A Child To Heal Them

His eyes creased as he smiled again, bookending the corners with lines that had never been there before, but that just increased his attraction. How did the nurses get any work done around him? How did anyone concentrate? Were they immune? Had they had some sort of vaccination? Because if they had then she damn well wanted one for herself!

She’d worked so hard to forget this man. And she’d thought she’d been successful. It had just been a crush, as a child—so what? He’d broken her heart badly—but who cared? It had been years ago. Years.

And it turned out he didn’t even recognise her.

Or remember her.

If she was so forgettable, then she wanted to make sure he meant just as little to her now.

She did not need his help or advice. She knew what she was looking out for. And the idea of spending more time with him when she wasn’t prepared for this unexpected onslaught only made her feel sick.

He was not the man she wanted by her side.

* * *

Quinn hauled himself into the passenger seat as Tasha gunned the engine. There seemed to be fewer people about now, the morning market trade dissipating, so she was able to reverse easily and begin the drive back to the Sunshine Children’s Centre.

Her nerves were on edge. She felt prickly. Uncomfortable. He still hadn’t recognised her and she was in two minds about telling him who she was.

If Abeje recovered quickly, perhaps there would be no need to tell him anything? But her gut reaction was that Abeje was in for a long fight and that it would take some time before they saw any signs of recovery. Malaria was an aggressive disease in this part of the world still, and she’d racked her brains to try and remember what she knew about the condition.

A single mosquito bite was all it took to get infected, and most people showed symptoms within a couple of weeks of being bitten. The terrible thing was that it could be fatal if treatment was delayed. She could only hope that they had got to Abeje in time. A combination of drugs was slowly being dripped into Abeje’s system through an IV. She hoped it was enough.

‘What made you come to Africa to teach?’

So he wanted to do small talk? Though she wasn’t sure if any talk with him would ever be small for her.

‘I just did.’

The desire to keep her life away from his scrutiny was strong. He’d already ridiculed her once. It might have been years ago, but that didn’t mean the pain was any less. Being with him now made her feel raw again. Unguarded. The wound in her heart, open to infection.

‘You’ve always taught English?’

‘No.’

‘What did you do before?’

She glared at him as she drove, before turning back to keep an eye on the road. It was none of his business.

‘This and that.’

‘Mystery woman, huh?’

Without looking at him, she knew he was smiling. She heard it in his voice. He really had no idea, did he?

So two-faced! Trying to charm a woman you once thought so little of.

‘What made you take a post on the ship?’

There was a pause before he answered, allowing time for the potholes in the road to bounce them around, so that their shoulders bashed into each other briefly before the car was righted again.

‘I needed a change. I’d spent some time working in British hospitals, but I felt like stretching my wings. I didn’t want to become stale, you know? Complacent. I needed a new challenge.’

‘Well, Africa certainly does that to you.’

He nodded. ‘It does.’ He turned to look at her. ‘Did you come out here for a challenge?’

What could she tell him? That she’d come here on pure instinct? That teaching at schools in the UK had worn down her spirit?

Such long, gruelling hours, weighed down by the gazillions of reports and lesson plans and resources she’d had to create. Hours spent on assessments and figure-juggling that would never see the light of day but had to be there in case the inspectors turned up. Weeks spent worrying about work politics and staffroom gossip and pressure from the senior management team to be constantly at the top of her game.

She’d just wanted to teach. She’d wanted to forget all the rest and get back to what she enjoyed. Seeing the face of a child light up with understanding. Being with children who were eager to learn. She’d wanted to get back to grass roots. Find her joy again. Her spirit.

Africa had always seemed to her an exotic place—both beautiful and dangerous at the same time—and after going to a seminar in which the speaker had talked about her time teaching in Senegal she’d found an agency and signed right up. She’d needed to get away from the everyday. She’d needed to find something special.

And she had. It had brightened her heart, coming here. Given her exactly what she’d needed.

‘I came out here to make a difference.’

He nodded in understanding. ‘I know what you mean.’

She doubted it. She imagined that Quinn’s life had always been rosy. Nothing too horrendous or upsetting for him. Surely he must have cruised through life? Privileged and well off?

Tasha drove on through the hot, dusty streets of Ntembe. She was glad that Quinn had made her drink that tea. She had needed it. And now she was hungry, too, but that would have to wait. They had children to check up on.

She parked the vehicle outside the centre.

The Sunshine Children’s Centre was a long, low building, with a corrugated tin roof and a hand-painted sign made by the children. There was a bright yellow sun in one corner, its rays stretching across the sign, behind the words, and in another corner, if you looked hard enough, beyond the accumulation of dust, there was a child’s face with a big, happy smile.

‘This is it.’

‘How many children live here?’

‘Fifty-three. Most of them girls.’

They got out of the car and dusted themselves down. ‘How many of them are your students?’

‘Ten—though others go to the same school. They’re just in different classes.’

‘We should check them all—hand out anti-malarials just in case.’

She nodded. Yes, it was best to err on the side of caution. Preventative medicine was better than reactive medicine.

‘Okay. I’ll introduce you to the house matron—her name’s Jamila.’

‘Lead the way.’

She led him into the interior, explained the situation to Jamila and told her what they wanted to do to check on the children. Permission was given for them to treat them.

Tasha was glad it wasn’t a school day, so the children were all at the centre, though some of the boys were out at the back, playing football. All seemed to be in good health. None of them were showing signs of illness or fever.

‘Looks like Abeje was the unlucky one.’

Jamila stepped forward. ‘Abeje travelled with an aunt back to her village two weeks ago.’

‘With Ada?’ Tasha asked.

‘Yes. The village is about a two-hour drive from here. Do you think she could have got infected there?’

Tasha looked at Quinn and he nodded. It was a distinct possibility.

‘I wonder if anyone is sick at the village? Is it remote? Do they have any medical facilities nearby?’

Jamila shook her head. ‘The Serendipity is the closest they have.’

Quinn frowned. ‘They might feel they’re too sick to travel. Perhaps we ought to go out there? Check on everyone?’

‘Do you have enough medication?’

‘We’ll have to go back and restock. Maybe get a nurse to come along, too. You’ll come, Tasha, won’t you?’

At one stage in her life she would have jumped at the opportunity. But this was different. She didn’t need to go if Quinn and a nurse were going. As far as they knew she was just a teacher. They didn’t need her. Besides, she wanted to stay here and keep an eye on Abeje. Taking a trip with Quinn was her idea of hell!

‘You won’t need me.’

‘Nonsense! As Abeje’s teacher you’ll be able to explain why we have to do this. Introduce us to the aunt. Talk to the villagers.’

‘I barely know Ada. I’ve met her maybe once. Perhaps twice.’

‘More times than any of us.’

The way he was looking at her was dangerous. As if he needed her. Wanted her. Desperately. And it was doing strange things to her insides. Confusing things.

Okay, so more hands on deck might help get the medication distributed more quickly, and she couldn’t expect him to take many medical personnel from the ship to help. Some of them needed to stay behind. To look after Abeje, for one thing.

She could feel her resolve weakening and she hated that. Just like before, she was being pulled deeper and deeper into Quinn’s world.

‘Fine. Okay.’ She nodded quickly, hating herself for giving in. Imagining already how difficult it would be to spend so much time in his company.

‘Great.’ He beamed. ‘And whilst we’re getting there you can tell me how you know me—because I sure as hell can’t place where you’re from.’

She froze as he walked back outside.

So there was something, then. He recognised her as being familiar, but couldn’t place her.

How would he react when he realised she was Nit-Nat? How would he feel? Would he have forgotten what he did? What he’d said? Who she was? How he’d destroyed her little heart in a matter of minutes?

She wanted him to suffer. To feel uncomfortable. To apologise and grovel for her forgiveness...

Part of her wondered if it was better just to pretend she didn’t know what he was talking about. To insist that they’d never met before. But a stronger part of her wanted to let him know their connection. Their history. To surprise him and have him see how she had changed. She was no longer a chubby, nit-infested, braces-wearing girl in secondhand clothes.

She had not changed for him. She’d just grown up and been battered by life in so many ways. Life had given her plenty of challenges—killing her parents when she was young, making her grow up in a children’s home, having Quinn humiliate her, her job destroy her and her marriage break down. And yet she had come through it all. Was still standing. Still able to find joy in her life. To enjoy it. To feel worthwhile.

Was fate, or karma, or whatever it was called, finished messing with her life?

She hoped so. But the fact that she was here and Quinn was here and they were together made her suspect that fate hadn’t finished putting her through the wringer just yet.

Tasha stepped out into the sunshine, shielding her eyes from the worst of the sun’s rays. She climbed into the vehicle, started the engine and turned to look at him, butterflies somersaulting in her stomach, her mouth dry.

It was time. She had to say it.

Just say it. Get it out there.

‘You do know me. I’m Tasha Kincaid now—but you might know me by my former name, Natasha Drummond.’

She saw him frown, think, and then his eyebrows rose in surprise as his eyes widened.

‘That’s right. You’re in a car with Nit-Nat.’

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