by Zee Monodee
“Remember your school chum, Phillip Campbell?” the other man continued.
Jamie snorted. He was acquainted with Campbell, who’d been a few years ahead of him. Filthy rich Phillip came from Old Money, and his father always played up their connection.
“You must know he now co-owns Ashton Rovers with his best friend, Michael Rinaldi. The team’s climbing into the Premier League next season.”
He’d heard about that. “What’s it got to do with me?”
“Phillip’s bringing on a new technical team. Needs a good doctor to look after his players. I told him you were moonlighting as a country doctor at the moment, but that Gordon should be here soon, and you’d then be free.”
Jamie frowned. So his uncle had not come clean yet with his family about settling down in France.
“Get in touch with the lad,” his father uttered in his customary bark. “An opportunity like that one won’t come twice.”
Jamie closed his eyes. So not the life he wanted for himself. The one he craved, and that he’d touched fleetingly, would never be his, either. Not until Margo woke up one day and figured out she shouldn’t be afraid to step out of her comfort zone a little.
He couldn’t do any more for her. The rest of the work remained hers. If she ever deigned to acknowledge that she had work to do.
“I’ll get in touch with Phillip,” he said into the receiver.
***
For the first time since she’d made the decision to be a hands-on parent to her daughter, Margo loathed to return home in the evening. She craved nothing more than to stay at the lab, immerse herself in work, and drown out everything that churned relentlessly inside her.
The hope, and subsequent anger, flashing in Jamie’s eyes when they’d stared at each other that morning. The pain of recalling everything Harry had done, and how he’d turned her life upside down every time he’d waltzed in without a word of apology for his prolonged absence. The relief that had flooded her, immediately after experiencing horror, upon hearing the news of his death.
Unbidden, her mind flew to all those moments when she and Jamie had talked, laughed, made love.
Every second spent with him had meant so much to her, but unfortunately, she had nothing to give him. He might be convinced she believed Harry had killed her ability to love. She knew the truth—that she’d thought she adored Harry, only to find she’d felt nothing for him.
How could anyone face such a realization, and agree to let someone else suffer the kind of disillusionment that would surely come when the other person recognized the truth, as well? Crimes of passion happened for less, and how many times had she come across someone who’d killed the one she or he loved, because the other one didn’t love them back in the same way?
In the end, she trudged home at eight o’clock the following morning. The whole place lay quiet, Polina in her studio, Emma sleeping the blessed, dead-to-the-world slumber of growing children. Jamie ... Could he be asleep, too?
She pulled herself in check. She shouldn’t think of him. They needed a clean break, and though they lived under the same roof, they could be civil about a past fling, couldn’t they? She would be at the lab more often than not, anyway, spending only enough time at home as necessary to be with Emma.
She’d settled her bag on the kitchen table, was ditching her coat, when Robbie’s Range Rover stopped in the driveway.
They weren’t expecting him to come see Emma today. She frowned. After stepping out onto the porch, she went up to the vehicle.
Robbie smiled in greeting.
“I came to see you.” He reached across the passenger seat and unlatched the door. “Hop in.”
“Are we going somewhere?”
“I need to talk to you about something serious. Just the two of us.”
She climbed up into the SUV and closed the door. “What is it?”
“It’s about Emma.”
“What about her?”
He peered down. “I guess you know my father is sick. We’re all really worried about him.”
Warning bells started ringing in her head. This bade nothing good.
“What’s Emma got to do with this?”
When he lifted his head, tears clouded his gaze. He closed his eyes, smashed the pads of his thumbs against them, and then looked at her while he forced a smile. “He adores her. It’s as if she’s brought him to life again.”
A sense of unease flittered down Margo’s spine. What was he getting at?
He reached for her hand, which set the alarm bells to peal into overdrive now in her head. Robbie grew touchy-huggy only when he wanted to butter a woman up. Unfortunately for him, the tactic had never worked on her when they’d been younger. Did he believe she had gone soft with the years?
“Margo, listen to me.” He took a deep breath. “I admit I didn’t want Emma when she was conceived. But ever since I got to know her, I realize I’ve been a fool.”
Her heart hammered away. She should get out of here. Robbie was definitely attempting to butter her up.
“I know I don’t deserve a chance,” he said. “I want to do the right thing for Emma, for my daughter.”
Her breath stopped while she waited.
“Margo, we should make this work between us, too.”
Pardon? What was he really getting at here?
“What are you saying?” she managed to force out.
“Marry me, Margo.”
Wait a second. That conversation was going too fast, too quickly.
“Robbie!” she gasped.
“I know you want the best for her, and together, we can give her a family.”
She sat stock still while she processed his words.
She’d known Robbie all her life, had observed the cad transformed into a responsible man over the past few weeks. He didn’t profess love, or feelings. Only a mutual goal—the happiness of her daughter.
She should’ve been able to do that. She could’ve, not too long ago. Before Jamie had walked into her life. Somehow, if she’d stayed with Jamie, he would’ve ended up proposing, too. Because he loved her.
She would have said no, even years down the line, because she couldn’t see herself becoming a wife. To love, honour, and cherish—she had no problem with the ‘honour’ bit. The other two, she couldn’t fulfil.
Not with Jamie, not with anyone else. And a part of her knew that, if she couldn’t give this to Jamie, the man she had most cared for in her whole life, whom she’d released from the clutches of a feeling that would ultimately kill his spirit, whom she’d left so as not to hurt him any further, then ...
“I can’t, Robbie.”
She’d expected him to protest, ask why, or urge her to reconsider. She breathed a sigh of relief at his silent, nodded acceptance.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly as she got out of the car.
He had already pulled away when she reached the porch. Her feet trudged heavy, as loaded with dead weight as her heart.
What did she do except bring heartache into the life of people she got involved with?
She pushed Emma’s bedroom door half-open, then paused on the threshold and peeked in. The girl stirred on the bed, and opened sleepy eyes.
“What’s wrong, Mummy?”
She found herself walking towards the bed, to sit on the edge next to her daughter. She then reached out and brushed a strand of long auburn hair from the girl’s forehead.
Come clean. The mantra flashed into her head.
“Robbie came over. He asked me to marry him.”
Emma remained silent.
“I said no.” She paused. “Are you angry with me?”
“Do you love him?”
Margo shook her head.
“Then you shouldn’t get married.”
As simple as that. She stifled a laugh. Reaching out, she hugged the girl to her.
“Thanks, luv.”
She got up, and when she reached the door and turned to look at the bed, Emma had turned on her stomach,
once again fast asleep.
Blessed be her daughter. She might not be able to do much good in her life, but Emma proved she would never be a total loser.
***
Margo was resting in her bedroom, a few hours later, when her phone rang. The screen displayed an unknown number, and she answered with caution.
“Who do you think you are, you worthless trollop? My son ain’t good enough for you, is he?”
She sat up straight as the strident tone of Judi Barnes’ voice assaulted her eardrum. “Pardon me?”
“Robbie just told me!”
The words pulsed full of reproach, sounding as if Judi had spat them out.
“Aunt Judi—”
“Don’t you dare call me Aunt Judi! Do you know what your senseless action could’ve done? I should’ve known you’d call off the engagement. You Nolans always thought yourselves too good for the likes of us.”
What? She hadn’t called off any engagement. “I beg your pardon?”
“Do you know what Garth threatened to do? If Robbie doesn’t get married and bring that daughter of his into the family, like he should have done all those years ago, he won’t write him back into his will. Thank goodness, now it’s all your fault. Robbie was ready to take on his responsibility.”
None of that made sense.
Or did it?
Jagged pieces of the puzzle, which had struck her as odd when Robbie had proposed, assembled inside her mind. The picture, when it completed itself, threw her back to the likeness of the Robbie she had always known. A lying, cheating, conniving wastrel, irresponsible and dissolute, who didn’t hesitate to use others for his ends.
Even his own daughter.
In her ear, Judi Barnes continued with her berating. Margo swiped the screen and ended the call without bothering to say goodbye.
Fury coursed through her. So that’s what it had all been about. Garth Barnes lay on his death bed, and Robbie wanted his part of the inheritance, which his father had had the good sense to remove from his grasp. Emma, Margo, and the lie about their engagement—nothing but his ploy to work himself into the old man’s good graces. If Margo had said yes, he’d have gotten his money. If Margo said no, he’d just state that she’d broken the promise of marriage. She’d be the villain, while he would look like a man who had stood up to task.
She gasped. What if she’d said yes? Maybe Robbie’s good will towards them would’ve lasted until Garth died. Then, who knew what might’ve happened?
To think that she had potentially set her daughter up for such deceit ... Anger and scorn bubbled up inside her, wiping out her rational mind. Acting solely on impulse, she grabbed the phone and dialled a number.
She asked to speak to Garth Barnes when the butler picked up.
“Uncle Garth, it’s Margo. Robbie and I were never engaged. Nor were we ever involved.”
He remained silent for long seconds.
“I thought as much,” he finally said. “Thank you, Margo.”
Her lower lip quivered, hands trembled—with outrage, sympathy, pain—at the defeated tone of his voice.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured.
“Don’t be.” His jovial tone sounded forced. “I got to meet my granddaughter, at least.” His laboured breaths reached her across the line. “You will bring her over sometime?”
While I’m still here, he didn’t add, but she heard it, nonetheless.
“Yes.” The word came out as a rough croak.
“Good. Take care of that girl, Margo, and look after yourself, too.”
“Will do, Godfather,” she said, addressing him in true acknowledgement of his role in her life.
She put down the phone and fought for breath while her throat closed with tamped-down sobs. Damn Robbie. How could he do that, hurt so many people, and think to get away unpunished? It didn’t matter that his DNA made up half of Emma’s—she didn’t want that kind of despicable person anywhere near her daughter.
When she dialled his number, her call went to voicemail. Just as well. She cringed at the prospect of any contact whatsoever with the bastard, and the sooner she cut him out of their lives, the better.
“Robbie, don’t dare come back into Emma’s life again. You’ve used her as a pawn in your little game to get your father’s money. I will not tolerate that. Stay away from her. I won’t hesitate to employ every means at my disposal to ensure that not so much as your shadow touches her life.”
Throwing the phone on the bed, she pulled in a deep breath.
A small, scuffling sound from the doorway attracted her attention, and she glanced up to find Emma, fully dressed, sliding in from where she had hidden herself in the corridor.
How much had the girl heard?
Without a word, Margo opened her arms. Emma walked into them, hugged her hard, and gave her a tremulous smile as she gazed up into her mother’s face.
“I’m sorry, darling.” She seemed to be saying that a lot lately. Damn.
“What for?”
She released the girl and made her sit down on the bed. “Did you hear the message I left Robbie?”
“A little.”
She wanted to smile at the admission. Emma didn’t want her to think she had eavesdropped. “It’s okay, darling. This time.”
“What happened? Is he angry because you said no when he proposed?”
She tucked a strand of long auburn hair behind the tween’s ear.
“No, sweetie.” She paused, took a deep breath. “Robbie asked me to marry him only because that’s what his father asked him to do, if he wants to get any family inheritance later on.”
Emma’s lower lip trembled. “Did he really care about us? About me?”
I doubt it. She gave her a small smile. “I don’t know, baby. I don’t think we’ll ever know that.”
She reached out and pulled the girl into her arms again. “I apologize once again. If I had cut him off the first time he set foot here—”
“It’s okay, Mum.” Emma closed her arms tightly around Margo’s neck. “I love you.”
“I love you too, baby.”
Emma released her and smiled.
Margo smiled, too, and didn’t let her gaze leave the girl as Emma got up and walked out of the room.
Something inside her urged her to follow her daughter. On the edge of the stairs, she stayed in the shadows while Emma greeted Cillian, outside the kitchen window. Gleeful, childish laughter flew out not too long after. Awed, she squinted at the two children on the pitch.
She’d expected Emma to reel from the blow dealt by Robbie. Yet, it had taken only one hug from her mother, and meeting up with her friend, for the girl to jump back into the fray as if nothing had hurt her.
Could it really be so simple, and did she not give people enough credit?
She’d pegged William as a cold, reserved man who lived only for his job. How wrong she’d been, finding instead one of the most heartfelt human beings she had ever encountered.
She’d thought Robbie wanted to turn his life around, and here, she’d given too much credit. As she pondered his time with them, it dawned upon her that he’d never made an effort to get to know anything about Emma. He didn’t know the name of her favourite football team, what position she played on the field, that she preferred reading Austen to the responsibility of caring for a cat.
The poor kitten. Thank goodness Polina had adopted the animal.
No, Robbie had never cared.
While Jamie has.
Jamie wasn’t Emma’s father, though.
He wish to be.
Polina’s words came back to her.
Little things, when added up, made up a big whole. Little things that kept people coming home, despite all the atrocities others might be doing to them.
Margo clenched the stair rail. Her knuckles hurt and grew pale—she paid no attention.
How could she not have seen how much Jamie cared for Emma?
And, if she pondered upon the ‘little things’ ... No.
&nb
sp; Cut the wound open, Margo. Flush it out.
She hadn’t loved Harry. She’d felt something for him. Not love, though. Because, through the little things, Harry had showed her that he didn’t care for her. He had painted a distorted idea of a relationship, of love, onto what they’d had, urging her to believe that the warped projection represented love. The day he’d hit her, she had withdrawn into herself. What she’d felt for him had died ...
Hence, she couldn’t bring herself to feel anything for him after that day. Or for David, an essentially cold man.
It had nothing to do with her.
She gasped and brought a hand to her mouth. Just look at what happened when Emma had come into this world. She’d fallen then, hook, line, and sinker.
You’re capable of love, Jamie had said. You love Emma.
Margo jumped out of her skin when the front door slammed closed. She still hadn’t picked up her scattered thoughts when a crying Emma dashed past her on the stairs and ran into her bedroom, slamming that door, too.
What was going on? She glanced down, to find Cillian hurrying into the house.
“What happened?” she asked him.
Her feet remained rooted to the spot, waiting for his answer before she could dart up to see the girl.
“It’s Jamie,” the boy said. “He’s leaving.”
A red-hot, blunt, serrated knife plunged into her heart and tore through her. Pain like she’d never thought existed radiated through every cell of her being.
No! He couldn’t leave. She needed him.
She froze.
She. Needed. Him.
She tumbled down the stairs, her feet carrying her as if possessed by a mind of their own. Pausing once on the stone floor of the kitchen, she peered at Cillian, up towards Emma’s room, and then at the lad again.
Jamie couldn’t go. She had to stop him. Yet, she also had to be there for her daughter.
Her gaze on the handsome blond youth, she knew what she had to do.
“Find Polina, then go on up and see if you can help her.”
“You’re sure?”
She nodded. “I’m sure.”
Emma needed Cillian right then. The truth was that Cillian was to Emma what Jamie was to her.