had chuckled, he’d felt, for one sliver of a crazy moment, that he could have been completely wrong. That maybe his judgement five years ago had been clouded, distorted by his own miserable childhood.
And an afternoon alone with these kids would prove what? Nothing. He’d made a choice five years ago. It had been the only honest option, and nothing had changed.
Except the way Gretta was smiling at the thought of the beach seemed to be changing things, like it or not. And the knowledge that Em would think giving Gretta an afternoon at the beach was great.
Would it make Em smile?
‘You coming, mate, or are you planning on writing a thesis on the pros and cons?’ Mike demanded, and he caught himself and took Kanga from Toby and handed him to Gretta.
‘We’re coming,’ he told him. He looked at the muscled hulk of a tattooed biker standing at the gate and Oliver Evans, specialist obstetric surgeon, admitted his failings. ‘But you might need to help me plan what to take. I’m a great obstetrician but as a father I’m the pits.’
‘You reckon he’ll be okay? You reckon he’ll manage?’
‘If you’re worried, ring Mike.’
Em and her mum were lying on adjoining massage tables. They had five minutes’ ‘down’ time before the massage was to begin. The soft, cushioned tables were gently warmed, the lights were dim, the sound of the sea washed through the high windows and a faint but lovely perfume was floating from the candles in the high-set sconces.
They should almost be asleep already but Em couldn’t stop fretting.
‘Ring Mike and ask him to check,’ Adrianna said again. ‘We all want you to enjoy this. I want to enjoy this. Check.’
So she rang. She lay on her gorgeous table and listened to Mike’s growl.
‘You’re not supposed to be worrying. Get back to doing nothing.’
‘You’ve got Toby?’
‘Me and Oliver—that’s one hell of a name, isn’t it?—we’re gunna have to think of something shorter—have Toby—and my kids and Gretta. We’re at the beach. Want to see? I’m sending a video. Watch it and then shut up, Em. Quit it with your worrying. Me and your Ollie have things in hand.’
He disconnected. She stared at the phone, feeling disconcerted. Strange. That her kids were somewhere else without her … With Oliver. Ollie …
No one called him Ollie except her, but now Mike was doing the same. It was like two parts of her life were merging.
The old and the new?
It was her imagination. Oliver … Ollie? … would do this afternoon of childminding and move on.
A ping announced the arrival of a message. She clicked and sure enough there was a video, filmed on Mike’s phone and sent straight through.
There was Toby with Mike’s two littlies. They were building a sandcastle—sort of. It was a huge mound of sand, covered with seaweed and shells. Fuzzy was digging a hole on the far side and Mike’s bitser dog was barking in excitement.
As Em watched, Toby picked up a bucket of water and spilt it over the castle—and chuckled. Mike laughed off camera.
‘If you think I don’t have anything better to do than fill buckets for you, young Toby—you’re right …’
And then the camera panned away, down to the shoreline—and Em drew in her breath.
For there was Oliver—and Gretta.
They were sitting on the wet sand, where the low, gentle waves were washing in, washing out.
Oliver had rigged a beach chair beside them, wedging it secure with something that looked like sandbags. Wet towels filled with sand?
Gretta’s oxygen cylinder was high on the seat, safe from the shallow inrushes of water, but Ollie and Gretta were sitting on the wet sand.
He had Gretta on his knee. They were facing the incoming waves, waiting for one to reach them.
‘Here it comes,’ Oliver called, watching as a wave broke far out. ‘Here it comes, Gretta, ready or not. One, two, three …’
And he swung Gretta back against his chest, hugging her as the water surrounded them, washing Gretta’s legs, swishing around his body.
He was wearing board shorts. He was naked from the waist up.
She’d forgotten his body …
No, she hadn’t. Her heart couldn’t clench like this if she’d forgotten.
‘More,’ Gretta whispered, wriggling her toes in the water, twisting so she could see the wave recede. Her eyes were sparkling with delight. She was so close to the other side, this little one, and yet for now she was just a kid having fun.
A kid secure with her … Her what?
Her friend. With Oliver, who couldn’t give his heart.
Silently Em handed her phone to her mum and waited until Adrianna had seen the video.
Adrianna sniffed. ‘Oh, Em …’
‘Yeah.’
‘Do you think …?’
‘No.’
‘It’s such a shame.’
‘It’s the way it is,’ Em said bleakly. ‘But … but for now, he’s making Gretta happy.’
‘He’s lovely,’ Adrianna said stoutly.
‘Don’t I know it?’ Em whispered. ‘Don’t I wish I didn’t?’
‘Em …’
The door opened. Their massage ladies entered, silently, expecting their clients to be well on the way on their journey to complete indulgence.
‘Are you ready?’ the woman due to massage Em asked. ‘Can you clear your mind of everything past, of everything future and just let yourself be. For now there should be nothing outside this room.’
But there was, Em thought as skilful hands started their skin-tingling work. There was a vision of her ex-husband holding her little girl. Making Gretta happy.
Massages were wonderful, she decided as her body responded to the skill of the woman working on her.
They might be wonderful but thinking about Oliver was … better?
He sat in the waves and watched—and felt—Gretta enjoy herself. She was a wraith of a child, a fragile imp, dependent on the oxygen that sustained her, totally dependent on the adults who cared for her.
She trusted him. She faced the incoming waves with joy because she was absolutely sure Oliver would lift her just in time, protect the breathing tube, hug her against his
