by Cathy Lake
‘Thank you so much.’ Jenny took Clare’s hand and they walked into the small, darkened room together. It reminded Clare of times at school when they’d had to go to the medical room for injections, or to the head teacher’s office for misbehaving, which hadn’t happened often as they were usually well behaved, but it had happened. Clare had supported Jenny and Jenny had supported Clare. And now, here they were, years later, holding hands again and about to go through a life-changing experience together. Clare had a feeling that, from this point on, there would be nothing capable of driving them apart. She certainly had no intention of letting go of their friendship again.
‘OK, lovely, if you can just lie on the bed, then let me have access to your belly,’ said the sonographer, a woman with dark hair in a ponytail.
Jenny pushed her elastic skirt down to her thighs and pulled the top up to her chest.
Clare sat in the chair next to the bed and Jenny reached out for her hand.
‘This will be a bit cold,’ the sonographer said as she squirted some gel over Jenny’s belly. ‘I’ll take some measurements, then I’ll be able to talk you through what I’ve found. Is that OK?’
‘Yes,’ Jenny whispered.
While the sonographer ran the probe over Jenny’s belly, a series of clicks and beeps filled the room, and Jenny kept her eyes on the ceiling. Clare knew that Jenny’s thoughts would be on the baby in her womb, hoping that all was well. She squeezed Jenny’s hand gently, sending her love and strength.
‘Ah!’ Jenny gasped.
‘Sorry, did I press a bit hard?’ the sonographer asked.
‘A little and I really need the toilet!’ Jenny bit her lip as the probe was swept over her lower abdomen.
‘I won’t be long. I’ve almost got everything I need.’
‘OK.’ Jenny met Clare’s eyes and Clare could see the fear, the anxiety, the hope and the love that was already there for this child. More than anything else, she hoped that the baby would be healthy.
‘Right, there we are.’ The sonographer turned the screen towards Jenny and Clare. ‘Everything looks fine. You’re about seventeen weeks along . . .’
‘Oh my God!’ Jenny pushed herself up on her elbows. ‘It has four legs!’
‘Not exactly.’ The sonographer moved the probe slightly and it was Clare’s turn to gasp.
‘Twins!’
‘Yes. You’re having twins.’
‘Oh. My. God.’ Jenny sank back on the bed and closed her eyes. ‘What will Martin say?’
‘But everything else seems to be in order?’ Clare asked, wanting to ensure that if Jenny had any questions they’d be answered now.
‘It does.’ The sonographer smiled. ‘Do you want to know the sex of the babies?’
‘Jen?’ Clare asked and Jenny opened her eyes and nodded.
‘OK, hold on one moment . . .’
Ten minutes later, they left the room and Jenny went straight to Martin. He stood up and opened his arms and she stepped into his embrace. Clare’s vision blurred as she waited for them, seeing Martin’s relief and pride as Jenny told him the news. Of course, it was still early days for a multiple pregnancy and Jenny had been described in medical terms as a geriatric mother, but she was fit and healthy and she’d have people looking after her, including Clare.
‘Clare, thank you. I’m so embarrassed, but I just couldn’t go in.’ Martin held out an arm and Clare stepped closer so the three of them were hugging. ‘I don’t suppose you fancy helping us tell the girls now, do you?’
Clare smiled. ‘Of course not. That’s the easy bit.’
They left the waiting room together, three friends bound by a shared past, by the promise of what the future held and by love. There had, and always would be, love.
Chapter 21
November was almost over and Sam could hardly believe how quickly it had gone. The mornings were crisp and cold, dark and uninspiring, and he found getting out of bed more difficult, especially now that Alyssa was spending most nights at her boyfriend’s, so breakfast would be eaten alone with just Scout for company. Dinner was a solitary affair, consumed most days in front of the TV. He’d always made an effort with Alyssa to eat at the table, believing that it gave them a chance to talk about their days and to connect, but there seemed little point in sitting there alone; he had more than enough time to connect with himself these days.
He’d taken to walking Scout quickly before and after work, but tried to get back around lunchtime to give her a proper walk while it was light. He’d managed to get away today and Scout had been delighted to see him. He put her coat on – it was that cold outside now – then clipped her lead to her collar, dug his own warm jacket out from the cupboard, then swapped his work shoes for his hiking boots with a pair of extra-thick socks. With gloves on and a hat over his short hair, he was ready to go.
In the hallway mirror he caught sight of his reflection. He’d received compliments over the years about his looks, but never been able to see it himself; he saw his own slightly weathered face, the visage of a man who’d worked hard to get where he was but who had let his sister down. Grief etched itself on someone’s features, dug deep into the skin, leaving grooves and fine lines that deepened over time like excavations in the earth. His face was his and yet it was a melding of his mother and father, of the grandparents he had seen photographs of – wide eye shape here, square chin there, shadow of a chin dimple. At times, he saw flashes of Alyssa in his reflection, and yet he didn’t. It was more to do with expressions that they shared, a widening of their eyes when they were exasperated, a curling of the upper lip when they felt distaste. It was now highly unlikely that he would pass his genes on to another generation and had thought that Alyssa wouldn’t either, but now he wondered about that. It would be risky for her, but she was still young enough to become a mum. And she’d be a great mum, he had no doubt about that at all. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that it would be very unwise for her to get pregnant, all things considered.
Scout tugged at her lead, reminding him that she was waiting, so he let them out of the cottage, then locked the door and marched along the pavement. He passed another row of cottages and The King’s Arms, then turned left and onto the woodland walk. The trees rose above him, some completely bare now, and the smooth silvery-grey bark of young sycamores contrasted with the purplish brown of adolescent alders, the scaly steel shade of beech trees and the ridged and furrowed grey-green of mature English oaks. Holly broke up the greys and browns, bright red berries and prickly green leaves welcome dashes of colour on the landscape. The woods were a cornucopia of colours and shapes, of scents and textures.
Sam unclipped Scout’s lead from her collar so she could run on ahead and sniff to her heart’s content and a robin hopped from tree to tree, its red breast like a beacon of hope, keeping him company for a while.
When he reached the crossroads of the path that led in four directions, he slowed his pace and called to Scout. She raced back to him and followed him to the fence that bordered the gently sloping fields, which spread out behind the trees. He stood and gazed at the uninterrupted green and the trees beyond like small sentries watching over the land. Sam loved the openness of living in rural England, the sense that he wasn’t far away from people and cities and events, but that he was far enough away to avoid them all if he wanted to. He had the luxury of choice and he knew that not many people did. Sam appreciated what he had but he also knew that he’d worked hard to get there. However, he was also aware of something missing. He had so much and yet there was no one to share it with, no one to turn to and say, Aren’t we lucky to have such natural beauty on our doorstep? Aren’t we blessed to be able to walk for miles and to breathe fresh air? Aren’t we lucky to have each other?
‘Sam?’
He turned. A petite figure was walking towards them, accompanied by a very large dog.
‘Clare?’
His heart started to pound. It had been two weeks since he and Clare had exchanged texts whe
n she couldn’t make the pub quiz. He hadn’t liked to invite her the following week in case she thought he was being pushy. Plus, he’d had other things on his mind with Alyssa, as well as work. Seeing her now, he wondered for a moment if she had been avoiding him or if she was just really busy as well.
He clipped Scout’s lead to her collar, then waited for Clare to reach him. If it wasn’t for Goliath, he probably wouldn’t have recognised her because she had a pink bobble hat pulled down to her eyebrows, a purple scarf up to her chin and was lost in a long black wool coat and dark green wellies. She looked like a child wearing her older sister’s clothes. The tip of her nose was red and her breaths emerged like puffs of steam in the chilly air.
‘I thought it was you,’ she said, smiling up at him. ‘Couldn’t be sure until I got closer, but then I saw Scout.’
‘Recognisable by our canine companions.’
‘Sorry?’
‘I didn’t recognise you either, but Goliath gave it away. Of course, you could have been your mother, but seeing as how you’ve been the one walking Goliath recently, I thought it must be you.’
I’m glad it’s you . . .
And he was. Strangely. Inexplicably. Confusingly. Glad to see her.
Goliath and Scout sniffed at each other happily, and Clare stood next to Sam and gazed out at the fields. ‘It’s so beautiful here, Sam. Even in winter, the landscape is fabulous. I think it’s the freedom, right on your doorstep. Do you know what I mean?’
She turned to him and his cheeks warmed because he knew she’d caught him staring at her. He could barely drag his eyes from her face to look at the scenery because she was, he knew now, the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. How could this be happening? What was wrong with him? He was heading towards fifty and yet here he was, falling for a pretty face and a kind smile, just like a teenager.
There was no rational explanation. No logic behind it. But there was something about Clare that reached into his soul and grabbed hold of his heart and just . . . squeezed. And if there was a chance that she was feeling the same way, then there could be the potential here for something very special to happen between them.
He gripped the top plank of the wooden fence and sighed. He’d never been what he’d thought of as a romantic, but something was happening here, and it was powerful.
Clare was special. It was as clear as the air they were breathing.
‘Are you OK?’ she asked.
He met her questioning gaze. ‘I think so.’
‘You seem troubled.’
‘Do I?’ He cleared his throat, buying some time to find the right words. But how could he tell this woman, someone he had yet to have an extended conversation with, that he felt drawn to her? She might think him mad – and perhaps he was . . .
‘I’m a good listener.’ She smiled, her pink lips curving upwards, her bright green eyes inviting as tropical lagoons, her nose cute as a small red button.
‘Where to start?’ He shook his head. ‘I wish I knew where to start.’
‘Wherever feels right,’ Clare said as she reached out and squeezed his hand where it rested on top of the fence. They were both wearing gloves, so their skin didn’t meet, but she still felt his warmth, the tension in his fingers. Something was wrong; he was clearly battling some internal conflict and she wanted to help if she could.
‘Aren’t the auditions for the show this week?’ he asked, frowning.
‘Yes. Tonight’s the last night. We’ve seen some fabulous acts. The show should . . . will . . . be wonderful.’
He nodded. ‘That’s good. Did Miranda audition?’
‘She did. She’s in.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes. She’s a perfect fit. We’ve had all sorts of different acts, which is perfect because it’s exactly what I envisioned – an eclectic mix to showcase the talent of our community.’
‘That’s good news.’ Sam smiled, but the smile slid from his lips quickly and he stared out at the fields again.
‘I guess it has to be a woman.’
‘A woman?’
‘Whoever has messed with your head.’ She removed her hand from his, not wanting to overstep the mark or unsettle him further.
‘Oh . . . I see what you mean.’ He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. ‘It is, kind of.’
Clare leant her arms on the fence and let the quiet flow between them. Perhaps he just needed to be near someone, or perhaps he didn’t. Maybe she had read him wrongly and he would prefer to be alone right now.
‘Would you . . .’ He licked his lips. ‘Would you like to come back to mine?’
‘To your home?’
‘Yes. For a coffee?’
‘Oh . . . yes. Of course. A coffee!’ She laughed, the sound sending a crow that had perched on a nearby tree squawking into the air.
‘You’re probably busy, aren’t you?’
‘No! Well, not for a few hours. I have more auditions to oversee later but I’m free now.’
‘I have to get back for afternoon surgery but I need to eat and it’s cold so we could warm up with some lunch and a drink.’
‘That sounds lovely.’
‘Great.’ He smiled shyly at her, making her insides shift like sand under the tide. Something was tugging at her heart, reaching deep down to feelings she’d hidden for years, suppressed as she’d become convinced that they would only bring her heartbreak. ‘Do you like soup?’
‘I do!’
‘Great. I have some home-made soup in the freezer that I can warm up and we could grab some bread from the bakery.’
‘And some cakes?’
He smiled then, and his face lit up. He was definitely one of the most handsome men Clare had ever seen.
‘Why not?’ He hooked his arm and she slid hers through it, then they walked back to the village, dogs at their sides.
Clare wasn’t quite sure what was happening, or even if anything was, but it felt right, and she was happy – and she was fairly certain that Sam was too.
At Sam’s cottage, Clare followed him into the hallway and tried not to stare. It was strange going to a man’s home alone, something she couldn’t recall ever doing. She’d always been with Jason, had never had cause to go to another man’s house, so this was a first. It was both exciting and terrifying, though why she felt afraid, she wasn’t sure except that something about this felt a bit like a date . . .
She went to remove her wellies, but he shook his head. ‘No need. I have wooden floors throughout the ground floor, except for the kitchen, which is tiled.’
‘Are you sure? I’d hate to make a mess of your home.’ She looked at the bottom of each boot, but they were clean from the walk back along the pavements.
‘Absolutely. Don’t worry.’
Clare, her heart racing, absorbed the unfamiliar scent of Sam’s home. It was a combination of citrus and spice, as if he used herbs and spices in his cooking, and she could also smell clean washing, which she understood when they entered the kitchen and saw the pile of freshly laundered sheets neatly folded on the table.
Sam caught her looking at them. ‘I did an early wash this morning, then put them through the tumble drier before work. Just need to pop them in the airing cupboard now.’
Clare smiled. Jason didn’t know how to operate the washing machine, let alone wash and dry sheets then fold them and put them away. But then, Clare had always been there to take care of him, so he’d had no need to figure it out for himself.
The kitchen was clean and tidy, no paperwork spread on the table or the heavy oak worktops. The sink, taps and cupboard door handles were chrome, and everything shone, making it look a bit like a showroom kitchen. However, touches like the bonsai growing on the windowsill and the yucca in the corner near the large window made it feel homely.
What Clare noticed most about the kitchen was the space – there was plenty of it, and she realised that it must be so that Alyssa could move her chair around in there unhinder
ed. The work surfaces were also lower than at Elaine’s, again to accommodate Alyssa.
‘There are two reception rooms on the ground floor and the kitchen, then there’s a bathroom and two bedrooms upstairs.’ Sam pointed at the ceiling.
She frowned. ‘How does Alyssa manage?’
He gestured at the kitchen window and Clare went to it and peered out. There was a large garage conversion at the end of the driveway.
‘She has her own space,’ he explained. ‘She has a bedroom, wet room and a small lounge. Not that she uses it much these days.’ He shook his head.
‘No?’ Clare didn’t want to pry but left the door open for him to talk if he wanted to.
‘She’s involved with someone and has been staying at his quite a bit.’
‘Isn’t that a good thing?’ she asked, keeping her gaze on the garage.
‘I’m trying to convince myself of that. Anyway . . .’ He went to a large freestanding fridge freezer and opened the left door. ‘I have vegetable or tomato and pepper soup. Which do you fancy?’
‘Both sound good.’
‘Please choose.’ He turned and flashed her a smile. ‘I hate having to decide for other people. Not that I get many other people here, mind you, but even deciding for Alyssa makes me twitchy.’
Clare laughed. ‘Vegetable then, please.’
‘Good choice.’ He reached into the freezer and brought out two freezer bags then set them on the worktop. ‘It won’t take long to heat these up.’
Clare reached for the bag from the bakery and got the bread out, then looked around.
‘Plates are in there.’ He gestured at a cupboard next to the sink unit. ‘And butter is in the dish next to the bread bin.’
Clare got out a large plate and two bowls and set them on the worktop, while Sam put the soup into a saucepan and set it on the hob of the range cooker. She found spoons and a breadknife, then cut large chunks of bread and slathered them with soft golden butter. She put the plate on the table.
‘What are we drinking?’ she asked.