by Jill Mansell
By 9.30, the kitchen floor was covered with dust sheets and she was ready to start giving the walls a fresh coat of paint. It wouldn’t take long, but it would save her grandfather a job when he returned from Florida.
At ten o’clock, the stomach cramps she’d been doing her best to ignore abruptly grew worse, to the extent that Kate found herself realising she was going to have to postpone the viewing appointment in St Carys.
Oh God, she really didn’t want to, but the discomfort was worsening. It was one thing feeling unwell in the privacy of your own home, but she couldn’t bear for it to happen in someone else’s. And if she’d picked up some kind of stomach bug, she wasn’t going to risk being taken ill while she was out with – of all people – Ronan Byrne.
How typical, though, that she had to be feeling like this today of all days, just when he’d found a property that could be perfect … ow … ouch.
Disappointed, Kate climbed down from the stepladder and picked up her phone. She sent an apologetic text to Ronan explaining that she wasn’t feeling well enough to view Terry’s cottage but suggesting that maybe they could go and see it after work tomorrow instead.
Her phone rang less than a minute later.
‘What’s wrong?’ said Ronan, and just hearing the concern in his voice made her catch her breath.
‘I’m OK. It’s just … stomach cramps.’ As she said it, the griping sensation in her abdomen returned and Kate tightened her grip on the edge of the worktop.
‘You sound as if you’re in pain. You’re breathing heavily.’
‘I’m fine. Really.’
‘Has it happened before?’ He hesitated, clearly concerned. ‘I mean, is it a regular thing?’
Kate winced. Her periods had always been light and painless. And yes, she and Ronan had once slept together, but it was still embarrassing that he was asking her the question. As the pain intensified, she let out a gasp. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘Do you think it might be appendicitis?’
‘I don’t know!’
‘Well should you call a doctor?’
‘Seriously, there’s no need.’ She wasn’t the calling-a-doctor type. ‘I’ll be fine. I’m just going to … uhh … take things easy and wait for it to pass.’
He still sounded worried. ‘OK, but you take care of yourself. Call me if you need anything at all. Are you in bed now?’
Kate blushed and gripped the side of the stepladder. ‘I’m just resting on the sofa.’
But by the time she’d hung up, the pain had receded, so she carried on painting, cutting in around the white kitchen units then applying an even coat of deep red to the walls between them. She still felt a bit odd, but the best way to take your mind off something like this was to keep busy.
Until the next wave of pain seized her, just as she was stretching to reach the wall above the fridge freezer.
Letting out a shriek of surprise, Kate made a grab for the top of the stepladder and felt the back of her wrist knock the tin of paint. Wobbling wildly, she lost her balance and knew the worst was about to happen. The next moment the three of them were falling through the air in what felt like cartoonish slow motion: herself, the pot of paint and the stepladder.
Something about the tone of Kate’s voice had bothered Ronan after he’d hung up the phone. Was it a gut feeling, or the memory of how she’d been so dismissive of her injuries the other week when she’d single-handedly tackled that burglar? He knew she wasn’t the kind to make a fuss.
He was also aware that Kate would most likely think he was mad, but that was just too bad; she was clearly in pain and far too British to get herself checked out, so he’d decided to drive over anyway.
If he was honest, he’d been looking forward to seeing her this morning – so much so that he now found he couldn’t bear not to. He’d even washed and ironed his favourite white cotton shirt, the one that was an absolute pig to get the creases out of.
When he reached the house, he rang the doorbell, hoping Kate hadn’t fallen asleep on the sofa and he was now waking her up.
No one came to the door, but he heard a faint noise from inside the house. He pressed the doorbell again and heard a weak cry of ‘Who is it?’
Bending down, he pushed open the letter box and called out, ‘It’s me, Ronan. Are you OK?’
And now, with the letter box open, he was able to hear Kate more clearly. ‘No, I’m not OK. Can you come round to the back of the house?’
The hairs stood up on the back of his neck; this was no-fuss Kate actually asking for help. He shouted, ‘On my way,’ and raced round to the side of the building. The high wooden gate was locked, but he climbed the wall and vaulted over the gate. Moments later, he arrived at the back of the property and saw that the kitchen window was open. When he reached the window, his breath caught in his throat at the sight of the bloodbath that greeted him.
‘Oh thank goodness you’re here.’ Kate was lying on her side on the floor, clutching her stomach and clearly in agony. ‘I don’t know what’s h-happ-happening, but something’s wrong.’
Ronan clambered in through the window, jumped down from the worktop and knelt beside her, pushing the horizontal stepladder and the upturned paint pot out of the way.
‘Is any of this blood or is it all paint?’
‘Just paint. I haven’t been stabbed.’ The floor was splashed and smeared with vampire-red emulsion, as was Kate. Ronan saw the beads of perspiration on her chalk-white forehead and took out his phone.
Once he’d called 999, explained the situation and been reassured by the operator that an ambulance was on its way, his heart rate slowed down slightly. He held Kate’s hand and brushed her damp hair away from her face. ‘I can’t believe you were painting this kitchen.’
‘Thought it would distract me.’ Kate exhaled with relief as the latest pain began to recede. ‘I can’t believe you drove over here.’
‘I’m just glad I did.’ The thought of her lying here on her own was unbearable.
She managed a faint smile. ‘Me too. Sorry about your clothes.’
Ronan glanced down at his best white shirt, now ruined. ‘This old thing? Don’t worry, I was going to throw it out anyway.’
And Kate, evidently relieved, nodded and murmured, ‘Oh, that’s good.’
Just a couple of minutes later, the call handler on the other end of the phone said, ‘The ambulance is pulling up outside your address now. Is the front door open so they can get in?’
‘Owwww …’ Kate screwed up her eyes as a fresh onslaught of pain made itself felt.
Please don’t die, please don’t die. Ronan jumped to his feet, almost slipping in a puddle of paint. ‘I’ll go and open the door now.’
Chapter 38
‘I’m what?’ Lying on the narrow stretcher in the back of the ambulance as it headed off to the hospital, Kate blinked up at the wiry female paramedic. ‘I can’t be. No, that’s not right.’
The paramedic said, ‘Remember at the house, when I asked you if you were pregnant and you said no? I didn’t tell you back then, because your friend clearly didn’t know.’
‘He wasn’t the only one.’ Kate realised her teeth were chattering; she appeared to be in shock. ‘OK, one of us is hallucinating here, and I really hope it’s you. Because I’m definitely not pregnant.’
‘Sweetheart, you are. More than that, you’re in labour. This baby is coming out.’
‘A baby? Oh my God, how can I be having a baby? Look at me!’ With rising panic, Kate pointed to her stomach. ‘Where is it? Where’s the bump?’
‘OK, sshh, calm down now. My sister was the same.’ The paramedic gave Kate’s stomach a gentle pat. ‘Flat as a pancake, she was. It happens to some women. But you’ve got a tiny bump there, see? You must have noticed it.’
Still wondering if she was trapped in a dream, Kate took another look at the slightly swollen abdomen that had recently been the cause of her having to buy her first ever pair of size 14 jeans. She’d put it down to extra sna
cks. As bumps went, it wasn’t remotely baby-shaped.
‘I just thought I was eating more biscuits than usual.’ It hadn’t occurred to her to wonder why she’d developed such an appetite for custard creams and chocolate digestives.
The paramedic’s voice softened. ‘You really didn’t know?’
‘Are you serious? I still can’t believe it’s true.’ Kate shook her head. ‘I’ve carried on having periods.’
‘Light or heavy?’
‘Well, light. Lighter than usual, I suppose …’
‘That can happen too.’
‘I just put it down to the shock of losing my mum. Oh help, a baby …’
‘On the bright side,’ said the paramedic, ‘you’re being rushed to hospital with terrible stomach pains … but at least you’re not ill!’
The next tidal wave of pain duly came along. It overtook Kate and she battled through it. When it was over, she wailed, ‘Oh God, what’s Ronan going to say?’
‘Your friend back at the house?’ They’d left Ronan to clear up the worst of the mess in the kitchen. ‘Is he your boyfriend?’
‘No.’ Weakly Kate shook her head, unable to even begin to imagine how he might react. ‘But he’s the father.’
‘Well, maybe it won’t be so bad once he’s over the shock.’ The paramedic’s tone was encouraging. ‘He definitely cares about you; even I could see that.’
‘He has a girlfriend.’ A tear slid down Kate’s cheek. ‘She’s lovely and they’re perfect together. This is the last thing he needs.’ She wiped her face and said with a crack in her voice, ‘It’s going to ruin everything.’
The bloodbath was now a light pink bath. Ronan had bundled the dust sheets into a black bin liner – thankfully they’d absorbed most of the spilt paint – and scrubbed clean as much of the kitchen as he could manage before the emulsion dried. His white shirt was a lost cause and he threw that away too. Luckily there was a line of washing pegged out in the back garden, so he was able to borrow a plain grey T-shirt that presumably belonged to Kate’s grandfather. He could get the kitchen floor cleaner still if he spent another hour scrubbing and rinsing the tiles, but getting to the hospital was his priority now. He was worried sick about Kate and needed to know how she was doing. A couple of years back, he’d briefly gone out with a girl who’d owned horses, and had witnessed the terrible panic when one of them had been taken ill with peritonitis. The horse, writhing in agony on the floor of the stable, had almost died. The thought that this could be what Kate was suffering from was making him feel sick with fear.
Pulling on the grey T-shirt, closing the kitchen windows and grabbing his car keys, Ronan pulled the front door shut behind him. In twenty minutes he’d be at the hospital.
Oh God, please let Kate be all right.
The guilt had got to Sam. It was only Sunday, Annabelle’s birthday was on Wednesday and he’d already gone way over the top.
Knowing that she’d always wanted to go to Venice, he’d booked a short trip there for the two of them, partly because the distraction of being there and doing touristy things would be easier than spending time with her here.
He’d also bought far too many presents, chiefly because he couldn’t bear the thought of not buying enough and seeing her look disappointed. Plus he couldn’t stand the thought of Belle, in the future, saying to anyone who’d listen: ‘What a tight bastard; I should have guessed. He gave me rubbish birthday presents, then he dumped me.’
Which was why he now found himself with too many items still needing to be wrapped, and not enough paper with which to do it. But he wanted to get the job done while Belle was out of the way, visiting a friend in Penzance. Which meant he needed to take a trip into the centre of St Carys.
The journey didn’t take long, and miraculously there were still a few spaces in the main car park. Sam headed straight for the upmarket shop where he’d bought the first lot of wrapping paper; having paid so much for it, he’d assumed there’d be enough but had been proved wrong. And since he couldn’t use less expensive paper for the remaining presents, he’d better buy two more rolls.
‘Oh my God, will you look at these! Have you ever seen anything more beautiful in your life?’
Behind him in the shop, two girls were exclaiming over something. Having paid for the wrapping paper, Sam turned to see the shoes that had caught their attention.
‘Gorgeous,’ the second girl agreed. ‘But look at the price.’ She screwed up her nose. ‘Who’d pay that much for a pair of shoes?’
Whereupon Sam, feeling guilty for having slightly resented paying so much for two rolls of embossed wrapping paper, immediately thought: Me. I would.
Because the shoes were crystal-encrusted, spectacular and stylish, and he was pretty sure Belle would love them.
When the two girls had left the shop, he went over to look at them.
‘Aren’t they fantastic?’ said the saleswoman. ‘We’ve only just started selling these shoes. You can’t get anything else like them in Cornwall. Angeline Jolie wears that designer, you know. They’re very in demand.’
The name of the designer meant nothing to Sam, but Belle was a big fan of Angelina Jolie.
‘Are they for your wife?’
‘Girlfriend,’ said Sam. ‘Except I can’t remember what size she is.’
‘Well that’s absolutely no problem at all.’ The saleswoman spoke with the reassuring tones of someone determined that nothing was going to come between her and the sale of a pair of incredibly expensive designer shoes. ‘If these don’t fit, she can just bring them back and exchange them for another size.’
But was there anything more disappointing than being given something to wear that didn’t fit? As he hesitated, a memory flashed into his mind of Belle once mentioning – not without satisfaction – that Clemency had bigger feet than her, which had been great when they’d been younger because it had meant Clem couldn’t borrow her shoes.
Sam took out his phone and called Clem’s number. ‘Hi, what shoe size is Annabelle?’
‘Four. Why?’
He smiled and felt himself relax, because it was just so good to hear her voice. ‘Well, I’m thinking of buying her a pair of gloves.’
‘OK, I asked for that.’ Clem laughed. ‘But Belle’s pretty fussy when it comes to shoes.’
‘I think she’ll like these.’
‘Are they expensive?’
‘Oh yes.’
‘They have to be perfect, though. Where are you?’
‘In the blue shop on the corner of Cliff Road. The one that sells nice things.’ This was the tactful description, anyway.
‘Ella’s Emporium,’ the saleswoman said helpfully. ‘You’re Sam Adams, aren’t you? Hello, I’m Ella!’
‘OK,’ said Clem on the phone, ‘I heard that. Don’t let her sell you anything before I get there; the woman’s a cold-eyed shark and she won’t do refunds, only credit notes. Look, are you in a hurry? Because I can be with you in fifteen minutes.’
Sam said, ‘That’d be great. I’ll go to Paddy’s and get a coffee while I’m waiting.’
He ended the call and turned to Ella. ‘Clem’s coming down to advise me.’
‘Lovely.’ The woman’s fixed smile indicated that this was a less than ideal scenario. ‘I can’t wait for her to see them. Although you mustn’t let her tell you they’re too expensive,’ she added with a little laugh. ‘I know Clemency, and designer items have never been a priority with her. She’s not a bit like Belle!’
This was confirmed twenty minutes later when Clemency arrived at the café, her hair still wet from the shower and her tanned face make-up free. She was wearing a white shirt, frayed and faded black and white stripy jeans, and lime-green flip-flops.
Sam’s heart flipped too, at the sight of her.
‘Have you changed your mind about finishing with Belle?’ she said.
He shook his head. ‘No.’
‘So you’re spending all this money to ease your conscience.’
�
�Yes.’ She was wearing the clean, lemony scent he always associated with her.
‘OK, you don’t want to buy those shoes.’
‘I need to,’ said Sam. Didn’t she understand?
‘No, I mean I’ve been to see them. I called into the shop on my way here. The ones with the crystals on, right?’ He nodded. ‘Belle wouldn’t wear those. She likes the toes to be pointier than that. And the heels aren’t narrow enough. They’re beautiful shoes, but not for Belle.’
‘Oh,’ Sam said wryly. ‘Just as well I asked.’
‘Sorry. But the good news is, I’ve seen another pair she’ll like far more.’
‘In the same place?’
‘Better still. Different shop.’
She led the way to Mallory’s, at the far end of the Esplanade, and showed him a pair of dove-grey suede stilettos lined with pale lilac leather. The toes were pointed, the heels were narrow, and as soon as he saw them, Sam knew these were the ones Belle would much prefer.
‘You’re right,’ he said, relieved.
Clemency’s eyes danced. ‘I’m always right.’
The urge to kiss her had never been stronger. For a split second he wondered what would happen if he were to take her in his arms right here in the shop …
OK, better not.
The manageress of Mallory’s presented him with the glossy midnight-blue bag containing the shoebox. ‘Are these for Belle? She’s going to love them.’
Seriously, did everyone know everyone in St Carys?
‘Thanks,’ said Sam.
Just as well he hadn’t kissed Clem.
Outside the shop once more, not wanting her to leave, he took out his keys. ‘Can I give you a lift home?’
‘Oh don’t worry, I can walk. Now that I’m here, I’ll pick up a couple of things in the chemist’s.’
Sam shrugged. ‘I’m in no hurry. Belle’s visiting a friend in Penzance, so she’s out for the day. I’m happy to wait.’ If Clemency happened to be free too, would it be very wrong to invite her to join him at one of the beachfront restaurants for lunch?
‘Well if you’re sure. It won’t take long.’
‘And don’t worry, I’ll wait outside.’