by Anne Fraser
They’d tell her she was out of her mind—and they’d be right.
She showered and tried to settle down at her desk to work. She hadn’t been lying when she’d said she had work to do. But, acutely aware of Nick’s footsteps and the occasional opening and closing of a door, she couldn’t concentrate.
Once he popped his head round her door and asked if she wanted anything from the shop as he was going to stretch his legs.
‘You might want to get something for your evening meal,’ she said. ‘Remember I’m going out.’
‘For dinner?’ he asked with a lift of his brow.
‘Yes. Not that it’s any business of yours but I have a date.’
She thought she saw something flash in his eyes but almost immediately he resumed his deadpan expression. ‘Good for you,’ he said.
Crap.
* * *
That evening, she dressed as if she were really going on a date. She chose a jade silk dress she’d decided was too short once she’d tried it on again at home but had never got around to returning, and scrunched her hair into ringlets, letting it fall free down her back. She left her legs bare and slipped on a pair of high heels.
She applied more make-up than usual—a dark metallic shadow the beautician in the high-street store had promised would bring out the colour of her eyes and a red lipstick that somehow, instead of clashing with her hair, gave her confidence.
While she was getting ready she wondered where she could actually go. She’d have to be away for at least three hours to make a date seem convincing. She tried not to think about why she was going ahead with a charade that was childish as well as pointless.
One thing she did know was that she couldn’t back out now. Either she’d have to admit to making up the date or she’d have to pretend a last-minute cancellation. Neither option appealed to her. The first because she didn’t want Nick questioning her reasons for fibbing, the second because she didn’t want to him think, even for a moment, that her imaginary date had cancelled. The humiliation of Nick thinking she’d been stood up was too much to even contemplate.
She almost changed her mind at that point. What did it matter what he thought? He wasn’t part of her life any more. He would have the operation, recover and be on his way. She would never see him again.
So why didn’t the knowledge cheer her up?
She added mascara for good measure and clipped on a diamond and jade bracelet. If she was going to do a Mata Hari she may as well go the whole hog.
Taking a deep breath and plastering an expectant smile on her face, she sashayed downstairs.
But to her chagrin, when she reached the sitting room, it was to find Nick fast asleep on the sofa.
She stood over him. Even in the semi-darkness she could see he was frowning in his sleep. What demons tormented him?
Her heart stumbled. What had happened to the Nick she’d fallen in love with? Where had the irrepressible, fun-loving man disappeared to?
A lock of hair had fallen over his brow. That too was different. In the past he’d always worn his hair cropped short. Unable to resist the urge, she bent over him and gently smoothed the errant lock of hair from his face.
His eyes snapped open and his hand wrapped around her wrist like a spring. The coldness in his gaze shocked her.
‘What the hell?’ he said. Still holding her wrist, he sat up. ‘Don’t you know better than to sneak up on a man when he’s asleep?’
‘Come on, Nick,’ she said, trying to pull her hand away. But he held it in his vice-like grip. ‘Don’t you think you’re overreacting?’
‘You wouldn’t say that if you spent nights sleeping with your weapon next to you, waiting for the next attack, not knowing when it would come or what you were going to have to deal with when it did.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she said softly. ‘I didn’t think.’
He sighed and finally let her hand go. It was painful where he’d grabbed her and she rubbed it absentmindedly.
His eyes softened. ‘Did I hurt you? Let me see.’
He took her hand more gently this time and turned it over. Red marks, almost as if she’d been handcuffed, had appeared.
‘It’s okay,’ she said. ‘Really.’ The touch of his fingertips burned her skin worse than his grip had and her heart started to pound.
The pad of his thumb ran circles over the inside of her arm and her pulse upped another notch. He was bound to feel it racing. She snatched her hand away again and hid it behind her back.
She sat down on the sofa next to him.
‘Tell me,’ she said. ‘Tell me what it was like. Help me to understand.’
He laughed harshly. ‘Some things are better not spoken about.’
And that, of course, had been the problem. He’d refused to talk about it when they had still been together, even when he’d cried out in his sleep and she’d woken to find him entangled in their sheets and covered in sweat. If he wouldn’t speak to her then, what made her think he’d talk to her now?
‘Anyway,’ he said, ‘I thought you had a date.’
Oops. She’d forgotten.
His eyes travelled over her. He whistled. ‘Lucky man. But don’t you think that dress is a little short?’
She stood, all the old exasperation returning. ‘No. And may I remind you, Nick, you’re not my father.’
‘As if I need any reminding.’
She tucked her hair behind her ears and picked up her bag. ‘I have my mobile phone if you need me.’ As soon as the words were out of her mouth she could have bitten her lip. If Nick noticed the irony he said nothing.
‘Unlikely,’ he said shortly. ‘I’m going to watch football and make myself a sandwich. After that I’ll probably go to bed.’
Tiggy swallowed her disappointment. Couldn’t he even look marginally put out that she was going on a date with another man?
And apparent was the key word, she reminded herself. She still hadn’t decided how she was going to kill enough time to prevent him thinking she’d been dumped. The library? No, that closed at eight. A coffee shop or restaurant? No, that was too sad. A movie, then. It was all that was left.
She smiled as coolly as she could and walked out the door.
* * *
In the cinema she couldn’t focus on the film. All she could think about was Nick. Why had he come back into her life now? And like this? It was torture sharing the house with him again.
But surely she could cope with a few more days? She would be at work during the day, and could perhaps find an excuse to go out in the evening.
No. She was being ridiculous. It wasn’t as if she could pretend to have a date every night. And besides, after six years surely she could manage to be around Nick for a little longer? She’d be polite, distant, cool. He would never know how much he’d hurt her.
She took another handful of tasteless popcorn and chewed morosely. The couple on the screen were kissing, her hands snaking around his neck, him kissing her as if he wanted to devour her... Tiggy knew only too well how that had felt. Couldn’t she have found a different film? Something with no love scenes, for example? But, then, didn’t every film have at least a small love story?
She glanced around. Everyone was with someone, except her. Most couples were holding hands as they stared at the screen; some were with children.
Families. She sighed again. Wherever she went, she was surrounded by children. This hadn’t been one of her better ideas.
Her thoughts returned relentlessly to Nick. What if the operation went wrong? What if he was left paralysed, brain damaged—or worse? For someone as vital, as physically and mentally active as Nick, death would be preferable. She reached into her bag for her mobile, surreptitiously switching it on. What if he’d become unwell? What if he’d had a seizure and was lying on the floor, calling for help?
What if he was dead?
Of course he wasn’t. If his life were in any immediate danger they would never have let him leave the hospital. But then again he’d fo
rced the issue and they’d only reluctantly agreed because Luke had told them she was an A and E nurse.
She could call him. One little phone call to see if he was okay. If he answered she could hang up without speaking, but at least she’d know he was fine.
She crept along the row of cinema-goers, whispering her apologies as she went and slipped out into the foyer.
One phone call. He’d answer and then she could go back to her film. That would seem perfectly reasonable. Of course she wouldn’t hang up—that would be childish and cowardly. Anyway, he’d probably phone the number back and then she’d have to explain herself.
She closed her eyes and sighed. Why was she behaving like a schoolgirl anyway? All this pretending to be out on a date so that her ex-husband, her very ex-husband, wouldn’t realise that there was no one in her life was ridiculous.
Not that she was going to admit the truth. That would be too humiliating. He didn’t have to know she’d never so much as had a second date with a man since they’d separated, never mind another relationship. So when Nick answered the phone she would simply say she was checking on him while her companion was in the bathroom. That was perfectly reasonable, mature behaviour.
When he didn’t answer her landline she tapped in the number of his mobile. She let it ring until it went to voicemail, thought of leaving a message and decided against it.
A few minutes later she tried again. No reply. She tried another four times, waiting for several minutes between each call, her anxiety rising by the second.
Why wasn’t he answering?
Her head filled with images of Nick lying helpless on the floor and she made up her mind. What had she been thinking? What was this whole fiasco about? Even if Nick was perfectly well and watching his game, not even noticing, never mind caring that she wasn’t there, he could be dead in a few days and she was sitting in a half-empty cinema because of her pride?
She rushed outside, jumping impatiently from foot to foot as taxi after taxi sailed past.
Eventually she managed to hail one, squirming with frustration every time they stopped at a red light.
Finally she was home. She shoved some money into the driver’s hand. Her own hands were trembling so badly she dropped her keys before she was finally able to get the right one into the lock and let herself inside.
The house was in darkness. God, oh, God, she was right. He was lying somewhere, unconscious and unable to call for help. Her heart in her mouth, she opened the door of her sitting room.
* * *
Nick was sitting on the sofa, his long legs propped up on the stool in front of him, a beer in one hand, watching rugby. He must have showered in the time she’d been away as his hair was damp and he was shirtless. She averted her eyes from the sight of his muscled chest.
He glanced her way in mild surprise and immediately returned his attention to the TV screen.
‘Have a good time?’ he asked mildly.
So he’d noticed she’d gone—even if he hadn’t noticed she was back remarkably early for someone who was supposed to be on a dinner date.
All of a sudden, for some reason, the sight of him infuriated her. It was hard to believe that only minutes before she’d been imagining his death with a bleeding heart.
She stalked over and removed the beer from his hand. ‘I thought we agreed that this isn’t good for you.’
‘It’s non-alcoholic beer.’ He smiled, reaching for it. ‘When did you get so bossy? I don’t remember bossy.’ His eyes glinted. ‘I remember assertive—particularly when it came to sex—but not bossy.’
Her breath caught in her throat.
‘That was then,’ she retorted. ‘A long, long time ago.’
He switched off the TV. He’d lost some weight, she thought distractedly, his jeans were lying low on his hips. Her eyes followed the dark hair that started just below his navel and finished... She shook her head. Don’t go there.
He glanced at his watch and frowned. ‘Aren’t you home a bit early for someone on a date? Did he stand you up?’
‘Of course not!’ It wasn’t a lie. If someone didn’t exist, he couldn’t stand anyone up. But maybe next time she could borrow a real-life man, perhaps Lucy’s husband. God, she was off in her fantasy world again. ‘I’m home early because I was worried about you. Didn’t you hear the phone ring? Why didn’t you answer?’
‘I didn’t think I should answer your landline.’
Tiggy gritted her teeth. ‘I also called your mobile. Several times.’
‘You called me? In the middle of a date?’ He felt in his pockets and shrugged. ‘Must have left it in my room.’
She felt like such an idiot. His eyes creased at the corners as realisation dawned. ‘You abandoned your date? Because you were worried about me?’
‘You’re my responsibility,’ she replied. ‘I shouldn’t have left you alone.’
He narrowed his eyes. ‘I am not your—or anyone else’s—responsibility.’ He sprang to his feet so that he was towering over her. ‘I never have been and never will be. A piece of shrapnel doesn’t make me anyone’s responsibility.’ He glared down at her before turning on his heel. He stalked out of the room, returning seconds later with his phone. ‘You called me eight times? Good God, Tiggy, your date must have the patience of a saint.’
His mouth turned up at the corners and his eyes glinted. ‘Did you tell him it was your husband you were phoning? Did you tell him that your husband was staying with you? In the home we once shared?’
That was the trouble with lies—once you started with them you wrapped yourself up in them like a ball of string.
She shrugged, trying to look casual. ‘He’s a grown man. He knows it’s been over for years.’
Something flickered across his face. Disbelief. Possessiveness? Amusement? She couldn’t tell. All she knew was that her heart was racing. Suddenly his eyes softened. ‘I’m glad you’re back,’ he said. He picked up a lock of her hair and twirled it in his fingers. ‘I missed you.’
Now her heart was galloping like a runaway horse. Was he talking about just now? Or the last six years? Her body swayed towards him as if it had a mind of its own and before she knew what she was doing she’d raised her face, wanting, needing to feel his mouth on hers.
But to her mortification he turned away.
‘Go to bed, Tiggy,’ he said harshly, ‘before I do something we’ll both regret.’
CHAPTER NINE
THE NEXT DAY Tiggy used her lunch-break to go up to the children’s ward. Jo Green had been admitted to A and E two weeks earlier with meningococcal sepsis. Sadly her parents hadn’t recognised how ill their daughter was until the rash had appeared on Jo’s arms and legs. By the time the ambulance had brought her in, she had been unconscious and had needed to be put on life support. The medical team had done everything they could, pushing IV antibiotics and fluids, and the girl had survived.
However, two days later her legs had developed gangrene and Jo had had to have both her legs amputated above the knee. Tiggy had popped up to see her and the parents several times before. In A and E, when you held a child’s life in your hands, strong bonds often developed between the nurses and the parents. She and the Greens had been no different.
Mr and Mrs Green were, as usual, by their daughter’s bedside. Jo was staring up at the ceiling, just as she’d done ever since she’d discovered her legs had been amputated.
‘How are you today, Jo?’ Tiggy asked softly.
Jo’s eyes flicked towards Tiggy. ‘I want them to go.’
‘Who?’
‘Those two. The ones who call themselves my parents but who let this happen to me.’
Jo’s mother, Colleen, winced. ‘Darling, we had no choice.’ Her face was pale. It was clear she hadn’t been sleeping. ‘Don’t you think I would have given my life to save yours?’
‘Whatever.’
‘Now, Jo,’ her father said. He appeared to be in no better condition than his wife. ‘Your mum is telling the truth.’
Colleen looked at Tiggy with anguished eyes. ‘If only we’d taken her to the doctor sooner.’
‘Yes,’ Jo snarled. ‘And if only you hadn’t told them they could take my legs.’
‘Sweetheart, we had no choice. You would have died if we hadn’t agreed to the operation.’
‘I’d be better off dead,’ Jo said flatly. ‘What sort of life do you think I’m going to have now? Who in their right mind is going to want to go out with a girl who doesn’t have any legs? Who is going to want to be with someone who is no use to anyone? Who can’t even go to the bathroom without help?’
‘Can’t you talk to her?’ Colleen whispered to Tiggy.
Tiggy sat down on the bed. ‘I know it’s horrible now, but I promise you, you will have a life. In time you’ll learn to walk again. You’ll be able to do most of the things if not all the things you could do before.’
‘Walk on wooden legs? You have to be kidding me.’
‘They won’t be wooden, darling. Remember that nice lady came up to show you what they’d be like?’ Colleen pleaded.
‘Oh, Mum. You’re such a...’ Jo bit down on her lip and blinked furiously.
Tiggy squeezed the teenager’s hand. ‘I’ll come and see you tomorrow,’ she said.
‘Don’t bother. What could you—what can any of you—know what it’s like to be me? You have no idea.’
Colleen walked Tiggy to the door. ‘What are we going to do? She just lies there. The physios can’t do anything with her except some passive exercises. They say she needs to get out of bed and moving, but she won’t even try to sit up. She won’t eat. It’s as if she hates us.’
‘It’s natural for her to feel angry and blame you,’ Tiggy said, ‘but give her time.’
‘She was a runner, you know. Up for selection for the national training squad for the next Olympics. It was her life.’
‘The same strength that made her a possibility for the squad will stand her in good stead when she’s ready to accept what’s happened to her.’
‘And I’m afraid that that same strength of character will keep her from accepting what’s happened. I know my daughter, Tiggy. Nothing you or I could say will make a difference. Unless she believes that she has a life worth living, I just don’t know what she’ll do.’
