just nausea. She must have looked pretty green, because as her hand flew to her mouth Leo was already by her side, grabbing her free hand and pulling her to the stairs.
LEO LEANED AGAINST the landing wall, trying not to hear the noises emanating from the bathroom, and wondering whether he was relieved or annoyed that Rachel had so easily brushed away his offer of help and slammed the bathroom door shut with him on the outside. Not that it sounded a particularly appealing place to be right now, but the knowledge that she was perfectly happy doing this alone—was happier doing it alone—made his chest uncomfortable. Because at the moment, it felt as if any involvement in his child’s life depended entirely on this woman’s opinion of him, and was entirely on her terms. He’d been terrified, was still terrified, when she’d told him that she was pregnant; but the thought of his child out there in the world not even knowing him was more frightening still.
He’d have to apologise for snapping at her like that. Losing his cool definitely didn’t help him get what he needed—but he had to get her to see his point, and to agree with it. Of course there were parts of this situation that he couldn’t avoid planning in advance—he was perfectly prepared to understand that a doctor’s appointment had to be made for a particular time. And though the thought of those appointments stretching out for years in the future didn’t do brilliant things to him, it didn’t fill him with the same queasy dread he’d felt when he’d glimpsed the plan she’d drawn up. Just the headings told him he was in trouble. Timing. Finance. Schooling. Schooling? He didn’t even know when the baby was due, and they were talking schooling already? Did she even know yet when it was due? Had she been to the doctor? Probably things he would know already if he hadn’t walked out on her. The bathroom had gone quiet, and he leaned back against the door.
‘Rachel?’ he shouted through the wood. ‘All okay in there?’
‘Fine,’ she replied and he could hear tears in her voice. Was that the sickness or something else?
‘Can I get you anything?’
‘No, I’m fine. I just need to catch my breath.’
He heard her lean back against the door, and he followed her down, until the old oak was supporting them both.
‘Then can I ask you a question?’
He took the mumble he could hear as a yes.
‘Tell me about the plans. Why do you need them? Help me understand.’
He held his breath, hoping that she would trust him. See that he was reaching out to her, and wanting her to reach back. He needed to understand her. To try and find out how they were going to manage to get along, now that they were tied together.
‘I don’t need them. I just like to have an idea of what’s going on. What’s wrong with that?’
‘There’d be nothing wrong with that. But that’s not how you felt downstairs just now, was it?’
He listened through the door, wishing he could see her face, wishing he could at least see her expression. Just as he was giving up hope that she would ever speak...
‘It makes me feel safe.’
He was almost tempted to laugh at that, the quirk of fate that had brought him together with a woman who could only feel safe if he felt bone-chillingly terrified. Instead he heard the trepidation in her voice, the hint of tears. He wanted to break down the door, wrap his arms around her and tell her that they would be okay. Or, failing that, tease and kiss her until the tension left her shoulders, until her limbs were heavy and languid, wrapped around him. Instead, he asked another question, hoping that the pain now would be worth it eventually.
‘Why?’
He pressed his head back against the solid wood of the door, wondering if she could feel how close he was. Whether she wanted him closer, the way he wanted her.
The memories of the night they had spent together had often played on his mind in the weeks after. Flashbacks, scents, snatches of songs all reminded him of the hours they’d spent wrapped around each other. And he couldn’t deny that these memories had something to do with why he’d been so keen to meet with Will and discuss the idea he’d had—to create a sculpture for the Julia House charity. They could keep it in the grounds, or auction it for money. Whatever they thought would benefit their patients most. He’d floated a couple of ideas to Will the night of the fundraiser—always with half an eye for whether Will’s assistant would take an interest in the conversation.
Then after he’d left Rachel at the station, the momentary relief he’d felt as his train had pulled away had faded quickly, leaving him dissatisfied, feeling as if he’d missed an opportunity. Maybe he’d been too hasty running from her then, he’d thought as he’d made the phone call to Will. Maybe they could have had a few more nights like the previous one before they inevitably went their separate ways. As he’d taken the train up to London, he’d let himself imagine how she’d react to seeing him again. And then a little longer thinking of everything they could get up to if she was of the same mind.
The shock of a baby in the works had seemingly done nothing to quell his fierce imagination.
He jumped up at the turning of the lock and was brushing off his jeans when the door opened and Rachel appeared, looking a little pale. ‘Morning sickness, I guess,’ she said as she walked out. He nodded as if he understood, but beyond the fact that he knew pregnant women were sick sometimes he was pretty much clueless. For a start, shouldn’t it happen in the morning? He didn’t know the exact time—he hadn’t worn a watch since he was a kid. It was probably past eleven when he left his workshop. And he’d laid floorboards and half carried a pregnant woman up a flight of stairs since then. It was definitely well past morning.
‘Sorry, it took me by surprise. It’s not happened before,’ she continued, as clipped and professional as if he’d called by her office. He stopped her with a hand on her shoulder and gently turned her face up to him.
‘I borrowed your toothbrush,’ she blurted, and he guessed from the rosy blush of her cheeks she’d not meant to confess. He laughed, the re-emergence of her human side relaxing him.
‘No worries.’ He smiled at her. ‘I think we’re a little past worrying about a shared toothbrush.’ He was gratified by her small smile, but a little uneasy at how his own insides relaxed at the sight of it.
‘So what now?’ she asked as they hovered on the landing. She looked lost, smaller somehow, as if she was losing a grip on what it was that allowed her to present her usual polished, professional, vibrant face to the world. He knew what she was missing—her plan—but he couldn’t bring himself to look at it yet. Not even for her. But he could offer her a distraction, a plan for the next hour or so. He hoped it would be enough.
‘What about a walk on the beach? An ice cream and fish and chips—if you’re hungry.’
She nodded and he remembered the night they met, when he’d heard the clear chime of her laugh and seen it as a challenge to get her to make that sound as many times as he could. The prospect seemed a distant one right now. But he’d made a connection with her before. Felt her relax in his arms. If they could do that again, find the connection that had strung between them that night and held strong until the next morning.
‘A walk and an ice
