Taking His Own

by Jessica Wildblood

  “Zara? Is that really you?”

  I look up – and then back down again – to find a short, plump woman in a dress that looks like every flower in the rainforest mashed together. She’s wearing a bright pink cardigan that looks so soft and warm I could just curl up against it and fall asleep right now. The smile on her face is bright and genuine. It’s Peggy Madison, a touch older than when we last met, but still exactly the same. “Why, it is you! Goodness me! Such a sophisticated young woman now, I hardly recognised you!”

  I am the opposite of sophisticated right now. Lord bless Peggy. I am standing here with unwashed hair, jetlag, and wearing a baggy old pair of jeans and a t-shirt because I forgot the fact that England is freezing at this time of year.

  “How long have you been home?” Peggy gushes. “I had no idea – Chance didn’t mention it at all! That boy never tells me anything!”

  “Chance doesn’t know,” I say awkwardly.

  “Oh!” Peggy looks embarrassed. “Oh, dear – when Chance told me all about meeting you a few months ago I just assumed you were good friends again…”

  ‘No-one knows I’m back,’ I say quickly. “I – the thing is –”

  My voice starts wobbling. I can’t contain it any longer. Everything about today – the cold, the flight, Grandma, the horribly long way away I am from anyone else who can help – it all comes pouring out of me in a flood of words. Suddenly I’m crying like a little girl. Peggy drops her shopping to the ground and takes me into her arms. I have to bend over almost double to let her hug me.

  “You poor dear thing,” she says. “I’m sure it will be alright. You’re doing the right thing, coming home to take care of Christine. She’s such a lovely woman.”

  “But I can’t take care of her,” I gasp. “The nurse said it would be too difficult for one person alone. And until we can sort something out they won’t let her out of hospital. I don’t know what to do!”

  Peggy rubs my back soothingly. “What you need is a nice cup of tea and a good night’s rest. Zara, why don’t you come home to stay with me and my husband? We’ve got plenty of room now. We’re not in the old place any more, where it was so terribly cramped – we have a lovely new built house just on the edge of town. I don’t like to think of you all by yourself while this is going on.”

  I’m so tempted to say yes. Everything about Peggy is so comforting and open. I know that her offer comes with absolutely no strings attached. But I remember the way I left things with Chance – and I just can’t. What would he think if he heard I was staying in his parents’ house?

  “Thank you, Peggy – that’s so kind of you. But I… I think Grandma would prefer it if she knew her house was being lived in.”

  Peggy purses her lips. She’s no fool: I can tell she thinks there’s more to my refusal than I’m letting on. But she doesn’t press me, and I’m grateful for that.

  “Wherever you’re happiest, then. But take my number, Zara, and promise me you’ll call if you need anything at all. And let me pay for the rest of that shopping, dear, because it looks to me as if you haven’t quite got the hang of the exchange rate yet. No, don’t let me hear another word about it.” She gives a happy little smile. The smile of a woman whose life is exactly the way she wants it to be. “I’m lucky enough that I never have to worry about that sort of thing again. So I won’t stand by and watch you put back your loaf of bread, my dear.”

  I stand by, tears drying on my face, as Peggy pays for my shopping. I can’t work out whether I feel ashamed or just plain grateful. She insists on driving me home. The splattering of good old English rain outside is enough to drive away any last shreds of resistance.

  “Wow,” I breathe, as Peggy clicks a button and the doors of a gorgeous cream Aston Martin rise into the air. “This is a really nice car!”

  Peggy gives a little giggle. “My one little extravagance. This was my birthday present last year from Chance. It’s a shame the weather’s so bad, or I would have brought out the convertible. Never mind – perhaps another time.”

  I relax back against the soft leather seats. The engine purrs softly, but Peggy drives just as I remember – perched right up against the steering wheel, and suddenly morphing from Chance’s sweet little mother into a demonic, heckling she-devil: cruising right up at the edge of the speed limit and cutting every corner. It’s quite the experience in a car with this much power. Mayhew’s narrow roads aren’t her natural habitat.

  We get to my Grandma’s cottage in just about one piece. Peggy squeezes my hand before I get out of the car. “Make sure you keep my number,’ she reminds me. ‘Anything you need, Zara. Anything at all.”

  “Thank you,” I say, as sincerely as I can.

  And I walk into Grandma’s cold, empty house.

  And I put my shopping bag on the table and listen to the ticking clock which echoes in the silence.

  And I tear Peggy’s phone number into pieces and drop it in the bin.

  I can’t risk that kind of temptation. However much I want to take advantage of Peggy’s friendship, she’s still Chance’s mother. It’s better for us both if I stay well away.

  I sleep like a baby – for four hours. Then I’m awake, blinking in the darkness, and I don’t sleep again because my body’s convinced it’s morning while outside it’s the middle of the night.

  At least there’s no chance I’ll miss visiting hours at the hospital.

  The train journey is longer and sweatier this morning – packed with commuters. It’s not so bad at Mayhew station but the closer we get to London the tighter everyone rams in until we’re like sardines in a tin. The connection onto the Tube at Victoria station is a whirling flurry of people all too busy to look where they’re going. I’m starting to hate England and I’ve only been back for a day.

  Still, there’s a weird sense about this place. Despite the fact I’ve spent my entire adult life in Malaysia, I’ve never felt quite at home there. Here, even when I’m being jostled by random strangers and elbowed in the back, I feel more at ease than I ever did whiling my life away on the beach. Perhaps it’s the sense of purpose, grim though it is. I’ve got something to do with myself – not just serving coffee to surfers and holidaying businessmen.

  Somebody here needs me.

  My first clue that something’s changed on the ward is the smile the duty nurse gives me when she buzzes me in. Yesterday, it was barely concealed disapproval. I was the careless granddaughter who had abandoned sweet Mrs Jacobs to fall over and practically starve to death.

  Today, I’m someone worth smiling at. I’m damn sure the hour of hand-holding and the wilted gerberas aren’t enough to make that much of a change.

  I round the corner and the first thing I see confirms my suspicions. Grandma’s still hidden from view by those mouldy-looking green curtains, but her little table has been pulled out to hold a gigantic bunch of flowers. A stunning overflow of pink lilies and yellow roses, colours so bright and cheerful they smack you right in the face. There’s a fruit basket too, every grape shining as though it’s been polished by hand.

  The one thing I can hope for is that I’ll find Grandma alone, but even that hope is dashed a second later when I hear his laugh ringing out across the ward. The sound seems to bring sunlight into that cold and sterile hospital environment. I hate the way it warms me, without my permission, deep in the primal part of my stomach.

  Something about Chance’s laughter tells me in the most basic and fundamental way that everything’s going to be alright. Even when my head and my heart know that there’s no way I can trust my instincts anymore. Not when he’s around.

  I push the curtains aside. Chance is sitting back in the chair next to Grandma’s bed, holding her hand, and laughing uproariously at some joke she’s telling him. Grandma is actually sitting up this morning, piles and piles of cushions propped up around her, and there’s the faintest hint of colour in her cheeks. She’s looking at Chance as if she could eat him up in one wrinkled bite.

  The momen
t he sees me, Chance springs up and offers me the chair. He keeps that goddamn gorgeous smile on his face, but I can see the warning in his eyes that’s just about keeping me from hitting the roof in front of my sick grandmother. He’s in casual clothes today, although it’s the middle of the working week – a pair of jeans and a tight grey t-shirt that clings to the muscles in his arms. He looks absolutely delicious. If I wasn’t so furious, I’d be giving him twice the eyeing that Grandma is.

  “What are you doing here?” I demand. I don’t take the chair he offers me. Like hell am I going to sit down and lose height in this argument. “How did you know Grandma was here?”

  “My Mum rang me after she met you in the supermarket yesterday. Come on, Zara. It’s only a bunch of flowers. I thought Christine could use the company – I’m in the area.”

  “I certainly don’t mind!” says Grandma. I roll my eyes.

  “Where’s your office?”

  Chance folds his arms, biting down a grin. “Playing detective, are we?”

  “Where. Is. Your. Office?”

  “Mayfair.”

  “That’s on the other side of London! And you still haven’t told me how you knew where to find her.”

  “Alright. I had my secretary phone up every hospital in the Greater London area until she found out where your grandmother was staying. My Mum has her birthday in the calendar, it was easy enough to get her details using that. And I took the morning off work. So what? This seems important.”

  Grandma reaches out and pats his arm. “He’s a good boy, Zara. A very nice young man.”

  “He’s a prying, nosy bastard who doesn’t know how to mind his own business,” I snap. Grandma tuts loudly. Chance’s jaw tightens. I can see I’ve landed a blow, but he doesn’t let it show – much. He straightens up and takes on a frostier tone.

  “Christine’s been telling me she hopes to go home in the next few days. I wonder if you’ll let me pitch in with anything you might need help with.”

  “We don’t need any help,” I say, without stopping to think. Truth is, it’s hard to think straight with Chance standing so close to me again. The last time I saw him I was in shock, too woozy from the pain to know whether the dizzy heat that rushed through my body every time our eyes connected was real. Now, I’m wide awake, and I have no excuses. Looking at Chance is like touching a live wire. His fierce energy rips straights into the core of me. I have to get him out of here, or I’m pretty sure I risk being fried alive.

  “Speak for yourself,” says my Grandma, pushing herself upright on her bed of pillows. I rush to straighten them out for her so that she can sit comfortably. “I need all the help I can get. They won’t let me out of here unless I have twenty-four hour care in place, and much as I love you, Zara, you won’t cut the mustard. I’d like to hear what Chance has in mind.”

  “I’ll get Clarissa on it straight away,” he says, pulling out his phone. “We’ll arrange a team of nurses to come in for interviews this afternoon. Would you like to interview them yourself?”

  “Oh, goodness, no. Zara can take care of that. She knows who I will and won’t get on with. Just nobody too chatty. I can’t abide useless chatter. And someone with a good head on their shoulders. And good with puzzles. I enjoy my puzzles, but my eyes aren’t what they used to be…”

  Chance is leaning towards Grandma, typing in her list of requirements on his phone as if he’s taking a serious business dictation. His eyes slide towards mine over the hospital bed. They’re lit with a flame of triumph.

  He’s got me now for the rest of the day. God knows what he wants to do with me. Interviewing nurses? If I know Chance – and I’m starting to think that despite the lost years, the expensive suits, and the elegant beard grazing his chin, I really do still know Chance better than I know anyone – that won’t be the half of it.

  It’s going to be difficult for me to keep my head. My instincts for self-preservation are already screaming. Every move he makes, every touch of that elegant, easy grace which has already charmed every nurse on the ward, every time he steps towards me so that his hand almost brushes against mine, it only makes my heart beat faster. Not with excitement. With fear.

  The things this man could do to me, if I let him. So exquisitely beautiful. So unbearably painful, when it all comes to its inevitable end.

  My god, for a total snake with a stone for a heart he is gorgeous to look at.

  That’s what I tell myself, as I feel myself start drowning while he talks and pays our problems away and charms my grandmother. It’s only looking.

  As long as that’s where it ends, it can’t hurt too badly. As long as I remember what he’s capable of. As long as I keep my head.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Chance

  The logical place to interview the nurses is the Kelsey Technologies building. I ring up Clarissa and have her book out my office for the meeting and call around the best nursing agencies London has to offer. I keep my voice casual so that she won’t think to mention it to her husband that evening. I’m thanking my lucky stars James is away on business today. He wouldn’t be at all pleased to see Zara. And nothing scares a woman off like a dose of Kelsey rage.

  Not that Zara’s particularly warmed up to me – yet. All I’m getting from her so far is the sweet taste of her anger. Anger that tells me my presence is still enough to get a response. It’s enough, barely, to keep me satisfied as my driver takes us through the London streets.

  By the end of the day, I’ll need more. I’ll go mad otherwise. Sitting this close to her without being able to touch her is torture. She’s not dressed for the cold. Her long, slender arms are prickling in the chill. I offer her my jacket, but she turns it down. Turns up her nose. My spiky girl. Doesn’t like accepting favours.

  There are certain kinds of favours I know she likes to beg for. But those will have to wait. I can bide my time. I’ve got a plan now – I can wait while every piece falls into place.

  “Have you got a winter coat?” I ask. “Boots? Gloves? Even a jumper?”

  “I wasn’t planning to stay in England long,” she admits. Now that we’re alone she won’t even look at me. Her gaze is fastened on the huge buildings drifting by outside. It’s as if she’s never seen a city before. I don’t know how long it’s been since she left Sarawak. Perhaps it feels like as much of a lifetime to her as it does to me.

  I lean forward and hit the intercom button to speak to my driver. “Change of plans. Take us to Bond Street.”

  “Certainly, sir.” The BMW smoothly kicks into another lane of traffic. I glance across to Zara, and see what I fully expected: twin blue oceans of fury raging in her eyes.

  “What the hell is Bond Street?”

  “The most exclusive shopping centre in London, of course. I’ll book you out a personal shopper for a few hours and leave you there with my credit card. Then my car will pick you up after lunch and bring you over to Kelsey’s for the interviews this afternoon. Unless you’d like me to stay and give you my opinion on your new winter wardrobe?”

  It doesn’t matter whether she says yes or no. I fully intend to get a look at every inch of clothing on Zara’s body – and not just the coat. My blood rises at the thought of slipping into a narrow dressing room cubicle with her and watching her slip out of those jeans that cup her round ass so perfectly. It’s the kind of thing we used to do as teenagers. The thrill of watching her undress in one of the upmarket Bond Street establishments would be something much more intense.

  “I don’t want to take up a minute more of your time than I have to,” she says. Verging just on the edge of polite. Well, that’s progress. I bite down a smile.

  “Very considerate of you. I’ll see you back at my office, then.”

  I send a quick email on my phone to the personal shopping company Clarissa uses when she has to attend an important event with James. They’re a highly professional outfit – they respond within minutes, and there’ll be someone waiting to collect Zara at the car. The whole time I’m
typing, Zara’s glaring at me as if she thinks her eyes could burn a hole through my chest.

  At least this time she’s looking at me, not out of the window.

  I lean forwards, letting my hand brush against her knee. The way she jumps back from my touch is impossibly satisfying. Every jolt of chemistry, every bolt of lightning that passes between us, I know she feels it too. I just have to find a way to break down her barriers.

  If only I knew why she’d put them up in the first place.

  Patience. That’s all it will take. Patience, and a careful hand.

  “Tell me about your life in Malaysia,” I say. She looks away from me. Almost as if she’s embarrassed even to hear the question. I’m used to old friends developing an inferiority complex around me – it’s one of the sadder facts of success – but I’m surprised to see it in Zara. “You always wanted to take up nursing. I’m surprised you gave up on it.”

  “I didn’t give up,” she says. “I just… I never got around to it, I guess. I ditched out on my A Levels in that first year, and I always meant to go back to them but I never did. Then Mariam needed help setting up the Snack Shack, and after that…” She shrugs. I’m transfixed by the graceful movement of her chest and shoulders, so much so that I almost forget to respond.

  “It’s not a bad thing to change over time. People almost never go through life wanting the same thing that they did at eighteen.”

  “But you do,” she says. For a moment I’m mortified. It’s as if she’s reached into my soul again and dragged it out into the open. It takes me a second to realise she’s only talking about work. “You’re doing exactly what you always said you’d do. It’s…amazing.”

  “I’ve been very lucky.”

  “No. I remember how hard you used to work. And I remember all your ideas. You were something special, Chance. Out of the ordinary. But even more than that, you put in the effort.” She grins. “No wonder Peggy’s so proud of you.”