A Return, a Reunion, a Wedding

by Annie O'Neil

  A baby began to wriggle in its tight swaddling, her tiny fingers peeking out from the edge of the blanket, clasping and unclasping as if searching for her mother.

  She heard someone approach, but didn’t turn.

  ‘Gorgeous, aren’t they?’

  Sam’s voice trickled down her spine just as it always did. Warm. Comforting. Loving.

  She bumped her shoulder against him, knowing that if she spoke her voice would crack and she’d tell him right then and there just how much she loved him.

  She needed to speak to her parents first. Then she’d tell him. Tell him every day for the rest of their lives if he was up for it.

  Just then two surgeons appeared from round the corner.

  Maggie’s surgeons.

  Her heart leapt to her throat as they approached.

  They looked exhausted.

  She felt Sam’s hand take hold of hers. They both squeezed tight.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  BLOOD POUNDED SO LOUDLY in Jayne’s ears she had to lip-read the surgeon’s words.

  When she saw Sam’s smile near enough hit each of his ears, there was no doubt she’d heard properly.

  ‘They all made it.’

  Sam whooped as he picked up Jayne and swung her round, both of them laughing as happily as a pair of newlyweds.

  Looking into his sparkling green eyes, she realised just how many times she’d imagined moments like these. Being held in his arms, being swung round with nothing but joy in their hearts. At their wedding. When they had their own babies. At the start of one of the good old fashioned lust-fests that seemed to come so easily to the two of them.

  A flicker of something she couldn’t identify flashed across Sam’s eyes, as if he’d been thinking the same thing and then remembered they weren’t a couple.

  He put her down as quickly as he’d picked her up and turned his focus on the surgeons.

  He was right, of course. Maggie was who was important here. Not her bag of mixed-up feelings.

  She heard all the words. Emergency Caesarean... Catheters... Epidural... Anaesthetist... High blood pressure... Cords around babies’ necks... No oxygen deprivation... Mum was awake to hear them both cry.

  Jayne pressed her fingers to her mouth to stem a small sob. Sam punched the air as if he himself were the proud father.

  Almost everything that could have gone wrong, had. But the things that had gone right were the ones that counted.

  ‘The little ones are in the NICU,’ the surgeon said when Jayne asked if the babies were with Maggie now.

  ‘Boys? Girls?’

  Maggie hadn’t wanted to know. She had always loved a surprise.

  ‘One of each.’

  Jayne shot a look at Sam. Just as Maggie had hoped. They shared one of those smiles that helped everything slide into place. She loved this man. Loved him to within an inch of her life. Maybe more. And she wanted what he wanted. Love. Marriage. As many babies as they could handle. Holding hands when they were eighty. Fighting each other’s corners.

  And yet she could see the reserve in Sam’s eyes. A reserve that spoke volumes.

  He knew she hadn’t forgiven herself, and until she did...

  How could everything she dreamed of be so close and still so far away?

  She forced herself to tune in to the surgeon as he updated Sam. ‘The babies are a bit small, but as you know a lot of twins come early. Not all of them under this much stress, but if they’re anything like their mum, they’re fighters.’

  Jayne shot a quick look up at Sam, then asked the question on both their minds. ‘So, Maggie...? She’s definitely all right?’

  The list of things that might have caused permanent damage was long. Too long.

  ‘She will be. The water weight obviously wasn’t helping. She lost a lot of blood, and the C-section took a lot out of her, but the fact she made it this far is a credit to the pair of you.’

  Jayne refused to take the praise. ‘I think all the credit can go to Maggie on this one.’

  They sobered as their thoughts turned to the many women who’d died in the same situation. The fact that the three of them were safe and sound was little short of a miracle.

  The surgeon shrugged. ‘Have it your way, but it sounds to me as if she had a pretty good support team.’ He tipped his head towards the far end of the corridor as if the matter were settled. ‘As I said, the little ones are in the NICU for the night. We want to keep an eye on them. And Mum is obviously going to need time to recover. Any word on Dad’s arrival?’

  Sam pulled out his phone and checked his latest text. ‘Looks as though he’ll be here in a few hours. By sun-up.’

  One of the surgeons cracked a joke about speeding tickets and the RAF.

  ‘They probably had to strap him into the cargo hold to keep him from the flight deck.’

  They all laughed, picturing a wild-eyed Nate trying to commandeer a jet so he could get to his wife and hs new babies and hold them all in his arms.

  Jayne’s eyes caught and held with Sam’s. He itched to wrap his arms round her and hold her again. He saw strength in her gaze. Love. Love she wasn’t yet prepared to admit she felt. That was fine. He had time.

  He reached out and took her hand in his.

  Her breath caught and his gaze dropped to the base of her throat, where he could see her pulse pound. Oh, she could see it. all right. See the love in his eyes.

  He squeezed her hand, willing the heat streaking across her cheeks to be shared passion and to make their love the real deal. Complex. Supportive. Honest.

  They’d been down this road before. Sam offering her a lifetime of love. Jayne running for the hills.

  Her blue eyes glistened with everything he’d seen the day he’d asked her to marry him: hope. Hope and love in equal measures.

  Oblivious to this silent exchange of information, the surgeons shook hands all round, then showed them where Maggie’s room was. As expected, she was sound asleep, with one of Nate’s T-shirts clutched in her hand. His way of being there, Maggie had said. As long as she could smell him she could get through anything. And she had.

  At Jayne’s suggestion, she and Sam walked to the NICU for a peek at the babies. They weren’t allowed in, as they weren’t the parents, but one of the nurses wheeled their incubator over to the window so they could see the infants. They were holding hands.

  Sam reached out to take Jayne’s hand in his and together, hand in hand, they walked back to Maggie’s room.

  ‘Probably time we got some sleep,’ he whispered, standing at the end of Maggie’s bed.

  ‘This chair flattens out into a bed.’ Jayne pointed to a large recliner by the window. She handed him the thick blanket she’d found in the room’s cupboard. ‘Why don’t you take the first shift, seeing as you were at work all day?’

  ‘You sure?’

  ‘Absolutely.’ She did a little jog in place. ‘You know me. Always a bit restless. I’m going to call Cailey and Connor’s sitter. Let them know everything’s okay.’

  That wasn’t the full story.

  ‘Jayne. What’s going on?’

  It was a loaded question and both of them knew it.

  She sucked in a sharp breath, as if she were building up courage, and then said, ‘I need to leave. There are a few things I need to sort in my “other” life.’

  All his senses shot to high alert. ‘What does that mean? Are you going back to London now your job here is done?’

  ‘No. That’s not it. Not right away, anyway.’ She wouldn’t meet his eyes. ‘I just... I know it’s hard to put your faith in me, with all we’ve been through, but unless I do this I... Oh, Sam.’

  Pain had replaced the love he’d seen shining in her eyes.

  ‘Please just trust in me. Believe that I’m doing what’s best. For both of us.’

  She g
ave his cheek a quick kiss. Kissed Maggie’s forehead, then left the room.

  Staying awake wasn’t much of a problem for Sam, with a thousand new questions burning holes in his head.

  It was his own damn fault. He’d let himself become immersed in a ‘Whitticombe love bubble’ way too early. She had a life in London. What had he expected her to do? Drop it all and come running back to him for a life of wedded bliss? She also had unresolved issues. Shaking off seven years of pent-up guilt wasn’t something that happened overnight.

  He shook his hands open, as if the gesture would take his dark thoughts with it.

  This was life. This was love.

  The only thing he could do now was pray that Jayne found the strength to forgive herself. If that didn’t happen they really would need to draw a line in the sand.

  * * *

  As the plane came in for landing Jayne could hardly believe how beautiful it was up in the Outer Scottish Isles. Azure crystal-clear water. Sandy white beaches. If it hadn’t been so chilly and a palm tree or two had been dotted round the place she would’ve deemed it tropical.

  It was remote. Very remote. There wasn’t much further north a person could travel to ‘get away from it all’ unless the North Pole and thermals was their thing.

  A part of her hated the way she’d up and left Sam, but she’d seen the way he’d looked at her once they’d found out Maggie and the babies had made it.

  He was ready. Ready to embark on the rest of his life. She wanted to be the woman who went on that journey with him, but until she’d come clean to her parents and had their forgiveness she wouldn’t ever be able to forgive herself for the pain they’d all endured.

  It had taken her a couple of days to build up the courage. There were other steps she needed to take to try and face her future—with Jules still in her heart, but with enough room for her to pursue her own dreams. One of those was to be back in Whitticombe.

  With her heart on her sleeve, she’d gone to the London Merryweather and told them she was going to apply for a job at the paediatric unit in the hospital in Oxford. They’d been surprised, but had said they understood, and they had told her there would always be an open invitation for her in those ‘extra-tricky’ cases. Cases like Stella. Then they’d handed her a letter of thanks from Stella’s parents that had near enough broken her heart.

  She’d read it on the plane.

  In it they said the only way they had survived those five awful months with their daughter in hospital was knowing that Jayne had been the one looking after her. They knew transplants came with risks. They also knew they’d had five extra months with their daughter they wouldn’t have had if Jayne hadn’t been her doctor.

  It was a powerful letter to read on the way to see her parents. A pair of people who experienced a similar loss. Without the chance to say goodbye.

  The captain was asking the stewards to prepare for landing. She took in a deep breath.

  Ready or not, she was about to embark on the rest of her life. As Jayne. Living Jayne’s life. No more trying to live someone else’s dreams.

  After leaving the small airport and walking through the small village, she hit upon a low row of stone cottages, just as her instructions from the McTavishes had detailed. She walked to the cottage at the end with bright red window frames. Flowers tumbled out of boxes, much as they did in Whitticombe. She wondered whose personal touch it might be. Mrs McTavish’s or her mother’s.

  Only one way to find out.

  She lifted her hand and knocked.

  * * *

  ‘Do you think we should put the bunting up a day early or on the morning of the fete?’

  Sam stared blankly at the village’s mayor and shrugged. He didn’t know. The love of his life had disappeared. Again.

  Okay. This time there was a proviso, but...

  Back on Sunday.

  Who the hell sent a text like that?

  A woman who hadn’t found a way to forgive herself.

  ‘Right,’ said the mayor when Sam didn’t answer her question. ‘Why don’t we do this with a show of hands?’

  Sam distractedly raised his hand as his brain tried to connect one dot to another. No matter which way he tore the message up and put it back together again, he didn’t like what his brain was telling him.

  History repeats itself.

  ‘Sam? Are you voting to keep the cake stands over by the river?’

  Oops. They’d moved on from bunting. ‘Absolutely,’ he said, a bit too jocularly. He sounded falsely cheery, and from the look on everyone’s faces they’d heard it too.

  ‘Even though the swans stole Mrs Johnson’s crumble cake last year? We almost lost two Victoria sponges as well,’ Dolly reminded him sternly.

  Hell’s bells. How could he concentrate when one measly text was all he had to work with?

  Was Jayne coming back to cut her ties for good? Or to beg him to unearth that ring he’d never quite managed to return to the jeweller’s? Or none of the above?

  When he’d walked into the village fete meeting today, as Maggie’s proxy, questions had been lobbed at him like arrows on a battlefield. How was Maggie? The babies? Any names yet? How was Nate? Over the moon or flat-out exhausted? When were they coming back? Would they make it to the fete? Where was Jayne?

  That was the one question he couldn’t answer.

  London was his best guess.

  Realising that Jayne blamed herself for her sister’s death had been a revelation. He’d had no idea. He’d also seen the weight of guilt ease...just a bit...when she’d unburdened her heart and had seen he wasn’t going anywhere.

  He wished he’d known years ago. A burden shared and all that...

  Blaming herself for a death that wasn’t her fault... Trying to live the life her sister couldn’t... No wonder she’d found coming home so hard. Living a happy, contented life with her childhood beau in Whitticombe would have seemed like dancing on her sister’s grave.

  There was only one way out of this endless cycle of pain for Jayne. Forgiving herself. Whether or not she was capable of it... He guessed he’d find out on Sunday. Forty-eight incredibly long hours away.

  In the meantime here he was, trying his damnedest to decide whether or not the three-legged race should come before or after the egg and spoon race. Or were they still on cake theft by swan?

  ‘Sam? Do you think we could count on one of your sisters to keep tabs on the cake competition and perhaps put Jayne in charge of the three-legged race?’

  Back on Sunday.

  ‘Sam?’

  He forced himself to focus on Mrs Sedlescombe as she repeated the question.

  ‘Will Jayne be on hand for the fete?’

  He didn’t know. ‘Maybe... She said she would be.’

  She’d also once said she’d marry him.

  No. That wasn’t fair. Life had thrown one hell of a spanner at the pair of them. She’d gone to a far darker place than he’d thought. And he’d let her go. Hadn’t fought for her as intensely as he might have. Hadn’t seen the point. He’d been too young to know better. Too unequipped to deal with rejection.

  He thought he’d moved on. He’d dated. Met and married a terrific woman. He had loved Marie. He truly had. But he saw now that the love he had given her had been far from complete. How could it have been when he’d been so busy pouring himself into the two things he had meant to do with Jayne? Without hearing what his wife had been telling him.

  They needed their own dreams and goals. Not to try and live out someone else’s.

  Ha. That was rich. The same thing that had hobbled Jayne’s happiness had hobbled his own.

  As painful as it was to admit, his ex-wife had been a rebound. A rebound from the love of a lifetime.

  The only saving grace was that he knew how happy Marie was now. Their brief shambles of a marriage had led her to her
own happy ending.

  Silver linings.

  Unbidden, he heard Jayne’s voice in his head the night they’d had their date at the pub. ‘Why didn’t you come to London?’ she’d asked.

  He had thought she was talking about work. But what if that hadn’t been it at all? What if she’d been asking why he hadn’t come after her?

  He glanced at his watch. If he left now he could be in London within a couple of hours. Maybe even before she put herself back on the roster at the hospital.

  She didn’t belong there. Not by a long shot. She belonged here in Whitticombe. With him. He’d seen how happy she was here. How much she loved being with Maggie’s children. The soft look in her eye when she pressed her nose up against the glass at the maternity unit. She wanted what he wanted. She was just scared to reach for it.

  Well, who wasn’t? He sure as hell was. But this time he wasn’t going to let fear stand in the way of their happiness.

  ‘Sam?’

  The villagers were all giving him that sympathetic look again. The one that said they weren’t quite certain about what was going on, but they were pretty sure it involved Jayne.

  Right! He’d vowed once not to be the guest of honour at a village-wide pity party and it looked as if he was going to have to do it again.

  Everyone jumped as he clapped his hands together and gave them a swift rub. ‘Egg and spoon first. Three-legged race after. It’s always funnier. Cakes away from the river. Decision made. So.’ He scanned the group. ‘What’s left?’

  Oli Dickinson, the local butcher, pulled a rather grubby-looking piece of paper out of his pocket and slowly began to read. ‘We’ve got yer Whack a Mole, of course...’

  ‘That’s always a winner,’ chorused the committee members. None of whom could clearly imagine a village fete without one.

  ‘Ethel’s bringing over the skittles from the pub. I’m bringing the Hook a Duck.’

  ‘Good.’ Sam was barely registering anything the poor man was saying. Time was a tickin’. ‘Anything else?’