Second Chance with Her Guarded GP

by Kate Hardy

  ‘Maybe I can do some chores for you in exchange, then,’ she said.

  ‘Five ironed shirts for a flat tyre?’

  ‘Bargain,’ she said. ‘Let’s collect your ironing on the way back.’

  ‘Deal,’ he said.

  By the time he’d finished changing her tyre, she’d ironed five shirts and had the toasted cheese sandwiches ready to go.

  ‘Thank you for saving me from the tyranny of the ironing board,’ he said.

  ‘Thank you for putting the spare tyre on for me,’ she said. ‘I’ll call in to the tyre place this afternoon and get it sorted out.’

  ‘You’re very welcome.’

  Once he’d eaten his sandwich, he smiled at her. ‘I’ll let you get on with the rest of your day. See you at The Anchor tonight for the skydive celebrations.’

  ‘Thanks, Oliver. For everything.’

  And his smile made her feel as if the world was full of sunshine.

  * * *

  That evening, when Gemma went to The Anchor to meet up with her friends and colleagues, people seemed to be congratulating her from the moment she walked through the door. She was greeted with hugs, offers of extra sponsorship, and glasses of Prosecco mixed with raspberry liqueur.

  The landlord took the website address and password from Gemma and showed the skydive on the pub’s large television screen, and everyone cheered at the moment when she jumped out of the plane.

  Although the room was busy, she was very aware that Oliver was with the rest of the practice team.

  ‘Hey. You were incredible,’ he said.

  Did he really think that? The idea made her feel all warm and glowing.

  And why had she not noticed before just how blue his eyes were, and how beautiful his mouth was?

  ‘All I did was jump out of a plane. And people have been so generous. If the money helps with the research and it stops another family having to lose their Sarah...’ Her throat felt tight.

  As if he guessed what was going through her head, he wrapped his arms round her. ‘You’re making a difference.’

  And now her knees really had turned to jelly.

  Being held by Oliver Langley made her all in a spin. She was so aware of him: the warmth of his body, his strength, the citrus scent of his shower gel. She almost—almost—closed her eyes and tipped her head back, inviting a kiss. It was scary how much she wanted him to kiss her.

  But then the noise of their surroundings rushed in at her.

  They were in the village pub. In front of everyone. And she was in danger of acting very inappropriately.

  She took one tiny step back; he released her, but she noticed that he was looking at her mouth. So did he feel this weird pull of attraction, too? She wasn’t quite sure how to broach it. Not here, not now; but maybe the next time they spent time together—as friends—she’d be brave and suggest doing something together. A proper date.

  Gemma enjoyed the rest of the evening; when she left to go home, as soon as she walked outside she suddenly felt woozy.

  ‘Gemma? Are you all right?’ Oliver asked, coming out to join her.

  ‘Just a bit dizzy, that’s all.’ She winced. ‘Probably too much Prosecco. Rookie mistake. People kept refilling my glass, and I didn’t even think about it. I don’t make a habit of getting drunk.’ At that point, she tripped and Oliver caught her.

  ‘Everyone does it at some point,’ he said. ‘Put your arm round my waist and lean on me. I’ll walk you home.’

  ‘Thank you. And sorry for being a burden. I feel like such an idiot.’

  ‘It’s fine,’ he reassured her.

  Just like that moment earlier when he’d hugged her, it felt lovely to have his arm round her. Gemma leaned her head against his shoulder, again noticing that gorgeous citrus scent. ‘You’re such a sweetie,’ she said.

  He laughed. ‘That’s the bubbles talking.’

  ‘No. You were all starchy and grumpy when I first met you. But that’s not who you are. You’re warm and lovely. And you smell lovely.’ She squeezed him gently. ‘Oli-lovely-ver.’

  ‘Come on, Skydive Girl. Let’s get you home.’

  He was laughing. With her, not at her. And he had a really, really lovely laugh, Gemma thought.

  When they got to her flat, he asked for her keys, unlocked the door and ushered her inside. ‘Let me make you a cup of tea. You need to rehydrate a bit, or you’ll feel terrible in the morning.’

  ‘Oli-lovely-ver,’ she said again. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Come and sit down.’ He guided her to the sofa. ‘One mug of tea. Milk, no sugar, right?’

  ‘Perfect.’ She beamed at him.

  * * *

  Gemma Baxter was a very sweet drunk, Ollie thought. She’d made him smile, with that ‘Oli-lovely-ver’ business. He filled the kettle and switched it on, then hunted in the cupboards for mugs and tea. He’d noted earlier that Gemma was neat and tidy, and things were stored in sensible and obvious places, he discovered.

  But when he went back into the living room with two mugs of tea, he realised that she was fast asleep on the sofa. It was probably a combination of a reaction to the adrenalin that had been pumping through her system all day and the drinks that people had bought her that evening.

  He put the mugs down on the coffee table. What now? There was a throw resting on the back of the sofa; he could tuck it over her and leave her on the sofa to sleep off all the Prosecco. Though then she’d probably wake with a sore neck or shoulder as well as a shocking headache.

  Or he could carry her to her bed. She’d still have the hangover headache tomorrow, but at least she’d be comfortable.

  He lifted her up, and she didn’t wake at all. She just curled into him, all warm and soft. And there was a hint of rose and vanilla in her hair that made him want to hold her closer. Not that he’d ever take advantage like that.

  He carried her to her room, pushed the duvet aside and laid her down on the bed.

  Not wanting to be intrusive, he left her fully clothed, though he did remove her shoes. Then he tucked the duvet round her, and she snuggled against the pillow. He closed the curtains; the noise didn’t wake her, so he pulled the door almost closed and went back into her living room.

  He could leave her to sleep it off and write her a note; but he didn’t really want to leave her on her own. If she was ill in the night and something happened, he’d never forgive himself.

  The sofa was way too short for him to lie down on, but he could sort of sprawl on it and wrap the throw round himself. He’d slept on uncomfortable sofas often enough in his student days. OK, so it was years since he’d been a student, but he’d be fine. The most important thing was that Gemma was safe.

  He finished his mug of tea, quietly washed up, then settled himself on the sofa with the throw. He dozed fitfully, and checked on Gemma a couple of times during the night; to his relief, she was fine.

  The next morning, he washed his face, borrowed Gemma’s toothpaste and used his finger as a makeshift brush to stop his mouth feeling quite so revolting, then went into her kitchen to make coffee. He also poured her a large glass of water, and took it through to her.

  ‘Good morning.’

  * * *

  Gemma kept her eyes firmly closed.

  Someone was talking to her. But she lived on her own, so that wasn’t possible. Was she hallucinating?

  A male voice. Not Andy’s Northumbrian accent, so she hadn’t stayed over at Claire’s—anyway, why would she stay over at Claire’s when she only lived a few minutes’ walk away?

  And she could smell coffee. So she couldn’t be at home, because she lived on her own and there was nobody to make coffee for her. Yet this felt like her own bed.

  What was going on?

  She squinted through one eye.

  Someone was standing next to her bed, holding a mug—hen
ce the smell of coffee—and a large glass of water.

  Not just someone: Oliver Langley.

  Horror swept through her. What was Oliver doing here? She couldn’t remember a thing about the end of the evening, yesterday. Oh, no. Had she thrown herself at him? Please don’t let her have reverted to the way she’d behaved in that awful year after Sarah died, and made a fool of herself...

  Hideously embarrassed and ashamed, she mumbled, ‘So sorry.’ Her face felt as if it was on fire and she couldn’t look at him. Still with her eyes closed, she began, ‘I, um, whatever I did or said last night—’

  ‘You fell asleep on your sofa while I was making you a cup of tea,’ he cut in. ‘I carried you in here, put you in bed, took your shoes off and covered you up. And I slept on your sofa.’

  She wasn’t sure whether to be relieved, grateful or mortified. He’d clearly stayed to keep an eye on her because she’d been that tipsy last night. How shameful was that? ‘Thank you for looking after me.’

  ‘Sit up and drink some water,’ he said. ‘You’ll feel better.’

  Still cringing inwardly, she did as he suggested. And he was right; the water helped. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘I’m going to make us some toast,’ he said. ‘I hope you don’t mind, but I used some of your toothpaste.’

  ‘Of course I don’t mind. Help yourself to anything you need. There are towels in the airing cupboard and a spare toothbrush in the bathroom cabinet.’

  ‘Actually, I used my finger.’ He grinned. ‘Took me right back to being a student.’

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said again. ‘I don’t normally drink more than a glass or two of wine. I don’t know what happened last night.’

  ‘People were topping up your glass while you were talking,’ he said. ‘Plus you were still on a high from the skydive.’

  She swallowed hard. ‘We...um...didn’t...?’

  ‘No. I wouldn’t take advantage of anyone like that.’

  ‘Of course you wouldn’t. You’re one of the good guys.’ A hot tide of shame swept through her. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply you’d...’ Oh, help. She was digging herself into a bigger hole here.

  ‘Besides,’ he said, a tiny quirk at the corner of his mouth, ‘if I had spent the night with you, I rather hope you’d remember it.’

  The heat of the shame turned to something else equally hot: a surge of pure desire.

  This really wasn’t a good idea.

  Oliver was in her bedroom. She was in bed. Fully clothed, admittedly, but in bed. And she’d made way too many mistakes of this type before.

  ‘Let’s go into the kitchen and have that toast,’ she said.

  Paracetamol, more water, the mug of coffee and three slices of toast later, Gemma felt human again, and she’d pretty much got her thoughts sorted.

  ‘So let me start again. Thank you for looking after me last night. I apologise if I made a fool of myself. And—’ she took a deep breath, cringing inwardly but knowing this had to be done ‘—I apologise if I threw myself at you.’

  ‘You didn’t throw yourself at me,’ he said quietly. ‘And there’s no need to apologise. You were a bit woozy and you fell asleep when I went to make you a mug of tea. I didn’t want to leave you on your own. If it had been the other way round, I’m pretty sure you would’ve looked after me.’

  ‘Of course. That’s what friends do.’

  ‘What makes you think you threw yourself at me?’

  The question was mild; yet the true answer would shock him, she was sure. She certainly wasn’t going to admit that he was absolutely her type and she really liked him. He’d made it clear he only saw her as a friend.

  Which meant she’d have to confide in him. Tell him what a mess she’d been.

  ‘It’s a bit of a long story. When I was seventeen,’ she said, ‘I had a bit of a...difficult year.’

  * * *

  The year Gemma’s sister had died, Oliver remembered.

  ‘I didn’t deal with it very well. I tried lots of ways to escape,’ she said. ‘I never did drugs or cigarettes, and I’ve never been a big one for alcohol—but I had sex. Lots of sex. I kind of went through most of the lads in the sixth form and I earned myself a shocking reputation.’

  Because she’d been hurting. Because she’d been looking for a way to avoid the pain. Seventeen, and so vulnerable. Ollie’s heart went out to her. The boys of her own age wouldn’t have thought about why she was throwing herself at them and held back; at that age, the testosterone surge would’ve taken over and they would’ve been more than happy to sleep with her. It wouldn’t have occurred to any of them that they were taking advantage of someone vulnerable. No wonder this morning Gemma had thought they’d spent the night together: she’d obviously been taken advantage of before.

  He reached across the table and took her hand. He squeezed it once, just enough to be sympathetic, but letting her hand go again before the gesture crossed the border into being creepy. ‘I’m sorry you had such a rough time.’

  She shrugged. ‘It was self-inflicted.’

  ‘Didn’t your parents...?’

  The stricken look on her face stopped him. Clearly, they hadn’t. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I didn’t mean to trample on a sore spot.’

  ‘They were hurting, too. It’s pretty difficult to support a teenager who’s gone off the rails, and even harder to do that when your heart’s broken,’ she said softly. ‘They just folded in on themselves after Sarah died. I couldn’t talk to them about anything. I couldn’t tell them how I was feeling, how much I missed my sister, how hard it was to get up in the morning. So I went for the escape route. Or what I thought was one. It was just a mess and I feel bad now because they already had enough to deal with. I just made it worse.’

  ‘What about counselling?’ he asked.

  ‘I had counselling in my first year at uni and that really helped me, but when I suggested it to my parents they pretty much blanked me. They’re not ones for talking.’ She swallowed hard. ‘After they moved from Ashermouth Bay, I never lived with them again.’

  ‘You said you stayed with your best friend’s family.’

  She nodded. ‘Claire was worried about me and the way I was behaving. She talked to her mum about it, but even Yvonne couldn’t get through to me. Not until results day, when I failed all my exams really badly. Claire dragged me back to her place and made me sit down with her mum. Yvonne said that it was time for plan B, a chance to get my life back into gear. She said she’d been thinking about it and she and Claire’s dad had agreed that I could move in with them. I’d resit the second year of my A levels, while Claire would be doing the first year of her catering course at the local college. The deal was, I’d stop the sex.’ She shook her head.

  ‘I think the only saving grace of that awful year was that I’d insisted on using condoms, so I didn’t get pregnant or catch an STD. But I got called a lot of fairly nasty names. Yvonne said she understood why I was sleeping around, but that behaviour was only hurting me more instead of making things better. She said from that day onward I was going to be one of her girls, part of her family.’ She swallowed hard. ‘And it was so good to be part of a family again. To feel that I belonged. That I was loved.’

  Ollie was seriously unimpressed by Gemma’s parents—however tough life was, however miserable it made you, you didn’t just give up on your remaining child, the way it sounded as if they had. But he was glad someone had been there to step in and help. ‘Claire’s mum sounds really special.’

  ‘She is. And what she did for me... I want to pay that forward,’ Gemma said earnestly. ‘I’d like to offer a troubled teenager a place to stay. A place to get their Plan B sorted. I want to be someone who won’t judge because she’s been there and knows what it feels like—someone who offers a second chance to get things right, and the support that teenager needs to get through it.’

/>   ‘I’ve only known you for a little while, but that’s enough for me to know you’d be amazing in a role like that. The authorities will snap you up.’

  ‘You really think so?’

  ‘I really think so.’ He reached over to squeeze her hand again. ‘Thank you for being so honest with me. I want to reassure you that I’m not going to gossip about you with anyone.’

  ‘Pretty much everyone in the village knows my history. Though thankfully nobody seems to hold it against me nowadays.’ She gave him a rueful smile. ‘But thank you.’

  ‘It’s fine.’ Ollie could almost hear his twin’s voice in his head. You like her, so tell her. Take a risk. Be more Rob. ‘Gemma. I like you, and I think you might like me. We’re becoming friends, but...’ He took a deep breath. Be more Rob. ‘I want to be more than that.’

  ‘I don’t have a good track record,’ she warned. ‘I’ve kind of gone the other way from my teens. Claire says I’m so scared of being needy again, I don’t let anyone close. So my relationships tend to fizzle out after only a few weeks.’

  ‘I understand that,’ he said.

  Gemma had trusted him with her past; maybe he should do the same. ‘My track record isn’t great, either,’ he said. ‘I was supposed to get married at the beginning of May.’

  ‘When you gave Rob your kidney?’

  ‘A month before the operation. But he wouldn’t have been well enough to be at the wedding.’

  ‘Why didn’t you just move the wedding?’ she asked.

  He appreciated the fact she’d thought of the same solution that he had. ‘Tabby—my fiancée—called it off. Her dad had ME, so she grew up seeing her mum having to look after him as well as work and look after the kids. And she didn’t want that kind of life for herself.’

  ‘But you donated a kidney. Your brother was the one on dialysis, the one who might have problems if his body rejects the new kidney, not you,’ Gemma said.

  ‘Her view was what if something happened to me, too?’ he said dryly. ‘Though when I look back I’m pretty sure it was an excuse.’