girl was allowed to dream, wasn’t she?
JENNY WOKE TO a nurse pumping a blood-pressure cuff wrapped around her arm. ‘Did I miss the party?’
The nurse frowned. ‘Party?’
‘The dry mouth and fuzzy head.’
An easy smile. ‘The revolting after-effects of anaesthetic. Your blood pressure’s normal. I need to take your temperature.’ A thermometer was slipped into her mouth as the nurse continued to talk. ‘Breakfast will be along shortly. You’ve got visitors, too.’
‘Visitors?’ Jenny spluttered around the glass stick between her lips. ‘I don’t know—’ Anyone except Cam and his boys. ‘Oh.’
‘Those boys are so gorgeous.’ Then the girl winked. ‘Just like their dad.’
‘True.’ It had to be post-op trauma that made her agree. ‘Does Mr McNamara do rounds on Sundays?’
‘He phoned earlier to say he’d drop by to see you this morning.’
‘Hey, sunshine, you’re looking more comfortable,’ Cam called from the doorway. ‘Up to visitors? As in three of us?’
‘You bet.’ Shuffling up the bed, she pulled the sheet up to her throat and settled back on the pillows the nurse rearranged at her back. Sunshine, eh? More like a disaster zone, with hair that hadn’t been brushed and probably yesterday’s mascara making dark smudges under her eyes. But it felt inordinately good to see him.
Cam stepped into the tiny room, followed by his sons carefully carrying coffee and something smelling suspiciously like a hot croissant.
‘Hello, guys. Is that for me?’
They nodded in unison. ‘Yes.’
‘You’re crackerjacks, you know that? I’ve been hanging out for a proper coffee since I arrived in this place.’ To think she could’ve blown this by venting her anger at them yesterday.
‘There’s a bacon and egg thing, too.’ One of them held out the bag to her.
‘Bacon and egg croissant,’ the other explained.
‘Okay, tell me, is there a trick to knowing who’s Marcus and who’s Andrew?’ They were darned near identical, though now that she was looking for differences she could see one of the boys had a tiny scar on his chin. Tapping it gently, she asked, ‘What happened there?’
‘Marcus pushed me off the swing when we were little.’
‘Gotcha. You’re Andrew.’ Now all she had to do was remember to look for that pale scar every time she bumped into these two scallywags. Like how often would that happen?
Andrew smiled a bigger, more impish version of that smile his father had given her yesterday when he’d visited the ED. ‘Marcus has got a scar on his bottom.’
‘Have not.’ The other twin stuck his chin out and glared at his brother.
‘Have too.’ Andrew scowled and made to haul his brother’s shorts down.
Cam stepped in. ‘That’s enough, boys. We came to visit, not turn the ward into a war zone.’
Jenny felt something oddly like laughter beginning to bubble up. When was the last time she’d laughed? ‘Better than the boring place it is at the moment. So how was your party? Did Santa Claus bring presents?’
‘Santa Claus isn’t real. He’s—’
‘Just an old man dressed up funny.’
Her breath hitched. A lump blocked her throat. She and Alison used to finish each other’s sentences. Oh, boy, this just got hard. Harder. Think of something to say. They’re all staring at you. ‘Bet you accepted the presents he gave you.’
‘Of course. They are cool. I got a remote-control plane.’
‘I got a helicopter.’
‘Pilots, eh? Have you been flying in real planes?’ She wanted to tell them how cute they were but knew not to if she wanted to remain friends with them, and, strangely, despite that little glitch over the way they shared sentences, she found she did. Though the chances of seeing them again once they walked out of here were very remote.
Cam was shaking his head at the three of them. ‘Don’t any of you come up for air?’
All three of them shook their heads and smiled at Cam, who said, ‘Great, so I’m the only sensible, sane one around here. Jenny, do you want milk for your coffee? Sugar? I can scrounge some off the nurses.’
‘Milk and sugar would be good.’
‘Dad, can we bring our presents to show her?’ Marcus—or was it Andrew?—asked. They weren’t directly facing her so there were no identifying marks in sight.
‘The lady has a name. Miss …’ His brow wrinkled as he glanced at her hands. ‘Miss Bostock, or Dr Bostock.’
Jenny locked gazes with him, and felt a nudge in the pit of her stomach. He really was gorgeous. She hadn’t been imagining it through the haze of nitrous oxide. ‘I’m happy with Jenny, unless you object.’ Definitely not Dr. She didn’t deserve that title any more.
He shrugged. ‘No problem. Okay, lads, give Jenny the food and coffee. No, don’t climb on the bed. She has a very sore foot.’
Instantly Marcus’s smile disappeared and his head dropped forward. ‘I’m sorry.’
So was she, but it had happened and grumping about it wouldn’t make him feel good. Wouldn’t do her any favours either. Leaning forward, she raised the boy’s head with her hand under his chin so he had to look at her. ‘Listen to me. It was an accident. You didn’t mean it, did you?’ His head slid from side to side. ‘You didn’t see me and I didn’t see you. I was watching the fishing boat out on the water. So let’s not worry about this again. Okay?’
Marcus nodded and looked at his dad. ‘She’s nice, Dad. I like her.’
Heat seeped into her cheeks, probably making her usually pale face resemble a stop light. That was the nicest thing anyone had said to her in a long while. She could even feel tears collecting in the back of her eyes. Great. Crying twice in less than twenty-four hours. Cam would think she should be in the mental health ward and rush his boys away.
‘Breakfast time,’ called an older woman, as she pushed in a cart that rattled with plates and cups.
Saved by the cart. ‘Can I have some milk and sugar, please?’
‘Certainly. Your family brought in some decent coffee for you. That’s lovely. Here, lads, hand Mum the milk, will you?’
Marcus stared at the woman with his mouth open and something like anguish in his brown eyes, while Andrew took the plastic bottle and passed it to Jenny, looking bemused
