at him. ‘The bed’s made up and you’ll find the basics in your fridge. It’s too late to do anything today and I’m sure you need to catch up on your sleep.’
‘I’ll hang on for a while. The sooner I slot back into this time zone, the sooner I’ll beat the jet lag.’
‘Is that right? As someone whose only trip overseas was the Isle of Man, I’ll have to take your word for it.’
‘The Isle of Man isn’t overseas, Grace.’
‘Isn’t it?’ she asked. ‘I wouldn’t advise walking there.’
That earned her one of those smiles that never failed to light up her insides and, feeling instantly guilty, she looked away.
‘There’s a casserole in the oven and I’m just about to eat. I’m not sure what meal time you’re on but, if you’re serious about keeping local hours, you’d be wise to join me.’
He shook his head. ‘I’m not hungry.’
‘Oddly enough,’ she said, ‘neither am I, but unlike you I can’t indulge in the luxury of missing meals.’
She stopped herself. His body clock must be all over the place and while snapping at him might make her feel better, would certainly help distract her from an almost irresistible urge to throw caution to the winds, fling herself at him and beg him to make it better, it wasn’t fair on him.
‘Look, why don’t you go and take a shower? Maybe have a shave?’ she suggested. ‘See how you feel then?’
He ran a hand over his chin. ‘You don’t like the beard?’
‘Beard?’ Under the pretext of assessing the short dark beard that covered his firm chin, cheeks hollowed with exhaustion, she indulged herself in a long look. Finally shaking her head as if in disbelief, she said, ‘Are you telling me that the stubble is deliberate?’
And for a moment, just for a moment, his mouth twitched into a whisper of the smile that had once reduced the hearts of teenage girls to mush. If her heart-racing response was anything to go by, it had much the same effect on mature and otherwise sensible women.
But then she was a long-lost cause.
‘I’m sorry, Josh,’ she added. ‘I just assumed that you’d forgotten to pack your razor.’
‘If that were true, you’d have had no doubt about the beard, but I’m still carrying the bag I had with me in China and Nepal so I hope the washing machine is up to the—’
He broke off as a tiny mewl emerged from the crib. A tiny mewl that quickly grew into an insistent wail.
Grace sighed. ‘I thought it was too good to be true. She’s been so fretful for the last couple of days. Clingy. It’s almost as if she knows there’s something wrong.’
Josh took a step towards the crib and, very gently, he laid his hand, as she had done, on the baby’s tummy.
Posie immediately stopped crying and, eyes wide, stared up at the tall figure standing over her. Then, as if demanding more from her uncle, she reached out a tiny fist and Grace caught her breath as Josh crouched beside the crib and touched her hand with the tip of one finger.
He’d been beyond angry when she’d told him that he was too late to stop the surrogacy, that she was already pregnant with her sister’s baby. News that she hadn’t even shared with Phoebe, determined not to raise false hopes until the doctor had confirmed it.
She hadn’t known how he would react to Posie. As a youth, a young man, he’d been adamant that he would never have children of his own. His marriage to a girl he’d never even mentioned had been so swift, so unexpected that it seemed at the time as if everyone was holding their breath, sure that only the imminent arrival of a baby could have prompted it. But there had been no baby and within a year the marriage had been over.
Now, as he gazed down at this small miracle, she waited, heart in her mouth, for his reaction. For the inevitable question.
How could she do it?
How could she have felt the first tiny movements, watched that first scan, listened to the squishy beat of her heartbeat, cherished the baby growing inside her for nine long months, only to surrender her to her sister and his brother?
Other people had asked.
Not friends, true friends. They had understood. But a reporter from the local paper who’d somehow picked up the story had called her, wanting to know the whys, the hows, the financial deal she’d signed up to. If the woman had done her research, she’d have known that anything but expenses was against the law and Grace hadn’t needed or wanted even that. It was the people who didn’t know them who’d seemed most indignant that she could do such a thing. People who clearly had no concept of unselfish love.
None of those people had mattered, but she so wanted Josh to understand. Even though he disapproved of what she’d done, she needed him to understand, without asking, why she’d done it.
Don’t, she silently begged him. Please don’t ask….
‘Michael rang me minutes after Posie was born,’ he said, after what felt like an eternity. ‘He was almost incoherent with joy.’ For a moment he too seemed to find difficulty in speaking. ‘I was in the back of beyond somewhere, the line was terrible but even through the static it came through loud and clear. His world was complete.’ He looked up, looked at her. ‘You gave him that, Grace.’
She let out a breath she hadn’t been aware she was holding. He understood.
Then, catching up, ‘Michael phoned you?’
‘He didn’t mention it?’
She shook her head. Why wouldn’t he have told her? Had Phoebe known?
‘What did you say to him, Josh?’ she demanded.
‘I asked him if you were all right and, when he assured me that you had sailed through the whole thing, I asked him if he was sure you had no doubts about giving up the baby. Urged him not to rush you…’
She waited, sure there was something else, but he shook his head.
‘I didn’t,’ she said. ‘He didn’t.’
Why had it mattered so much to him? And why wouldn’t they have told her that he’d cared enough to ask about her? Had been concerned that she was all right. Hadn’t Phoebe known how much it would have meant to her?
Or was that it?
Had her sister suspected what had happened between them all those years ago? Had they been afraid that, in the hormonal rush after Posie’s birth, a word from Josh might have been enough to change her mind?
Not wanting to think about that, she crossed to the crib, picked Posie up, cradled her briefly, cherishing the weight of her in her arms, the baby scent of clean hair, warm skin. Then she turned and offered her to Josh.
‘Here,’ she said. ‘Take her. Hold her.’ When he didn’t move, she looked up to find him staring, not at the baby but at her. ‘What?’
He
