love the new him, who would?
Remote, she’d called him. Remote, detached, and morose.
He hadn’t liked the morose with its undertones of brooding, but the remote bit had really got to him. It was a word that sounded unpleasant. It could never be used to describe Jo. He’d seen her angry, and snappish, and competently assured as she’d knelt by the injured moped driver. He’d even seen the shadows of sadness in her face, but she was always involved—ready with an opinion, seeking new ideas.
Remote suggested a detachment from the world, and for sure it was one of the symptoms of PTSD that he had been able to tick. On leaving the army, he’d felt as if the world he’d returned to was a parallel universe and he was rudderless in it. He’d been on the outside, looking in, aware that none of the people around him could, in their wildest dreams, have imagined what he’d seen and been through.
The strange thing was that he didn’t feel that way now. Maybe it was the surf at Crystal Cove clearing his head, but the idea of starting a support group had stirred something akin to excitement in him, and he was looking forward to doing some research on IVF treatments for older women.
Looking forward to helping people?
Getting involved?
He wasn’t sure what had caused the change, but though he might be on the right track he suspected he had a lot more healing to do before he could think in terms of a relationship with a woman.
Although Jo obviously had her own baggage—her sister’s death, for a start.
Could two wounded souls somehow help each other heal?
He remembered how her eyes had looked—clear green pools—and his body stirred in a way that was totally inappropriate as a reaction to one’s boss, however temporary his employment might be …
‘I HADN’T realised how much more quickly we’d get through the day with two doctors.’
Jo had been chatting to the receptionist when Cam showed his final patient out. Now she walked with him back along the hall.
‘I phoned Lauren, who runs the refuge, earlier. The two families who are living there at the moment are having a “treat night” tonight, which means there’s no one at the house. We could go over later if that suits you. You could see the place and talk to Lauren about how it works and also about the men’s programme. Funding is always difficult—sometimes impossible. Originally we got the bequest to set up the refuge, but that’s not enough to keep it going these days so poor Lauren gets bits and pieces from different government agencies. One of the local service clubs has it as their main charity, but I can’t promise you’d be paid for running a men’s programme, although if you start it while you’re working for me, but then … ‘
She stopped and looked up at him, a worried frown knitting her eyebrows.
‘Of course you don’t have to come with me, you might prefer to go surfing or have other stuff you want to do but—’
‘Jo!’
Cam held up his hands as he said her name—a placating gesture, not surrender.
‘Calm down. We can’t change the entire world right now. Let’s take it one step at a time. I’m more than happy to go with you to see the refuge, and seeing it when no one’s there is an excellent idea. Do I have time for a quick shower and change of clothes before we go?’
She was staring at him, a bewildered look on her face, then he watched as she gathered herself together, shaking her head just slightly as if to get everything back into place.
‘I never blather on like that!’ she said, her tone so accusing he had to laugh.
‘Blathering’s okay,’ he assured her, but the worried look on her face told him she didn’t believe him. He diverted her by repeating his question.
‘Shower?’
‘Of course,’ she said, but he guessed it had been an automatic response, her mind still occupied by the blather business.
Jo was glad he’d left as soon as she’d agreed they had time to freshen up, because now, maybe, she could sort out what was happening to her.
The men’s programme was an excellent idea, and she had no doubt Cam, with his training and experience, would be just the man to set it up and run it.
And even if the refuge closed, the programme could still run, so it wasn’t that disturbing her …
Was it because he’d talked of staying on that she’d been thrown into a dither?
Had she somehow convinced herself that she could put up with the distraction he was causing her body for a couple of months but once the issue of his staying longer had arisen, her brain had gone into meltdown?
She couldn’t answer either of her questions so she locked her office door, said good-bye to Kate who was working Reception today, and hurried up the steps at the back of the surgery.
Maybe a shower would help her brain return to normal, but cold or hot she had no confidence in it doing anything to stop her body reacting to her temporary employee.
It was only a couple of months!
But could she let him live in his van in the caravan park if he stayed on to run a men’s programme?
She had the flat …
Best not to think ahead.
But for the second day in a row, she put on just a little lipstick.
Pathetic.
The refuge was behind one of Crystal Cove’s still functioning churches. It had been the minister’s house—the manse—once, but now the minister lived forty miles up the coast and served a flock spread over a wide area, holding services at the Cove once a fortnight.
‘It’s fairly obvious, isn’t it?’ Cam asked as Jo pulled into the driveway.
She looked around at the high wire fence, the security cameras at the corners of the old wooden residence, the playground equipment out the back.
Turned back to Cam.
‘In what way?’
‘Well, I thought they had to be anonymous places, women’s refuges, hidden away—ordinary houses but their use not known even to neighbours.’
Jo smiled at him—he was so darned easy to smile at.
And she’d better think about that thought later.
‘In bigger towns and cities that might be possible and it’s definitely desirable, but in a town this size? As you’d surmised, towns this size don’t usually have a refuge. We’re lucky because the church not only lets us have the premises rent free, but they pay expenses on it—rates and such. The service clubs did a lot
