St. Piran's: The Wedding of The Year

by Caroline Anderson

  ‘I won’t let you down. I promise you, Kate, I won’t walk away from this.’

  She stared at him, at the serious expression on his face, the conviction in his eyes, in his voice. Dare she trust him? ‘You always walk away,’ she said at last.

  ‘I didn’t the night James died.’

  She gave a soft huff of laughter and shook her head. ‘No, you didn’t, did you? Maybe it would have been better if you had.’ But then she wouldn’t have had Jem, and her life would have been empty and pointless. And she needed him now.

  ‘I know I’ve let you down,’ he said softly. ‘I know I’ve let Jem down. But I’m here now, and I’ll stay here for as long as you need me, and I’ll do whatever I can to help you. Just give me a chance.’

  She shrugged and looked away. ‘I can’t stop you. But I can’t lean on you, either. I have to do this on my own.’

  ‘No, you don’t,’ he said, trying to inject something into his voice that she could believe in. ‘And I’ll prove that to you.’ Even if it took years. A lifetime.

  Her shoulders were drooping, and his heart went out to her. Poor Kate. She was exhausted, he thought, exhausted and shocked and traumatised, and it was late. ‘You ought to eat,’ he coaxed gently. ‘Keep your strength up.’

  She shook her head. ‘I can’t eat. Not when he’s like this. Maybe later. I could murder a drink, though. I wonder when they’ll move him to PICU?’

  ‘An hour or so? Shall I go and get you something? Tea, coffee?’

  ‘Tea would be lovely. Do you mind? I really don’t want to leave him.’

  ‘On one condition—you sit down beside him and rest, and you eat something if I bring it back.’

  ‘You’re a bully, do you know that?’ she said, but she was smiling, an exhausted, rather watery smile that in a heartbeat could have morphed into tears, and she sat obediently in the chair he put there for her.

  ‘I’m looking after you is what I am,’ he said, and headed for the door. ‘Any special requests?’

  ‘Tea. And a sandwich, if I must, but no cheese. I’m going to have nightmares as it is.’

  ‘OK. Back in five.’

  He went through the door and down the stairs, pausing halfway because he felt suddenly light-headed. Damn. That was giving two units of blood, not drinking anything like enough to replace the lost fluid or taking in any food—apart from Jack’s biscuits, he’d had half a cup of tea, a cup of water and whatever he’d had in A and E in the relatives’ room, and that was all since his miserable half-sandwich and instant coffee at lunchtime. And it was—good grief—a quarter past midnight.

  And the café, when he got there, was shut, with a sign directing him to the main canteen some distance away.

  There was a vending machine, and he pulled some coins out of his pocket with fingers that were starting to shake violently, and put them into the machine, pressed the button for a bottle of sports drink to boost his fluids and blood sugar, and twisted the cap to loosen it. And it sprayed him.

  He swore, twisting it shut again, and suddenly it was all too much. He dropped his head forwards against the vending machine and resisted the urge to slam it into the gaudy metal case. Head-banging wouldn’t cure anything.

  ‘Is it broken again?’

  The voice was soft and feminine, and he lifted his head and stared vaguely at the woman.

  ‘Um—no. Sorry. Did you want the machine?’

  ‘No, it’s OK.’ She tilted her head on one side, looking at him keenly. ‘Are you all right?’

  He opened his mouth to say yes, and then stopped. The woman was slender and delicate, but curvy in all the right places. She was probably younger than Lucy, her dark hair twisted up into a clip, and there was compassion and understanding in her emerald-green eyes.

  ‘A friend’s little boy’s just been admitted,’ he said, gagging on the half-truth. ‘They had a car accident. His pelvis is fractured. I was getting us something to eat, but...’

  She frowned. ‘I’m so sorry. Has he been to Theatre?’

  ‘Yes—yes, he’s had an op to plate it, and he’s OK, he’s in Recovery at the moment and then he’s going to PICU, but he shares my blood group, and it’s B-negative, and stocks were very low, so they took two units from me, and...’

  ‘And you haven’t eaten or drunk anything because you’ve been too stressed, and the café’s shut, and now the bottle’s got its own back on you.’

  He smiled. ‘Something like that.’ He held out his hand, then looked at it ruefully and smiled again as he withdrew it. ‘Sorry—it’s a bit sticky. I’m Nick Tremayne.’

  She flashed him an answering smile. ‘Jack’s father—of course. You look just like him. I’m Megan Phillips. I’m a paediatrician, so I’ll be looking after your friend’s son. What’s his name?’

  ‘Jeremiah Althorp. Jem.’

  ‘I’ll keep an eye out for him.’

  ‘Thanks.’ He tried to unscrew the drink again, but his fingers were shaking so much now he fumbled the lid and it fell to the floor. She picked it up and handed it back to him.

  ‘Come on, you need to sit down. Let me go and get you something to eat.’

  ‘No, I couldn’t.’

  ‘Well, I’d rather you did, otherwise I’ll have to pick you off the floor on the way to the canteen. I’m going to buy myself some sandwiches. Why don’t I get you some? I can bring them up to you, I’m going that way.’

  ‘I couldn’t ask you to do that.’

  ‘You didn’t ask, I offered.’ Her smile was gentle. ‘Chicken salad? Ham and cheese? Tuna? There isn’t a fabulous choice, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Anything. One without cheese for Kate, and I don’t care what I have, whatever’s going. And two teas, if you’ve got enough hands. You’re a star. Here, take some money.’ He pulled a twenty-pound note out of his wallet and handed it to her.

  She took the note out of his hands and smiled. ‘I’ll come up in a minute. Drink some of that before you go back up there, and I’ll come and find you.’

  He took her advice, downing half the cloyingly sweet drink, and after a moment he began to feel better. Less shaky and light-headed. He made his way slowly back upstairs, and when he pressed the buzzer a young woman let him back in, waving goodbye to Kate as she left the room.

  ‘Oh—were they shut?’ Kate asked, eyeing his all but empty hands in surprise.

  ‘Yes. I was going to the main canteen, but I met someone. A paediatrician, of all things. She’s gone to get something for us. She said she was heading that way anyway, so I gave her a twenty-pound note. At least I hope she was a paediatrician.’

  Kate chuckled softly. ‘Nick, you’re so cynical.’

  He gave a weary smile and offered her the bottle.

  ‘Do you want some of this? I saved you some.’

  Kate eyed him thoughtfully. ‘No, I loathe it, thanks, you have it. What was her name?’

  ‘Megan Phillips. Who was that, by the way, who let me in?’

  ‘Jess Carmichael. She’s a counsellor. She heard I was here and she’s been working late so she popped in. I saw her for a while after my lumpectomy. She was lovely. Really kind to me. She gave me a lot of support when I needed it the most.’

  He felt a little stab of pain to accompany the familiar guilt. ‘I’m glad.’

  Kate met his eyes, her own holding that particular brand of gentle reproach that she reserved for him. ‘I could have done with your support then, too, Nick.’

  He looked away, swamped with regret, but what could he have done? ‘You had Rob,’ he reminded her.

  ‘That didn’t exclude you.’

  Oh, it did. ‘I didn’t want to get in the way,’ he said. ‘He seemed genuinely decent, very fond of you—I thought you might stand a chance of happiness, a future for you and Jeremiah with a man you loved. A man who could love you back. I didn’t want to get in the way of that.’

  ‘You wouldn’t have done,’ she reasoned, remembering how it had felt when he’d kept his distance—Nick, the only man s
he’d ever really loved, keeping her at arm’s length when all she’d really wanted was for him to hold her and tell her it would be all right. Tell her that if it wouldn’t, he’d be there for their son. ‘You wouldn’t have been in the way,’ she told him, realising, even as she said it, that of course he would have been.

  ‘You know that’s not true,’ he said gently, and she shook her head.

  ‘Nick, I needed you—even if you weren’t with me, I needed to know that you cared, but you never said a thing.’ She laughed, but it came out slightly bitterly with the remembered hurt. ‘I thought you’d brought me flowers, but they were from everyone at the practice, you were just the messenger.’

  He gave her a wintry smile. ‘Would you have accepted them if they’d been from me?’

  And then she knew—realised, with sudden insight, that they had been from him—been his idea, his choice, probably even paid for himself. And him bringing them had been the nearest he could get to telling her that he was thinking of her, worrying about her.

  That he cared.

  He hadn’t let her down, he’d just given her space, stepped back out of Rob’s way. And she’d misunderstood.

  Her eyes filled, and she nodded, just once. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Yes, I would have accepted them. Thank you.’

  ‘Don’t thank me,’ he said gruffly. ‘I did nothing—just as I always do nothing. If I’d acknowledged Jeremiah sooner, if I’d done what I should have done, then I would have been supporting you financially, making sure you had a safer car, a car with side impact protection instead of a little tin box that crushed like an eggshell—’

  ‘No!’ she said, reaching for his hand, clutching hold of it so he couldn’t avoid her, her voice no more than an urgent whisper in the quiet room. ‘I won’t let you do that! This is not your fault. This is my fault, my guilt, and I’m damned if I’ll let you have it and add it to the endless layers that you hide behind! I had the crash, I bought the car—’

  ‘Because of me,’ he returned stubbornly. ‘Because I didn’t accept that he was my son. Because I was letting you down again, hiding from the truth, hoping it would go away, but it won’t, will it? But you are, and you’re taking my son with you.’

  And he didn’t want her to, he realised. He really, really didn’t want her to.

  He turned his back on her, and saw Megan Phillips at the door, beckoning to him. ‘Looks like our food’s here,’ he said curtly, and went out.

  Kate followed him, and the woman smiled at her.

  ‘You must be Nick’s friend. I’m Megan Phillips, one of the paediatric registrars,’ she said. ‘I’ll be looking after Jem when he’s in PICU and on the ward later. How’s he doing?’

  ‘He’s all right. He’s going to be all right. Mr Bradley said it’s just routine now,’ she said, trying to inject some conviction into her voice, and as she did so she realised that for the first time she believed that he might be all right, that he might turn the corner, might actually make it, and the relief nearly took her legs out from under her.

  Megan handed over the food she’d brought up for them, gave Nick his change and then left them to it. Nick opened Kate’s sandwich and handed it to her, pushing her into a chair.

  ‘Eat that before you collapse,’ he ordered gruffly, ripping open another packet and demolishing the contents, then he drained his tea and dropped his head back, rolling it towards her with a sigh. ‘You’re not eating, Kate. Come on. You need to keep your strength up.’

  ‘I can’t eat.’

  ‘Come on, you promised.’

  She nodded. She had, and he wouldn’t give up until she’d eaten the darned sandwich, she knew that, so she took a bite, and he stopped watching her like a hawk and glanced at his watch.

  ‘I need to make a call.’

  ‘A call?’ she asked, realising she hadn’t told her mother yet. Or Chloe, or Rob. She ought to tell them Jem was all right—but not now. Not in the middle of the night. She’d call them tomorrow—except...

  ‘Oh, Nick, the dog. I need to make arrangements. I hadn’t even thought about it.’

  ‘It’s OK. Oliver said not to worry, they’ll sort it.’

  ‘Bless them. They’re so kind.’ She sighed with relief, then looked at her watch. ‘Nick, it’s awfully late. Who are you ringing?’

  ‘Edward.’

  His other son, currently in South America and still, presumably, unaware. ‘Oh. Oh, Nick.’ She reached for his hand and he squeezed hers reassuringly.

  ‘Hey, I’m fine. I’ll be back in a minute. Eat, and have some tea. It’s just the right temperature.’

  She nodded, and forced herself to finish the sandwich and drink some of the tea before going back into Recovery to sit by Jem’s bedside.

  They’d been monitoring him constantly, checking him every few minutes, and as she went back in, they told her he was ready to go through to PICU.

  ‘We’ll find you a bed if you like—are you staying?’ the nurse who was moving him asked her, and she nodded.

  ‘Yes—if I can. I’ll sit in the chair beside him, though. I don’t need a bed.’

  ‘We’ll see. Let’s take him and get him settled, and you can decide then, but he’s stable now and he’ll sleep all night; if you take my advice, you’ll get your head down, because he’ll need you when he wakes up and being the parent of a sick child is very wearing. You’ll need your rest if you’re going to be any good to him.’

  Sensible advice, but she wasn’t happy to take it. She wanted to be beside Jem, couldn’t bear to leave his side, and even if she did, she didn’t think she’d sleep.

  ‘Kate, you were in the accident, too, you need to rest,’ Nick said firmly when she continued to protest to the PICU nurse after he was settled. ‘I’ll sit with him. Go and have an hour, at least.’

  ‘Half an hour,’ she conceded, giving in because she knew it made sense and she was at the end of her tether. And the nurse was right—if she was going to be any use to Jem, she needed some sleep. ‘I could do with lying down. What about you? Are you feeling better? Less shaky since you ate?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ he said, telling her nothing, as usual.

  ‘Did you get hold of Edward?’

  He shook his head. ‘Go on, go and lie down. I’ll get you if there’s the slightest change.’

  ‘Promise.’

  ‘I promise,’ he said, and she didn’t know why, but she believed him. Maybe because she had no choice. Or maybe because this time, at least, she knew she could trust him?

  So she went, escorted to a tiny room nearby just big enough for a chair, a little bedside locker and a bed made up with crisp white hospital linen. She’d never been more pleased to see a bed in her life. Her neck was a little sore, she had a killer headache, probably from the stress, her ankle was aching where the pedal had been squashed into it and she was emotionally exhausted.

  She took some of the painkillers Ben had given her, then crept under the covers with a shaky sigh. Oh, that was better. Half an hour of this and she’d be able to cope again. Rolling to her side, she closed her eyes and lay there in the quiet room, and as the tension drained out of her, the only thing that had held her together up to now, she gave a tiny sob and tears leaked silently out of the corners of her eyes and dribbled down onto the pillow as she lay there.

  Jem was all right. He’d be all right. He would.

  She told herself the same thing, over and over again like a mantra, and gradually she fell into a shallow, restless sleep.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  NICK closed the door softly and stood looking down at her.

  He didn’t want to wake her, but he’d promised her he would, and she’d had over three hours, not just the half hour she’d agreed to.

  But she was sleeping so deeply, curled on her side with one hand tucked under her cheek, and she looked defenceless and vulnerable. He perched on the hard plastic chair by the bed and watched her sleep for a moment, then with a quiet sigh he leant forwards and stroked her hair. She didn’t stir
, and he let his hand fall to the pillow.

  And frowned. It was wet, and in the soft glow from the bedside light he could see a damp stain under the edge of her cheek, below her eye. Salt trails had dried across her temple, and down over her nose from the other eye, and he realised she’d been crying in her sleep. He closed his eyes and took a slow, steadying breath, then touched her again.

  ‘Kate?’

  Her eyes flew open, and she started to sit up. ‘What is it? What’s wrong?’

  ‘Nothing,’ he said hastily, kicking himself for scaring her. ‘It’s all right, he’s fine. He’s asleep, but you asked me to wake you.’

  She let her breath out on a shaky little sigh, and dropped back against the pillows. ‘Oh. Sorry. I must have dozed off— What time is it?’

  ‘Twenty to five.’

  ‘Five!’

  She sat up again, pushed back the covers and slid to her feet, swaying slightly. ‘Steady,’ he murmured, standing up and putting his arms around her to support her, and she rested her head against his shoulder with a sigh.

  ‘How’s your neck?’ he asked, and she gave a little shrug.

  ‘OK.’

  He was pretty sure it wasn’t. A bang hard enough to do that to Jem must have shaken her up, and he slid his hand carefully around the back of her neck and massaged the taut, tired muscles under the soft waterfall of dark hair. She shifted so her forehead was propped against his chest, just above his heart, and if he’d bent his head a fraction he could have dropped a kiss on her hair.

  But he wouldn’t. Of course he wouldn’t. She wouldn’t want it, and he wouldn’t embarrass her by doing anything so stupid, but he held her head, his hand curved protectively round it, steadying her as his fingers worked slowly, gently on the muscles.

  ‘Better?’ he asked, and she nodded slightly, so he eased back and let her straighten before he moved away. ‘Go and sit with him and I’ll get us a coffee. Do you want anything else?’

  ‘Tea. Tea would be lovely, and maybe a pastry or something. Thanks, Nick.’

  ‘Any time,’ he said, and backed away, leaving her to straighten her clothes and freshen up while he made the round trip to the canteen. He could do with stretching his legs, and a change of scene wouldn’t hurt after hours of staring at his son’s bruised and swollen face and wondering how the hell to tell him he was his father.