Come on, girl, toughen up.
She got there in the end and pulled the long top on, then stood up, but as she bent over to push the trousers down she felt her head start to swim again.
She let out a little wail of frustration as she sagged back onto the bed, and the door swung open and Nick walked in.
‘Feel free to knock,’ she grumbled, but he ignored it and crouched down in front of her, his hands resting lightly on her knees as he looked up at her.
‘What happened?’ he asked gently. ‘Another headrush?’
‘Mmm. My head started swimming again when I bent over to take the scrubs off.’
‘I’m not surprised, you’ve got concussion,’ he said, easing them off over her feet as his eyes scanned the bruises that were coming out on her legs. His voice was calm, but she was sure he didn’t feel calm. She could see the pulse beating in his throat as he looked at the bruises, and she knew he was holding his feelings in. Maybe it was just as well. She was on the brink of losing it as it was, and if he’d been nice to her, shown the slightest sign of caring, she would have crumpled like a wet tissue. Might anyway…
He stood up. ‘Let me check your obs again,’ he said, all business now suddenly, as if that was the easiest way to cope. He probably wasn’t wrong.
He took the pen light he’d raided off Sam out of his pocket and turned it on, crouching down in front of her again. ‘OK, look at me,’ he said, and flashed it in her eyes in turn while she stared straight back into his. He had such beautiful eyes, and there’d been a time not so very long ago when they’d looked at her lovingly. Now, it was all business.
‘OK, follow the pen.’
She followed it dutifully, overwhelmingly conscious of his left hand on the edge of the bed close to her right hip, steadying himself as he balanced on the balls of his feet. He was so close to her that she could feel the warmth coming off his body, smell the faint and yet unmistakable scent that was uniquely him.
She’d missed that, missed snuggling up to him, missed his arms around her, his heart beating under her ear—
‘OK, your eyes are fine. Squeeze my hands?’
His grip was sure but gentle, and after she’d squeezed and relaxed he let her fingers lie in his. Only for a moment, but longer than was strictly necessary, then he let them go and stood up briskly, and she felt cool air sweep in where his warmth had been.
‘You’ll do,’ he said, his voice suddenly gruff.
‘I could have told you that. I need the loo now.’
‘Can you manage on your own or do you need my help?’
‘No, I can manage,’ she said, mustering her feeble reserves. Gosh, she was so tired. She stood up, tugging the long tee down, and headed through the door, closing it behind her and waiting for his voice.
‘Don’t lock it.’
Right on cue. ‘I won’t,’ she promised wearily. Not so long ago they’d never bothered to shut the bathroom door, but those days were long gone, and for what? Just a lonely, aching wilderness of wasted emotion.
Her eyes prickled and she screwed her eyes up and swallowed hard. She was not going to cry. Not, not, not.
And then her head swam again, and the sob she’d tried to suppress wasn’t having any of it, and it broke free in an anguished wail.
* * *
He opened the door and found her still sitting there, her hand clamped over her mouth. Holding down the sobs? Pointless, because they were escaping anyway and tearing him apart.
The darkening blue tinge of her bruises was starting to show more clearly against the pale skin of her leg. When they really came out it would be black from top to bottom. He dragged his eyes away and swallowed hard. How she hadn’t broken anything…
‘What’s up, sweetheart?’ he asked gently, the endearment slipping out past his guard as he went over to her.
‘I feel dizzy and I daren’t get up and I feel so stupid—’
Her voice cracked, and his hands cradled her head tenderly against him while he told her she wasn’t stupid, just hurt, letting her lean on him in a rare moment of weakness while he struggled to keep his own emotions in check. She didn’t give him long, though. A few precious seconds at most, and then she pulled herself together, straightening up and using his hands to lever herself to her feet, her independence fighting fit again.
‘Thank you,’ she said, aiming for the basin, but he headed her off.
‘No. Bed,’ he told her firmly, wheeling her out of the room towards it. Independence be damned. ‘I’ll wash your hands, and then I’m going to find us something proper to eat because I think you’re probably feeling lightheaded because of low blood sugar as much as anything else. What do you fancy?’
She sat down on the bed and shrugged. ‘I don’t think there is much. I’d be fine with more toast.’
‘That isn’t enough, not for either of us, and I haven’t eaten all day apart from that muffin which really doesn’t count. Don’t worry, I’ll find something in the freezer. You just settle back and get comfortable and leave it all to me.’
He went back into the bathroom and noticed a tiny crumpled heap of something on the floor beside the pan. The hideous disposable paper pants the hospital had given her, he realised, and stooped slowly and picked them up. She used to wear gorgeous undies—delicate lace that offered tantalising glimpses of her body.
He dropped them in the bin, turned on the tap, ran it until the water was hot and squeezed out her facecloth in the water, adding a touch of soap.
‘Here,’ he said, picking up her hands one at a time and washing them meticulously. The right one was fine, the left a little grazed and bruised on the outside edge where she must have landed on it, and he worked carefully round the sore place, then rinsed the cloth and wiped them again before patting them dry. Such a simple thing to do, and yet strangely symbolic. If only he could wash away their sadness and make them whole again…
‘Thank you,’ she whispered, and he looked up and saw the sparkle of tears in her eyes and felt his own fill. ‘Thank you for looking after me. I know I’ve been horribly ungracious, but I really couldn’t have managed without you, and I’m sorry.’
‘Oh, Liv—’ His voice cracked, and he squeezed her hands in his. ‘You don’t have to apologise to me for anything.’
‘Yes, I do, for so many things—’
‘No. Not now. Now, you need to rest, and you need some food, and then you need to sleep,’ he said gently, his voice sounding like sandpaper.
He took the towel back into the bathroom and caught sight of his face in the mirror. He looked haggard, his eyes a little wild, his mouth a grim line. No wonder. She could have died under those wheels, so easily. Another foot—
He hung up the towel, rinsed the facecloth and wrung it out so hard he nearly tore it in two.
* * *
Nick went downstairs to make some food, and she rested her head back and closed her eyes. She was exhausted, but even on the normally very comfortable bed she couldn’t get truly comfortable. She must have dozed off, though, because she woke with a little groan to find he was there again, straddling the small bedroom chair he’d turned around, arms folded across the back, watching her with those intent, searching eyes.
‘Hi,’ he said, his voice sounding a little rough and unused for some reason.
‘Hi. I didn’t hear you come back up. Have I been asleep for long?’
‘Ten minutes, perhaps?’
‘Oh. Right. Not long, then. Did you find any food?’
His mouth kicked up in a wry smile and he shook his head. ‘Not really. I had a look in the freezer, but it’s not exactly over-stocked. How about a takeaway?’
Her stomach rumbled, and she realised she was ravenous. No wonder she was dizzy. ‘That would be lovely.’
‘Is the Chinese restaurant on the front still
open?’
‘Yes. And they deliver free.’
‘Special chow mein?’ he asked.
Gosh. Had she really been so predictable? It felt odd, especially considering she hadn’t had one for at least a year, or maybe two. Not since long before he’d left. She dredged up a smile. ‘Please.’
‘Banana fritters?’
‘That’s disgusting,’ she said, trying not to be tempted.
‘But you love them.’
‘Loved,’ she corrected. ‘I’m eating much more healthily now.’
‘Still having chow mein.’
‘Says the man whose entire diet today has been a slice of toast, a chocolate muffin and black coffee—and this whole takeaway thing was your idea, remember, not mine.’
His mouth twitched, but he let it go and pulled out his phone, looking for the number.
‘Seven six four, three two nine,’ she said, and he laughed as he keyed it in, the sound wrapping round her and cloaking her in grief for all they’d lost.
‘You always did have the memory of an elephant for irrelevant detail,’ he teased, and she felt her smile falter.
‘It’s not just the irrelevant things I can remember,’ she told him sadly, and he swallowed hard and looked away.
‘Frankly, today, I’m happy that you can remember anything—yeah, hi, can I order a special chow mein and chicken chop suey with boiled rice, please?’
That made her blink. Normally he’d have had king prawn balls in batter with special fried rice, and drenched the lot in lurid orange sweet and sour sauce, but maybe she wasn’t the only one to address her diet. She ran her eyes over him, reassessing the changes she’d noticed earlier. He’d lost a little weight, but it was more than that—the difference between healthy and letting yourself go. He looked fit and toned again, as if he’d taken up running or rejoined a gym. Gone was the man she’d been married to when it had all fallen apart.
Taking care of himself at last? He must be, and about time. He hung up and turned back to her.
‘It’ll be here in ten minutes.’
‘Great. Thanks. Can you help me sort out the pillows? I can’t sit up straight enough to eat and my neck’s just not comfortable like this.’
‘Sure.’
He sat her up, rearranged the pillows and settled her back against them as if she was made of fragile china.
‘Better?’ he asked, and she nodded.
‘Yes, much. Thank you.’ She rested her head back and frowned. ‘I feel so guilty. Ben and Daisy were expecting you and she will have cooked, you know what she’s like.’
‘I know, but it can’t be helped and Ben knows I’m staying here and why, and it’s just until you’re all right.’
‘I am all right, Nick. I’m fine—’
His quiet snort of disbelief cut her off. ‘Really? So fine you can’t get off the loo without help? So fine you can’t even move in your sleep without waking up because of the pain?’
He came over to her, perched carefully on the edge of the bed and wrapped her hand in both of his, a frown furrowing his brow.
‘Liv, look at yourself,’ he said softly, his voice oddly raw. ‘You’re going to be black and blue, your head’s banging like a drum—how bad do you have to be before you’ll let go of this ridiculous pretence that you’re fine and just accept my help? For God’s sake, you could have died—’
His voice cracked, his fingers tightening on hers, and in the moments before he looked away, she saw the fear that he must have felt for her, the guilt that because he’d followed her when she was trying to get away, she’d stepped out in front of the car. And he’d only wanted to talk to her. How much would it have hurt her to stop and listen, give him a chance? Not this much.
‘Nick, I didn’t look where I was going. It’s my fault, not yours.’
He let go of her hand and stood up, pacing to the window.
‘Of course it’s my fault. It’s all my fault. It’s my fault our marriage went wrong, it’s my fault you threw me out, my fault you got hit—’
‘That’s rubbish. And it’s not your fault our marriage went wrong; I shut you out, I wouldn’t let you help me, and if I’d gone to the conference with you instead of sending you on your own, none of this would have happened and I wouldn’t have kicked you out. You can’t take the blame for everything, Nick. I was horrible to you.’
He sat back down on the bed, taking her hand again, his warmth curiously comforting.
‘No, you weren’t. You were just unhappy, and so was I, and we took it out on each other instead of getting help, and it just got into a downward spiral and I don’t think we knew how to stop it. And it happens so often with couples who have difficulty conceiving, but one thing my job’s taught me is that struggling on alone isn’t the answer and we were barely even communicating by the end. We got so lost that we couldn’t find a way out and we just stopped talking to each other.’
‘Why us?’ she asked forlornly, but he just shrugged.
‘Why anyone? It’s the luck of the draw, Liv, and we got unlucky, but it was our own fault we let it destroy us and we both should have known better and tried harder instead of building walls around ourselves.’
The doorbell rang, and he let go of her hand and went downstairs, and she dropped her head back against the pillows.
Was that what they’d done? Built walls? Probably. They’d had an amazing marriage, filled with love and laughter and tenderness, and then bit by bit it had all slowly disappeared, eaten away by the bitter disappointment of their repeated failure to make a baby. And with every bit that went, they’d added another brick to their walls.
Nick was right. It was nobody’s fault, and they’d been helpless to help themselves, and by the end they weren’t even trying to, they’d just let it all wither away to dust.
A tear trickled out of the corner of her eye, and she swiped it hastily away as he came back into the room with two bowls and a couple of forks.
He plonked himself down on the bed next to her, propped himself up against the headboard and handed her the chow mein. ‘There you go, wrap yourself around that.’
It smelt amazing, and there’d be plenty of time to talk later. ‘Gosh, I’m ready for this,’ she said, finding a smile from somewhere, and dug her fork in.
* * *
‘Where are you going to sleep?’
He glanced at her, looked around the room and shrugged. ‘On the floor, I guess.’
‘Nick, there are two other bedrooms—’
‘Three.’
She looked away. ‘Two. I turned the little room into a study.’
The room that had been destined to be a nursery. The room that had haunted her until she’d had the guts to address it and claim it as her own, instead of waiting for something that would never happen.
He frowned slightly. ‘There’s a study downstairs.’
‘But that’s yours,’ she said simply, ‘and I wanted my own space.’ One where she wasn’t constantly bombarded by reminders of him. ‘I’m doing a course on natural childbirth and pain relief in labour. I’m studying hypnosis at the moment. And it wasn’t as if it was needed for anything else.’
He closed his eyes briefly, and when he opened them she could see the anguish in them.
‘I’m sorry, Liv,’ he said heavily. ‘I’m so sorry it didn’t work for us, that we never needed that room. I’m sorry I couldn’t give you a baby. And I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you, sorry I shut you out, sorry I let you shut me out. It wasn’t meant to be like that. Not at all. It was all going to be perfect—’
‘Oh, Nick, don’t—’ She felt her eyes fill and looked away, blinking hard. They’d been so happy, had so many hopes and dreams, and it had all come to nothing and in such a horrible way.
‘So anyway,’ she went on, putting that
firmly out of her mind, ‘you have two other rooms to choose from tonight, both of them better than sleeping on the floor.’
‘Not for keeping an eye on you, which is after all why I’m here.’
‘It’s not as if you’ll be far away, and anyway, I’m—’
‘If you tell me once more that you’re fine, I might just strangle you. And I’m not leaving you alone, Liv. Not for anything. I told Sam I’d look after you because otherwise he wouldn’t have let you come home, so humour me, for God’s sake.’
She gave a choked little laugh. Anyone less physically violent than Nick she’d never met, and he was obviously worried sick about her and she knew he’d only lie awake all night.
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, if you’re going to insist on being in here, why don’t you just sleep in the bed?’ she said softly.
After a pause so long she thought he hadn’t heard, he turned his head and met her eyes.
‘You’d let me do that?’
She frowned. ‘Why not? It’s not like I can’t trust you. You wouldn’t be here if I didn’t trust you. I would have stayed in hospital.’
‘That’s not what I meant. I just thought you wouldn’t want me that close. It’s not much more than an hour since you insisted you needed nightclothes on, and that’s when you thought I’d be in another room.’
‘That’s nothing to do with this.’
‘Isn’t it?’
‘No. It’s because I didn’t want to—’ She didn’t know how to describe it. Flaunt herself? In front of Nick? Ridiculous. He knew every inch of her. Expose herself to humiliation, then, perhaps, because he’d certainly lost interest in her body by the end…
He let out a weary sigh. ‘Liv, it’s OK. I’m sorry, I don’t want to argue. Of course you want to wear a nightdress, you’re entitled to your privacy. And it doesn’t matter where I sleep. I’ll sleep anywhere.’
‘So sleep here,’ she said, patting the mattress beside her. ‘Near to me. Just in case—you know…’
He frowned. ‘Is your headache worse?’
Midwife's Longed-for Baby & the Prince's Cinderella Bride & Bride for the Single Dad (9781488022142) Page 6