St. Piran's: The Wedding of The Year

by Caroline Anderson

  She nodded, blinking back the ever-ready tears. ‘Yes. Yes, he is, but you must do what feels right for you both. I can’t tell you that, darling, it’s up to you. And he’s here—I expect he’s in the café. Why? Do you want to see him now?’

  He shrugged his skinny shoulders again. ‘Just wondered if he’d gone. He went home yesterday.’

  ‘Because you told him to.’

  ‘But I didn’t think he’d go,’ he said perversely. ‘Not if he really cared.’

  ‘Oh, he cares, Jem,’ she said softly. ‘He was really upset. He went because you asked him to, not because he wanted to, and that’s why he’s not here now, but he is in the hospital, in case you want to see him. And he’ll be here, waiting, until you’re ready.’

  ‘Really?’

  She nodded. ‘Really. However long it takes. He wants to see you,’ she told him, and she watched that sink in, watched the realisation that Nick did care, that he wanted Jem. Was here for him, any time he asked.

  He didn’t ask, not then, but later, when he’d obviously been thinking about it for a while, he lifted his head and said, ‘This face-merging thing. Do you think it would work with him and me?’

  She took a second to realise he was talking about the games console, and lifted her shoulders. ‘I don’t know. Probably. Do you want to try?’

  ‘Maybe. If he’s still here.’

  She felt a great weight lift off her chest, and smiled. ‘I’ll find him.’

  * * *

  He was in the café, in a litter of torn sugar and salt packets, pushing a pile of white crystals around on the tabletop.

  She sat down next to him, and he lifted his head and gave her a weary smile. ‘Hi. How is he?’

  ‘He’s OK. He wants to see you.’

  His eyes widened, and she could see hope flickering in them. ‘Really?’

  ‘Really. He was talking about the photo-merging thing. I think he wants to try with your faces.’

  ‘Ah. That might need Jack or Lucy.’

  ‘It might not. You might be able to work it out. You’ve got the instructions.’

  He nodded slowly. ‘I could try. Any tips or hints? For him, not the game.’

  ‘Give him time. He’s still angry with us, but more than that, he’s confused and he needs time to adjust to the new reality of having a father. We all need time to adjust to it, but we’ll get there.’

  ‘Will we?’ he asked doubtfully, as they left the café and walked along to the ward. ‘I hope you’re right.’

  * * *

  She sent him in on his own, and Jem looked up and gave him a wary smile.

  He smiled back just as warily and sat down on the chair. ‘Hiya. Your mum says you want to try the face-merging thing.’

  ‘Mmm.’ Jem fiddled with the games console for a moment, then mumbled, ‘Uncle Nick? Can I call you Dad? ’Cos that’s what you are, really, and it’s what Jack and Lucy call you. But I’m still mad with you, though, for walking off and not explaining,’ he added hastily, just in case he wasn’t aware of it.

  No chance of that. Nick’s throat closed, and he swallowed hard. ‘That’s fine, I deserve it. You can call me whatever you want. And if you want to call me Dad—well, that would be awesome.’

  His son rolled his eyes and grinned, looking so like Jack that Nick couldn’t believe he’d never seen it. ‘You can’t say that, Dad, you’re too old, you sound silly. And I am still mad with you.’

  He gave him a wry smile. ‘That’s OK. We can talk about that,’ he agreed, and blinked hard. He’d called him Dad—as if he’d been practising it in his head all day, and finally felt brave enough to try it out. Brave enough, and trusting enough.

  He sucked in a deep breath, and picked up the games console. ‘Right. Instructions?’

  ‘They’re here. Where’s Mum?’

  ‘I think she’s having a drink and a bit of fresh air. Why?’

  He shrugged. ‘Just wondered. I thought she’d like to see this.’

  ‘We can show her later when she comes back, if we can work it out. Or I can go outside and phone her,’ Nick suggested, realising Jem was still scared. Still scared, and still needing his mother, but the man who’d been Uncle Nick all his life didn’t have the power to fill that gap, and maybe never would. He realised that he was jealous of her relationship with him. So stupid. Of course he needed his mother, he was a little boy, still not quite eleven years old, for all his courage.

  ‘Want me to call her? She could come now, I’m sure. She’s not far away.’

  Jem shook his head. ‘No, it’s OK. We can show her later, like you said,’ he agreed, and Nick felt himself relax a little. One step at a time...

  * * *

  ‘We did it, Mum, it was amazing,’ their son said by way of greeting, and she felt the tension ease out of her.

  ‘Did you make it work, then?’ she asked him, and he nodded.

  ‘Yeah—come here, let me show you. And I’m going to look so like him when I’m older. It’s awesome, isn’t it, Dad?’ he said, and Kate’s eyes widened slightly and then filled with tears.

  ‘Yes, you will be like him,’ she said, looking at the games console as Jem switched from one face to another, the similarities striking. Her voice wobbled slightly, and she swallowed hard and avoided Nick’s eyes. But he’d seen, and his hand came out and squeezed hers in support.

  ‘Lucy sent me a text. She’s invited us for supper. Want to go?’

  She shook her head. ‘No. I ought to let the dog out and I could do with putting some washing on before I come back here this evening, but you can go, if you like.’

  ‘No. That’s fine. I’ll drop in and have a cup of tea with her after I take you home, and I could go and pick up my post—yours, too.’

  ‘You can go now, Dad, if you like,’ Jem said. ‘Mum and me’ll be all right.’

  ‘Mum and I,’ she corrected automatically, and turned in time to see the flicker of pain on Nick’s face.

  ‘Sure. I’ll do the dog and the post and have tea with Lucy, and I’ll come back this evening and take you home after visiting, then, if you’re both sure?’ Nick said gruffly, and then, after a fractional hesitation, he bent over the bed and dropped a kiss on his son’s bruised forehead. Just a fleeting one, the sort of kiss he’d given his other boys in their youth, but he wasn’t sure of his reception and when Jem slid his arms round him and gave him a quick hug, he felt the love swell in his chest and threaten to choke him.

  ‘You take care,’ he said gruffly, ruffling his hair with a gentle hand, and because he didn’t want to leave her out, he stooped and kissed Kate’s cheek, as well, in passing, and he was rewarded by her smile.

  * * *

  At least supper was sorted out, he thought as he headed back to Lucy’s—fresh sea bass from one of the fishermen in the harbour. He’d been spotted turning into his drive when he’d collected his post, and Toby Penhaligan had pulled in behind him and given him two beautiful, plump fish straight from the sea.

  ‘How’s the lad?’ he’d asked, and Nick wondered if he’d heard the rumour, too.

  ‘Doing well, thanks,’ he’d told him. ‘He should be out of hospital by the end of next week.’

  ‘I hear you’ve taken the barn for the summer.’

  So the jungle drums were working overtime. No surprises there, then. ‘For a while, anyway. I’m giving Kate a hand to look after Jem—he can’t manage the stairs, so it seemed to make sense.’

  He’d felt Toby’s eyes track to the more-than-adequate family house behind him, and was hugely grateful that the barn was out of the way and might afford them a little much-needed privacy.

  He’d gone straight there, put the fish in the fridge and walked the dog, then gone to Lucy’s.

  ‘So, how is he?’ she asked.

  ‘OK,’ he told them. ‘Good. He called me Dad today...’

  His voice cracked a bit, and he cleared his throat and gave them a wry smile. They were gathered round the kitchen table, his two eldest children and
Ben, drinking tea and talking through Jem’s progress, and Lucy reached out a hand and squeezed his shoulder. ‘Sorry,’ he muttered, patting her hand. ‘It got to me. But he says he’s still mad with me. He thinks I don’t want to be his father.’

  ‘Do you?’ Jack asked. ‘Because I could understand if you didn’t. I was appalled when India died and I was told Freddie was mine—talk about hurled in at the deep end. It really wasn’t easy, but you’ve got to give it a go, Dad, because—well, he’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me, him and Alison and our growing family. But it was Freddie that turned me around, and he’s given me so much.’

  ‘I’m sure you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to him, as well. And I do want to be his father. I just hope I can do him justice.’

  ‘Of course you can! It’s not about being perfect, it’s about being there,’ Lucy told him. ‘And listening. You could maybe do a bit more of that. But we were never short of love, and that’s what he needs most of all. To know you love him.’

  ‘I do.’ He swallowed and tried to smile. ‘He hugged me. When I said goodbye. He’s never hugged me before.’

  Lucy tutted again, and got up and came round and snuggled onto his lap. ‘You soft old thing,’ she said kindly, and he laughed and tapped her on the bottom.

  ‘Less of the old,’ he told her, and hugged her back, then frowned and looked down at her slightly rounded abdomen. ‘Are you pregnant again?’

  She blushed. ‘Um—I might be.’

  ‘I think you might. Congratulations. I take it this is planned?’

  Ben’s lips twitched. ‘Sort of. She caught me in a weak moment. I think it’s a ploy to be on permanent maternity leave.’

  Nick laughed again. ‘Come on, let me up. I have to go and see your little brother.’

  * * *

  Jem was tired—exhausted, really, after a busy day with two lots of visitors and all the upset of the previous day—and he was still getting used to being out in an open ward with six-bed bays, rather than his own quiet little side room, so Kate and Nick didn’t stay late, and were home by quarter to eight.

  Home, he thought, turning into the drive, and wondered how, in just a little over forty-eight hours, it could possibly feel like home.

  Because Kate was there.

  There was no other possible reason, and he ushered her in, poured her a glass of wine while she let the dog out and fussed over him, then scrubbed the new potatoes while she sat and sipped the wine and watched the last pink streaks of the sunset fade over the sea.

  ‘Anything I can do?’ she asked him, feeling guilty for sitting there, but he just smiled at her and carried on scraping and scrubbing.

  ‘No. You stay there and enjoy being waited on. You heard the doctor—I have to spoil you.’

  She chuckled. ‘If you insist. So how was Lucy?’

  ‘Ah, Lucy. Pregnant again.’

  Kate smiled indulgently. ‘Have you only just realised?’ she said.

  He rolled his eyes. ‘Of course, you’re a midwife. You notice these things.’

  ‘That’s right,’ she said smugly. ‘So, what are you feeding me for supper?’ she asked, and he grinned.

  ‘Sea bass, courtesy of Toby Penhaligan.’

  ‘Sea bass? Really? Are you going to make the house smell of fish?’ she queried, and he laughed.

  ‘I shouldn’t think so, the extractor fan’s like a jet engine, I’ll be surprised if it doesn’t suck the fish out of the pan. I tell you what, while I do this, why don’t you go and have a shower?’

  ‘Do you mind?’

  ‘Not at all. Consider it all part of your pampering,’ he said, and his eyes raked slowly over her and he smiled. ‘You could even wear something pretty.’

  Pretty? Her heart thudded, and she felt a sudden flutter of nerves. He was looking at her as if...

  Oh, lord. She wasn’t ready for this. Last night she had been, but tonight, just like that, without the benefit of cuddling up to him and getting in the mood, she felt a shiver of ice slide down her spine. Nick wasn’t coy, and he wouldn’t be a shy lover. He’d want the lights on and access to every part of her, and she wasn’t sure she could do this. Not now, and maybe not ever.

  ‘I’ll see what I’ve got. It might just be jumper and jeans,’ she said, and headed for her bedroom, panic clawing at her throat.

  He put the potatoes in the pan and glanced at his watch. She might be half an hour in the shower and then getting ready, so he had time to light the fire to give it time to warm up the room.

  He brought some wood in, and while he was laying the fire, he heard a noise coming from the area of her bedroom.

  ‘Kate?’

  He walked down the corridor towards her room, and heard the shower running, and then a muffled sob.

  He rested his head against the door. Not again. He couldn’t do this again.

  So he went into her room and stood by the window, staring out into the courtyard and listening in agony as she wept just feet away from him. There was nothing he could do—nothing he would let himself do—but wait until the crying stopped, and a minute later she turned off the water, then he heard the door open and she walked into the room, closing the door and then dropping her towel.

  And then she saw him, and gasped, scrabbling for the towel, her eyes red-rimmed and wild with some unfathomable emotion.

  He reached for her, shocked at the ravaged look on her face, the pain in her eyes, desperate to comfort her, but she wouldn’t let him.

  ‘Nick, no,’ she said, pushing him away and trying to turn her back to him, the towel twisted somehow round her now. ‘Please!’

  ‘Don’t be silly, I’ve seen you cry umpteen times in the last few days,’ he said gently, his hands cupping her shoulders, but she shook her head.

  ‘No—it’s not that. Please, Nick, just go—’

  She broke off, the smothered sobs returning, and he felt swamped by her pain, the light slowly dawning as he realised belatedly why she’d turned away.

  ‘Oh, my love, my darling girl, come here,’ he said tenderly, turning her back into his arms and folding her against his chest once more, his hands stroking her back rhythmically through the damp towel. ‘After all we’ve been through, do you really think a few scars are going to make any difference to me?’

  ‘They make a difference to me,’ she sobbed, pushing him away again, but he wouldn’t let her go this time, he couldn’t, because the pain and fear for her, suppressed for nearly a year now, were rising up and choking him, and he cradled her tenderly against his heart and rocked her. Rocked them both.

  ‘I thought you were going to die,’ he said unevenly. ‘I thought I was going to lose you, lose everything that kept me sane. You’re my best friend, Kate, the one person who really understands me; the only thing that’s kept me going is working with you, having you there near me, even if you weren’t with me. I prayed so hard that you’d make it, even if you ended up with Rob—that didn’t matter, just so long as you were alive, just so long as I knew you were somewhere in the world. Why the hell should I care about a scar?’

  ‘Oh, Nick,’ she whispered tearfully, and, resting her head against his shoulder, she slid her arms round him and held him. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t even think about how you might have felt, just that you hadn’t been there for me, but nobody was there for you. I’m so, so sorry.’

  She breathed deeply, then looked at him again. ‘It’s just— Nobody’s seen it, and when you said wear something pretty, I felt ridiculously shy all of a sudden, and I thought, what if it turned you off?’

  ‘Kate!’ he chided softly, gutted that she thought so little of him. ‘How shallow do you think I am?’

  ‘I don’t. It’s how shallow I am.’

  He gave a ragged sigh and cradled her head against his shoulder. ‘Can we start again? Wear something that makes you feel good. Something that makes you feel all woman, because you are, Kate. You’re a beautiful woman, and I want to show you that, but only when you’re ready. There
’s no pressure. I don’t care if it takes months. Years. I want you, and I’ll wait for you.’

  She sucked in a breath and took a little step back. ‘I’ll see what I can find. Why don’t you go and start cooking?’

  CHAPTER TEN

  ‘ANYTHING I can do?’

  He lifted his head and smiled at her, but he didn’t comment on her clothes, and she felt perversely irritated. ‘You could top and tail the mangetout, if you’re bored. And you look lovely, by the way. Beautiful.’

  The irritation dissolved in an instant, replaced by a rush of heat and affection for this complicated and loveable man. He brought her the packet of peas, a pan and a small knife, dropped a tender, lingering kiss on her lips, and she sat at the table with a silly smile and trimmed the peas and sipped another glass of wine while he put the fish on to cook and prodded the potatoes. Music was playing in the background, something soft and smoky and sensual, and between that and the wine and the last streaks of the sunset fading into the night, it was the perfect romantic setting.

  All she needed was her son back home, safe and sound, and her happiness would be complete. Once she’d found the courage to make love to Nick, at least.

  Did he feel the same way about it? She glanced across at him, and saw he was humming softly as he worked. He looked happy enough. It was lovely to be able to sit there and enjoy all of the house without moving, she thought, and told herself it could be permanent, that they could stay there and make it their home.

  ‘Right, let’s have those peas. How’s your wine?’

  ‘It’s fine. I don’t need any more. I’m still on the occasional anti-inflammatory and I don’t like to mix drugs and alcohol.’

  ‘I thought that was what the modern youth did.’

  ‘It is. I’m not the modern youth.’

  ‘I’m thankful for that.’

  They shared a smile, and then with a shake of his head, as if he was collecting himself, he turned back to his cooking and the moment was gone.

  * * *

  ‘That was gorgeous, Nick. Thank you.’

  ‘My pleasure. It was worth being grilled by Toby Penhaligan to get those sea bass. They were gorgeous.’