knew she was making a scene, that people on their way into town were turning to look, but she didn’t care. She had to make him see. ‘It’s not just for this week, or next week, but for ever. We’re not just spectators in Posie’s life, we’re her—’
Josh grabbed her by the arm and pulled her, pushed Posie off the street and into the quiet of the park.
‘—parents.’
Except it wasn’t ‘we’. It was her.
Or was it? Josh had said he had gone through Michael’s papers last night. What had he found? What had made him warn her that she was bottom of the heap?
‘Do you know what guardianship arrangements Michael made for Posie?’ Because a man who’d taken time to plan his own funeral to make things easy for whoever was left to pick of pieces in the event of his death wouldn’t leave something really important like that to chance. ‘Stupid question. Of course you know. You’re his executor. Even when you weren’t talking to him, Michael still told you everything.’
‘I can’t tell you anything until I’ve spoken to Michael’s lawyers.’
He let go of her arm, leaving a cold empty space, but that was what he always did. Went away. University, gap year, for ever. He leaned forward over the buggy, tenderly tucking the blanket around Posie where she’d kicked it loose in her sleep, then began to move on through the park.
‘Can’t? Or won’t?’ she demanded, planting her feet, refusing to take another step until he gave her an answer. ‘What is it you’re keeping from me?’
He stopped. ‘It won’t help.’
‘I think I’m the best judge of what helps me, Josh.’
He glanced at her. ‘You’re wrong about Michael telling me everything. He didn’t share whatever decision he’d made with me, which suggests there were unresolved issues.’
‘I think we can both guess what they were.’
He shrugged. ‘Maybe. There was some correspondence with his lawyer regarding the surrogacy and it’s clear that Michael and Phoebe intended to draw up new wills once Posie was legally theirs, but as far as I can tell nothing had been signed.’
‘So that means…?’ She lifted her shoulders.
‘I won’t know for sure until I’ve talked to the lawyer. Even a draft setting out their wishes would be something.’ He stretched out a hand. ‘Come on. The sooner I get there, the sooner we’ll both know where we stand.’
He didn’t move to take her hand as he had before. This time he waited for her to choose, to meet him halfway. And, ignoring his hand, she tucked her own back under his arm. A gesture of trust.
‘Maybe I should come with you.’
‘You can trust me, Grace. I’ll look after your interests. You’ll be better occupied at the craft centre.’
‘But…’
‘As soon as I’m done, I’ll join you. Once we know what we’re faced with, we can talk it through. Make decisions.’
It made sense, she supposed. Then, as another thought struck her, ‘Will you tell him? About Posie? About…’ She swallowed. There was something so intimate about the fact that they’d created a baby together—even though they had been at opposite ends of the earth when it had happened—that she couldn’t quite bring herself to say the words. Couldn’t bring herself to say us.
‘About our involvement in Posie’s conception?’ he filled in for her.
Involvement.
Good word. If you wanted to eradicate any suggestion of intimacy. And why not? There had only been one night of us and while for her it had been the only night, he had been the only one, she had no illusions that he’d spent the last ten years dreaming of her. That dream had been shattered the day he’d turned up with a beautiful young woman and announced they’d stopped over in Bali on their way to England and got married.
‘That would be the involvement you just announced to a street full of people?’
Her hand flew to her mouth. ‘I didn’t!’
‘I’m paraphrasing, but “… there’s a baby that you and I made…” just about covers it.’
She groaned.
‘Relax. Most people just wanted to get away from the mad woman as fast as they could.’
‘You’re just saying that to make me feel better.’
‘No. I swear. At least three people crossed the street.’
‘Only three?’ She shook her head, but she was smiling.
‘That’s better. And, to answer your question, I don’t think there’s anything to be gained by telling him about us and robbing Phoebe and Michael of something they’d longed for with such a passion. It’s nobody’s business but ours, Grace.’
Ours. Us.
Josh savoured the words, drinking them in like a man who’d been wandering in the desert.
He’d locked himself out of Grace’s life a long time ago. He hadn’t fully understood why she’d been trapped like a fledgling, too scared to fly the nest that Phoebe and Michael had made for her. He’d accepted that it was somehow mixed up with her childhood, but he’d never pushed her to explain. Maybe he hadn’t wanted to, preferring to tell himself that it was for the best, that she’d have slowed him down, instead of being honest with himself. Facing his own demons.
But those two tiny words—ours, us—like the infant who’d dropped off to sleep in the buggy, joined them in a unique alliance that set them apart from the rest of the world. They were a family.
He was a father and that was a responsibility he couldn’t run away from.
They reached the corner where their ways divided but, instead of parting, they stood, her hand linking them together, and for a moment it seemed that she was as reluctant as him to break the connection.
He was on the point of suggesting that perhaps, after all, she should go with him to talk to Michael’s lawyer, when she finally took her arm from his and said, ‘I’d better let you go.’
He caught her hand. ‘We’re in this together, Grace.’
‘Are we?’
‘I’ll do whatever it takes to protect Phoebe and Michael. I owe them that.’
‘And Posie?’
‘I’ll protect her with my life.’
As he would Grace. He couldn’t begin to guess how hard this was going to be for her. Desperate with worry about the future of a child who she had never, whether she’d admit it or not, truly given up, when she should be left in peace to grieve for her sister.
‘This is all my fault,’ she said. ‘If I hadn’t—’
‘Don’t!’ He’d done everything he could to prevent her from having this baby, prevent himself from becoming a father, but he couldn’t bear to hear her put what he’d wished into words. Not now he’d held Posie, seen her smile. ‘Please, don’t do that to yourself.’
Or to him.
She lifted her stricken face.
‘But it’s true. I wanted them to go away for the weekend, planned it, gave it to them as my treat because I wanted to have Posie to myself. Just for the weekend. Only for the weekend…’
Oh, dear God. It wasn’t colluding with Phoebe that was tormenting her. She was blaming herself for the accident.
‘No,’ he said. And, when she would have argued, he said it again. ‘No. It’s always like this when someone dies,’ he said. ‘The