St. Piran's: The Wedding!

by Alison Roberts

  She could see pain that mirrored her own on Josh’s face. He murmured something that was inaudible but the tone was one of pure empathy. He held out his hand to help Megan to her feet and it felt only right that he didn’t let it go. That he drew her into his arms and held her.

  They were both suffering here. The swirl of their entire history, mixed with feelings that were too powerful to fight. And Megan didn’t want to fight any more. She needed this moment. It felt right. As though there’d been something worthwhile in all the pain over so many years.

  Because even a moment as perfect as this made it all worthwhile.

  And then Megan moved from where her face was buried against Josh’s shoulder. She turned her head and looked up to find Josh looking down at her. Neither of them could look away. There was something far too powerful for either of them to fight happening now.

  Slowly...so slowly that she could have easily stopped it happening if she’d thought about it for even a nanosecond, Josh’s head dipped and his lips came close enough to touch hers.

  So softly. The love she could feel in that gentle touch was so pure that Megan knew she would remember it until she drew her last breath.

  And then, faster than thought itself, the touch ignited and the flame of passion licked every cell of her body. Megan could feel her lips parting beneath Josh’s, her body arching into his, a tiny cry of unbearable desire escaping her throat. A whimper of need that was so deep it felt like it was tearing her apart.

  A tiny part of her brain remained in control, however. Or maybe it was Josh who was still aware that they were standing beside a bed that contained his sleeping child. It was impossible to unleash the passion but equally impossible to drag themselves away from each other. Every time they tried and the contact became light enough to break, they both pressed closer. Went a little deeper each time.

  It was a familiar sound that broke the spiral.

  Not the whimper of a child waking or the sound of someone coming up the stairs.

  It was an electronic chirp. The sound of a text message arriving on the tiny mobile phone Megan had in the back pocket of her jeans.

  A second chirp sounded as she and Josh finally stepped back from each other and the noise was just enough of a prompt to break the stunned immobility of the way they were staring at each other.

  Megan read her message. She could feel the curiosity emanating from Josh. She couldn’t meet his gaze.

  A warning bell was sounding in the back of her head. Taking the shape of the thought she’d had what seemed like only minutes ago.

  That things were changing and it was dangerous because she could get badly hurt all over again.

  That the safe thing to do would be to run. As fast and as far away as she could.

  ‘It’s Charles,’ she said, her voice totally without expression. ‘He’s waiting for me at the cottage.’

  There was a moment’s charged silence.

  ‘You’d better go, then.’ The words from Josh were as toneless as her own had been.

  Megan still couldn’t look at Josh. Nothing was being said and yet everything was being said.

  ‘Mmm.’ A strangled sound. ‘I’d better.’

  He wasn’t watching her as she fled. Megan knew that without even turning back. He hadn’t moved an inch. He was standing there, his head bowed, his gaze fixed on his daughter.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  THAT KISS HAD changed everything.

  Maybe that wasn’t a good enough excuse for Josh to be where he was now, too late in the evening for it not to seem significant, standing in front of the door to Megan’s cottage. But he’d been agonising over it ever since Megan had virtually run out of his house, according to Claire, stopping only long enough to snatch up her bag and jacket.

  She’d left her cardigan behind, draped over one of the chairs that had been pushed to one side in the living room, and it had only been found when the children had finally been been put down for the night and Josh and his mother had been clearing away the remnants of the birthday party.

  Returning an item of clothing wasn’t much of an excuse, but Josh needed to meet this Charles.

  To find out what his competition was like?

  No. His motivation wasn’t that juvenile.

  Taking a deep breath, Josh raised his hand and lifted the brass door knocker. He rapped it briskly, three times.

  He hadn’t been able to think of anything other than Megan since that kiss. The kaleidoscope of memories, emotions and a determination to be honest with himself had swirled around and around in his head, sliding and colliding until finally they seemed to have fallen into place.

  He had treated Megan abominably, he could freely admit that. He’d convinced himself he was being strong and doing the right thing but he’d been covering the fact that he was an emotional coward. And, yes, maybe he wasn’t doing the right thing now but it was the honest thing to do.

  He understood why Megan had left him when he’d been at the lowest point of his life, consumed by guilt at the death of a wife he’d never loved enough. Terrified by the prospect of being a solo father to two fragile, ultimately vulnerable, babies.

  He had forgiven Megan for that. He had forgiven her for not believing him when he’d told her that his marriage was over. For thinking that he was sleeping with his wife at the same time he’d gone to Megan’s bed.

  His knock went unanswered. He could hear some classical music coming from inside the cottage but there was no sound of any voices. The thought that he might be disturbing something intimate prompted Josh to lick suddenly dry lips. To take another deep breath. He would try just once more. He rapped three times again, and then added another couple of raps, slightly louder.

  The bottom line was that he could forgive Megan anything at all because...he loved her. It was as simple as that. And as complicated. He could even forgive her for marrying someone else and moving on with her life without him if he could believe that she would be happy doing that.

  But Josh also understood why Megan had fled from his house earlier today, in the wake of that kiss.

  It was still there.

  Whatever they’d discovered on that first night together and rediscovered when they’d found themselves working together in St Piran’s all those years later was still there.

  Stronger than ever, maybe, because it had been denied and locked away.

  Because of his stupid, misguided tunnel vision.

  How had he ever convinced himself that he could only be the father he was determined to be for his children by denying love or commitment to anything other than them or his career?

  He could never be the best father—the best anything, for that matter—without Megan in his life because he could never be the person he could be if he had her by his side.

  He could never feel whole without her.

  And, thanks to that kiss, Josh was convinced that it was the same for Megan, whether she was prepared to admit it or not.

  So why the hell was she planning to marry someone else?

  Just what did this Charles have that he didn’t?

  Maybe he was about to find out. The door was opening in front of him. Expecting it to be Megan, Josh felt his lips curling into a smile but the smile drained away when he found himself facing the man who had to be Charles. It was an effort not to let his face freeze into lines of...shock?

  Whatever he’d expected Megan’s fiancé to look like, it wasn’t this. Charles was much, much older than he was. Pushing sixty? He had completely grey hair, wire-rimmed spectacles and...and he was wearing a waistcoat. He looked like he could be Megan’s father. Or a favourite uncle. There was a kindliness about his face and his smile looked genuine but his eyes were sharp. This man missed nothing.

  ‘You must be Josh,’ he said into the awkward silence. ‘Please, come in. Megan’s having a bath but she’ll be down in a minute, I expect.’

  ‘I...ah...’ This was so unexpected that Josh was completely thrown. Just what had he thought he would d
o when he got here anyway? ‘I just came to return this,’ he said, holding out the garment in his hand. ‘Megan left it behind at the party. Perhaps you could give it to her?’

  A hand was extended but not to accept the item of clothing. It was asking for a handshake.

  ‘I’m Charles Cartwright,’ the older man said. ‘Megan’s friend. Please do come in. I’ve heard so much about you, I’d like to meet you properly.’

  Megan’s friend?

  He couldn’t walk away now without appearing rude. Besides, Josh’s level of confusion was rising. What kind of a fiancé described himself as a friend? Maybe Megan wasn’t engaged at all and that was why she wasn’t wearing a ring. Had she told everybody she was engaged to protect herself?

  Perhaps all he needed to do was convince Megan that she didn’t need that kind of protection. That he’d finally grown up and got over himself. That he could be everything that she needed him to be.

  That it might not be as easy as it sounded became more apparent with every step Josh took into the cottage.

  It was impossible not to remember the last time—the only time—he’d ever been here before. There was an air of redecoration chaos and a strong smell of paint that made it feel different now but nothing could erase those memories.

  Steeling himself to do the hardest thing in his life.

  Putting it off, just for another minute, resisting the urge to pull Megan into his arms from the moment she’d answered the door. Following her into the kitchen after accepting the offer of a drink.

  And then he’d snapped when Megan had betrayed her nervousness by spilling the water when she’d tried to pour it. That kiss was seared into his memory just as deeply as today’s now was but...they were so different.

  The kiss in the kitchen that day, more than two years ago, had been one of desperation. A last kiss, before he had to tell her what he knew would kill the hope and love he could see in her eyes. When he had to say that he couldn’t be in love with her any more.

  And today’s kiss? The only desperation there had been the need to get far closer than they could through a kiss. Far closer than their surroundings and circumstances would allow.

  But they’d both wanted that, hadn’t they?

  The real difference was that today’s kiss had been tinged with hope.

  Or was he imagining that?

  Josh’s confused whirl of thoughts circled back and tried to start again. Why had he come here? What did he hope to achieve? The only thing Josh was certain about was that he was nervous. More nervous than the last time he’d entered this cottage because then he’d known what the outcome would be.

  Now it felt like the rest of his life was hanging by a thread that was so tangled up he had no idea how to start unravelling it.

  Charles was leading the way into the living area of Megan’s cottage. It was cosy. The curtains had been drawn to shut out the rest of the world and the fire was a soft glow of embers waiting to be tickled back into life with some new fuel. A couple of wine glasses, one with a few mouthfuls of ruby liquid remaining, had been pushed to one side of the coffee table. The rest of the table was completely covered with photographs.

  Josh had to step closer. To see what had been going on in this intimate atmosphere?

  ‘Snapshots of Africa,’ Charles said from behind him. ‘Can I get you a glass of wine, Josh?’

  ‘No... Thanks,’ Josh added belatedly, knowing his refusal had sounded terse enough to be rude.

  He couldn’t look away from the photographs because Megan was in every one of them. Never alone, but often the only white face amongst a crowd of smiling colleagues. Or standing with family groups against the background of a tent city. Working in what looked like an overcrowded and pressured clinic setting. Mostly, with children. Treating them. Surrounded by them. Holding them.

  ‘I brought copies of all the ones I thought Megan would like to have,’ Charles said quietly. ‘I’m a bit of an amateur photographer.’

  ‘They’re very good,’ Josh heard himself saying politely.

  But they were more than very good. The images were amazingly evocative. They captured the barren landscape, the poverty and suffering, the harsh climate so clearly Josh could feel himself stepping into that foreign world.

  There was a profile shot of Megan, wearing her stethoscope, her head bent as she listened to the chest of a tiny child who lay in its mother’s arms. One of those heartbreaking children who were all ribs and stick-like limbs and huge, huge eyes.

  Megan’s hair was piled up and clipped to the top of her head but some of that luxuriant tumble of curls had escaped, as it always did. The stray lock looked black—soaked with perspiration and glued to the damp skin of her neck and cheek. Josh could actually feel the urge to touch the photograph. To try and smooth that lock of hair back from Megan’s face. To say something to ease the lines of distress he could see in her fierce concentration. In the lines of the way she was holding her mouth and the creases around her eyes.

  He couldn’t resist picking up another image. One that made him suck in his breath sharply the moment he saw it. He couldn’t stop staring at it, even though he knew he was glimpsing something private. A picture Megan hadn’t known was being taken because she was sound asleep, slumped in an old wicker chair, her head uncomfortably tilted so far to the side it was virtually resting on her shoulder, but still there was a hint of a smile curving her lips.

  She wasn’t alone, of course. Tucked under each arm was a tiny baby, their faces so black against Megan’s white coat and the blankets they were cocooned in. The babies were also deeply asleep and all three of them looked utterly at peace.

  So happy.

  ‘Lovely shot, isn’t it?’

  ‘Mmm.’ Josh could barely produce an audible sound. He was seeing a part of Megan’s life he could never share. A part of the woman he loved that was completely unknown.

  ‘They’re twins,’ Charles told him. ‘The girl is called Asha, which means Life. And the boy is Dumi—the Inspirer.’

  ‘Special names,’ Josh murmured.

  ‘Megan chose them. She saved their lives when they were born and she fought for them every step of the way after that. Day and night for weeks, it was Megan who fed them and changed them and cuddled them when they cried.’

  ‘What happened to their mother?’

  ‘She came into the camp in the late stages of her pregnancy and it was too late to start any treatment for her advanced AIDS. She died within hours of giving birth.’

  ‘And the babies?’ Josh felt his heart sink like a stone. ‘Are they...? Did they...?’ He couldn’t bring himself to say the words. Megan would have been devastated if—

  ‘They were lucky.’ He could hear the smile in Charles’s voice even though he didn’t look up from the photo. ‘We at least had the time to give the drugs that can help prevent transmission of the disease from mother to child. Neither of them were infected with HIV during the pregnancy and they were delivered via Caesarean and then bottle-fed, of course. They’re both thriving.’

  Thank goodness for that. Josh’s relief was tinged with a sense of unreality, however. How weird was it knowing that Megan had been living a life that paralleled his own to such a degree? A lone parent figure for fragile twin babies.

  ‘When was this picture taken?’ he asked.

  ‘Six months ago, when they were about eight weeks old, I think.’ Charles sounded oddly hesitant. ‘The twins were the main reason it was so hard to persuade Megan to come home and recover properly from the dengue fever. It would have been impossible if I hadn’t suggested—’ He broke off suddenly, his head turning. ‘Megan...we have a visitor.’

  ‘So I see. Hello, Josh. What are you doing here?’

  Megan was dressed again after her bath, in jeans and a warm pullover, but her feet were bare and her hair hung down in damp tendrils that she was still squeezing dry with a towel.

  She looked...good grief...frightened?

  Vulnerable, anyway. Heartbreakingly vulnerab
le. Because of him. Because he was here and threatening to break...something.

  Slowly, Josh put the photograph down. He held out what he was still holding in his other hand. The cherry-red cardigan.

  ‘You left this behind at the party. I thought you might need it.’

  ‘Oh...’ Megan came forward to claim the article of clothing. ‘Sorry...’

  What for? The inconvenience of it needing to be returned? Or for what had happened that had made her flee his house in such a hurry that she’d left it behind?

  The moment was astonishingly awkward. It was Charles who cleared his throat and tried to break it.

  ‘Megan’s been telling me about all the fundraising efforts going on for the clinic. It’s a wonderful thing you’re all doing.’

  ‘It’s Megan who can take the credit,’ Josh said. He had to clear his own throat because his voice came out sounding oddly raw.

  ‘She’s also told me about the new paediatric wing for your emergency department. That’s going to put St Piran’s on the map in a big way. You’ve got a brilliant career ahead of you, Josh, by all accounts.’

  Josh made a vaguely dismissive sound. Yes, he already had, and would no doubt continue to have, a brilliant career.

  But it wasn’t enough, was it?

  Charles was clearly struggling to find a topic of conversation to break the loaded silences.

  ‘And your twins turned two today? Megan tells me they’re beautiful children.’

  Josh managed to make another affirmative noise. Yes, his children were beautiful. They were everything to him and he would lay down his life in a heartbeat for them, if it was necessary.

  But...right now...it still didn’t feel enough.

  He needed something more in his life.

  He needed Megan.

  At least part of what he was feeling had to be showing on his face. In his inability to even make polite conversation. No wonder Megan was starting to look embarrassed. Stricken, even?