Except he couldn’t get her out of his mind, and he kept replaying the scene with Liam over and over in his head. She’d been so good with him, and she’d known so much about it. Almost too much. As if…
Cold dread washed over him as the thought crystallised. No. It couldn’t have been her, but maybe a member of her family had suffered from it—perhaps a sibling who’d died? But he knew she only had one brother, and she hadn’t mentioned it, and he was sure—absolutely sure—that she would have done.
Unless…
Oh, God. His heart began to pound, and his palms felt damp. Not Gemma. Surely she would have told him? Surely…
But there was a scar on her chest. Just a tiny scar, to the side of her sternum, high up below her collar bone. He’d noticed it last week, when he’d been making love to her, licking chocolate off her soft, pale skin. And he’d seen it, felt it, a tiny hard bump in the skin. The sort of scar that would be left by a central line during treatment for leukaemia.
He stood up and went over to the window, staring out across the headland at the side, past the building work which was still in progress, but he didn’t see anything except the scar, and the look in her eyes as she’d taken Liam’s blood and comforted his parents and calmly told them what to expect.
Because she knew, he realised, every inch of the road they’d have to travel. She’d taken every step, walked every mile of it—and she’d done it alone, without him.
But when? Surely not then? Surely that wasn’t why? She hadn’t been ill—had she?
He cast his mind back, trying to pick up clues from their time together that summer, but he could only remember the good times. The laughter, the loving, long into the night, so that the next day he could hardly wake her.
Because she’d been so tired.
And he’d chased her up the beach and back to the house, laughing and giggling, and she’d turned just as she’d been going in and she’d missed the step and hit her shin, and she’d come up with a hell of a bruise.
She’d hit it hard, but—that hard? Hard enough to turn her shin black? It only took one little vessel to rupture, but what if it had been more than that? And she’d had a niggling cough, too—a cold that seemed to linger. She’d been working hard for her A levels, and she’d said she was run down, but it just didn’t clear.
He went back to his desk, logged into his computer and found her patient file. He could look it up—scroll through it and get the answers, but he wanted to hear it from her and, anyway, he knew.
He logged off again and squeezed his eyes shut, the certainty devastating him.
She’d had leukaemia—his dear, darling, precious Gemz had had leukaemia, and instead of telling him, she’d shut him out, let her parents whisk her away, and all she’d left him was a note.
How could she?
How could she have done that, excluded him, when he loved her so much he would have died for her.
He sprang up again, shoving his chair back so hard it hit the wall, and picking up his jacket he headed for the door.
‘Where’s Gemma?’
Kate was behind the desk looking for something in the filing cabinet, and she hesitated at his sharp tone.
‘She’s gone.’
‘Gone where?’
‘I don’t know. Home, I suppose. She said she wasn’t feeling well. Lara’s covering her clinic. Did you want a nurse for something?’
‘No. It doesn’t matter. Can you ask Hazel to reschedule the rest of my patients, please? I have to go.’
‘Of course—Sam? It’s not Jamie, is it? Is everything all right?’
No, it bloody well wasn’t all right, it was about as wrong as it could get, but he wasn’t talking about it with her, or with anybody but his wife.
‘It’s fine,’ he said, and shoving the door out of the way, he limped out into the car park, got in his car and drove to her house.
CHAPTER TEN
SAM pulled up outside Gemma’s house and sat there, unable to move.
He felt sick, his heart racing, grief and anger and bitterness churning through him violently so that he wasn’t sure if he could even talk to her. Not now. Not like this.
But she was there, standing at her door watching him, and he could see it in her face.
So he got out of the car and walked up to her door, and without a word she stood back and let him in. He could see tearstains on her cheeks, and her eyes were red-rimmed, but sympathy was a long way down his list of boiling emotions at that moment and so he ignored it and walked through the house and out onto the deck at the back.
He couldn’t sit inside tidily on a chair while they had this conversation, because frankly he just didn’t trust himself at the moment and he needed air, needed space. He heard her footsteps behind him, and turned to her, needing to see her face while she made this explanation.
And it had better be damned good.
‘You had it, didn’t you? That’s why you left. Because you had leukaemia,’ he said, making himself say the words although they threatened to choke him.
Her eyes wavered, but held his, and he could see the tears welling again. ‘Yes.’
‘Why? Why did you leave me? For God’s sake, Gemma, we were married! I’d promised to stand by you, to be there for you, but you didn’t give me the chance! You just walked away, without explaining, without talking to me about it, and you left me hanging there in free space, with no clues as to why you’d gone, what I’d done wrong. Do you have any idea—any idea at all—of what that felt like? I loved you so much. I’d promised to be with you through thick and thin, and you couldn’t even tell me when something was wrong.’
‘Because I didn’t want to stop you doing all the things you were going to do, Sam!’ she said, and he could see the tears streaming down her face. ‘You were nineteen, for heaven’s sake! Nineteen! You had your whole life ahead of you, and I couldn’t hold you back. I didn’t have the right to hold you back.’
‘Oh, you did. I gave you that right, Gemz—I gave you that right when I married you, for better, for worse, in sickness and in health. And I meant it, every last damned word I said to you. And you didn’t give me the chance—’
He broke off and turned away, and then he felt Gemma’s hand on his arm.
‘Sam? I did it for you.’
‘Well, you had no right!’ he roared, turning on her with all the anger and frustration and hurt of the last eleven years spewing out of him in a hideous tide that threatened to destroy him. ‘You had no right to do that on my behalf! It wasn’t your decision! It was mine, and you took it away from me and you took away the only thing that mattered to me, the only thing I cared about, the only decent thing that had ever happened to me in my whole life! And I can never, ever forgive you for that.’
And pushing her aside, he strode out, ignoring the pain in his ankle as he ran down the steps to his car and got in, slamming the door and driving off with a squeal of tyres.
He didn’t know where he was going, but he found himself at the beach—not the little cove where they’d shared their love with such innocence and passion. He couldn’t go there, it would hurt too much, but he needed to hear the sea, to have the crash of the waves drown out the screaming pain in his heart.
He stumbled out of the car and down the steps to the sand, walking unseeing past the few people still there on the beach, down to the far end. And he sat on a rock above the water and tried to breathe, tried to slow his heart and let his feelings settle, let the grief and anger and betrayal die down to a level he could deal with before it destroyed him…
‘Gemma?’
She heard the knock on the door, heard the woman’s voice and got numbly to her feet.
Siobhan O’Grady was standing on the step, her tearstained face pleading, and Gemma held out her arms as the woman fell into them, sobbing.
‘Oh, Siobhan, come in,’ she said gently, and led her through to the sitting room. Not the deck. She couldn’t sit out there where Sam had…
‘Tell me. What d
id they say?’
‘He’s got to have a bone-marrow thing in the morning to confirm it, but they think it’s ALL—is that right?’
She nodded. ‘Acute lymphoblastic leukaemia. It’s the most common in children and young people. And it can be treated, Siobhan.’
She nodded. ‘So—why do they look at the bone marrow? If it’s a blood thing?’
‘Because the bone marrow makes the blood cells. And in ALL, the white blood cells or lymphoblasts which have gone wrong don’t work properly to mop up infections, which is why children are often run down and unwell. And they often have fewer red blood cells and platelets, which means they have symptoms of anaemia and difficulty clotting, hence the bruising.’
‘So—what happens now? Oh, God, Gemma, I can’t stand it, my poor baby…’
Gemma hugged her close and let her cry while her own heart was breaking, and after a while Siobhan pulled herself together and straightened up. ‘I’m sorry, but I can’t cry on Sean, he’s falling apart, and so’s Mum, and I just needed to talk to someone who knew what I was talking about.’
Oh, she knew. She knew only too well, but that was fine. Talking to Siobhan didn’t hurt her, but talking to Sam…
She needed to talk to Sam, but not now. He needed time to calm down, time to think. And Siobhan needed her.
‘Now they do the bone-marrow aspiration, and then they go from there, working out a treatment schedule, but he won’t be in hospital all that time. He’ll come backwards and forwards, spending a lot of time at home between cycles, and you’ll get a great deal of support from the hospital and from the surgery, but you just have to take it one day at a time, Siobhan. And you will get there.’
‘Oh, dear lord, I hope so, but I don’t know how to be strong for them,’ she murmured, and Gemma held out a box of tissues to her.
‘You’ll be fine. At least it’s all under way now, and you just have to be strong for Liam. It’ll be hard for him, and you have to help him, but it’ll be hard for you, too, and you have to look after each other, and the other two children. I know it’s difficult, but don’t forget about them, and don’t suffocate them. And lean on Sean, and encourage him to talk, because men are bad at that. And if you ever need to talk, I’m always here, and I’ll always have time for you.’
‘You’re so kind. Thank you.’
‘It’s no problem.’
‘I have to get back,’ she said, standing up and mopping her nose again. ‘I’ve got to do some washing for Liam, and I haven’t even thought about feeding us—I’ve fed the children and put them to bed, but somehow, food…’
‘You have to eat. Go on, go home and look after yourself, because you have to stay well for them all. And good luck tomorrow. Keep me in touch, won’t you?’
‘Oh, I will, thank you Gemma,’ she said, and, giving her one last hug, she went down the steps and hurried back to her house, leaving Gemma to her tumbling thoughts.
She went back out to the deck, and sat down on a chair and waited. Would Sam come back, or did she need to go and find him?
What if he didn’t come back? she thought suddenly, on a wave of dread. What if he left again, went off back to Africa? He’d said he couldn’t forgive her. What if he’d meant it—really meant it, meant he couldn’t, wouldn’t forgive her, and so it was all over, back to square one, only this time it was his idea and not hers? The pain swamped her, even the thought was agonising, and she felt a sob jam in her throat, trapped there by the rising tide of panic.
She had to find him. Had to go and look for him and change his mind, but where?
The beach, she thought. Their beach.
And she grabbed her keys, slammed the door shut behind her and ran down the steps to her car. She knew exactly where to find him—but he wasn’t there. And he wasn’t at his house, and she drove round for ages, looking blindly through her tears for his car, but it was nowhere to be seen, and finally she had to admit that he might have gone, that it could be too late.
That maybe at last their marriage was finally at an end.
With the last shreds of her control, she pulled over to the side of the road, cut the engine and began to sob.
‘Sam?’
He lifted his head and stared blankly at the French doctor.
‘Gabriel—hi. Sorry, I was miles away.’
‘So I could see. No dog today?’
‘No, I—uh—I haven’t been home.’
‘Mind if I join you?’
Why the hell would he want to join him? But it was a public place, and he could hardly tell him to leave.
‘Sure.’
Gabriel sat down on another rock, the slender greyhound leaning against his leg, and he idly pulled the dog’s ears and gazed out to sea.
‘I often come here when things seem—confused,’ he said quietly. ‘I listen to the gulls, and the sound of the water, and things straighten out a little bit.’
Sam grunted. Nothing was straightening out for him, that was for sure. He was as confused and hurt and bitter as before, and it would take more than a few seagulls to sort him this time.
‘I saw your patients this evening, by the way.’
Sam sighed. ’Thanks. I’m sorry, I just had to get away.’
‘Want to talk about it?’
‘Not really. There’s nothing you can do, nothing anyone can do. She made her choices years ago.’
‘Are we talking about Gemma here?’
He sighed quietly, then nodded. ‘You know, we were married, Gabriel. I was nineteen, she was eighteen, and I loved her so much it hurt. And I thought she loved me, so I married her—and then she found out she had leukaemia, and without telling me she just walked away. She just walked away, and she left me a note, for God’s sake! She didn’t even have the guts to talk to me, and I only found out today by accident.’
Gabriel made a soft sound of sympathy. ‘You know, mon ami, maybe she did have guts. Maybe she was misguided, but maybe she did what she did for you.’
Sam grunted. ‘That’s what she said, but she had no right to make that choice for me.’
‘Of course not. Lauren did the same for me. When she found out she was going blind, she tried to cut me out of her life, and gradually I worked out what she was doing—but at least I knew she had something wrong, and I bullied it out of Oliver, and then I confronted her with it. I asked her, if it had been me, would she have left me to cope alone, and she was furious. Of course not! But she asked this of me, to leave her to cope alone because she didn’t want to be a burden to me. As if the woman I love more than life itself could ever be a burden.’
Sam felt hot tears scald his eyes, and turned away. ‘I’m just so angry with her.’
‘Of course. I was angry with Lauren. But you love her, non?’
‘Oh, yes. I’ve loved her for ever. I’ve never stopped loving her.’ His voice broke, and he felt Gabriel’s hard, warm hand on his knee.
‘Then go and talk to her, Sam. Tell her how you feel, forgive her. And don’t waste any more of your lives apart. It’s so obvious you belong together. Don’t let one mistake be responsible for any more.’
And getting to his feet, Gabriel walked away, Foxy trotting quietly beside him, leaving Sam alone with the seagulls.
She wasn’t there.
Her car was gone, and she wasn’t there. And he had no idea where to start looking, so he sat there on her step and waited, his thoughts in turmoil. And finally, as the sun set, she appeared, turning into her little parking place and cutting the lights on her car.
She got out slowly and walked up to him, and he stood up stiffly and held out his hand to her, his heart contracting at the sight of her ravaged face.
‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled at you. Can we try again?’
‘Oh, Sam—I thought you’d gone,’ she said, and fell into his arms, sobbing, just as Siobhan had fallen into hers. She fumbled for her keys and he took them and let them in, then shut the door and pulled her back into his arms.
‘I love you,�
�� he said brokenly, desperate to sort this out, knowing that he had to be with her, that he had to hear her side of it and learn to forgive her, because nothing else would be right. ‘I’ve always loved you, and I can’t walk away from you now. But we have to talk.’
‘I know. Sam, I’m so sorry.’
He held her close, rocking her, and gradually her tears slowed and she eased away. ‘Come in to the sitting room,’ she said, and he picked up the soggy tissues and raised a brow.
‘Siobhan,’ she explained, taking them from him and binning them. ‘She came to say they’re doing the bonemarrow aspiration tomorrow, and she just needed to lean on someone.’
‘And she chose you, of all people.’
‘But at least I know, Sam. I know what it’s like.’
‘Tell me,’ he said softly, pulling her down beside him, and she went into his arms and snuggled closer, loving the smell of sea air and soap and Sam that drifted to her nostrils, needing the strength of his arms around her while she did this, because to talk about it brought it all back, and it had been the most traumatic and terrifying and desperate time of her life, and she’d needed him so badly.
‘What do you want to know?’ she asked, steeling herself.
‘Everything. Everything that happened, from start to finish.’
She nodded, took a deep breath and began with the facts. ‘OK. It was the Monday after we got married on the Thursday. My parents had come down on Saturday afternoon and found us, and I hadn’t talked to them, but I thought on the Monday when you went back to work that I ought to try and make peace with them, tell them how much I loved you, why I’d married you—but when I got up, I felt terrible. My leg was covered in bruises from when I’d fallen up the steps, but I noticed others that morning, ones I hadn’t got a clue about. I’d put it down to—well, to all the love-making,’ she said, feeling herself colour.
His breath sucked in. ‘Was I so rough you thought I’d given you bruises?’ he asked, sounding so appalled that she laughed a little unsteadily and lifted her hand to his taut, stubbled jaw, cradling it.
Caroline Anderson, Anne Fraser, Kate Hardy, Margaret McDonagh Page 14