Secret Baby, Surprise Parents
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Liz Fielding
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15,2K
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Grace McAllister thought being a surrogate for her sister would be a truly selfless act. But secretly Grace longed for the baby inside her to be her own, conceived in passion with the only man she had ever loved. But that could never be. Josh Kingsley couldn't bear to watch the baby grow big in Grace's belly, unable to share in the magic. He wished she and the child were his to take care of. But when tragedy struck, Josh rushed to be there for Grace and baby Posie. Could they be his life, his family?
CHAPTER ONE
GRACE MCALLISTER restlessly paced the entrance to Accident and Emergency, punching yet another number into her cellphone in a desperate attempt to contact Josh Kingsley.
It would be Sunday evening in Australia and sheād tried his home number first. A woman had picked up.
āAnna Carling.ā
āOhā¦ā The sound of her voice, the knowledge that she was in Joshās apartment answering his phone, for a moment drove everything else from her mind. Then, gathering herself, she said, āCan I speak to Josh, please?ā
āWhoās calling?ā
āGraceā¦Grace McAllister. Iām hisā¦hisā¦ā
āItās okay, Grace, I know who you are. His brotherās wifeās sister, right?ā
The woman was in his apartment and knew all the details of his personal lifeā¦.
Grace gripped the phone tighter until it was hurting her fingers. āCould I speak to him, please?ā
āIām sorry, Josh is away at the moment. Iām his personal assistant. Is there anything I can do to help?ā
āDo you know where he is?ā
āHeās moving about a lot. Hong Kong. Beijing. Can I pass on a message?ā she prompted when Grace didnāt reply.
āNo. Thank you.ā This wasnāt news she could ask a member of his staffāno matter how personalāto deliver second-hand. āI need to speak to him myself. Itās urgent.ā
Anna didnāt waste time asking questions, playing the dragon at the door, but gave her a string of contact numbers. His cellphone. The number of his hotel in Hong Kong in case there was no signal. The private number of the manager of the Hong Kong office, since it was evening there. Even the number of Joshās favourite restaurant.
There was no signal. She left a message asking him to call her, urgently, then called the hotel. He wasnāt there and the manager of the Hong Kong office informed her that Josh had flown to mainland China. Apparently Anna had already called the office and primed the manager to expect her call and again, when she wouldnāt leave a message, he helpfully gave her the number of Joshās hotel there, and his partner in Beijing.
Beijing? He had a partner in Beijing? That was new since the last time heād been home. Or maybe not. He hadnāt stayed for more than a few hours and no one had been talking about businessā¦
Calling the number sheād been given, she was told that Josh was out of the city for a few days and that the only way to contact him was through his cellphone.
She felt as if she were going around in circles, but at least it helped take her mind off what was happening at the hospital, even if she was dreading the moment she found him.
This time it rang. Once, twice, three times and then she heard him. His voice, so familiar, so strange as he briefly instructed the caller to leave a message.
āMiss McAllisterā¦ā
She spun round as a nurse called her name. Then wished sheād taken her time.
Sheād been trying so hard not to think about what was happening to Michael. Sheād only caught a glimpse of him lying unconscious on the stretcher while the emergency team worked on him before theyād rushed him away to the operating theatre and sheād been told to wait.
One look told her everything she needed to know. Her warm, loving brother-in-law had not survived the accident that had already killed her sister.
āJoshā¦ā She forced his name out through a throat aching with unshed tears. There would be time for tears, but not yet. Not now. āJoshā¦You have to come home.ā
A day, even an hour ago, the very thought of seeing him would have been enough to send her into the same dizzy spin that had afflicted her as a teenager.
Numbed with the horror of what had happened, she was beyond feeling anything but rage at the unfairness of it.
Rage at the cruelty of fate. With Josh for being so blind. For refusing to understand. For being so angry with them all.
She didnāt know what heād said to Michael.
Remembered little of what heād said to her, beyond begging her to think again.
All she could remember was his bloodless face when sheād told him that it was too late for second thoughts. That she was already pregnant with her sisterās child. She would never forget the way heād lifted a hand in a helpless gesture, let it fall, before taking a step back and opening the front door, climbing into the car waiting to take him back to the airport.
The nurse, no doubt used to dealing with shocked relatives, put her arm around her. Said something about a cup of tea. Asked if there was someone she could telephone so that she would not be alone.
āIāve called Josh,ā Grace said, stupidly, as if the woman would understand what that meant. āHeāll come now.ā He had to come.
Then, realising she still had the phone clutched tightly to her ear as if she might somehow catch his voice in the ghostly static, she snapped it shut, pushed it into her pocket and allowed herself to be led back inside the hospital.
Ā
Josh Kingsley looked up at the majestic sight of Everest, pink in a freezing sunset.
Heād come here looking for something, hoping to recapture a time when he and his brother had planned this trip to Base Camp together. Older, a little wiser, he could see that it had been his big brotherās attempt to distract him from his misery at their parentsā divorce.
It had never happened. Now he was here alone but for the Sherpa porters, drawn to make this pilgrimage, take a few precious days out of a life so crowded by the demands of business that he was never entirely on his own. To find a way to come to terms with what had happened.
Now, overcome with the sudden need to talk to him, share this perfect moment, make his peace with the only member of his immediate family he cared about, he peeled off his gloves and took out the BlackBerry that heād switched off three days ago.
Ignoring the continuous beep that signalled he had messagesāwork could wait, this wouldnātāhe scrolled hurriedly through his numbers. Too hurriedly. The slender black miracle of computer technology slipped through fingers rapidly numbing in the thin atmosphere. And, as if he, too, were frozen, he watched it bounce once, then fly out across a vast chasm, not moving until he heard the faint sound of it shattering a thousand feet below.
When he finally looked up, the snow had turned from pink to grey and, as the cold bit deeper, he shivered.
Ā
Josh would come, but not yet, not for twenty-four hours at the earliest. Now, numb with shock, incapable of driving, she let the nurse call Toby Makepeace. He was there within minutes, helped her deal with the paperwork before driving her home to Michael and Phoebeās home and their three-month-old baby.
āI hate to leave you,ā he said. āYou shouldnāt be alone.ā
āElspethās here,ā she said, struggling with the simplest words. āShe stayed with Posie.ā Then, knowing more was required, she forced herself to concentrate. āThank you, Toby. Youāve been a real friend.ā
āIām here. If you need anything. Help with arrangementsā¦ā
She swallowed, not wanting to think about what lay ahead. āJosh will be here.ā Tomorrow or the next day. āHeāll see to everything.ā
āOf course.ā He left his hand briefly on her arm, then turned and began to walk away.
Elspeth, a close friend of Michael and Phoebe, had answered Graceās desperate call and stayed with Posie. Now she said nothing, just hugged her and made her a cup of tea and then shut herself in Michaelās study, taking on the task of calling everyone to let them know what had happened. She even rang Michaelās parentsāhis mother in Japan, his father in France.
Grace had never met either of themāMichael and Josh had only minimum contact with either parent since their divorceābut Elspeth had at least known them, could break the news without having first to explain who she was. Then she stayed to answer the phone, field the calls that came flooding in.
Calls from everyone but the one person she was waiting to hear from.
Friends arrived with food, stayed to give practical help, making up beds in the spare rooms in the main part of the house while Grace did the same in Joshās basement flat. Even when her world was spinning out of control, she couldnāt bear to let anyone else do that.
Then she set about putting her own life on hold, leaving a message on the answering machine in the self-contained flat she occupied on the top floor, before taking her laptop downstairs.
Sitting in the armchair that had been a permanent fixture beside the Aga for as long as she could remember, Posie within reach in her crib, she scrolled through her schedule of classes, calling everyone who had booked a place, writing the cheques and envelopes to return their fees as she went. Anything to stop herself from thinking.
After that she was free to concentrate on Posie. Bathing her, feeding her, changing her, shutting out everything else but the sound of the telephone.
Sheād insisted that she tell Josh herself.
āItās night in China,ā Elspeth said, after the umpteenth time the phone rang and it wasnāt him. āHeās probably asleep with the phone switched off.ā
āNo. My call didnāt go straight to the message service. It rangā¦ā
āAsleep and didnāt hear it, then.ā
āMaybe I should have told someone in his officeāā
āNo. Theyāve given you all the numbers they have and if you canāt get hold of him, neither can they.ā
āButāā
āYouāre the only person heāll want to hear this from, Grace.ā
āMaybe.ā Was she making too much of that? What did it matter who gave him the news?
āNo question. Youāre the closest thing he has to family.ā
āHe has parents.ā
Elspeth didnāt bother to answer, just said, āCome and have something to eat. Jane brought a quicheā¦ā
She shook her head. āI canāt face anything.ā
āYou donāt have the luxury of missing meals,ā Elspeth said firmly. āYou have to keep strong for Posie.ā
āWhat about you?ā Grace asked. Elspeth had lost her best friend. She was suffering, too. āYouāve been on the go all day and I havenāt seen you eat a thing.ā
āIām fine.ā
āNo, youāre not.ā She lay Posie in the crib. āSit down. Put your feet up while I boil us both an egg.ā
āDo I get toast soldiers?ā Elspeth asked, managing a smile.
āOf course. Itās my turn to look after you, Elspeth.ā
āOnly if you promise to take one of those pills the doctor left for you. You havenāt sleptā¦ā
āI canāt,ā she said. āNot until Iāve spoken to Josh.ā
āBut then?ā
āI promise,ā she said. And, because it was the only way to get Elspeth to eat, she forced down an egg, too, even managed a yoghurt.
She had a bath and might have dropped off in the warm water, but Posie was fretful. It was almost as if she sensed that something was out of kilter in her world and Grace put on Phoebeās dressing gown so that she would have the comfort of her motherās scent as she held her against her shoulder, crooning softly to her, walking the long night awayāwaiting, waiting, waiting for the phone to ring.
Finally, when she knew it was day on the other side of the world, she called again. Again, it was the answering service that picked up. āWhere are you?ā she cried out in desperation. āCall me!ā All she got back was a hollow emptiness. āMichaelās dead, Josh,ā she said hopelessly. āPhoebeās dead. Posie needs you.ā
She covered her mouth, holding back her own appeal. Refusing to say that she needed him, too.
Sheād always needed him, but Josh did not need her and, even in extremis, a woman had her pride.
Ā
āDid Grace McAllister manage to get hold of you, Josh?ā
Heād flown direct to Sydney from Nepal, stopping at his office to pick up urgent messages before going home to catch up on sleep.
āGrace?ā He frowned, looking up from the list of messages his PA handed him. āGrace rang me?ā
āLast week. Sunday. I gave her the Hong Kong numbers but I knew youād be on the move so I gave her your cellphone number, too,ā she said. āShe said it was urgent. I hope I did the right thing.ā
āYes, yes,ā he said, reassuring her.
Last week? On Sunday heād been in the mountains, thinking about his brother. Thinking about Grace. There had been a message alert on his phone, but heād ignored itā¦.
āI dropped the damn thing off a mountain. Can you get me a replacement?ā Then, āDid Grace say why she was calling?ā
āOnly that it was urgent. Itās the middle of the night there now,ā she reminded him as he picked up the phone, hit the fast dial for her number.
āIt doesnāt matter. She wouldnāt have called unless it wasā¦ā He stopped as the call went immediately to the answering machine.
āThis is Grace McAllister. Iām sorry that I canāt take your call at the moment. Due to a family bereavement, all classes have been cancelled until further notice. Please check the Web site for further details.ā
Bereavement?
He felt the blood drain from his face, put out a hand to grasp the desk. Posieā¦
It had to be Posie. Small babies were so vulnerable. Meningitis, cot deathā¦After so many years of waiting, so much heartache.
āCancel everything, Anna. Get me on the next available flight to London,ā he said, dialling his brotherās number.
Someone whose voice sounded familiar, but wasnāt Michael, wasnāt Phoebe, wasnāt Grace, answered the phone.
āItās Josh Kingsley,ā he said.
There was a momentary hiatus and then she was thereāGrace, her familiar voice saying his name.
āJoshā¦ā
It was all it took to stir up feelings that heād done his level best to suppress. But this last year he hadnāt been able to get her out of his headā¦.
āJosh, Iāve been trying to get hold of youā¦.ā
āI know. I rang your number. Heard your message,ā he said, ignoring her question. āWhatās happened? Who died?ā
He heard her take a long shuddering breath.
āGrace!ā
āThere was an accident. Michael, Phoebeā¦They were both killed.ā
For a moment he was too stunned to speak. His brother was dead. āWhen? How?ā
āLast Sunday morning. Iāve been calling, leaving messages. When you didnāt get back to me I thoughtā¦I thoughtā¦ā
āNo!ā The word was wrenched from him. He knew what sheād thought and why, but it didnāt hurt any less to know that she could believe him so heartless.
But then she already believed that.
She had been so happy that she was having a baby for her sister, couldnāt understand why heād been so desperate to stop her. And he hadnāt been able to tell her.
āWhat happened?ā he asked.
āThe police said that the car skidded on a slick of mud. It went through a fence and then it rolled. It happened early in the morning and no one found themā¦ā
āThe baby, Grace,ā he pressed urgently. āPosieā¦ā
āWhat? No! She wasnāt with them. She was here with me. Michael and Phoebe were away for the weekend. It was their wedding anniversary but they left the hotel early. They couldnāt wait to get backā¦.ā
Long before sheād stumbled to a halt, heād clamped his hand over his mouth to hold in the cry of pain.
āJosh?ā
āItās okay. Iām okay,ā he managed. āHow are you coping?ā
āOne breath at a time,ā she said. āOne minute. One hourā¦ā
He wanted to tell her how sorry he was, but in a situation like this words were meaningless. And in any case she would know exactly how he was feeling. They were faced with the same loss. Or very nearly the same.
Grace wouldnāt have to live with his guiltā¦.
Instead, he kept to the practical. He should have been there to deal with this, make the necessary arrangements, but it had been over a week already.
āWhoās with you? What arrangements have been made? When is theā¦ā He couldnāt bring himself to say the word.
āWe buried them on Friday, Josh. Your father insisted on going ahead and, when you didnāt call back, no one could reach youā¦ā He heard her swallow, fight down tears, then she furiously said, āWhere were you?ā
āGraceā¦ā
He looked up as his PA returned. āThereās a car waiting to take you to the airport. You have to leave now,ā she said, handing him a replacement BlackBerry.
āGrace, Iām leaving now for the airport.ā Then, āKeep breathing until I get there.ā
Ā
Grace let Elspeth take the phone from her as she leaned weakly against the wall.
āMaybe you could get some sleep now,ā she said gently, handing her the pills the doctor had left when heād called after hearing the news. āYouāve left plenty of milk in the fridge for Posie. Iāll manage if you want to take a rest.ā
āI know.ā She put the pills in her pocket, knowing she wouldnāt take them. She didnāt want to go to sleep because when she woke she knew there would be a moment when sheād think it was just another day.
Then sheād remember and have to live through the loss all over again.
But she didnāt say any of that. Instead, she hugged her and said, āThank you.ā
Ā
āWeāre here, Mr Kingsley.ā
Josh glanced up at the faƧade of the tall Georgian town house that Michael had bought when he had married Phoebe McAllister. It was a proper family home with a basement and an attic and three floors in between. Endless rooms that theyād planned to fill with children.
Instead, theyād got him and Grace. A seventeen-year-old youth whose parents had split up and who, wrapped up in their own concerns with new partners, didnāt want a moody cuckoo in the nest. And a fourteen-year-old girl for whom the only alternative was to be taken into the care of the local authority.
Exactly what every newly-wed couple needed.
Theyād taken on each otherās damaged siblings without a murmur. Had given him his own space in the basement, had decorated a room especially for Grace. Her first ever room of her own.
Sheād been such a pathetic little scrap. A skinny rake of a kid, all straight lines when other girls her age had been testing out the power of their emerging attraction on impressionable youths. Only her eyes, a sparkling green and gold mix that could flash or melt with her mood, warned that she had hidden depths.
Like her nose and mouth, theyād been too big for her face. And, until sheād learned to control them, theyād betrayed her every thought.
Eyes like that should carry a health warning.
āIs there anything I can do, Mr Kingsley?ā
Josh realised that the chauffeurāa regular who his PA had arranged to pick him up from the airportāwas regarding him with concern.
He managed a smile. āYou can tell me what day it is, Jack. And whether itās seven oāclock in the morning or seven oāclock at night.ā
āIt was Tuesday when I got up this morning. And itās the evening. But Iām sure you knew that.ā
āJust testing,ā he said, managing a smile.
Heād counted every one of the last twenty-four hours as heād travelled halfway round the world, coming to terms with the loss of his brother. And of Phoebe, whoād been the nearest thing to a big sister heād ever had. By turns motherly, bossy, supportive. Everything that heād needed.
Knowing that he would have to live with a world of regrets for the hard words heād said. Words that could never be taken back. For holding on to his righteous anger, a cover for something darker that he could never admit toā¦,
But the hair shirt would have to wait. Grace needed him. The baby would need them both.
He climbed from the car. Graceās brightly painted āBaubles and Beadsā van was parked in its usual place but the space where he expected to see his brotherās car was occupied by a small red hatchback that underlined, in the most shocking way, the reality of the situation.
Realising that Jack was waiting until he was inside, he pulled himself together, walked up the steps to the front door as he had done times without number to a house that had always felt as if it were opening its arms to him. Today, though, even in the spring sunshine, with tubs of bright yellow tulips on either side of the front door, it seemed subdued, in mourning.
The last time heād been here heād tossed the keys to both the house and his basement flat on his brotherās deskāhis declaration that he would never return. For the first time since heād moved in here as a seventeen-year-old, he would have to knock at the door but, as he lifted his hand to the antique knocker, it was flung open.
For a moment he thought it was Grace, watching out for him, racing to fling her arms around him, but it wasnāt her. Why would it be? She had Toby Makepeace to fling her arms around, to offer her comfort. At least she had the last time heād come home on a visit. He hadnāt been in evidence on the day heād turned up without warning, but then discovering his girlfriend was pregnant with someone elseās baby must have put a crimp in his ardour.
The woman who opened the door was older, familiarāa friend of Phoebeās. Elizabeth? Eleanor? She put her finger to her lips. āGrace is in the kitchen but sheās just dropped off. Try not to wake her. She hasnāt been sleeping and sheās exhausted.ā
He nodded.
āYou must be, too,ā she said, putting her hand on his arm. āItās a terrible homecoming for you. Iām so sorry about Michael. He was a lovely man.ā She didnāt wait for him to answer, just said, āIāll go now youāre here, but tell Grace to ring me if she needs anything. Iāll call in tomorrow.ā
āYes. Thank youā¦ā Elspeth. āThank you, Elspeth.ā
He watched her until she was in her car, then picked up the bags that Jack had left on the top step, placed them inside and shut the door as quietly as he could. Each movement slow, deliberate, as if he could somehow steady the sudden wild beating of a heart that was loud enough to wake Grace all by itself.
He told himself that he should wait.
Go down to the basement flat, take a shower. But to do that, heād need the key and the key cupboard was in the kitchen.
For the first time for as long as he could remember, he was frozen in indecision, unable to move. Staring down at the hall table where a pile of postācards, some addressed to Grace, some to himāwaited to be opened. Read.
He frowned. Cards?
He opened one, saw the lilies. In sympathyā¦
He dropped it as if burned, stepped back, dragged his hands over his face, through his hair as he looked down the hall. Then, because there was nothing else to do, he turned and walked slowly towards the kitchen.
He pushed the door very gently. It still squeaked. How many times had he heard Michael promise Phoebe that heād do something about it?
Heād offered to do it himself, but Phoebe had just smiled. She liked the warning squeak, sheād told him. Liked to have something to complain about once in a while. It wasnāt good for a man to believe he was perfect.
He could have told her that Michael didnāt believe that. On the contrary. But that had been a secret between the two of them and, somehow, heād managed to smile back.
He paused, holding his breath, but there was no sound and he stepped into the room that had always been the hub of the house. Warm, roomy, with a big table for everyone to gather around. An old armchair by the Aga that the fourteen-year-old Grace had taken to like a security blanket, homing in on it when sheād arrived clutching a plastic bag that contained everything she possessed under one arm, a small scruffy terrier under the other.
The pair of them had practically lived in it. And it was the first place sheād taken the puppy heād given her when old Harry had died a few months later and heād been afraid her heart was going to break.
The puppy, too, had finally died of old age, but now she had a new love. Posie. The baby she had borne with the purest heart as surrogate for the sister who had given her a home and who was now lying, boneless in sleep, against her shoulder.
Michael, hoping that if Josh saw the baby he would finally understand, forgive him even, had e-mailed him endless photographs of Posie, giving him a running commentary on her progress since the day sheād been born, refusing to be deterred by Joshās lack of response.
There had been no photographs of Grace until the christening and then only in a group consisting of Grace, as godmother, holding Posie, flanked by Michael and Phoebe. A happy picture in which everyone had been smiling and sent, he suspected, with just a touch of defiance. A āsee what youāre missingā message.
He hadnāt cared about that. Heād only cared about Grace and heād cropped the picture so that it was only of Grace and Posie. Heād had it enlarged and printed so that he could carry it with him.
Her face had been outwardly serene, but a photograph was just a two-dimensional image. It was without warmth, scent. You could touch it, but it gave nothing back. But then it had been a very long time since Grace had given anything back to him. Keeping her distance, her eyes always guarded on his visits home.
At least heād had time to get over his shock that, some time in the last year, sheād cut her beautiful long hair into a short elfin style. Heād come to terms with the fact that her boyish figure had finally filled out in lush womanly curves.
But this scene was not a photograph.
This was an intimate view of motherhood as only a husband, a father would see it and he stood perfectly still, scarcely daring to breathe, wanting to hold the moment, freeze this timeless image in his memory. Then, almost in slow motion, he saw the empty feeding bottle that had dropped into her lap begin a slow slide to the floor.
He moved swiftly to catch it before it hit the tiles and woke her, but when he looked up he realised that his attempt to keep her from being disturbed had failed.
Or maybe not. Her eyes were open and she was looking at him, but she wasnāt truly awake. She wasnāt seeing him. He froze, holding his breath, willing her to close them again and drift back off to sleep.
She stirred. āMichael?ā she said.
Not quite seeing him, not yet remembering. Still he hopedā¦
She blinked, focused, frowned.
He saw the exact moment when it all came flooding back, and instinctively reached out to her as he had a year ago. As if he could somehow stop time, go back, save her from a world of pain. āGraceā¦ā
āOh, Joshā¦ā
In that unguarded moment, in those two little words, it was all there. All the loss, all the heartache and, sinking to his knees, this time he did not step back, but followed through, gathering her into his arms, holding her close.
For ten years heād lived with a memory of her in his arms, the heavy silk of her hair trailing across his skin, her sweet mouth a torment of innocence and knowing eagerness as sheād taken him to a place that until then he hadnāt known he had wanted to go.
Heād lived with the memory of tearing himself away from her, fully aware that heād done the unforgivable, then compounded his sin by leaving her asleep in his bed to wake alone.
Heād told himself that heād had no choice.
Grace had needed security, a settled home, a man who would put her first while, for as long as he could remember, heād had his eyes set on far horizons, on travelling light and fast. Heād needed total freedom to take risks as he built an empire of his own.
But nothing he had done, nothing he had achieved, not even a hastily conceived and swiftly regretted marriage, had ever dulled the memory of that one night theyād spent together and still, in his dreams, his younger self reached out for her.
It had been unbearably worse during the last twelve months. Sleep had been elusive and when he did manage an hour he woke with an almost desperate yearning for something precious, something that was lost for ever.
This. This woman clinging to him, this childā¦
He brushed his lips against her temple and then, his head full of the warm, milky scent of baby, he kissed Posie and for one perfect moment all the pain, all the agony of the last twenty-four hours fell away.
Grace floated towards consciousness in slow, confused stages. She had no idea where she was, or why there was a weight against her shoulder, pinning her down. Why Michael was there, watching her. Knowing on some untapped level of consciousness that it couldnāt be him.
Then, as she slowly, unwillingly surfaced, he said her name. Just that.
āGraceā¦ā
Exactly as he had once, years and years ago, before gathering her up in his arms. And she knew that it wasnāt Michael, it was Josh. Josh who had his arms around her, was holding her as if heād never let her go. A rerun of every dream sheād had since heād walked out of her life, gone away ten years ago without a word, leaving a vast, gaping hole in her world. And she clung to him, needing the comfort of his physical closeness. Just needing him.
She felt the touch of his lips against her hair as he kissed her. The warmth of his mouth, his breath against her temple. And then she was looking up at him and he was kissing her as he had done every night of her life in dreams that gave her no peace.
There was the same shocked surprise that had them drawing back to stare at one another ten years ago, as if suddenly everything made sense, before they had come together with a sudden desperate urgency, his mouth branding her as his own, the heat of their passion fusing them forever as one. A heat that had been followed by ten years of iceā¦.
Now, as then, it was the only thing in the world that she wanted.
It was so long since heād held her.
Not since heād left her sleeping. Gone away without a word. No, āwait for meā. Nothing to give her hope that heād return for her. Not even a simple goodbye.
He had come back, of course, full of what heād seen, done, his plans. Always cutting his visits short, impatient to be somewhere else, with someone else.
But sheād never let her guard down again, had never let him see how much heād hurt her, never let him get that close again. Sheād avoided the hugs and kisses so freely bestowed on the prodigal on his increasingly rare visits home, keeping away until all the excitement was over. Making sure she had a date for the celebratory family dinner that had always been a feature of his homecomingābecause there had always been some new achievement to celebrate. His own company. His first international contract. His marriageā¦
Yet now, weakly, she clung to him, drinking in the tender touch of his lips, the never-to-be-forgotten scent of his skin.
Needing him as heād never needed her. Knowing that even now, in his grief, he would be self-contained, in control, his head somewhere else.
He was holding her now, not because he needed comfort, but because he knew that she did. Just as she had all those years ago.
Heād hold her, kiss her, lie with her even if that was what she wanted. It was how men gave closeness, comfort to women.
That was all it had ever been, even then. When, after years of keeping her feelings to herself, doing a pretty good job of being the teasing friend who criticised his choice in clothes, girls, music, sheād finally broken down the night before heād gone awayānot to university this time, or on some backpacking gap year adventure with his friendsābut to the other side of the world to start a new life.
Distraught, unable to express her loss in mere words, sheād thrown herself at him and maybe, facing the risk of the unknown, heād been feeling a little uncertain, too.
She didnāt blame him for taking what sheād so freely offered, so freely given. It was what she had wanted, after all. Had always wanted. Her mistake had been in believing that once he understood that, heād stay.
He couldnāt do it then and he wouldnāt now.
Heād comfort her. Heād deal with the legal stuff and then, once everything had been settled, made tidy, the tears dried away, heād fly off to Sydney or Hong Kong, China or South America. Wherever the life heād made for himself out there in the big wide world took him. Heād go without a backward glance.
Leave her without a backward glance.
At eighteen sheād been so sure she could change him, that once sheād shown him how much she loved him he would never leave her.
At twenty-eight she knew better and, gathering herself, she pulled back, straightened legs that, curled up beneath her, had gone to sleep so that Josh was forced to move, sit back on his heels.
But, try as she might, she couldnāt look away.
It was as if she were seeing him for the first time in years. Maybe she was. Or maybe she was looking at him for the first time in years instead of just glancing at him as if he was someone to be remembered only when he passed through on his way to somewhere else, forgotten again the minute he was out of sight.
Sheād perfected that glance over the years.
Now she was really looking at him.
He seemed to have grown, she thought. Not physically. Heād always been a larger-than-life figure. Clever, with a touch of recklessness that lent an edge to everything he did, heād not only dominated the school sports field but stood head and shoulders above the crowd academically, too.
Heād had those broad shoulders even then, but heād grown harder over the years and these days he carried himself with the confidence of a man whoād taken on the world and won. And the close-clipped beard that darkened his cheeksānew since his last brief, terrible visitāadded an edge of strangeness to a face that had once been as familiar to her as her own.
But this Josh Kingsley was a stranger.
Sheād known himāor thought she hadāand for one shining moment he had been entirely hers. But dawn had come and sheād woken alone, her illusions shattered beyond repair.
Older, wiser, she understood why heād gone. That it had been the only thing he could do because if heād stayed ten years ago, he would, sooner or later, have blamed her for his lost dreams. It was so easy for love to turn to hate. And nothing had changed.
He was home now, but once everything was settled, tidied away, heād go away again because Maybridge wasāalways had beenātoo small for Josh Kingsley.
