Oh, he was grown up. He’d grown up the day he’d come home late from work with a bunch of flowers for her and found her letter.
Nick returned from taking his call. ‘Sorry about that. Right, where were we?’
‘I’ll leave you to it. Send Linda my love,’ Gemma said, and fled back into her room, her heart pounding, her legs like jelly and her stupid, stupid hormones racing through her body and dragging it from an eleven-year slumber into vibrant, screaming wakefulness…
‘So—what do you think of the set-up?’
Nick had concluded his guided tour after a walk through the minor injuries suite downstairs and a quick chat with Lauren, the physio, a local girl whom Sam vaguely remembered, and they were back in Reception when Nick asked the question, his expression hopeful despite the simple words.
Except of course there was nothing simple about them, and it didn’t take a genius to read the subtext.
‘Excellent—but I’m not falling for it, Nick,’ Sam said softly. ‘I don’t want to work here.’ Not with Gemma.
‘Why? You need a job, we need a doctor. Your mother and brother need you and, frankly, looking at you, I reckon you need us. Can’t I talk you into it—at least for a few weeks until we can get someone to take over? We’d be hugely grateful, and it would give you something productive to do while your mother recovers.’
‘I’ve got plenty to do. The garden can’t have been touched for years—’
‘Gardening leave?’ Nick said softly, his eyes mocking. ‘At least think about it. Maybe it’s time to come home, Sam.’
But then Gemma came downstairs again, and their eyes locked and pain lanced through him.
‘I don’t think so,’ he muttered, and, turning on his heel, he crossed the reception area in two strides and slapped the swing door out of his way.
Then and only then did he breathe again…
She didn’t know how she got through the rest of the day.
Sam had left the building, but his aura hung in the air, his presence filling every corner and bringing a huge lump to her throat every time she allowed herself the luxury of thinking of him.
Not that she had much time, because she had a busy afternoon surgery and afterwards she was due to go up to the high school for a careers evening. And on her way home to change, of course, she had to drive past his mother’s house, and his car was on the drive. At least she assumed it was his car, because it had a hire-car logo in the window.
Oh, why was she so fixated on him? She couldn’t afford to let herself do this. He was passing through, doing what he’d done over and over again, coming back only for long enough to do what was necessary and this time, just for good measure, tearing the scab off her wounded heart.
If she let him. She didn’t have to, of course. She could keep him firmly at a distance. She’d heard Nick ask him to stay, seen him leave the building as if it were on fire.
Sam wouldn’t be staying.
And she wouldn’t be letting him into her heart.
‘Sam! Hello, darling, I hoped you’d come.’
‘Hiya. How are you? You sound better—your speech is much clearer. That’s fantastic.’ He brushed a kiss over his mother’s drooping cheek—was it less noticeable?—and eased himself down into the chair beside her bed. ‘I’ve brought you some grapes.’
‘Not chocolate?’
He gave a short laugh. ‘No, Mum, not chocolate. Grapes are good for you and, besides, I like them.’ He helped himself to a handful and settled back in the chair, one foot crossed over the other knee. ‘Anyway, I want to talk to you. About Jamie.’
‘Oh, Sam, where is he?’ she slurred, her eyes welling. ‘I thought you’d bring him.’
‘No, sorry, I had to walk the dog, and when I got back he’d gone out—he sent me a text, though. He had to be at school, he said.’
‘He doesn’t want to see me.’
He didn’t tell her that the thought had occurred to him, too. ‘No, it’s legit. I rang the school—it’s a careers evening and he’s apparently volunteered to help out. I’m going over there as soon as I leave you to make sure he’s there and talk to the staff.’
‘Oh, dear,’ she said ruefully.
‘Mmm. I’m sure they’ll have lots to say, but so have I. Don’t worry, I’ll sort Jamie out. You just concentrate on getting better.’
She gave a funny little laugh, then her face creased. ‘How’s Digger? Does he miss me?’
Sam smiled. ‘I think he does, but he’s enjoying his walks. We had a lovely run on the beach this morning at dawn.’ Down to the other beach, to sit on the stumps of the old cabin and torture himself with the memories…
‘Don’t let him off the lead. He’ll go down a hole.’
Sam laughed softly. ‘I do remember you telling me how he got his name. I’ll keep him on the lead, don’t worry.’
‘So—did you go to the surgery?’ she asked after the slightest pause, and he braced himself for the inevitable questions.
‘Yes, I saw Nick.’
‘And Gemma?’
He felt his mouth tighten and consciously relaxed it. ‘Yes, I saw Gemma. She sends her love. She seems to know you quite well.’
‘Oh, she does. She runs the cont…’
She trailed off, exasperated by her uncooperative tongue, and Sam put in, ‘The continuing care clinic?’
‘Mmm. She does my blood pressure. She’s beautiful, isn’t she? Pretty girl.’
‘I didn’t notice,’ he lied. ‘I was a bit busy.’
God, it was a wonder his nose wasn’t longer than Pinocchio’s! He put the grapes back on his mother’s bed table before he crushed them all inadvertently, moved her newspaper and picked up her weakened left hand. ‘Come on, let’s do some physio. We need to keep these fingers moving.’
She shook her head. ‘They just won’t.’
‘They will. Keep trying. Here, come on, I’ll help you,’ he said, and, taking her fingers in his, he started working on them, giving himself something to do apart from conjuring Gemma’s image into his crazed mind.
But it didn’t work, her image was still there larger than life, her soft, wounded, wary eyes torturing him, so after a few minutes he put his mother’s hand down and stood up. ‘Right, I’m off to the school to sort out young Jamie. I’ll see you tomorrow. Be good.’
‘What else?’ she said sadly, and her eyes filled again, ripping at his conscience. ‘Bring him—come for longer. I miss you, Sam. You don’t know…’
