she couldn’t control.
He clearly didn’t recognise her. The last time she’d seen him she’d been thirteen years old, chubby and grubby, and he’d been sixteen. Just three years older, but seemingly so worldly-wise, so mature, so stunning. And so handsome. With a dazzling smile that had made her heart go pitter-pat.
Her newly teenaged little heart hadn’t stood a chance when Quinn had first appeared on her radar. Tall and rangy, with a blond quiff, captain of his school’s rugby team, he’d had an easy charm and boy band good-looks. She, on the other hand, had found comfort in food and books, and her wild mass of unconquered curls had earned her the nickname Nit-Nat. Just because she’d once caught nits and spread them to the other kids in the children’s home.
She’d never thought that was fair. It could have happened to any of them. Every time she’d itched and scratched, her fingers buried in the mass of her thick curls, the other kids would run away from her, laughing. She’d spent many hours in front of the matron, painfully enduring the process of the nit comb that kept getting stuck in the knots of her hair. They’d even used a special shampoo, but it had stunk, earning her even more nicknames.
Her misery had been punctuated with happiness at Quinn’s visits. She had been regularly ensnared by Quinn’s smiles and friendly open manner to the other kids at the home when he’d visited to pick up his best mate Dexter.
Her crush on Quinn had been absolute! She’d drawn hearts in her notebooks and put her initials and his inside them with a little arrow. Signed her name with his surname—Natasha Shapiro. It had looked so exotic, so stylish, so grown-up. Everything she had not been, but aspired to be.
She’d try to chat with Dexter, as casually as she could, trying to get information. Quinn wanted to travel the world. To be a doctor. To change people’s lives.
Could he have been any dreamier?
His dreams she had decided to make hers. She’d always enjoyed medical dramas on the television. Always liked to try and guess what was wrong with people and sometimes would get it right. So she had decided that she, too, would go to medical school when she was older. She would travel the world and treat people and make them better and everyone she tended to would be just so grateful to her. Thankful to her for saving their lives. She would be adored. Loved at last. No one would look down on her ever again...
But it hadn’t worked out that way. Following someone else’s dreams had only brought her nightmares.
‘I wonder if you could do me a favour?’ Quinn asked.
Once upon a time she would have jumped to do any favour he’d asked of her. But now she felt cautious. Wary of getting hurt again. Wary of awakening that mean streak he’d once unleashed upon her.
‘What is it?’
‘I need you to check on the other children in your class and at the children’s home. Could you do that for me? Report back if any of them are sick?’
She thought about his request. Was it possible that the others might be sick? She hadn’t even considered the idea. Once she’d seen the state Abeje was in her only thought had been to get her help.
‘You think they might be?’
‘It’s a possibility. The bloods show we’re dealing with the parasite plasmodium falciparum. It’s an aggressive strain. We’re treating with chloroquine and ACTs.’
Tasha frowned. ‘Because some falciparum parasites are immune to the chloroquine?’
He raised a single eyebrow. ‘That’s right. How did you know?’
She shrugged. ‘Oh, I...er... I think I read that somewhere. Before I came over here.’
‘Well, it’s just as a back-up.’
She thought about having to leave the ship. Leave Abeje behind. ‘I don’t want to leave her alone.’
‘She’s in safe hands.’
Of course. Of course he would say that. He still believed in medicine and his skill to save this little girl’s life. Her own belief was a little more battered. But then, as his words began to have more potency the longer they lingered in her brain, she thought about the other children in her class—Machupa, Tabia, Claudette, Habib and the others—all those little faces, all those little people she had come to care so much about. She knew she had to do the right thing and go and check on them.
‘Of course. You’re right. I’ll go right now.’
She had to get away from him. Needed some breathing room. Some time to think.
‘Wait.’ He held up his hand as she moved to slink past him. ‘I think maybe I ought to come with you—and you need to have a drink first. It’s the middle of the day and you’ve had nothing since your arrival. You need to hydrate.’
Her stomach was churning. How would she be able to drink anything? He wanted to go with her.
‘I can do it by myself,’ she said quietly.
What’s happening to me? How has he turned me into a mouse again?
‘I insist. Abeje doesn’t need her teacher collapsing on her as well, does she?’
Tasha sat down in her chair and looked at the sleeping girl. So young and already fighting for her life. How much more bad luck did she need to experience at such a young age? There was no one else to sit by her bedside. Just Tasha. And, yes, she did need to look after herself. No one else would do it for her. But she felt herself bristling at his suggestion. Ordering her about. Telling her what was best for her. Even more so because he was right.
I’m going to have to deal with it.
If the other kids were sick, wouldn’t it be better to have a real doctor by her side?
‘Okay.’
‘How do you like it?’
She blinked. ‘What?’
‘Your tea.’
He smiled, and the devastating power of it—the familiarity, the punch-in-the-gut strength of it—almost winded her. Those teeth... That dimple in his right cheek...
Remember what he did to you.
‘Er...milk. One sugar.’
His eyes creased as he smiled again, bookending the corners with lines that had never been there before, but that just increased his attraction. How did the nurses get any work done around him? How did anyone concentrate? Were they immune? Had they had some sort of vaccination? Because if they had then she damn well wanted one for herself!
She’d worked so hard to forget this man. And she’d thought she’d been successful. It had just been a crush, as a child—so what? He’d broken her heart badly—but who cared? It had been years ago. Years.
And it turned out he didn’t even recognise her.
Or remember her.
If she was so forgettable, then she wanted to make sure he meant just as little to her now.
She
