He’d heard? Her stomach twisted into a tight knot. Marrying anyone was the last thing on her bucket list.
‘Don’t, by the way. Don’t ever try to be someone you’re not.’ A small smile that tugged at her gut. He was trying to be nice. ‘Just be you.’
‘God, I’m sorry you heard that.’ She was still working out who she was. For her, time was split into before she got sick and after the operation. With a blur of pain and panic and dread, and a zillion promises that if she survived she’d do some good in between. But somewhere along the line she’d lost herself, and it was only now she was finding out what she wanted out of life and who she truly was. Today, it appeared to be blithering idiot with a dash of good neighbour. She held out the still-warm container. ‘I’m just dropping off something for you to eat.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘Why?’
‘Because you probably didn’t get the chance to cook anything before you dashed to Lancaster. Unless Mrs Thompson’s cooked for you…but I assumed she’d go with you to see her mum. So, just in case you were all starving, I thought I’d—’
‘There is no Mrs Thompson.’ He cut her off, jaw tightening as he looked at his feet. An awkward silence dropped, heavy and thick, around them.
Oh. What to say now? His abruptness was disconcerting. Was it just with her? It seemed to be. With everyone else he was soft and friendly.
And what the hell had happened to his wife?
‘What’s that?’ The girl from this morning skipped into view, eyes zeroing in on the plastic container. Hair in messy lopsided pigtails and with gaps in her teeth and a very sunny smile, she was adorable. ‘Is that for us? I’m starving. Daddy said we’re not allowed takeaway ’cos it’s unhealthy.’
And Rose could have kissed her for breaking the uncomfortable atmosphere. Joe looked over at his daughter and his whole demeanour transformed: his eyes softened, his hiked-up shoulders dropped. Love for her was stamped in every gaze, every movement.
Rose smiled at the girl. ‘Kale and chicken pasta bake.’
‘What’s kale?’
‘The devil’s work.’ Brighter now, or putting on a show for his daughter, Joe lifted the lid and sniffed. ‘But it smells delicious. It is very late so I was going to do beans on toast, but this is much better. Go get some plates out, Katy. And say thank you to Rose.’
‘Okay, Daddy. Thank you, Rose. You’re nice.’
The kid’s smile tugged at Rose’s heart and she had a sudden urge to run her hand over the top of those messy bunches. Weird. Not something she’d ever wanted to do to a child before. Maybe the fresh air was going to her head?
She followed Joe through to the large kitchen/dining room. ‘Cute kid.’
‘Yes. Too cute for her own good sometimes. Or maybe I’m just a pushover.’
That was the last thing Rose imagined him to be, judging by his general manner. He frowned and leaned a little closer. The air around her filled with a scent that was light and fresh and yet very masculine.
She had to stop herself leaning into it as he whispered, ‘Kale?’
‘It’s healthy if that’s what you mean.’
‘In which case you’ll want to join us?’
Did she?
She looked round at the comfortable farmhouse kitchen. There was warmth here in the scrubbed, well-used pine table, the overflowing toy box, a cushion-filled window seat that, she imagined, looked out over the village. There was a sense of calm, a familiar smoky smell of wood-burning stove and coffee. A sense of family and love. Scuffed skirting boards and the faint bruises of handprints on the walls…the perfect family house.
On an old wooden dresser leaning against one wall stood myriad framed photos of Joe and a small baby—she imagined to be Katy—and a woman who looked like a younger version of Maxine. The same laughing eyes. Same corkscrew curls that made up Katy’s lopsided bunches.
No Mrs Thompson. Rose’s heart began to thud. Because the photos were all from when Katy was little. Not of now. Not of the intervening years. Divorce?
She doubted it. Joe and the woman were staring into each other’s eyes, obviously deeply in love with each other and with their child. Rose’s heart jerked uncomfortably—she wasn’t destined to have that. No children for her…no happy little family.
She had no idea, but she doubted a mother/son-in-law relationship would be so strong after divorce. Toby’s mum had distanced herself from Rose the minute they’d split up…or before…when it became apparent that Rose wasn’t headed on the path they’d all thought she would.
So…did Mrs Thompson die?
That didn’t bear thinking about. A woman so young and clearly full of life and love. And yet it happened, as Rose knew well, through illness or disease or pure bad luck. There was no woman here. No mention of Maxine’s daughter going with them to visit her in hospital.
Rose shivered, a strange panicky sensation prickling over her chest. And a sudden deep sadness.
What the hell was she doing here? Intruding on this family?
She found her voice. ‘No. Thank you. It’s late and I really need to go.’
THE OFFICIAL FIRST day in her new job wasn’t going well.
‘I’m so sorry; Maisie doesn’t usually act like this.’ Janice, the very red-faced mum, apologised, looking in horror at the mess of plaster and water oozing over the trolley edges and glooping onto the floor. Rose’s four-year-old patient had stopped screaming and was now all but smiling at the chaos she’d created by kicking over the plaster bowl the second Rose attempted to bandage the broken ankle. ‘But she’s in pain and the long wait to be seen didn’t help.’
Dabbing the floor with paper towels, Rose dug deep for a smile. Because she knew how frustrating long waits were and how hard it was to be nice when pain blurred your edges. ‘I’m so sorry for that. The appointment template went down on the computer and it took a while to get sorted out, which meant we had no idea who we were supposed to be seeing next. And in the meantime Maisie’s appointment got moved round.’ She looked at the water dripping from the trolley and tried to wipe it up, but ended up smearing plaster-infused mess over everything instead. ‘And it’s fine; it really is. I’ll just clear this up. Maybe Maisie’s ticklish? Maybe that’s why her leg jerked out. I’ll be careful. No toe touching. I promise, poppet.’
Janice made soothing noises to her daughter but Maisie started to whimper in such a way Rose knew it would turn into a replay of the roar the child had emitted a few times in the waiting room. ‘Okay, new plan. I’ll sort the floor in a minute. Let’s get that leg in plaster first. That should help with the pain.’
‘Thanks.’ Janice nodded and started to walk round the end of the gurney. ‘And I’ll come round that side and hold her good leg down.’
Rose spied a puddle of water that she’d missed on the woman’s path. Damn. ‘Be careful—the floor’s wet—’
‘Whoa!’ Janice jerked forward and disappeared with a thud behind the other side of the gurney. ‘Ouch.’
Things were going from bad to worse. Rose pushed the trolley out of her way with more force than she’d intended, sending it hurtling into the door with a crash, and dashed over to help the woman up. ‘Are you okay? Oh, my goodness. Let me help you.’
‘I’m fine, really. Just a wet bottom.’ She laughed as she rubbed her jeans. ‘Ouch, though. I damaged my ego more than anything else.’
‘It’s