The Big Move. Caroline Anderson

I go and get you something? Tea, coffee?’

      ‘Tea would be lovely. Do you mind? I really don’t want to leave him.’

      ‘On one condition—you sit down beside him and rest, and you eat something if I bring it back.’

      ‘You’re a bully, do you know that?’ she said, but she was smiling, an exhausted, rather watery smile that in a heartbeat could have morphed into tears, and she sat obediently in the chair he put there for her.

      ‘I’m looking after you is what I am,’ he said, and headed for the door. ‘Any special requests?’

      ‘Tea. And a sandwich, if I must, but no cheese. I’m going to have nightmares as it is.’

      ‘OK. Back in five.’

      He went through the door and down the stairs, pausing halfway because he felt suddenly light-headed. Damn. That was giving two units of blood, not drinking anything like enough to replace the lost fluid or taking in any food—apart from Jack’s biscuits, he’d had half a cup of tea, a cup of water and whatever he’d had in A and E in the relatives’ room, and that was all since his miserable half-sandwich and instant coffee at lunchtime. And it was—good grief—a quarter past midnight.

      And the café, when he got there, was shut, with a sign directing him to the main canteen some distance away.

      There was a vending machine, and he pulled some coins out of his pocket with fingers that were starting to shake violently, and put them into the machine, pressed the button for a bottle of sports drink to boost his fluids and blood sugar, and twisted the cap to loosen it. And it sprayed him.

      He swore, twisting it shut again, and suddenly it was all too much. He dropped his head forwards against the vending machine and resisted the urge to slam it into the gaudy metal case. Head-banging wouldn’t cure anything.

      ‘Is it broken again?’

      The voice was soft and feminine, and he lifted his head and stared vaguely at the woman.

      ‘Um—no. Sorry. Did you want the machine?’

      ‘No, it’s OK.’ She tilted her head on one side, looking at him keenly. ‘Are you all right?’

      He opened his mouth to say yes, and then stopped. The woman was slender and delicate, but curvy in all the right places. She was probably younger than Lucy, her dark hair twisted up into a clip, and there was compassion and understanding in her emerald-green eyes.

      ‘A friend’s little boy’s just been admitted,’ he said, gagging on the half-truth. ‘They had a car accident. His pelvis is fractured. I was getting us something to eat, but…’

      She frowned. ‘I’m so sorry. Has he been to Theatre?’

      ‘Yes—yes, he’s had an op to plate it, and he’s OK, he’s in Recovery at the moment and then he’s going to PICU, but he shares my blood group, and it’s B-negative, and stocks were very low, so they took two units from me, and…’

      ‘And you haven’t eaten or drunk anything because you’ve been too stressed, and the café’s shut, and now the bottle’s got its own back on you.’

      He smiled. ‘Something like that.’ He held out his hand, then looked at it ruefully and smiled again as he withdrew it. ‘Sorry—it’s a bit sticky. I’m Nick Tremayne.’

      She flashed him an answering smile. ‘Jack’s father—of course. You look just like him. I’m Megan Phillips. I’m a paediatrician, so I’ll be looking after your friend’s son. What’s his name?’

      ‘Jeremiah Althorp. Jem.’

      ‘I’ll keep an eye out for him.’

      ‘Thanks.’ He tried to unscrew the drink again, but his fingers were shaking so much now he fumbled the lid and it fell to the floor. She picked it up and handed it back to him.

      ‘Come on, you need to sit down. Let me go and get you something to eat.’

      ‘No, I couldn’t.’

      ‘Well, I’d rather you did, otherwise I’ll have to pick you off the floor on the way to the canteen. I’m going to buy myself some sandwiches. Why don’t I get you some? I can bring them up to you, I’m going that way.’

      ‘I couldn’t ask you to do that.’

      ‘You didn’t ask, I offered.’ Her smile was gentle. ‘Chicken salad? Ham and cheese? Tuna? There isn’t a fabulous choice, I’m afraid.’

      ‘Anything. One without cheese for Kate, and I don’t care what I have, whatever’s going. And two teas, if you’ve got enough hands. You’re a star. Here, take some money.’ He pulled a twenty-pound note out of his wallet and handed it to her.

      She took the note out of his hands and smiled. ‘I’ll come up in a minute. Drink some of that before you go back up there, and I’ll come and find you.’

      He took her advice, downing half the cloyingly sweet drink, and after a moment he began to feel better. Less shaky and light-headed. He made his way slowly back upstairs, and when he pressed the buzzer a young woman let him back in, waving goodbye to Kate as she left the room.

      ‘Oh—were they shut?’ Kate asked, eyeing his all but empty hands in surprise.

      ‘Yes. I was going to the main canteen, but I met someone. A paediatrician, of all things. She’s gone to get something for us. She said she was heading that way anyway, so I gave her a twenty-pound note. At least I hope she was a paediatrician.’

      Kate chuckled softly. ‘Nick, you’re so cynical.’

      He gave a weary smile and offered her the bottle.

      ‘Do you want some of this? I saved you some.’

      Kate eyed him thoughtfully. ‘No, I loathe it, thanks, you have it. What was her name?’

      ‘Megan Phillips. Who was that, by the way, who let me in?’

      ‘Jess Carmichael. She’s a counsellor. She heard I was here and she’s been working late so she popped in. I saw her for a while after my lumpectomy. She was lovely. Really kind to me. She gave me a lot of support when I needed it the most.’

      He felt a little stab of pain to accompany the familiar guilt. ‘I’m glad.’

      Kate met his eyes, her own holding that particular brand of gentle reproach that she reserved for him. ‘I could have done with your support then, too, Nick.’

      He looked away, swamped with regret, but what could he have done? ‘You had Rob,’ he reminded her.

      ‘That didn’t exclude you.’

      Oh, it did. ‘I didn’t want to get in the way,’ he said. ‘He seemed genuinely decent, very fond of you—I thought you might stand a chance of happiness, a future for you and Jeremiah with a man you loved. A man who could love you back. I didn’t want to get in the way of that.’

      ‘You wouldn’t have done,’ she reasoned, remembering how it had felt when he’d kept his distance—Nick, the only man she’d ever really loved, keeping her at arm’s length when all she’d really wanted was for him to hold her and tell her it would be all right. Tell her that if it wouldn’t, he’d be there for their son. ‘You wouldn’t have been in the way,’ she told him, realising, even as she said it, that of course he would have been.