‘It was combat. It happened. It’s just hard for me being outside at night, and then the sounds of all those fireworks going off... I...’
He didn’t have to say any more. Didn’t have to explain. She understood. Could see why tonight had affected him so. But still he had come to spend time with her. Honouring his wife’s promise to her friend to be there for her despite the risk to himself.
That meant a lot to her. More than she could put into words. Because no one had ever been there for her like that. No one had ever put aside their own pain like that to be there for her. Not her father. No one.
He pulled his hand out from under hers and took hold of her hand, squeezing her fingers in thanks. ‘You called me Matt.’
She blushed, nodded with a smile. ‘I did.’
‘Thank you.’
Unsure of how to respond, she sipped her own tea. ‘I’ve put you through a lot tonight. I’d hate to think of you going home to your own place and being on your own after all of this. I have a spare bed at mine. And a travel cot that Lily could sleep in. Just so you’re not alone tonight. If you want.’
She fully expected him to turn her down, but she really did hate the idea that he would have to go home alone after this. She knew what the nights were like once you’d put the baby to bed. Solitude could hit you like a brick. The house was empty. No sounds save for the ticking of a clock to remind you of your life passing with no one else in it.
Matt might be alone, but he had her as a friend and she wanted him to know that. It was an innocent invitation. One friend to another.
Please don’t be alone tonight. I can be there for you like you were for me.
‘Oh...that’s really kind, but—’
‘Please. I’d really like it if you came. Tomorrow is Sunday—neither of us have to work. We could spend the day doing something nice. Replace this memory with a good one. Lily can borrow Morgan’s clothes if you don’t have enough with you, and I have nappies and bottles and baby food. I even have a spare toothbrush.’
She was smiling, trying to think of all the reasons he might say he couldn’t do it. She really wanted to spend this time with him. He’d done so much for her.
‘You’d have to turn your underwear inside out, but...’ She blushed, laughing. ‘Come on—it’ll be fun.’
He was smiling back at her. ‘You’ve thought of everything.’
‘I’m ambushing you again. But hopefully in a good way.’
Matt nodded. ‘Okay. That’ll be nice. A sleepover! I haven’t done one of those since I was about eight years old.’
Brooke smiled back, pleased that he’d accepted. ‘I don’t think the concept has changed. You stay up late watching movies and eating popcorn. Or I can provide wine, if you need it.’
‘I don’t really touch alcohol, but I’ll have cocoa if you have any?’
His cuteness broadened the grin on her face. ‘Cocoa it is.’
Matt made her happy.
Very happy indeed.
And she was glad that she could make him smile. Especially after tonight. Outside, the fireworks were still raging in the sky, but not for much longer. They would leave when it was all over and the streets were filled with happy families.
For now she was content to sit in the café with him, nursing her tea with him still holding her hand.
It felt good. His touch. And even though earlier she’d been determined to keep her distance from him his contact now made her feel completely different.
They were people. People were tactile. They expressed care and affection through touch, didn’t they? A hug to make people feel better. A hand on another to say, I’m here for you. I care. You matter to me.
And Major Matt Galloway mattered to her very much indeed.
CHAPTER SEVEN
‘SO THIS IS home sweet home?’ Matt carried Lily into Brooke’s house and followed her through to the lounge. He hadn’t known what to expect, but now that he was here he could see that it suited her perfectly.
It was just a two-bedroomed flat, in a tall tower of concrete and glass, but inside she had turned it into a perfect little retreat. He’d never had the eye of an interior designer, but he wished that he had. Dr Bailey had clearly known the kind of feeling she had wanted here.
There were comfy sofas covered in scatter cushions with cosy throws draped over the back. A bookcase in the corner was filled with well-thumbed books, and next to it was a lamp draped with a silk scarf, a recliner and a small cherry-red table piled high with more books. There was a small fireplace, filled with candles rather than coal, and protected by a screen so that Morgan couldn’t get close. On the walls were soft watercolour paintings of animals, but instead of being portrayed in the normal colours of brown and grey they were pink and blue and rainbow-coloured.
It was a happy room. A cosy room. It oozed warmth and comfort.
‘I like what you’ve done with the place. Love the artwork.’
‘Thanks.’
He went over to a painting of a swan, created with brush strokes of green and blue, peering closer at it. Then he turned to look at her in surprise. ‘You painted these?’
‘I’m just an amateur, but I like painting.’
‘They’re brilliant! If ever we run out of patients in A&E you’ve got another career you can fall back on.’
‘Well, as I don’t see A&E emptying soon, the art world has a lot to be grateful for.’
She went to put Morgan down, aware that both babies would need to go to bed soon. She opened the storage cupboard by the front door and pulled out the travel cot that she’d been given but never used yet. It would be perfect for Lily to sleep in.
Scrunching up her nose, she undid the straps and worked out how to open it. Thankfully it was easy. and she set it up in no time. ‘I’ll put this in the spare room. Morgan’s cot is in my bedroom, so she shouldn’t wake you.’
‘I probably need to change Lily. Have you got a place I can do that?’
‘There’s a changing station in your room, or I’ve got a mat you can borrow if you don’t have one.’
‘Thanks. I’ll give Lily her last bottle and then get her ready for bed.’
‘Same.’
They both busied themselves settling their daughters. Brooke ran a bath, so that the two girls could have a bit of a splash, and once that was done they gave the babies their bottles and settled them to sleep.
Morgan settled quickly, as usual, so Brooke had a bit of a tidy-up whilst she waited for Matt to emerge from what would be his room for the night.
She felt strangely on edge. As if she’d had a shot of adrenaline. She used it to clean the kitchen, being quite thorough, lifting things to wipe underneath, pulling out the toaster, making sure there were no crumbs left behind, wiping down the fridge handles—that kind of thing. It seemed easier to think about what needed doing than to think about how it would be to sit down with Matt in her home.
No man had ever made it back here since she’d left Eric. Even he had only seen the place a couple of times, preferring to spend time in his own place and make her come to him.
She liked it that it was her sanctuary. Her book nook. A warm, welcoming space that was just for her and Morgan. Their bolthole from the world.
To have Matt here felt...odd. But good.
Brooke rinsed out the sink and then filled the kettle to make them both a hot drink. Just as the kettle came to the boil Matt joined her in the kitchen.
‘Finally! Thought she’d never settle.’
‘She’s in a strange place. Different bedroom, different bed—she was bound to be a little unsettled.’
He nodded. ‘Thanks again for offering to put up with us for the entire weekend.’
She smiled at him. ‘Not a problem. Kettle’s boiled. Still up for that cocoa?’
‘Cocoa it is.’
‘Thanks. I know I said it earlier, but this really is a great place you have here.’
She spooned cocoa powder into mugs. ‘Thanks. It was important to me to get it right. It’s the first space I’ve owned that’s truly mine.’
‘You’ve only lived with your father?’
‘If lived is the right word for it, then, yeah. Co-existed might be more precise.’ She added sugar and a splash of milk, then poured in the hot water.
‘What was he like? Before, I mean...’
Brooke appreciated him not actually saying before he became an alcoholic out loud. She sighed, her back to him as she stirred the drinks. ‘He was an artist. A good one.’
‘Really? Watercolours like yours?’
‘No. Acrylics, mostly.’
‘What sort of thing did he paint?’
She turned to hand him his drink. ‘I’ll show you. Come with me.’
She led him through to the lounge area and settled onto one of the couches. She picked up the tablet that she’d left charging by the side of it. She typed the name Phillip Bailey into a search engine and various artwork soon showed up in the results.
A yellow buttercup sprouting through a solitary crack of cement; a rose growing in the middle of a desert; a vibrant tree with thick green foliage living in a wasteland desolated by war.
‘He painted hope.’
‘Hope?’
‘He wanted to show that even in the darkest places life could grow. That beauty and joy could still be found in places you wouldn’t expect.’
‘They’re amazing. Does he still paint?’
‘He hasn’t touched his palette since my mother died.’
Matt was silent for a moment, staring at the pictures, enlarging one that showed a flowering water lily in an oil slick. ‘He lost his belief system?’
Brooke nodded. ‘Yes.’
‘When devastation struck him he couldn’t see the flowers right before him? He couldn’t see the light any more?’
‘There wasn’t any,’ she said.
Matt turned to face her. ‘But there was. There was you.’
Her? No. Matt was wrong. She’d never been her father’s guiding light. His North Star. Never.
Her confusion must have shown on her face, because Matt went on.
‘I’ve been where he has. We’ve both lost our wives and I know how that must have made him feel. Words can’t describe it. To lose someone suddenly. Without warning. The one person who brightened your day inexplicably taken away. And suddenly there’s this new person. This tiny newborn person who needs you the most, even as your heart is open, bleeding and raw, and you feel you can’t dig yourself out of the mire.’
‘But you did it. You didn’t turn to drink.’
‘No. But I wanted to turn to something. Anything that would take away the pain. In A&E we see all the different ways that people numb themselves. It’s the human condition. We’re not strong.’
‘But you didn’t do any of those things.’
‘No. I saw Lily. Hours old. Wrinkly and squawky and crying. And I realised that what she needed to take away her pain was me. She’d not been held by her mother, so she needed her father. I was the only one who could help her. So I picked her up and promised her that I would protect her to the end of my days.’
He swallowed.
‘I was still lost without my wife, my love. I was still bleeding with the pain of losing her. But Lily was my light. My guide through it all. I would have been nothing without her to keep me here. To keep me sane. Perhaps your father never saw that...that you could have been his rose in the desert.’
Brooke blinked back tears. ‘He told me he couldn’t look at me. That I reminded him too much of my mother.’
‘I see Jen in Lily, too.’
‘So why didn’t my father hold on to me? Why did he not care? Why did he walk away from me when it mattered? If I was his light?’
Matt shook his head. ‘I can’t answer for him. I don’t know.’
‘He was weak. You’re strong. That’s the difference.’
‘I’m not strong.’
‘Yes, you are. All that you’ve been through and yet you’re here. Lily’s father. Dedicated, hard-working. Sober. A soldier who went to war and survived. You’ve got scars, but you’ve never weakened. Being a father is what drives you and I’ve never been enough to drive anyone.’
The words were out before she could stop them, and her cheeks coloured.
‘Sorry—ignore that. I was just having a pity party. It’s over now.’ She gave a brief smile and sipped at her cocoa.
‘You’re entitled to be mad at him. He let you down. But I really don’t think there’s anything you could say to him that he hasn’t already said to himself. He’s still in hell, I’d say. The drink puts out some of the flames. For a while. But then when the pain comes back...the regret, the sorrow...’
‘He goes back to the booze. To numb himself again.’
Could it be true? That her father hated himself for what he’d done to her? That he berated himself day after day after day for letting all these years pass, letting his baby grow into a woman and still not putting things right?
‘Lily’s lucky to have you. If my father had been half the man you are...’ She glanced at him, not intending to hold his gaze, but she did.
The intensity in his eyes was shocking. It was as if he could see deep inside her soul and liked what he saw. As if he saw her. Not the public persona—not Dr Bailey, A&E consultant, a single mum—he saw her. The frightened, self-doubting version. But even seeing her vulnerable and exposed like that didn’t make him turn away.
He was staying. Interested. Intrigued.
It was too much.
Brooke stood up, still holding her mug. ‘Well, it’s...er...been a long day. I ought to...turn in.’ She vaguely waved her arm in the direction of her bedroom. ‘Goodnight, Major.’
He stood up, facing her. ‘Goodnight, Dr Bailey.’
She had to tear her gaze away. It was hard. As if he was a magnet, pulling her in, and it took every ounce of her nerve and strength to walk in the other direction.
* * *
Brooke lay in bed and stared at the ceiling.
Morgan was sleeping soundly in her cot, one little fist tucked up underneath her chin, her other arm cast over her head. She’d be good now, at least. The latest teething episode seemed to be over, which meant Brooke should be getting a full night of sleep.
But sleep remained elusive. Out of arm’s reach. Ridiculously, she felt wide awake, and completely physically aware that Matt was just in the next room to hers. Literally feet away. Separated by a wall. A line of bricks. That was it.
He was in the next room!
She’d bet that he was asleep. He’d had a stressful evening, what with the panic attack at the display. The adrenaline of that must have made him tired. He was probably snoozing away in dreamland, completely unaware of where he was. Where she was.
Through a small slit in her curtains she could see the stars in the night sky. Twinkling points of light in the darkness.
Could it be true what Matt had said about her father? She’d always been angry with him for not being there for her, at the fact that he never wanted to talk about her mother or even spend any time with his daughter. She’d thought it was because she was worthless. Why else would he ignore her?
It had never occurred to her that it was too painful for him. That he’d loved her mother so much that the pain of her loss was too much. Because human beings didn’t deal with pain very well. Self-medicating with whatever worked to take the pain away—pills, drugs, alcohol, cigarettes, food. When a child cried and wouldn’t stop what did most parents do? They offered a bis
cuit or another indulgent treat, teaching children that to make the pain go away you filled yourself with something else instead.
Was her father still trying to make himself feel better? Could that be it? Perhaps it wasn’t that she was worthless, not worth loving. It was just that he couldn’t cope and had found the thing that worked for him, no matter how bad it was. He might once have made a living painting hope, but what if she who should have been his hope, his light in the darkness of his grief, had been too bright for him to look at?
Who wouldn’t give anything to be numb when pain struck?
Yet Matt had pushed through his pain. Had been able to put his pain to one side so he could be there for his baby. He was solid. Dependable.
Attractive, gorgeous, a gentleman...
She let out a heavy breath and turned to her bedside table for her glass of water.
Damn! I didn’t bring one in, did I? I was in such a hurry to escape that look in his eyes.
She needed a drink. She felt parched. And now she was aware of it she’d focus on it so much she’d never get any sleep!
Matt was bound to be asleep, right? If she crept out there, past his room, he’d never hear her go into the kitchen for a glass of water. It wasn’t as if she was going to put the kettle on, or anything. She would be safe, right?
Perhaps I don’t need a drink of water that badly?
Only she really did. And her legs felt restless. She needed to get up and walk, and he was in another room. It wasn’t as if he was sleeping on the couch or anything.
Having persuaded herself that it would be safe to go and get her drink, Brooke threw back the covers and swung her legs out of bed. She wrapped her robe around her waist and carefully opened the door, aware that the bedroom door might make a sound at its widest point. She slipped through the gap and padded down the hallway, past his bedroom door and into the kitchen.
She breathed a sigh of relief and switched on the light. Blinking rapidly, she quietly opened the kitchen cupboard and grabbed a glass, filling it with water from the tap. Taking a long swallow of the refreshing fluid, she turned to go—and saw Matt standing in the doorway.
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