you. Isaac and I would like to stay.’
At least he had the grace to nod, as if the outcome of this particular skirmish hadn’t been a foregone conclusion.
He stepped away from the door, hooking up his jacket and slinging his sports bag over his shoulder. ‘Let’s get out of here. What’s for dinner?’
* * *
She’d tried to palm him off with peppered steak, but Edward had rather liked the idea of eating early and sharing pizza with Charlotte and Isaac. He liked the execution even better.
Isaac stood on a chair, a folded-down apron tied around him, dipping into bowls of sliced tomatoes and mushrooms to decorate his pizza. This was the kind of fun he hadn’t had in a long time, and the feeling that the woman and child he so wanted to protect were here, safe with him...
Edward paused for a moment to consider whether safe and with him weren’t in fact a contradiction of terms and then gave up the unequal struggle. For tonight it was more than enough to know that they were having fun, and that he was there to turn back anyone who came knocking on the door.
‘So who’s this meant to be, then?’
A grave face stared out at him from Isaac’s pizza.
‘It’s...’ Isaac had a showman’s mastery of the expectant pause ‘...you!’
‘Me?’ Edward ignored the stifled giggle behind him. ‘I don’t look very happy.’
‘That’s your thinking face.’
‘Ah. Well, I suppose that’s all right, then.’
‘What’s yours?’ Isaac peered across at Edward’s pizza, and would have toppled off the chair if Edward hadn’t shot a hand out to steady him.
‘It’s...just a pattern.’ He was beginning to learn that details could get him into trouble.
Isaac twisted his head from one side to the other. Edward wondered whether the complex symmetry was really so beyond him, and came to the conclusion that somewhere, on a chiefly instinctive level, he understood.
‘It’s different from Mum’s.’
Charlotte had decorated her pizza with swirls and curlicues of tomato, mushrooms and olives.
‘Well, your mum and I are different. We like different things.’
‘Hmm...’
Isaac returned to his pizza, adding another mushroom to Edward’s brow to indicate a stray lock of hair, leaving Edward to contemplate the essential differences between himself and Charlotte and thank his lucky stars that Isaac hadn’t asked him to enumerate them.
The evening was warm, and while the pizzas baked in the oven Edward opened the French doors onto the patio, spreading a cloth on the table and unstacking the chairs. They ate together in the evening sunshine, and as the shadows lengthened Isaac was allowed to get down from the table. Edward fetched a ball for him to play football in the garden.
‘Mind the flowers, sweetie.’
Charlotte was down on her knees, her arms around her son, talking quietly to him the way she did when she had anything serious to say.
‘You can play there, on the lawn, but don’t kick the ball too hard.’
It didn’t matter. Isaac could have flattened every last one of the flowers in his garden and Edward wouldn’t have cared. But Charlotte was his mother, and she wanted to teach him respect for the things around him, so Edward said nothing.
‘How are you doing?’ As the daylight failed the light in her eyes seemed to fail as well. The effort of getting through today was beginning to tell on her.
She smiled at him. ‘I’m fine, thank you.’ Her gaze shot back towards Isaac as the ball veered close to the flowerbeds and he ran to pick it up. ‘You’ve been such a star, Edward.’
Warmth suffused the whole of his body. Edward made a difference every day. The complex surgery he performed had the power to change people’s lives, and it would be false modesty to claim that he didn’t do it well. He wouldn’t do it if he didn’t believe that he excelled at it. But that was different. Somehow making just the slightest difference in Charlotte’s life had the power to move him more than the considerable satisfaction he got from his job.
‘I might see if Isaac wants a hand with the football in a moment.’
Her laugh was sweet and clear. Closer to the laugh that had filtered into his consciousness more than once at work, jolting him suddenly out of whatever he was doing.
‘If he thinks he’s got someone to play football with he won’t give you a moment’s peace. I don’t want to keep you from anything else...’
The books would still be there tomorrow. So would the paper he was writing. This moment would be gone.
Edward stood, rolled up his shirtsleeves and prepared to take on the simple intricacies of the Beautiful Game.
* * *
She had put Isaac to bed and only returned downstairs for long enough to bid him goodnight. Edward knew why, and he hated it. She’d faced the day, but now she needed to fall apart—and she was determined to do that alone.
He spent a miserable hour trying to review the notes of a young surgeon he was mentoring, and then climbed the stairs. He could hear a quiet, muffled sound coming from Charlotte’s room. She was crying.
Should he tap on her door?
No. Late in the evening, her bedroom, offering solace... Things didn’t get much more hazardous than that. He’d have to comfort her, take her into his arms, perhaps. Feel the softness of her body against his own taut, screaming frame. It wasn’t a good idea. On the other hand just carrying on along the hallway and going to bed was impossible.
Edward sank to the floor at the top of the stairs. Waited. If he couldn’t console her, the least he could do was watch over her—even if she’d never know he’d been there.
CHARLOTTE GREETED HIM the next morning with hot coffee, toast and a smile. Her capacity to smile never ceased to impress Edward, as did her ability to bounce back from whatever life threw at her.
‘So it’s the Lighthouse this morning.’ She seemed to be looking forward to it.
‘Yes. Sure you’re up to it?’
She’d already had a hell of a week, and it was only Wednesday.
‘Of course.’ She settled into the front seat of his car. ‘Why? Do you have any concerns?’
‘No. I think it’s a great idea for you to come and talk to Mercy before she’s transferred over into the clinic’s care. I wish I’d thought of it myself.’
He had, actually. He just hadn’t been quite
