by Annie O'Neil
Impossible.
She’d missed that boat a long time ago—had practically thrown him the oars. Besides, if Maggie’s newsy emails were anything to go by there’d been a whole lot of water under Sam’s bridge over the last few years. A marriage. A divorce. His mother’s death.
And yet here she was, still stuck on That Day...
If she shut her eyes she could see it all in fine detail. It had been sunny. Tourists had been beginning to flood into town to enjoy the iconic sandstone cottages and, of course, the beautiful stone-lined river that lazily wound its way through the heart of the village. It had been early June, as it was now. The usual riot of flowers had been in bloom.
She’d had a shiny new diamond solitaire on her finger.
Jayne had come home from med school to see Sam and he had proposed. Of course she’d said yes. He was the love of her life. Had been since the first perfect kiss they’d shared the day she’d turned sixteen.
Jules had dropped everything and raced home from London. The family’s golden girl. They’d all adored her. As usual, she hadn’t wanted to settle for anything simple like a toast to celebrate. Jayne had suggested they ride their old bicycles down the lane and on to the pub they’d visited when they were in pigtails. Only this time they’d order a glass of fizz instead of the squash they’d used to ask for.
Jules had been pulling out their bicycles as soon as the suggestion was out there.
Their father had thrown them a distracted wave from his easel—another landscape. Their mother had laughed from her sculpting table and, before waving them off, had done what she’d always done—kissed them each on the cheek, then told them to be safe.
Then she’d thrown in an extra warning to Jayne, as though they were still kids rather than grown women, ‘Keep an eye on your sister. You know what she’s like.’
Stop at the end of the lane. Check for traffic a hundred times. Proceed to pub. That was the procedure.
Only this time Jules hadn’t followed it. She’d taken off at high speed and turned it into a race.
Three hours later...after the ambulance had gone and neighbours had flooded the house to make her parents cup after cup of sweet, milky tea... Jayne had slipped the sparkling ring on and off her finger.
A few months later she’d taken it off for good.
She’d changed in those months. No longer had she been the carefree, optimistic girl Sam had asked to marry him. In her place had come someone more steely-eyed, driven, determined to fulfil the dreams her sister never would.
Jules had always been a bit mad. Her interests wide and varied. But the one thing—the only thing—that had captured Jules’ high-octane energy had been her desire to perform a paediatric heart transplant.
As the days and then months of grief had built and festered after her death, Jayne had felt every bit as helpless as she had performing CPR on her sister, waiting for help to arrive. Her failure to overcome her sister’s catastrophic injuries had set something alight in her that had steered her away from the life she’d planned. A fierce, intense need to make amends for causing her sister’s death. To live the life her sister wouldn’t. Perform the surgeries her sister wouldn’t. Save the lives her sister wouldn’t.
She had done that today. Fulfilled her dream. It was meant to have drawn a line in the sand. Loosened the reins on the strict, driven intensity with which she had pursued this goal. Instead it had only proved what she had feared all along—that she hadn’t moved on at all.
‘Dr Sinclair.’ Sana’s voice forced her back into the operating theatre. ‘If you don’t take care of this...’ she pointed at Jayne’s heart ‘...you aren’t going to be able to look after your patients with this.’ She pointed at Jayne’s head.
Jayne shifted from one hip to the other, then pretended her phone had buzzed.
‘Dr Sinclair at your service!’ Jayne gave Sana a cheeky wink and mouthed Sorry, pointing at the phone. ‘Yes! Absolutely. No. No... Nothing on my schedule. I have all the time in the world.’
Sana rolled her eyes.
A code red sounded. Their eyes clashed. They both knew whose room it belonged to. They both knew exactly what it meant.
* * *
Three days later, when Jayne heard her own hollow voice call the time of death at the end of Stella’s bed, she looked straight into Sana’s eyes. She saw everything she needed to know.
It was time to go home.
Sana was right. She had to heal her heart before she could care for any more patients. They deserved her absolute focus, and Stella’s death had thrown her right back to the starting line of a race she’d thought she’d finally finished.
Trying to outrun her past was impossible. She almost laughed as she thought of the advice she regularly gave her own patients.
If you ignore the problem it will only get worse. If you face it head-on you have a chance to live the rest of your life with a few scars. Scars that will make you stronger.
* * *
Sam read the final page of the report, then put it on his desk. He turned and looked at his patient. ‘So, if I’m reading this right, it’s bedrest for the next couple of months, then...eh, Mags?’
‘Madness! I can’t do that,’ his patient wailed. ‘There are the children, first of all. Connor’s got all sorts of things on, and Cailey’s set to have her first ever sports day. The teashop has Dolly, of course, but that place needs my cake-baking skills. Then there’s the village fete. I’m on the committee. Obvs.’
Sam smiled. Maggie was on all the committees.
‘And then there’s the fundraiser for the automatic external defibrillator that the village desperately needs. The art fair that I haven’t even begun to—’
‘Whoa! Slow down. What’s most important here, Mags? You and the babies. The ones in there.’ He pointed at her generously arced tummy. ‘Everything else we’ll get it sorted, all right?’
Tears pooled in Maggie’s eyes as she pressed her fingers to her mouth and nodded.
It was at moments like these that Sam Crenshaw understood exactly why some GPs preferred to start their practices in villages where they hadn’t known their patients since they were toddlers. Delivering bad news to someone he used to make mud pies with wasn’t easy.
Maggie had been to the maternity and children’s hospital just outside of Oxford earlier in the day, and had come to him in tears with a sheaf of paperwork detailing just how complicated her pregnancy had become. She’d also told him she’d come up with a solution, but they hadn’t quite got to that part yet. Sometimes a patient needed to vent before they could listen...so for now he’d listen. And dole out tissues.
Wiping away a friend’s tears was hard...and yet it was precisely why he’d wanted to be a general practitioner right here in Whitticombe. Just like his grandfather.
Their shared love of medicine wasn’t genetic. He’d been adopted. Too early to have remembered otherwise but even so the generosity of the Crenshaws, bringing a stranger’s child into their already full home, lived in his heart like a beacon. Their credo was to treat people as you wanted to be treated. Lovingly and honestly. That way you never had to hide anything. He liked that.
His family’s honesty, openness and love were his foundation. The reason why he’d decided to pursue medicine in the very building where his grandfather had worked for the last forty-odd years. The very building his grandfather refused to retire from!
The bright-eyed rascal loved it. Said he’d have to be dragged from the building rather than retire. Sam was the last person to suggest otherwise. His grandfather was still a highly valued member of the community, and even though Sam had been a GP here for three years now some people still thought of him as the little boy in shorts who’d used to refill the boxes of cotton buds and tongue depressors.
All of which culminated in moments like this. If a person felt vulnerable they should have someone they trust
ed to come to. If they were frightened or scared? Same thing. And if they were going to hear some very bad news it should come from someone who knew them.
Which was why now he wheeled his chair over to Maggie, took her hands in his and looked her straight in the eye. ‘Maggie. I know you’re Wonder Woman, but you cannot do this alone. Pre-eclampsia is serious. You need someone who knows you to help out. With your parents in Australia, I’ll do what I can. We can set up a rota to help with the kids. I can make some calls about your committees—’
His very pregnant patient cut him off with a roll of her eyes. ‘You think I haven’t thought of all that? I’ve got it covered. Someone’s coming to stay. She’s just...’ She picked up her phone and gave it a couple of swipes with her finger. ‘She should be here any minute. I was hoping you might be able to talk her through everything. With Nate gone and all—’
Maggie’s voice hitched and she only just managed to stem another sob. Sam’s heart ached for her. Her day had been riddled with bad news. Pre-eclampsia. Danger of premature birth for her twins. Enforced bedrest. And all of this with her Air Force pilot husband stuck in the Middle East until the twins were due. Not to mention taking care of their two little ones.
He hoped this friend of hers had stamina. He could already tell that Maggie was going to run whoever it was ragged.
He went to the supplies cupboard to get a fresh box of tissues and gave himself a stern look in the mirror as he passed. He should carve out more time for Maggie. He was meant to be going for a casual drink with his receptionist’s niece tonight. His divorce had gone through over a year ago, so technically it was time to move on. Old news. Today’s fish and chip paper, as his grandad would say.
His mum’s death earlier in the year had really kicked him in the teeth. Cancer wasn’t kind to anyone, and the only blessing that had come from it was that his mother was no longer suffering.
‘So who’s this friend, then? Why don’t you tell me about her? It is a she, right?’
‘Yup. Yes.’ Maggie suddenly refused to meet his eye. ‘She’s female all right. Um...’
A quiet tapping sounded at his door. Maggie sat as bolt upright as a woman pregnant with twins could.
‘That might be her now.’
Sam crossed the office, opened the door—and there, looking every bit as perfect as she had the day she’d handed him back his diamond solitaire, stood Jayne Sinclair.
She gave a shy little waist-height wave and then, as if they’d rehearsed it, she and Maggie said in tandem, ‘Surprise!’
CHAPTER TWO
IF ONE OF Sam’s patients had called in with the same physiological responses to a surprise he would have rung an ambulance. Immediately.
Heart slamming against his ribcage. Pulse hitting the red zone. Blood pumping to all the wrong places.
Great. In a little less than the blink of an eye Sam’s well-worked theory that the next time he saw Jayne Sinclair it wouldn’t so much as register on his heart monitor was blowing up in his face.
He slammed on a mental emergency brake and pulled a sharp U-turn.
Jayne had caught him unawares, that was all. The collapse of their relationship wasn’t the only hurdle he’d overcome. He had a marriage, a divorce and his mother’s death under his belt now. Making peace with his mountains of emotional baggage had been tough, but he’d done it. Maybe he had a few more grey hairs than he would have thought average for a thirty-one-year-old, but, that which does not kill us...
Jayne had had to tackle her own set of emotional hurdles, but time hadn’t touched her Snow White aesthetic. Glossy black hair. Bright blue eyes. An English rose complexion that was looking slightly pale considering it was early summer. The Jayne he’d known would have had the kiss of the sun and a smattering of freckles appearing on her nose about this time of year. Twenty-three at the last count.
He forced himself to update his memory banks.
She wasn’t the woman he knew any more. That Jayne had all but disappeared the day her sister had been killed.
The ‘new’ Jayne only came at Christmas. She spent an hour at the pub. No more, often less. Years back they had chatted. Awkwardly. How else could a man exchange Yuletide greetings with the girl he’d thought he’d marry? It wasn’t as if he’d asked for the ring back.
At the time—over seven years ago now—he’d actually suggested she keep it. Think about it. Consider the consequences of giving up everything they’d dreamed of. He knew she’d been grieving. Trying to wrap her head round her sister’s senseless death. But in the end he’d run out of suggestions. Realised with a cold, numbing clarity that she’d chosen a new path. One that didn’t involve him.
As the years had passed their strangulated chit-chat had become a wave. Then a nod. Three years ago, when he’d met and married Marie, it had dissolved into nothing at all. Last Christmas he’d stayed at home because his mum had been so ill. He hadn’t let himself consider the option that seeing Jayne so soon after his divorce might reopen wounds he wasn’t ready to examine.
Jayne’s smile was as unnatural as his own felt. ‘Hey, Sam. I hope it’s all right that Maggie invited me along?’
As Jayne and Maggie exchanged a quick glance he flexed his hands, willing them not to curl into themselves. He wasn’t this guy. Tense. Edgy. Protectively defending his decision to live the life he’d—they’d—always dreamed of having.
The life his wife had left behind.
The last three years of his life flashed past in an instant. He’d thought he and Marie were happy. They’d enjoyed a year-long courtship when he’d finished med school. A classic country wedding. A solid year of marriage. The next year hadn’t been quite as rosy, but he’d thought he’d made it clear to her that he’d be busy. Extremely busy. The house to build... The medical practice to haul into the twenty-first century... His mother’s cancer in full attack mode.
Sure, he’d been vaguely aware of hairline fissures in their relationship, but when Marie had told him she wanted out it had shocked him. She’d said getting married so soon had been a mistake. She’d laid out the truth as she’d seen it.
Sam’s priorities were the surgery, refurbishing the old barn and his family. She didn’t feel she factored anywhere on that list, and for that reason she wanted to cut her losses before the wounds ran too deep. She’d told him this as she’d served him with divorce papers.
He’d had a card from her after his mother had died, and from the sounds of things she’d already found her special someone.
The fact that he was genuinely happy for her spoke volumes. Nothing like an ounce of truth landing like a ton of bricks in your gut. Which all circled back to the here and now, and the fact that Jayne Sinclair was still registering on his personal Richter scale just like she shouldn’t.
He scrubbed the back of his neck and pasted on what he hoped was a passable smile. His focus should be on Maggie, not his debacle of a love-life.
‘Come on in.’
He ushered Jayne in, showed her to a chair, accidentally inhaling as that all too familiar scent of sweet peas and nutmeg swept round his heart and squeezed a beat out of it. The way it always had.
The Jayne Sinclair Effect.
How could he have forgotten about that?
You didn’t. You put it in a box and hoped it would never get opened again.
‘Ta-da!’ Maggie waggled jazz hands. ‘Here’s my friend!’
Jayne put out her hands and heaved her friend up for a hug. Maggie’s head just about reached Jayne’s chin. Jayne’s eyes met and locked with Sam’s. A familiar energy that he hadn’t felt in years shunted through him. The type of energy that came from being with the person who made him feel whole again.
‘You look good,’ she muttered above Maggie’s pile of auburn curls.
She did too. Different. But good. She was all woman now. As if she’d finally grown in to all five feet nine inche
s of herself. Still slender. Still with a quirky dress sense that spoke of a woman whose life revolved around a children’s hospital. She wore an A-line skirt embroidered with polka dots. A well-worn T-shirt with a unicorn on it. Flip-flops with red satin roses stitched across the straps.
Her black hair was still long. She had a chunky fringe now. The rest of her hair was pulled back into the requisite ‘doctor’s ponytail’. A brush or two of mascara framed those kaleidoscope blue eyes of hers. Ocean-blue one minute. Dark as the midnight sky the next. Nothing on her lips apart from a swoosh of gloss. They didn’t need anything else.
Except, perhaps, for him to find out if her gloss still tasted of vanilla and mint.
He smashed the thought into submission.
That type of impulse was meant to have died a long time ago. Right about the moment she’d handed his ring back to him.
Jayne blinked and hitched her nose against an obvious sting of emotion. When she opened her eyes again they held tight with his.
Oh, hell.
What he wouldn’t give to be able to read all the secrets she held in those jewel-like eyes of hers.
They’d used to light up when they were planning their wedding. Dreaming of finally refurbishing the old barn. Talking about Jayne’s plan to specialise in paediatrics. Sam in geriatrics. They’d used to light up when she saw him come round a corner.
Her sister’s death had knocked the light out of her eyes. Even so, he’d refused to believe her when she’d said she didn’t love him any more. She’d been through a trauma. She was bound to be different for a while.
Jayne had loved Jules as he loved his own family. Fiercely. Protectively. There was no fighting with a ghost. He got that. He’d thought he could wait it out. Be there for her. But she’d refused his support, again and again. Months had gone by before he’d finally seen the change of heart she’d said she felt. The change that had seen her handing him back his ring for good.
