let out had caused the whole cinema to jump in shock.
‘It was only a tiny nibble.’ He shrugged his shoulders.
‘It was a giant-size bite! And then you let me think that it was the boy behind the counter—you were going to let me go and complain.’
He couldn’t stop laughing now, with the still indignant look on her face thirteen years later. ‘Just as well the crumbs gave me away, then.’
Jess started to laugh too. Her shoulders shook as she bent forward and then threw her head back. Jess didn’t have a delicate, polite laugh. It was loud and wholehearted, as if it came all the way from her toes.
There was something so nice about this. The way her skin glowed and her eyes sparkled when she laughed like that. The ease and familiarity of being with someone you felt comfortable around. Someone you shared a history with. Someone who made you feel as if you could look into their eyes and trust what they said.
Someone who wouldn’t run out on you and your child.
Where had that thought come from?
The door to the café opened and a woman and her child bundled in out of the cold. The little boy’s nose was glowing red underneath his woolly hat. He looked around the same age as Drew.
Callum pushed all thoughts of Drew’s mother out of his head and leaned forward to pass a comment to Jess. But the expression on her face stopped him dead.
She’d gone from hearty laughter to deathly pale—almost as if she’d been caught unawares. He bit his tongue, stopping himself from asking what was wrong.
He had to give her time. He had to give her space. If Jess wanted to tell him something she would.
There was silence for a few seconds as he could see her gathering herself.
She nodded at his paperwork. ‘This could take some time. Shouldn’t we get started?’
The barriers were going up again. She was closing herself off from him. Going back to business as usual. ‘What do you need from me?’
The waitress appeared and put down two bowls of steaming-hot minestrone and a basket of crusty bread. ‘I need you to relax for a bit. I want to see you eat. Once you’ve finished we’ll do my paperwork. I need a detailed statement from you.’
He didn’t want the veil to come down. Because when it did Jess had the strangest look in her eyes, almost vacant, as if she was removing herself from the situation. It was obvious that she wasn’t feeling any of the same strange sensations that he was. His brain was currently mush.
Being around Jess was flaring up too many memories in his mind. Sharing memories with Jess was both warming and setting off alarm bells in his head. He’d been awake most of the night, thinking about all the good times that they’d had together.
He hadn’t even told her about Drew yet. And did he want to? He had no idea what he wanted to do about any of this. Could he be friends with Jessica or was it just a recipe for disaster? He’d just have to wait and see.
IT WAS THE middle of the night. The snow had given way to sleet and was currently battering the windows in the old Glasgow hospital.
Whilst the ward was dark, most of the windows were adorned with festive lights. A Santa, a snowman and a reindeer stood out twinkling against the black night sky outside. A tree with multicoloured lights flickered at the end of the ward, and strings of icicles were hanging from most of the windows outside the ward bays.
A few little bodies shifted under the starched white hospital sheets and coloured blankets. Almost everyone was sleeping—unusual for a children’s ward—with only a few little murmurs here and there. Alongside most of the beds were chairs and stools with an array of uncomfortable parents trying to catch a few hours’ sleep as they watched over their children.
Jessica padded along the ward in her soft-soled shoes. She loved Christmas in the children’s ward. Although most people in her circumstances would want to avoid this place, it was actually the one place at this time of year that gave her a little solace.
There were always people worse off than you.
Actually, no there weren’t. No parent should outlive their child.
Here, in the ward, she felt safe. Everyone knew what had happened. No one asked awkward questions. If she needed a few moments on her own, she got them.
If she needed to be amongst people and in company, it was here.
If she needed to feel of value, there was no doubt she was needed here. There was always a little one to cuddle. There was always a parent to talk to in the quiet hours of night—to give some kind of explanation, to give some kind of comfort.
Mostly, she just liked to watch the kids sleeping.
There was nothing more comforting than watching a child sleep.
Tonight she was watching Grace Flynn, a seven-year-old with a rare form of aggressive bowel cancer. She’d had her tumours operated on twice.
Grace was a beautiful child. She wanted to be a ballerina, or an air hostess, or a teacher. She changed her mind every day. But she was becoming frailer and frailer with every visit. The chemotherapy and radiotherapy were having ravaging effects on her body. The surgeries were taking their toll. The battle was becoming harder and harder.
So tonight she was taking a little pleasure in watching Grace sleep. Watching the rise and fall of her little chest.
Moments like this always pained her. What was worse? Your child dying suddenly, with no chance to say goodbye, or dying slowly, painfully right before your eyes?
Her brain couldn’t even begin to compare those issues. All she knew was that she would do everything in her power to help Grace and her parents.
Hopefully Grace would be able to be discharged home with her family tomorrow and get to spend Christmas at home.
She would love that. She might be the model patient but she always had a smile on her face when she was discharged home.
Jessica walked down the corridor, watching the twinkling lights on the windows and appreciating the stillness of the ward.
It wasn’t always quiet in here. Some nights it went like a fair. Some nights she didn’t even see the inside of her on-call room. Then there were other nights like tonight.
She sat down at the nurses’ station and tapped a few keys on the computer, bringing up the file of one of the kids admitted earlier. She would never have been able to sleep anyway.
Images of Callum were currently swimming around in her brain.
It was the oddest of feelings.
Because she didn’t know how she felt.
For the last few years she’d been sad. She’d worked hard to put one foot in front of the other and try and come out the other side. And now she finally felt as if she’d reached a plateau.
She didn’t cry non-stop any more. She didn’t spend every day wishing she didn’t need to get out of bed. She wasn’t insanely jealous of every woman pushing a stroller in the street.
Oh, she still had moments when things crept up on her and caught her unawares. When she needed a few minutes to gather herself or to wipe the stray tear that appeared on her face.
But things had eased. It was still the first thing she thought about every morning and the last thing she thought about at night. But it didn’t fill her every waking moment of the day any more. She’d allowed herself to think about other things. To care a little about other things.
And work was her biggest comfort. It helped her tick along. It gave her a sense of purpose. A little confidence that she did