St Piran’s: The Wedding of The Year

‘We don’t know that. Nick’s right, you need your neck checked, Kate,’ Ben said gently, lifting his head to meet her eyes. ‘And your feet. I gather they were trapped. Let us sort Jem out, and then while he’s in Theatre I’ll come and have a look at you, hmm? And in the meantime, go and have something hot to drink, and some biscuits or something. You’re in shock.’

She’d signed the form by the time the anaesthetist arrived a minute later, and Kate clung to her son’s hand, pressing it to her heart and murmuring softly to him as he drifted off, then Nick ushered her away, leading her out of the room and down the corridor to the relatives’ room, his reluctant feet tracing the familiar path.

‘You can wait in here—I’ll bring you both some tea,’ a nurse said with a kind smile. ‘How do you take it?’

‘Hot and sweet, isn’t it?’ Kate said shakily, trying to smile back, but Nick couldn’t say anything, because the last time he’d been in this room had been in the horrendous minutes after Annabel had died, almost exactly five years ago.

It came flooding back the shock, the horror, the guilt. He should have realised she was ill, should have done something, but he’d been so tied up in the practice he’d scarcely noticed she was alive. And then, suddenly, she wasn’t. She’d had a ruptured appendix, and Ben hadn’t been able to save her.

And yet again the guilt and the senseless futility of it threatened to swamp him.

Chapter Two

KATE cradled the tea in her hands and tried to force herself to drink it.

‘I hate sugar in tea,’ she said, and looked up at Nick, trying to smile, trying to be brave, but his face was shut down, expressionless, devoid of colour and emotion, and she felt the fear escalate.

‘Nick? He’ll be OK.’ He had to be, she thought desperately, his stark expression clawing at her control and threatening to destroy it, but Ben had seemed confident, Josh also, and there was no talk of ifs or buts or maybes, so he would be OK. Wouldn’t he?

‘Nick?’

He sucked in a breath, almost as if he’d forgotten to breathe for a while, and turned his head to meet her eyes. ‘Sorry, I was miles away.’

Miles away? When his son was under anaesthetic, having his pelvis stabilised with an external frame so they could try and stop the bleeding that was draining the life out of him? Where on earth had he been, miles away? And with that look in his eyes…

He scanned the room, his face bleak. ‘I haven’t been in here for years. It hasn’t changed. Still got the same awful curtains.’

And then she realised. Realised what he was seeing, what this must cost him, to be here with her, and her heart went out to him.

‘Oh, Nick, I’m sorry,’ she murmured, and he tried to smile.

‘Don’t be, I’m all right. It was five years ago.’ And then he frowned. ‘More to the point, how are you? Were you hurt? What was Ben saying about your feet? I didn’t realise you’d been trapped in the car.’

‘It was nothing—just a pedal. I’m fine.’ Her smile was no more successful than his, she supposed, because he came over and sat beside her, searching her eyes with his.

‘So what happened?’ he asked.

She shrugged. ‘I was picking him up from outside the high school. It was my fault—I parked on the right, hitched up on the kerb and rang him, and he ran up and got in, and I pulled back out onto the road. I couldn’t see a thing—the rain was sheeting down, but there were no lights coming, and I remember thinking only a fool would be out in this without lights, so it must be clear, and I pulled out, and there was an almighty thump and the car slammed sideways into the car I was pulling out around, and the airbags went off and—’

She broke off.

It had been over in an instant.

There had been nothing she could have done at that point, no way she could have changed it, but for the rest of her life, with the stunning clarity of slow motion, she knew she would hear the sliding, grinding crash, the scream of her child, and the thump as the airbag inflated in her face…

‘Ah, Kate,’ he murmured, and she looked up, into dark, fathomless brown eyes that normally hid his feelings all too well. But not now. Now, they were filled with sympathy and something else she couldn’t quite read. ‘I’m sorry. It must have been horrendous.’

She nodded, looking away because if she didn’t she’d lose her grip on her emotions, and she couldn’t afford to do that, couldn’t afford to succumb to the sympathy in his eyes.

‘I can’t believe I didn’t see him coming.’

‘You said there were no lights.’

‘I didn’t see any, and I was looking, but—’

‘Then it’s not your fault.’

She gave a soft snort. ‘Tell it to the fairies, Nick. I pulled out in front of a big, heavy off-roader when I couldn’t see, and Jem could have been killed. How is that not my fault?’

His mouth firmed into a grim line.

‘He must have been speeding, Kate.’

‘Very likely. It doesn’t absolve me of blame.’

‘Don’t,’ he warned, his voice strained. ‘Believe me, don’t take on the blame for this. It’ll destroy you.’

As his guilt over Annabel’s death had nearly destroyed him? She bit her lip, trapped the words, looked at the clock. It had hardly moved, and yet they seemed to have been in there for ever.

‘He’ll be all right, Kate. He’s in good hands.’

‘I know.’

She gave him another little smile, and reached up to touch his cheek fleetingly in comfort. The day’s growth of stubble was rough against her fingers, ruggedly male and oddly reassuring, and somehow his strength centred her. She had to stop herself from stroking her thumb over his cheek, backwards and forwards in a tender caress, the way she would with Jem. With anyone she loved. She dropped her hand hastily back into her lap. ‘Are you OK?’

His smile was crooked. ‘I’m the last person you should be worried about,’ he said gruffly, but it wasn’t true. She always worried about him—always had, always would, and running away wouldn’t change that, she realised. And even though it was tearing him apart, he was here for her now, when she needed him the most, just as he had been on the night her husband James had died. And he needed her now, too, every bit as much as he had then. So, yes, she was worried about him. She could never rely on him, not in the long term, but she worried about him.

‘Don’t be silly,’ she said with a little catch in her voice. ‘I’m really grateful to you for coming. I know it’s really hard for you, being here. All those memories. It was such a dreadful time for you, and I’m sorry to have to put you through it again.’

‘It just caught me by surprise, coming in here again, that’s all. All a bit too familiar.’ His smile was crooked and didn’t quite reach his eyes, and he rested his hand over hers. ‘He’ll be all right, Kate,’ he murmured, his eyes reassuring, his touch steadying her tumbling emotions.

The unexpected tenderness brought a lump to her throat, and gently she eased her hand away before she crumbled. ‘I’m sorry about Jack.’

He shrugged slightly. ‘I knew he’d hate me for it, but it’s not a problem. He’s hated me before, I can live with it.’

It was a lie, even if he was trying to make himself believe it, and she felt herself frown. ‘He’s a good man, Nick. He’ll come round. And he’ll be good to Jem. They all will’

He nodded, sighed, and stood up, thrusting his hands into his pockets as he crossed to the window and stood staring out into the rain. ‘Oh, they will. They’ll close ranks round him and take him into their hearts, all three of them. They’re like that. They take after Annabel’ He glanced down at the table, at the mugs sitting there, the tea growing cold.

‘You haven’t touched your tea,’ he said, and she let him change the subject and picked up the mug, giving him room, not crowding him. He hated emotion, and he was awash with it today, trying hard to hang together through all the horror of it. It was all right for her, she thought, her eyes welling. She could cry her eyes out and everyone would sympathise, but Nick—Nick had to stay aloof and distant, hold himself back, because for him, today was judgement day.

And, boy, would they be judging, and talking, and there would be plenty to say. Nick had been well and truly married twelve years ago, at the time of Jem’s conception, and the good people of Penhally held no truck with infidelity. When they found out…

Not that it mattered now. The only thing that mattered now was that her son—their son, she corrected herself—survived this, and lived long enough for Nick to build a relationship with him. She wondered what they were doing to him at this precise instant, and decided she’d rather not know. Midwife or not, there were things one didn’t need to see.

She pressed her hand against her heart, and realised it hurt. It was tender where the seat belt had tugged tight in the accident, pulling on her lumpectomy scar and the still fragile skin where the radiotherapy had burned it, and she suddenly felt very uncertain. Dr Bower had given her the all-clear from her breast cancer in January, but it was very much an ‘it’s OK for now’ result, and there were no guarantees for the future.

And if anything happened to her, Jem would need Nick. Assuming he survived—