‘Nothing to do with the fact that you don’t want to cook,’ she teased.
‘I love cooking—I’m good at it,’ he reminded her archly. ‘I just don’t do cakes. King Alfred and I have a lot in common. Talking of which, how’s Harry’s burn?’
‘There are all sorts of things I ought to have,’ he said, and she didn’t know if she’d imagined it or if there had been a trace of sadness in his voice.
Poor Max. It was all so simple, and he just couldn’t see it.
‘I’ll give you a rooted bit,’ she promised. ‘Now, getting back to Sunday—do you want me to make a cake, or cut some sandwiches or something? It mustn’t look too staged or Harry will smell a rat.’
‘He will?’
‘He’s four, not stupid,’ Anna reminded him. ‘People he knows don’t have big teas unless it’s for a birthday party or Grannie and Grandad at Christmas.’
‘I concede to your superior knowledge,’ he said with a grin. ‘I’ll buy a cake—unless you can make one of those wicked chocolate ones they sell in there? But we can make sandwiches. Can you get hold of some of that wild boar ham we had in the pub?’
She wrinkled her nose. ‘I can, but Harry won’t eat it. He only likes egg and cress or banana sandwiches.’
‘In which case we’d better have a variety,’ Max said, pulling a face. ‘I haven’t had a banana sandwich for at least twenty-five years.’
‘You should,’ she said with a laugh. ‘They’re lovely.’
‘Yuck.’ He swirled his coffee. ‘Do you know Valerie Hawkshead, by the way?’
‘Valerie—yes, I do. She and her husband own the fruit shop. Why, has she been in to see you?’
‘Problems?’ she prompted.
He let out a sigh. ‘She came in with headaches and forgetfulness. I sent her to a neurologist, and he said she had depression with retardation. Then she had a fit, and I sent her in again yesterday for a scan. Her husband’s just phoned to say they found a brain tumour of some sort, and they’ve removed it.’
He put his mug down. ‘I knew it was more than just depression or premature dementia. That’s why I referred her. I can’t believe they sent her back on anti-depressants without doing a thorough screen.’
‘Will she be all right?’ Anna asked, concerned for the woman she knew only slightly but who had always been pleasant and friendly.
Max shrugged. ‘I don’t know. It’s too early to say if there’s any permanent damage done, and I probably won’t be here long enough to find out. That’s the trouble with locum work. No continuity.’
He sounded disheartened by that, but again Anna didn’t comment. She didn’t want to patronise him with platitudes about the patients missing him, or insult his intelligence by telling him that Suzanna was perfectly well qualified. He knew that. She just left the seed of discontent growing quietly in a corner of his mind, and took heart from another ally in her fight against his stubbornness.
Sunday was gorgeous. It wasn’t too hot, but Max had mowed the lawn with the little push-mower he’d found in the garage, and had tidied up the rose bed a little so the
Harry was playing in the garden, dressed in soft, stretchy shorts and a matching T-shirt, and he looked taller.
Ridiculous, Max told himself. It’s only been four weeks. How can he have grown?
He stood at the kitchen window, poised in the act of rinsing the cress for the egg sandwiches, and Anna turned off the cold tap and stood beside him.
‘He’s grown,’ he said, and his voice sounded rough and unused.
Anna gave him an odd look. ‘Has he? I hadn’t noticed.’
‘I think so.’
She looked out again, her face softening.
‘You really love him, don’t you?’ Max said, and he felt a pang of…not envy, exactly, but something akin to it. It must be wonderful to have such a relationship with your child.
He turned the tap on again, washing the cress with great vigour and very little skill, and Anna turned the tap off again and took it out of his hands.
‘You’re supposed to be rinsing it, not mashing it under the tap,’ she scolded affectionately. ‘I’ll do this. You go outside and spend some time with him.’
He threw her a grateful glance and went out to the garden. ‘How are you doing, sport?’ he asked.
‘OK,’ Harry said, chasing a grasshopper across the rough lawn. ‘Look, it can jump ever such a long way!’
Son.
The very word was a miracle, never mind the child. He wanted to reach out and hug him, just to prove he was real and not a figment of his imagination. Instead, he found excuses to touch him—lifting him into a tree, helping him down again, turning him round to show him something—almost anything, just to assuage the terrible urge to sweep him into his arms and crush him against his chest.
‘I’m just going to see how your mother’s getting on with the sandwiches,’ he said, and stood up, almost running into the house in his haste to get away before he made a fool of himself.
Anna met him in the hall, her arms coming out to hug him, and he hugged her back and gave himself time to settle.
‘All right now?’ she asked gently, and he nodded.
‘Yes. Don’t know what came over me.’
‘Love, I would imagine,’ she said matter-of-factly. ‘It can get you like that.’
She dropped her arms and went back to the sandwiches, and he went into the sitting room, doing a last scan round to make sure it was tidy. Out of the front window he saw his father’s car pull up on the drive, and he went back to the kitchen.
‘They’re here,’ he said, and she turned towards him and looked at him searchingly.
‘Are you all right?’
He nodded. ‘I’m fine. A bit worried they’ll say something. How about you?’
‘They’ll love you,’ he promised, and went to open the door.
‘Where is he?’ his mother whispered.
‘In the garden. You can see him from the window. It’s a bit of a shock, he’s just like Thomas. Come on in and meet Anna.’
He led them through to the kitchen, and they found Anna standing nervously by the sink, her eyes alert, her body quiet.
‘Anna, I want you to meet my parents, Henry and Clare. Mum, Dad, this is Anna,’ he said, and he suddenly found his heart racing. He wanted them to get on, he realised. Needed them to get on. He felt suddenly sick with apprehension, but then Anna smiled and held out her hand, and his mother was moving towards her and wrapping her in a motherly embrace, and he knew it was going to be all right.
They were lovely—Max’s father just like him but older, with kindly crinkles around eyes that saw right through that outer shell to the things that really mattered, his mother warm and loving and utterly devoted to her stubborn and courageous son.
Her eyes strayed to the window, and Anna moved back, giving them both a better view.
Clare Carter gasped, the hand covering her mouth trembling with reaction. ‘Oh, my goodness, he is so like Thomas! I wouldn’t have believed it!’ Tears filled her eyes, and Anna could see the yearning in her face.
Henry’s, too. He stood beside his wife, one hand comfortingly
‘Oh, Max,’ his mother said unsteadily, and Anna slipped out, going down the garden to keep an eye on Harry while they stood and watched him from the window and wrestled their emotions into order again.
‘Max’s mother and father have dropped in—they’re going to stay for tea. Isn’t that nice?’ she told him.
He didn’t even look up. ‘Yeah. Have we got ‘nough?’
‘Should have. What are you doing?’
‘I found a whole lot of wood lices. They curl up in your hand—look!’
‘No, thanks,’ she said, suppressing a shudder and looking away. ‘Anyway, they’re called lice, not lices.’
‘This one’s really friendly. Hold it!’
‘No!’
He chased her with it, down the garden and back again, giggling and squealing with delight, and finally tra
pped her against the back fence and held out his empty hands.
‘Ha-ha!’ he said gleefully. ‘No wood lices!’
‘Lice,’ she corrected automatically. ‘You are a horrid tease and it’s not fair to the wood lice to run around with them. They’ll lose their families and be frightened. Where did you drop it?’
‘I put him down—I didn’t really have him. I just made you run away.’
She hugged him. ‘You are a little beast,’ she said affectionately.
‘Having fun?’ Max asked.
Harry broke away from her and ran to his father, talking
Anna watched Max, detecting tiny signs of strain around his eyes as he squatted down next to Harry. ‘Yes. They’ve dropped in on their way past—they’ve been out for the day, and they’re going to stay for tea.’
‘Mummy said. Hello.’ He tipped his head on one side and looked up at them thoughtfully. ‘You look like Max,’ he said to Henry Carter.
‘That’s because I’m his father. Sons often look like their fathers,’ he told the boy. How true, Anna thought, looking from Harry to Max, and then Harry lobbed a bomb into the conversation.
‘I don’t have a father,’ he told them matter-of-factly. ‘He had to go away.’
There was an awkward silence when all of them seemed to be holding their breath, then Harry went on, ‘I’ve got a granddad, though. I ‘spect that counts. He’s called George. What’s your name?’
‘Henry.’
Harry’s eyes widened. ‘I’m Henry, too! ‘Cept everyone calls me Harry, but my proper name’s Henry. It’s short for Harry.’
‘Actually, I think it’s the other way round,’ Max said, breaking the silence.
‘Oh. Never mind. Do you like wood lices?’ he asked Clare hopefully.
‘Not especially, but your—Max does.’
‘Especially down the neck,’ he murmured under his breath, and Anna chuckled softly.
So far, so good, she thought.
‘Shall we go in for tea?’ Max suggested.
‘Good idea. No insects,’ his mother said with a smile.
‘I wouldn’t bank on it. This is the country.’
They retired to the relative safety of the sitting room, and Anna helped Max carry in the food while his parents sat down in the comfy chairs and were entertained by their grandson.
‘Banana sandwiches—my favourite,’ Henry said, tucking in.
‘Mine, too,’ Harry mumbled.
‘Don’t talk with your mouth full,’ Anna corrected automatically. ‘Anyway, I thought egg and cress were your favourites?’
‘Not any more,’ he said, siding firmly with his new friend. ‘Me ‘n Henry like banana best.’
‘Dr Carter,’ Anna corrected sternly. ‘You can’t call him Henry, it’s not respectful.’
Harry ducked his head. ‘Sorry,’ he mumbled, and Henry’s hand came out and tousled his hair.
‘Don’t worry about it, son. You call me whatever you want.’
So long as it’s Granddad, Anna thought sadly, and met his eyes. They shared a smile of understanding, an understanding shared by his wife.
Anna went out to the kitchen to refill the kettle for more tea, and Clare Carter joined her and gave her a silent hug.
She smiled wryly. ‘I’ve had a lot of help—my parents have been wonderful, and I’ve got a super neighbour and very good child-care facilities for some of the time.’
Clare hesitated for a moment. ‘If you didn’t have to work, would you still want to?’ she asked cautiously. ‘Because, if it’s a question of money, we’d be only too happy to help you. I know Max is being obstinate, but I want you to know we’re on your side—’
‘What are you girls plotting?’ Max asked, coming into the kitchen and sliding his arms round his mother’s waist.
‘We’re just talking about how stubborn you are,’ she said bluntly. ‘And what a tribute Harry is to Anna.’
Anna coloured. ‘You’re very kind. He’s an easy child.’
‘His father was,’ Clare said, very quietly. ‘It’s a family thing. Happy genes or something.’
Happy genes, Anna thought. Max’s happy genes were a bit overstretched at the moment. If only he’d give in and let himself have everything that was there, waiting for him on a plate—her love, their son’s love, the welcome of her family. So much waste.
She shrugged off the sombre thoughts and smiled. ‘They’ll think they’ve been abandoned,’ she said, topping up the teapot. ‘Shall we go back before they finish all the chocolate cake?’
‘Thank you.’
Anna smiled sadly. ‘My pleasure. It was little enough to do for them,’ she told him. ‘Fancy a glass of wine?’
‘I fancy a hug.’
He grinned. ‘Sounds good. I left my car at home anyway, so I can walk back.’
They took their wine into her little sitting room and settled down on the sofa, his arm round her shoulders, snuggled up close. ‘This is so nice,’ he murmured wistfully. ‘Harry asleep upstairs, sitting down here with you—all we need now is the cat.’
Right on cue Felix strolled in, leapt onto Max’s lap and settled down, kneading his leg with his claws and dribbling furiously.
‘You are disgusting,’ Anna said affectionately.
‘He’s just a cat. Ouch! Not that hard.’ He peeled the claws out of his skin, tucked the cat’s paws under his chest and tickled his ears. It did nothing for the dribbling, but at least that didn’t hurt, and his jeans were destined for the wash anyway. He dropped his head back and sighed.
Life was good. This time with Anna and Harry was building him up, filling his memory banks with so much that was infinitely precious. And for a while, at least, he could forget about the future and just pretend…
Anna didn’t have the heart to wake him. Anyway, she didn’t want to. She sat there, enjoying the cosy moment, until the night grew dark and she thought Max’s neck would suffer from being at such a crazy angle.
She eased out from under his arm and lowered it carefully to his side, then propped his head up on a cushion. He sighed and snuggled into it, and she left him there and went and made them coffee.
It was almost midnight, and he needed to go home to
Not consciously, but inside her there was a deep coil of tension winding slowly but surely tighter. She wondered if she’d have enough adrenaline to cope with it, or if she’d run out or collapse before the check-up.
And how did Max feel? Scared? Resigned?
‘Mreouw!’
She looked down at her feet, to see Felix rubbing against her legs, staring hopefully up at her and pleading prettily.
‘Cupboard lover,’ she told him. ‘No. You’ve been fed. You’re fat. Go outside and catch something if you’re hungry—work off some calories.’
He was either deaf or eternally hopeful. Whatever, she nearly fell over him on the way back to the sitting room because he kept trying to block her path, running ahead and sitting down and squawking.
‘Oh, cat, shut up,’ she said firmly. ‘Go away.’
‘Who, me?’
Anna laughed. ‘No, the cat. I was just going to wake you up—I’ve made coffee.’
‘Wonderful. I love you. I’m as dry as a crisp.’
He levered himself up a bit on the sofa, and she handed him his mug and curled up at the other end, her toes tucked under his thigh. He dropped a hand over her ankles and stroked them absently with his thumb while he sipped his coffee.
‘Ah, that’s better,’ he sighed, dropping his head back against the cushion. ‘Your sofa’s too comfortable.’
‘You’re tired.’
‘Poor old man,’ she crooned with mock sympathy.
‘You don’t have to take the mick,’ he said archly. ‘I know I’m older than you.’
‘Not much. I’m thirty now.’
He looked at her strangely. ‘I suppose you must be. I still think of you as that young woman of twenty-five that I fell in love with all those years ago. It’s as if you’ve
been suspended in time. Whenever I’ve thought about you, I’ve tried to imagine you run to seed with lots of grubby, runny-nosed children. Instead, I find you more beautiful than ever, with only one child, and I may be biased but I think he’s the most wonderful child in the world.’
She found a wobbly smile. ‘Perhaps slightly biased. I think I might be, too, because I agree. About Harry, anyway. Not about me. I’ve got squashy and unfit.’
‘You’re hardly squashy,’ he protested. ‘Just…womanly.’ His eyes darkened, and he groaned. ‘Can we change the subject? Thinking about your womanly charms is killing me. I don’t suppose we could sneak up to bed?’
‘Not unless you’re prepared to explain yourself to your son,’ she said seriously.
He gave a wry, humourless laugh. ‘It was just a thought.’ He drained his coffee and stood up. ‘Time to go. A brisk walk in the dark might settle my libido down a little.’
‘Do you want a torch?’
‘Might be an idea. There’s no moon tonight. I’d hate to get lost and end up in the ditch with the local drunk.’
‘Old Fred? He’ll be tucked up in bed at his sister’s by now.
‘Here. I think it’s all right. It might not be wonderful. Take care.’
He kissed her, a long, slow, lingering kiss that did nothing to settle either his libido or hers, and then opened the door.
The cat, clearly deciding they were too boring for words, hopped out and darted across the road, just as a car shot down the lane.
There was a bump and a howl of pain, and Anna felt her blood run cold.
‘Oh, my God,’ she whispered, and ran to the edge of the road. ‘Felix? Felix, come here. Where are you, boy?’
‘Over there,’ Max said quietly, shining the torch. ‘He’s badly hurt. Have you got a board or a stiff mat we can slid him onto?’
‘Doormat?’ she suggested, picking it up and shaking the loose dirt off it. ‘I’ll put something on it,’ she said shakily, and yanked a pillowcase off the top of the laundry basket at the bottom of the stairs.
She followed Max over the road and found him hunched over Felix, stroking him gently and talking to him in quiet, soothing tones.
‘Let’s get him inside into the light,’ Max suggested. ‘We’re all a little vulnerable here if there are any more lunatics like that about.’
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