The Broken (Echoes from the Past Book 8)

by Shapiro, Irina

  “No. Let it go, okay?”

  Normally, Quinn would let the matter drop, but in this instance, annoyance won out. She turned to Jo, pinning her with a steely gaze. “You were the one who asked for my help. Then you disappeared without a word of explanation.”

  “There was nothing to explain. I’d left it too long, Quinn. I should have asked my father while he was still alive, but I didn’t. The trail went cold.”

  Every instinct told Quinn to accept Jo’s explanation and move on to a safer topic, but for some inexplicable reason, she plowed on. “There’s still someone left who might know what became of your daughter.”

  “No,” Jo cried. “I don’t want to speak to Michael, and I don’t want anyone approaching him on my behalf. Don’t you get it? I don’t want to pursue this. It’s too late for me to be a part of Daisy’s life. The water’s boiled,” Jo said.

  Quinn turned to take two mugs out of the cupboard, glad to have an excuse to avert her face. Jo had called the child Daisy. Before, she’d said she didn’t know her daughter’s name. So, either she’d known all along, or she’d found something out and decided she didn’t want to share it with Quinn and Drew.

  Quinn plopped the teabags into the mugs, poured the boiling water, and handed a mug to Jo. Their eyes met and Quinn registered the uncertainty in Jo’s gaze. She’d realized she’d slipped up and was wondering if Quinn had noticed. Quinn tossed her teabag in the rubbish bin, then went to sit at the kitchen table. She wasn’t going to ask Jo about Daisy, not now, not ever. Jo clearly didn’t want to tell her what she’d learned, and Quinn was done trying to be helpful.

  Jo sat down next to Quinn. “He’s grown,” Jo said, referring to Alex.

  “Yes.”

  “Is he walking yet?”

  “No, it’s too early, but he’s pulling himself up in his cot. He’s started saying some words.”

  Jo nodded. She didn’t ask anything else, and Quinn didn’t volunteer any information, sipping her tea in silence. There was a sort of manic energy coming off Jo that made Quinn feel uneasy. Suddenly, she wished Jo would leave. She’d wanted so badly to talk to her, but now that she was here, there didn’t seem to be much to say.

  “Jo, I—” she began, when the key turned in the lock and Rufus came trotting into the kitchen, his little pink tongue hanging out. He gave Jo a perfunctory sniff, then continued on to his water bowl.

  “Hi, Aunt Jo,” Emma exclaimed. “Where’ve you been?”

  “I went away for work, but I’m back now. How are things with you?”

  Emma shrugged. “All right, I suppose.”

  Jo’s face broke into a winsome smile when Gabe walked into the kitchen.

  “Oh, hello, Jo,” he said. “Have we interrupted something?”

  “Not at all,” Jo replied. “I just stopped by to talk to Quinn.”

  “We’ll leave you to it, then.” Gabe put a hand on Emma’s shoulder to steer her out of the kitchen, but Jo preempted him.

  “Stay, please. I wanted to see you too,” Jo said sweetly.

  Her abrupt change of mood took Quinn by surprise, but not as much as Gabe’s reaction to her. He removed his hand from Emma’s shoulder and smiled as if he wanted nothing more than to spend a few minutes chatting with Jo, but Quinn had seen the spark of irritation in his eyes and his desire to leave the kitchen hadn’t been lost on her. She scrambled for something to say, wondering what reason he could have to be annoyed with Jo. When Quinn had returned home, she had planned to start on dinner, but if she began to cook now, she’d have to invite Jo to join them. She wasn’t in the habit of being mean-spirited, but she didn’t want Jo to stay any longer than necessary.

  “Have you a new assignment lined up?” Gabe asked. He leaned against the doorjamb instead of coming back into the kitchen.

  “Not yet. I’m going to be in London for a few weeks at least. What about you? What are your plans for the summer?”

  “We’re going to see Grandma and Grandpa Allenby,” Emma announced. “I can’t wait. I’m going to go swimming every day.”

  “Sounds lovely,” Jo replied, but her gaze wasn’t on Emma. She was still looking at Gabe, her gaze direct and hungry.

  Gabe left his spot by the door and lifted Alex out of his chair. “Alex and I have a block tower to build,” he said, settling Alex on his hip. “If you’ll excuse us.”

  “Gabe’s an amazing father,” Jo said as soon as Gabe was out of earshot. “Most blokes I know would rather go to the pub for a pint than play with their children.”

  “Gabe loves being a dad,” Quinn replied. “So, I hear you’ve been to see Sylvia,” she said, eager to change the subject. She had no desire to discuss Gabe with Jo. It made her feel as if she were betraying him somehow.

  “Yes. We had a nice chat.”

  “How’s Jude? I haven’t seen him in a few weeks.”

  Jo shrugged. “All right, I guess. We didn’t exactly bond over tea and scones.”

  “He’s a good sort,” Quinn said. “You just have to find a chink in his armor.”

  “You seem to find a chink in everyone’s armor.” She smiled, but Quinn sensed the cattiness in the remark.

  “I try to. Jude’s my brother. I’d like to have a relationship with him.”

  Jo didn’t reply. She gazed out the window, her expression unreadable. “I’d best be going,” she said and stood, scraping the chair against the floor tiles. “I have things to do.”

  “All right,” Quinn replied, getting to her feet. She tried not to show it, but Jo seemed to sense her relief.

  “I’m sure you’d rather spend time with your family. Your husband looks like he could use some attention.”

  Quinn walked Jo to the door and watched her walk down the path toward the street, where she hailed a passing taxi. An unpleasant heaviness settled in her chest. For the first time since meeting Jo, she realized that a loving relationship between them might not be in the cards.

  Chapter 28

  June 1956

  London, England

  Shy rays of the morning sun crept into the room, the pink glow of the sunrise painting the scene in rose-colored hues. Helen lay back on the pillows, her eyes hooded with fatigue. She was still bleeding, and in some pain, but she hardly noticed the discomfort. A perfect baby boy lay nestled in her arms, his eyes closed against the quickly brightening light of the new day, his little hands balled into fists. He yawned, and Helen’s heart nearly burst with love. He was the most beautiful baby she’d ever seen, and he was all hers.

  “May I come in now?” David asked as he opened the door a crack.

  “Come on in, Mr. Edevane,” the midwife replied, smiling at David’s uncertainty. “Your son is here.”

  David approached the bed and sat down carefully. Helen had expected him to focus on the baby, but he was looking at her, his gaze searching her face. “Are you all right, love?”

  Helen nodded. She really was. She’d been so frightened, but the birth had been fairly easy, and the child in her arms was glowing with good health. “Would you like to hold him?”

  David nodded, and Helen carefully placed the baby in his arms. “Oh, he’s perfect,” David whispered, as though fearful of disturbing the baby.

  “He is, isn’t he?” Helen agreed.

  “What did I do to deserve such happiness?” David asked as he studied his sleeping son. “I never imagined…”

  Helen blinked away tears. If he only knew the price at which his happiness had been bought.

  “You should get some rest,” David said. “I’ll look after the baby.”

  Helen sank deeper into the pillows. Her limbs had grown heavy, and it was becoming more difficult to keep her eyes open. “What shall we call him?” she murmured drowsily.

  “Would you like to name him after your father?” David asked.

  “Yes, but as a second name. How about David Henry?”

  David beamed with pride. “When we have a daughter, we’ll name her after you.”

  “You’re alr
eady planning a second one?” Helen asked with a smile.

  “And a third.” David grinned. “Helen, we are a family,” he said, his voice filled with wonder. “A real family, the kind I never had.”

  “Yes, we are, and nothing will come between us,” Helen said fiercely.

  She felt a little more confident after her ordeal. She’d survived the birth, and so had the baby. Perhaps God didn’t hold her accountable. After all, it had been an honest mistake, a situation thrust upon them without their knowledge. To share their secret with the world would ruin all their lives and posthumously tarnish her parents’ reputation.

  I’ve done the right thing, Helen thought as she began to drift. We’ll be all right now. Everything will be all right.

  Chapter 29

  December 1960

  London, England

  Despite her belief that everything was going to be fine, Helen remained nervous for the first few months of Davy’s life, but as time went on, she finally came to accept that no bolt of lightning was going to strike her or her boy. Davy was thriving and making his parents very happy. Against stern advice to the contrary, Helen and David often took the baby into bed with them and spent many happy hours together, cuddling and playing. Every Saturday, David took his son out for a long walk, giving Helen time to catch up on housework and get some much-needed rest. Helen appreciated the time to herself but missed the baby and waited anxiously for her boys to return.

  Time flew by, and before long, Davy was walking and talking, babbling to himself as if he were having an animated conversation. He was a sturdy little lad who exhibited signs of independence from an early age. He hated to be coddled and followed his father around like a devoted puppy. Helen was secretly a little jealous but couldn’t begrudge David the adoration of his son. The two were inseparable, and as Davy grew from babyhood into boyhood, they spent time on more manly pursuits. David was good with his hands and had made toys for Davy when he was a baby, but now that Davy was four, they made things together.

  “Well, aren’t you clever,” Helen exclaimed when Davy presented her with two Christmas tree ornaments. They were intricately painted, the horse and sleigh looking very realistic. “They’re beautiful, Davy.”

  Davy beamed with pleasure. “Can I put them on the tree?” he asked.

  “Of course, you can.”

  Helen watched Davy, smiling to herself. She had a present for them as well, but she wouldn’t tell them till Christmas Day. She’d been keeping it to herself for a few weeks now, waiting for just the right occasion, and what better time than Christmas morning to spring her surprise? By the week of Christmas, she was on pins and needles, barely able to keep from blurting out her news, but she wanted to make her announcement special, and so bit her tongue and waited patiently.

  At last, it was Christmas, and the family gathered around their little tree in the parlor. Davy was on the floor, still in his pajamas, ripping into the brown-paper wrapped gift Helen and David had left for him. It was a toy truck, the cab painted a shiny blue and the tires made of real rubber. Davy was in raptures. There was also a new jumper, but he wasn’t as excited about that. Helen had also knitted a new jumper for David and had bought him a new tie.

  David reached down and picked up the last gift. He handed it to Helen, smiling shyly. “I hope you like it. I saw you admiring it in a window a few months back.”

  Helen tore off the paper and gasped. It was the handbag she’d been craving for months, made of supple brown leather and adorned with a clever clasp. Helen opened it and examined the inside before setting it aside to be examined in greater detail later.

  “I have a present for you two as well,” she said, instantly getting the attention of her men.

  “But there are no more presents beneath the tree,” Davy pointed out. “Where is it?”

  “It’s here, in this room,” Helen said, smiling at him.

  Davy looked around, craning his neck to see all the corners of the parlor. “I don’t see anything.”

  “We are going to have a baby,” Helen announced.

  “A baby?” Davy asked, peering at her in disbelief. He set his truck on the floor and climbed into Helen’s lap, as if he were already marking his territory. “Well, where is it, Mum?”

  “It will be here by June.”

  “That’s too long to wait. I want it now,” Davy protested.

  “June will be here before you know it, sport,” David said, lifting Davy off Helen. “We have to take extra special care of Mummy now. No more climbing into her lap.”

  “But I like Mummy’s lap. She reads me stories,” Davy protested.

  “She’ll still read to you, only you have to sit next to her, like a big boy.”

  “All right,” Davy agreed. “I’ll look after Mummy.”

  David wrapped his arm around Helen and kissed her temple. “I’m so pleased,” he whispered into her ear. She could feel the joy coming off him in waves and leaned against him, enjoying the moment. She was glad she’d decided to wait. Her news made their Christmas even more special, especially since she suspected that David had begun to despair of ever having another baby. They’d tried and tried, but Helen had been unable to get pregnant until now. Her earlier reservations about being intimate with David had slowly evaporated after the baby’s birth, and she had begun to enjoy their lovemaking again, confident that God had forgotten all about them. They were a family like any other. She’d even reconnected with Sarah, who had two little girls, aged one and three-and-a-half. Helen and Sarah met for tea from time to time, grateful to their husbands for allowing them the infrequent luxury.

  “I’m so happy for you, Helen,” Sarah said when Helen shared the news with her in January. “Maybe you’ll have a girl this time. Girls are such a pleasure. Stella is not yet four, but already she wants to imitate everything I do. She begs to help me in the kitchen. She loves to bake. And Deborah only wants to be close to her sister. They’re so sweet when they are together. No rivalry at all.”

  “And how’s Bertie?” Helen asked. Sarah rarely spoke of him.

  “Bertie is Bertie. He likes to come home, light his pipe, and read the paper. He says girls are a mother’s responsibility. Perhaps if we had a boy, he’d be more involved.”

  “Would you like to have another child?” Helen asked. Sarah made parenting look easy, but Helen knew what it took to look after a family and fully expected the new baby to add another layer of responsibility to her already full days.

  Sarah shrugged. “Yes and no. I’d like to have a boy, for Bertie’s sake, but I’m happy with my girls. They’re enough for me. Some women enjoy pregnancy, but I’m not one of them. I was sick around the clock the first few months. I don’t relish going through that again.”

  “I felt well with Davy, but this baby is different. I feel sick nearly every morning, and sometimes for the rest of the day. I’d hoped the nausea would abate by now. And I’m so tired,” Helen complained. “I go to bed thinking I’ll sleep like the dead, and then I end up tossing and turning all night long. I wake up more tired than when I went to bed.”

  “You need your rest, Helen. You should mention this at your next checkup. Are you still registered with Dr. Ross?”

  “I go to him when I’m ill, but I’ve been seen by a midwife, the same one who delivered Davy,” Helen replied.

  “Midwives can’t prescribe,” Sarah said wisely. “If Bertie and I decide to have another baby, I’m going straight to my GP. No more suffering for me, not if he can offer me a safe sleeping aid, or maybe something for the nausea.”

  “It’s not that bad, really. The sickness will pass.”

  “Well, if it doesn’t, go see Dr. Ross. I’m sure he would be happy to furnish you with a prescription.”

  “I will,” Helen replied, and reached for the teapot. At least she could still enjoy her tea. While pregnant with Davy, one cup of tea had resulted in at least three trips to the lav, so she’d had to start rationing her liquids as early as four o’clock during the final
months.

  Helen inhaled the wonderful fragrance of Earl Grey and reached for a cucumber sandwich. She was pleased to note that she wasn’t feeling nauseated just then and had to savor the moment. As Sarah continued to talk, she allowed herself a brief fantasy in which the child she carried turned out to be a girl. She cared only about delivering a healthy baby, but in her heart, she longed for a daughter. Annie, she thought dreamily. Little Annie.

  Chapter 30

  June 2015

  London, England

  “So, the baby wasn’t Davy?” Gabe asked as he joined Quinn in bed. The children were already asleep, and Quinn had spent an hour in Helen’s company while Gabe worked on his book in the study.

  “No, but Helen became pregnant again in 1960,” Quinn replied. “She seemed to have made peace with the situation. In fact, she’d almost forgotten about it. She was happy,” Quinn added wistfully.

  “Have you heard back from Colin?”

  Quinn shook her head. “I texted him yesterday, but he replied that with Sarita still away, he’s a bit behind and will get to the remains as soon as he’s able. I don’t think he trusts his new assistant to work independently.”

  “It takes time to get comfortable with a new person.”

  “Yes, I suppose it does, but Colin hasn’t been himself these past few weeks. I can’t say I blame him,” Quinn said.

  “Is it truly over between him and Logan, then?” Gabe asked as he returned the brooch to the bedside table.

  Quinn shrugged. “It seems to be. Logan’s back at Sylvia’s, and he’s picking up extra shifts at the hospital. I think he might have moved out his stuff from Colin’s flat.”

  “It’s a shame, that,” Gabe said. “I thought they were good together.”

  “So did I. Maybe they’ll still make a go of it, but somehow, I doubt it,” Quinn replied sadly. “Funny how you can never predict the outcome of a relationship. I would have put my money on Colin and Logan, were I a betting woman.”