He briefly wondered what Brooke was doing now. Was she sitting at home too, waiting for tonight? She was probably excited about it. She loved fireworks. He wished he had her enthusiasm.
It would seem that I am not content with my lot.
That bothered him. The fact that he felt something was missing but couldn’t pinpoint it. He was healthy, he had a good job, a secure home, a beautiful baby girl. He should be happy. Satisfied.
But it was loneliness that impaired his wellbeing. He’d never been solitary before. He’d never imagined he would have to be. And yet here he was, counting down the hours until he could be with someone again. Someone who lifted his spirits and made him feel good.
Was that so wrong?
Or was he terrified in case it was right?
* * *
Brooke was counting down the hours. She’d been looking forward to this for a long time. Bonfire Night—one of the best nights of the year! It never lasted long, but there was nothing quite like forgetting all your worries and standing in the crisp, chilly evening, watching the amazing show up above.
It was carefree. There weren’t many moments in life during which you could be carefree, but the night of November the fifth was one of them. And she had one particular fond memory of that night from childhood, when her dad had actually been sober enough to enjoy it with her.
She’d stood there, aged maybe seven or eight, and as the first fireworks had zoomed up into the sky, to explode in a mass of blue and green sparkles, she’d felt her dad slip his hand into hers and squeeze her fingers through her woollen mitten. Such a simple thing, but coming from a man who had been using alcohol to escape the grief he felt it had been an uplifting moment. Brooke had squeezed back and laid her head against his arm, her face turned up to the sky as she’d revelled in that singular moment in which her dad had seemed to say, I’m here, sweetheart.
They’d stood together holding hands for about half an hour, and then, when the display had been over, he’d walked her home, settled her into bed and then gone in search of his next drink. The loneliness of being at home without his wife’s voice, his wife’s presence, had been too much for him to bear.
She’d lived for those brief moments in which he reached out to her. But more often than not he hadn’t. He’d told her once in a drunken rage that she looked too much like her mother and it was painful for him to look at her. That had broken her heart. But what could she do? She couldn’t change her face, and though she’d tried dyeing her hair different colours she’d never liked the way she looked as a blonde, or a redhead, and had always reverted back to her long brown hair.
When she’d had Morgan she’d vowed to herself that no matter how much her daughter reminded her of Eric she would never blame her daughter for it. Even if every one of her features matched her father’s and looked little to do with her mother she would love her child. She would treasure her always. She would never let her daughter feel that type of rejection from anyone.
But she did hope that her daughter would enjoy fireworks as much as she did. For a child they were magical and special, as long as they weren’t afraid of the loud noises. She’d heard that tonight’s display was going to be extra-special—the fireworks were going to be set in time to music. How amazing was that going to be?
Once again she checked she had everything ready. Warm clothes, tights and ear muffs for Morgan, fleece-lined boots, a thick cardigan and woolly hat, mittens for her. Perfect. She didn’t want Morgan getting cold. There would probably be hot drinks available for adults, but not for babies!
And Matt would be coming.
Brooke let out a long, slow breath. She’d tried her hardest to let him off the hook, to tell him he didn’t have to come with her, but he’d seemed determined. She liked it that he was sure he wanted to go, because at first she’d thought he wasn’t. But now that she was experiencing these weird feelings about him she wasn’t sure how she’d cope spending all that time with him. Away from work. Where people were relaxed and uninhibited.
She hoped and prayed she wouldn’t do something stupid. Like gaze into his eyes for too long, or accidentally brush his hand, or—worse—kiss him! Because, heck, even though the thought of kissing Matt did spectacular, exciting things to her insides, she knew in the long run that it would be a mistake.
He was a widower. Still grieving. He was off-limits. It ought to be the law of the land that handsome, charming widowers should not be hit on for at least one year after their partner’s passing, surely!
And she was going to be spending this special night with him. Perhaps it wasn’t all that special to him, though. Perhaps it was just her? Remembering the night that her father had finally seen her, reliving her childish excitement? Whereas for Matt perhaps it was just another night—a few bangs, a few lights, a waste of money going up in smoke. No doubt pretty, but he’d be happy for it to be over, so they could look forward to the real best night of the year—Christmas Eve.
Who knew? What she did know was that she couldn’t let giddy excitement get the better of her. Carry her away on a frivolous impulse to do something stupid. Because—and she must make no mistake—doing something stupid with Matt would be appallingly embarrassing. They would have to work together afterwards, and she highly doubted that Matt would be receptive to her lips touching his.
No.
She would need to concentrate and keep her wits about her.
No forgetting his boundaries.
And no kissing Major Galloway!
* * *
The place was heaving with people waiting for the display to start. At first Brooke couldn’t see Matt at all. Too many bodies...too many people bundled up in unfamiliar thick coats. She thought maybe he’d had a change of heart. Hadn’t come after all. The disappointment that shot through her almost winded her. Until finally—suddenly—she spotted him. It was almost as if the crowd parted just for them.
Their eyes met and she sucked in a breath.
He’s here.
The breath allowed her a moment to steady herself, get her heartbeat under control again. Back to its normal pace—or as near as she could make it. But his proximity, his singular presence, was having an effect on her. He looked particularly dark and dangerous in that black jacket, and his cobalt scarf brought out the sparkling blue of his eyes. Both his and Lily’s cheeks already looked a little rosy in what was for her the perfect November evening. Crisp. Cold. With the promise of a frost tomorrow morning. He hadn’t shaved either. She’d never seen him with stubble before and it added a certain delicious note to his appearance.
‘You made it,’ she said as he made his way through the throng towards her, using Lily’s buggy like a plough.
Brooke saw various women notice him, just as they had at that awful Music Melody class, their eyes glinting in the darkness, hoping that he might notice them.
Only he didn’t. He kept his gaze upon her, his face breaking into a smile as he got close. ‘Just. I’ve been looking all over for you. I even considered putting up a flare.’
She smiled. ‘No need for that.’
‘No.’
She bent to say hello to Lily, who was sitting in her buggy kicking and swinging her feet as she batted hopelessly at the string of toys across the front of it. Like Morgan, she was wearing ear muffs. ‘Hello, little one. Are you ready for all the pretty fireworks?’
‘Bah-bah... Mmm... Pfft!’
Brooke smiled at her and looked up at Matt.
‘I feel the same,’ he added.
‘Oh, really?’ she stood up again and fought the urge to nudge his arm playfully. What was happening? One minute with the man and she was already feeling flirty.
Stop it, Brooke.
‘How...erm...close do you want to get?’ She meant to the fireworks, but as soon as the words were out of her mouth she cringed.
; ‘Er...not too close. You know—just in case the babies don’t like it.’
He seemed apprehensive. Had he picked up on her feelings? Was he already at this minute regretting his decision to come out with her because she was starting to act like some crazy woman?
Because, looking at him right now, she saw he looked as if he wanted to run out of there. His gaze was flitting here, there and everywhere, as if checking for exit strategies. Only occasionally did his gaze fall upon her, as if to reassure her that, yes, of course he wanted to be here.
Everything about him—his face, his twitching jaw muscle, his body language—screamed that he wanted out. That this was the last place he wanted to be.
Brooke felt as if she was torturing the man by making him stay. Keen for him not to walk away and leave her standing there like an idiot, though, she sought to reassure him. ‘It should start soon. Not long now.’
‘That’s great.’ He stooped to pick Lily up out of her buggy and, thinking that was a good idea, she did the same thing with Morgan. At least holding her child she would have no spare hand to snuggle into his.
Both babies greeted each other by squealing and vaguely waving their arms in some approximation of saying hello, causing both parents to beam.
‘I think they recognise each other!’
‘I should think so. After all the time they spend together in the crèche. Daisy tells me they’re quite the terrible twosome.’
Daisy was right. Brooke had seen them when she’d gone to the crèche to pick up her daughter after a long day. She’d often found Lily and Morgan playing side by side, or squealing with joy in the ball pit together. It was almost as if they were sisters.
‘Should we get a drink or anything? Are you thirsty? I think they’re selling hot chocolate somewhere.’
Matt shook his head. ‘No spare hands for a hot drink. I’ll survive, thanks.’
She nodded. He was right. They could hardly hold the girls and a steaming hot beverage. That would be a disaster.
All around them couples huddled together, and there was the aroma of hot chocolate, tea, coffee, and from somewhere jacket potatoes with beans was being served. It all reminded Brooke of Bonfire Nights from long ago, when her neighbours had cooked jacket potatoes in tin foil and served polystyrene cups filled with hot mushy peas and vinegar. There was something amazing about those familiar smells under the cloudless night sky.
From somewhere a PA system squealed into life and a man’s voice welcomed them to the show. There was a little bit of housekeeping—they were told to stay behind the barrier at all times, given fire escape plans in case something dreadful happened, that kind of thing—and then his voice fell silent and a musical symphony began.
Brooke felt her heart accelerate. This was it! The moment they’d all been waiting for. She turned to look at Matt, to smile at him, and frowned slightly, noticing he looked rather hesitant and apprehensive.
But before she could say anything the fireworks began, screaming up into the night sky and pulling her attention away from Matt.
The colours lit up the night sky—pinks, purples, reds, greens, blues. There was a cacophony of explosions from rockets and sparkling glitter balls, whistling comets scattering light like flowers in bursts that split into smaller blasts—all of it to a background of music, the fireworks and the noise perfectly in time with the beat and rhythm.
Morgan was squealing with joy, clapping her little hands together, and Brooke was over the moon that her daughter loved it as much as she did! Her little face was lit up by the display above her.
‘You love it! You love it!’
She turned to see if Lily loved it too, and was jolted from her bliss when she saw Matt standing there, frozen like a statue, his eyes tightly closed, his face screwed up as if he was in some sort of agony...
‘Major? Matt? Are you all right?’
She grabbed at his arm to make him look at her, but he didn’t open his eyes. He was muttering something to himself. Over and over. But she couldn’t catch it. Couldn’t make out what he was saying.
Hesitantly she reached up to lay a hand on his face. Standing close to him, almost face to face, she said loudly, ‘Matt! Open your eyes. Look at me. It’s okay. Just look at me.’
She was scared. What was going on? Why did he look so terrified? He was an army doctor! He should be used to this kind of thing. He should—
And then realisation came to the fore and she knew what was wrong.
How could I have been so stupid?
Quickly she turned and put Morgan back into her buggy, strapping her in. She could still see the fireworks, but right now she needed to bring Matt back into the present. Because his mind was elsewhere. Stuck in a terrifying past event. She had to centre him. Ground him in reality.
Concerned for Lily, she raised her voice so he could hear her. ‘Matt? It’s Brooke. Give me Lily. Let go of her. I’ve got her. That’s it...’
She took the little girl and placed her in her own buggy. Strapped her in.
Then she turned back to Matt, placing a hand on either side of his face. ‘Matt?’ She waited a moment, torn with anguish at the look of pain on his face. ‘Matt...’
He opened his eyes, his gaze frantic until he tuned in to her voice and then it settled upon her.
As the fireworks continued above them, the bangs and cracks and whistling sound of gunpowder crackling all around them, people whooping and oohing at the sight, Brooke stood in front of Matt, her hands on his face, and made him look at her.
‘Keep your eyes on me. You’re okay. I’ve got you. They’re just fireworks. They’re not what you think they are. You’re safe, Matt. Do you hear me? You’re safe.’
His frightened gaze settled on her own and fixed upon her. ‘I... I hear you. I’m s-s-safe.’
‘Put your hands on Lily’s buggy. That’s it. Now, just listen to my voice and follow me. We’re going to move away from here. But slowly! No need for us to rush. We’re safe.’
She saw his hands were trembling, but he followed her orders.
Feeling sick, and guilty at what she’d put him through, she led the way out through the crowd, away from the field and onto the pathway, and then the road, over to where she had parked her car and beyond.
There was a small café lighting up the street, still decorated with spider’s webs and pumpkins from Halloween a few nights earlier. They went in and settled down at a table.
Brooke ordered a couple of teas from the waitress and gave Morgan a sippy cup of juice from her bag. Then she sat opposite Matt and took his freezing cold hands in her own and waited. Waited for him to be able to speak.
He looked a little worn out, but not embarrassed, which was good. For there was no shame in what had happened.
When the drinks arrived she added plenty of sugar to his and pushed the cup in front of him. ‘Drink,’ she ordered.
He reached for the cup and took a small sip, wincing at the sweetness. ‘Thanks.’
‘Is it okay if I give Lily a rusk?’
He nodded and took another sip before he looked up at her face and grimaced. ‘I’m sorry I spoilt your night.’
Brooke shook her head. ‘No. You didn’t spoil it. It was my fault. I should have thought that you might have... I didn’t know. I don’t know where you were stationed, or what happened, but I should have considered the possibility.’
‘The PTSD...it’s...mild, actually. I hardly notice it until nights like these.’ He glanced out of the window at the display that was still thrilling all the onlookers. ‘I should have said something when you asked me to the fireworks, but I thought I could tough it out. For Lily.’ He laughed ruefully. ‘They’re just fireworks, right?’
Post-traumatic stress disorder could be a crippling condition. It was an anxiety disorder brought on by a previous stressful, frightening
or distressing event. Someone suffering from the condition would often relive that event through flashbacks brought on by triggers in the present day.
‘Do you want to talk about it?’
She couldn’t get his face out of her mind. The way he had looked as she had held his face in her hands. The way he had felt frozen, chilled by the night air and paralysed by fear. She didn’t ever want to see him go through that again. And she’d caused it. By bringing him here.
If there was one thing her father had taught her it was that you avoided pain as much as you could. You evaded it, you did what you had to not to face it. The fact that Matt had chosen to come here anyway, knowing how the fireworks might affect him, made her feel proud of him. This wasn’t a man who ran away from things that hurt. He was brave, and she wanted to be there for him because of that.
‘I was pinned down by enemy fire in Afghanistan. We’d been ambushed. I was part of a medevac team. We weren’t heavily armed—we’d been treating the locals, offering vaccinations and first aid, and then we were asked to relocate to help re-staff a field hospital. Twelve men and women were killed when the first trucks blew. Men and women I knew. Had worked alongside. People who just wanted to help, no matter who they were—English, American, locals. It didn’t matter. People were people, you know?’
She nodded, listening.
‘I dragged a soldier out of the road. He’d been hit in the leg and was bleeding heavily. He was screaming. We found shelter and we had to sit there. Waiting for hours. All around us there was the sound of gunfire and explosions. It just never stopped. I sat there, shivering in the freezing cold, not knowing whether I would live to see the sun rise. And all that time the shooting never stopped. I could hear bullets hitting the walls next to my head. Could hear people shouting. Yelling. Calling for help. But I was pinned down. I couldn’t do anything to help them.’
She reached across the table to lay her hand upon his. ‘I’m so sorry.’
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