head, taking her mouth in a lingering, tender kiss. And then he straightened, just as it was hotting up, and stepped away with a wry smile.

  ‘Is that coffee ready? I don’t have very long and certainly not long enough for where that was going. I begged yet another favour from my sainted mother and I don’t want to take her for granted.’

  She nodded and turned back to pour it with shaking hands, then felt his fingers curl over her shoulders as he moved in behind her and rested his head against the side of hers, doing all sorts of things to her heart rate.

  ‘That’s yes to brunch, by the way,’ he murmured, his voice deep and husky. ‘It is a promise. Goodness knows when, but soon.’

  Heat raced through her, and she pressed the plunger down, filled his mug and handed it to him with a shaky smile.

  ‘Here. Shall we go in the back garden? It’s a bit of a jungle but it’s such a lovely evening.’

  ‘Sure. I love a jungle and it’ll make a refreshing change from mine. It’s hardly got a stick in it.’

  She led him through the conservatory and they sat on the swinging bench at the end in the dappled shade under the wisteria, wrapped around by the whisper of a light sea breeze through the leaves and the quiet creak of the chains as he rocked the bench with a little thrust of his foot, and he sighed.

  ‘This is lovely—it reminds me of the garden we had in London, cool and green and shady. So tranquil, like a little oasis in the madness.’

  ‘It is. It’s my favourite place. Work’s so busy, and here I can just chill out and be me.’

  He nodded. ‘I know just what you mean. My current garden was wildly overgrown so I had it landscaped over the winter, but until the trees and shrubs grow back and the beds fill out it just looks barren, and I hate it.’

  ‘It’ll grow,’ she said encouragingly, and he smiled.

  ‘I know. I’m just impatient, and I really miss our London garden. It became my sanctuary, and when we moved I lost that place where I could go and find solitude. The nearest I get to it now is on the balcony and that’s not exactly private, but I’ve pretty much given up on that. The only place I ever get any privacy is in the bathroom, and that’s only if I lock the door, and unless they’re asleep the chances of one of the children banging on it and demanding my attention are super-high.’

  His mouth tipped up in a wry smile, and she laughed.

  ‘Are they that bad?’

  He shook his head. ‘No. They’re lovely, but they’re just always there. Don’t get me wrong, I love them to bits and I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to them, but sometimes I just want to run away and hide.’

  She searched his eyes, finding humour but also a little despair. ‘Feel free to come here when
ever you want,’ she said softly. ‘You’re always welcome to join me. Or I can give you a key and you can let yourself in.’

  He smiled, just a slow, slight tilt of his mouth, and then he lifted his coffee to his lips and took a long swallow. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Any time. So, tell me about your children—or are they off limits?’

  He smiled a tender, slightly rueful smile and tensed his thigh, giving the swing another push and making the chains creak again. ‘No, they’re not off limits,’ he said fondly. ‘Amber starts school in September and she’s massively excited and more than ready for it, and Charlie—well, Charlie’s just a little boy. He’s either running or he’s asleep but I expect he might grow out of that. He’s not three till August.’

  She felt her eyes well. ‘It must be so tough being a single parent. How do you cope? How did you cope?’

  ‘I don’t know. I don’t think I did, really. When Juliet died—’ He broke off, then gave her a crooked smile. ‘It was tough. It’s still tough, but it’s getting easier, and my mother’s been amazing and so have Juliet’s parents and her sister, Sally. Without them I couldn’t do it, which is why I took the job up here, because Sally’s only ten miles away, her parents are a little further, and my mother lives literally round the corner from my house. And I’ve got friends here. Ed and I go back years, but still... Don’t get me wrong, it’s a great job and I love it, but it’s not where I was heading.’

  ‘No, my father said that. I think he’d imagined you heading up a major trauma centre.’

  He smiled wryly. ‘Yeah, me, too, but it’s not really compatible with family life, or at least not on the way there. Maybe once I’d made it. And maybe that’s the only good thing to have come out of this, that I’ve found a job with virtually no commuting time, that gives the children regular, meaningful contact with other members of the family and me enough job satisfaction that I don’t feel in the slightest bit cheated. Well, maybe a bit, professionally, but that’s a small sacrifice and nothing compared to what we all gain as a family from us being here, and frankly there have been times when I wasn’t even sure we’d all make it through.’

  Oh, Matt...

  He glanced at his watch and swore softly. ‘I need to go. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Don’t be,’ she murmured, her heart aching for him. ‘It’s been lovely to see you. I’m glad you came.’

  His mouth kicked up into another crooked grin. ‘Me, too. I’m still sorry it can’t be longer, though,’ he added, and the slight disappointment she’d felt at his short visit faded away.

  ‘It’s fine, Matt. I understand. And remember, you can come here at any time.’

  ‘Thank you. For that, for understanding, and for the coffee. It means a lot.’ He got to his feet, setting the swing rocking gently. ‘Don’t move, I’ll let myself out. You stay there and enjoy the last of the evening sun.’

  He leant over, his hand cradling her cheek, and touched his lips to hers in a tender, lingering kiss that wasn’t nearly long enough. Then he was gone, leaving her mulling over his words.

  There have been times when I wasn’t even sure we’d all make it through...

  How on earth had he coped? How had the children coped? Poor, tiny little things. She thought of her parents, of how much they loved each other, how close they all were as a family, and then she imagined one or other of them dying and their whole world being torn apart.

  Something wet landed on her arm, and it took her a moment to realise that it was a tear. She scrubbed it away, sucked in a deep breath and headed back to the front garden. A bit of hard physical work was just what she needed, and her ankle would just have to get over itself.

  * * *

  She didn’t see him again until the following week, and when she did they hardly had time to acknowledge each other because by the time he came down to the ED she was assisting James Slater as he opened the chest of a teenager with stab wounds.

  ‘Perfect timing,’ James said bluntly, and she heard the snap of gloves and then Matt was there, gently shouldering her out of the way and taking over, his hands finding the bleed instantly.

  ‘OK, the pulmonary vein’s been nicked and this lobe is trashed. Can I have a clamp and some more suction, please?’

  She’d seen him in action before but not like this, wrist deep inside the chest of a dying boy—except the boy didn’t die, because he stopped the bleed, and found another and stopped that, too, and then turned his attention to the other wounds in his abdomen.

  ‘He needs opening up. Has anyone had time to look at his back?’

  ‘Yes, it’s clear,’ James said, and he nodded.

  ‘Right, I need to transfer him to Theatre. Can someone alert them, please?’

  ‘Done it, and I’ve got PICU on standby,’ a nurse said.

  ‘PICU? How old is he?’ he asked, sounding startled.

  ‘Fifteen,’ James growled.

  Matt swore softly under his breath and stepped back from the bed. ‘OK, let’s pack that and get a sterile dressing over it for the transfer, and then we’ll see how it goes.’

  Once he was satisfied the boy was ready to go he stepped back and stripped off his gloves and the blood-splattered plastic apron, turning towards the door and meeting her eyes for the first time. His face softened briefly into a smile that barely reached his eyes.

  ‘Hi. Thanks for your help. Sorry, I’m a bit rushed. I’ll catch up with you later. Right, let’s go.’

  All business again, he headed out of the door, one hand on the trolley, and James thanked her and sent her back to the patient she’d left when the boy had been brought in. She picked up where she’d left off, but her mind kept straying to Matt and the boy he was trying to save.

  Would he be able to? Would the poor kid make it through?

  Please, please don’t let him die...

  * * *

  He didn’t die, to Matt’s surprise.

  He almost did. He had a couple of goes in Theatre and they’d had to restart his heart once, but now he was in PICU, still critical but at least with a fighting chance of being more than another tragic statistic.

  He left the hospital late after he’d talked to Ryan’s desperate mother and went home to his children, gathering them up in a massive cuddle on the sofa, blinking hard to shift the tears that welled unexpectedly in his eyes.

  ‘Tough day?’ his mother asked, and he gave a grunt of humourless laughter.

  ‘You could say that. It could have been worse, though.’

  She nodded, as if she’d understood the subtext. ‘I’ll make you a cup of tea.’

  ‘Decaf, please. And can you stay? I might need to go back in.’

  ‘Yes, darling, of course I can.’

  He sighed, let go of the children, who were squirming in his arms and trying to watch the television, and followed his mother into the kitchen area.

  ‘I don’t know what I’d do without you,’ he mumbled, and wrapped his arms around her from behind, resting his head against hers. ‘You’ve been a star, Mum.’

  ‘No, I’ve been a parent. That’s what we do, Matt, that’s what families are for. We pick up the pieces. You know that.’

  ‘I do, but you’ve had more than your fair share of it.’

  She shrugged, her shoulders shifting against his chest, and the kettle clicked off and he dropped his arms and let her make the tea.

  It was only four years since his father had died, and she’d been amazing, nursing him through the final stages of cancer with humour and compassion, and when he’d gone she’d picked up the pieces of her life and carried on, and then, two years later, she’d put her own grief aside and picked up the pieces of his life and his children’s when Jules had died and left them all devastated.

  So soon after losing her husband, that must have been incredibly tough for her, but she’d done it without question, dropped everything an
d come to him.

  Foolishly he’d refused to take any time off work, so after the funeral he’d put the children in nursery and sent his mother home, but they’d been too distraught so after three days she’d come back to look after them in the family home, but that had meant he was never alone so he was bottling up his grief, snapping at everyone and shutting down his emotions because he was afraid of what would happen if he let go.

  So after a few more days she’d brought them back up here because he thought it would be better for them to have a calm, orderly life, with him appearing every weekend pleased to see them, rather than be in their own home with him coming back in the evenings crabby and angry and needing to fall apart.

  He’d taken time off then, a couple of weeks when he’d hardly got out of bed, just lain in the sheets that still smelt of Jules and cried until his chest ached and his eyes were raw and his heart felt as if it had been torn in two.

  But they’d missed him desperately, and he’d missed them, too, so he’d finally pulled himself together and changed the sheets, cleaned the house and his mother had brought the children back to London and stayed, and when the job in Yoxburgh had come up, she’d helped him get the house ready to put on the market, shown the buyers round it and packed up all their things for storage until the new house was ready.

  All except Juliet’s things.

  He’d done that, working on autopilot, and he hadn’t dealt with them until the week before he’d gone to Cumbria. Now they were packed in boxes in his study, ready for the children to look at when they were old enough.

  He hadn’t felt ready until then, just as he now wasn’t ready for what he felt with Livvy, either, but it seemed to be happening, some slow awakening of his senses, a thawing of a part of him that had been numb for two years.

  Was it wise? Probably not.