‘HANNAH AND SOPHIE really liked you,’ Tim said when he managed to snatch a coffee break at the same time as Rachel, the next day.
‘It’s mutual,’ she said. ‘They’re lovely. And that tells me what a gorgeous woman Mandy was, too.’
Then Ediye came into the rest room. ‘I know you’re both on a break,’ she said, ‘but I’m in over my head. I have a patient with suspected sepsis.’
Tim and Rachel exchanged a glance. Sepsis was potentially serious, but both of them thought that Ediye was experienced enough to handle the situation.
‘And she has motor neurone disease,’ she said.
Motor neurone disease was a disorder that affected the nerves controlling the muscles, and eventually made the muscles weaken and waste; it could affect movement, speech and breathing. Although there was no cure, the symptoms could be treated. But MND meant they’d need to take a lot more into account where sepsis was concerned.
‘I’ll come now,’ Rachel said. ‘Catch you later, Tim.’
Ediye introduced her to Ginny Morton, their patient, and her partner Bella.
‘Ginny was a pharmacology lecturer,’ Bella said. ‘MND hasn’t taken away her intellect, but she can’t speak any more. She communicates with her eyes—one blink for yes, two for no.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘We do use an alphabet chart, but it’s slow and frustrating when you blink to spell a word.’
‘I can imagine,’ Rachel said. ‘Ginny, I’m sorry that I need to ask Bella to answer for you, but Ediye tells me you might have sepsis so, with your background, you’ll know why I want to assess you as fast as possible. Can I check you’re OK with that?’
Ginny gave a single blink, and Rachel squeezed her hand. ‘Thank you. And you’re happy for me to examine you?’
Another single blink.
‘Thank you. Are you in any pain?’
Two slow blinks. ‘That’s good,’ Rachel said.
The breathing difficulty was apparent; when Rachel listened to Ginny’s chest there was little air going in. Given the motor neurone disease, Ginny’s ventilation muscles were probably impaired. Her heart rate was faster than Rachel was happy with, and her blood pressure was on the low side; the signs were all pointing towards a severe infection.
‘So when did the breathing difficulty start?’ she asked.
‘Today,’ Bella said. ‘She was tired, yesterday; this morning, her breathing was bad, and her temperature was up. That’s why I called the ambulance.’
‘You did the right thing. Ginny, I’m going to send you for a chest X-ray,’ Rachel said, ‘because I’m not happy about what I’m hearing through the stethoscope. I think it’s likely to be an infection, and I’m going to give you some broad-spectrum antibiotics, as well as some fluids and medication to get your blood pressure up. And I want to admit you for monitoring.’ She looked at Bella. ‘The antibiotics should kick in fairly quickly, but I’m worried about Ginny’s breathing. I’d like her in so we can react quickly if her breathing gets worse. But I’m pretty sure we can get her through this and back home.’
‘Good. Because I’m not ready to...’ Bella’s voice wobbled.
Guessing what the other woman wasn’t saying—that she wasn’t ready to say goodbye to the woman she loved—Rachel gave her a swift hug. ‘Hang on in there,’ she said. And she was really glad that she, rather than Tim, had helped Ediye with this case. She had a feeling it would’ve brought back too many memories for Tim, opening up his scars from losing Mandy.
At the end of November, it was the department’s Christmas meal. A couple of evenings beforehand, Tim was curled up with Rachel on her sofa. ‘Is it bad to admit that I’m dreading the Christmas meal?’ he asked.
Rachel frowned. ‘Why are you dreading it? From what I’ve heard, it’s the highlight of the department at Christmas, and everyone loves you doling out the Secret Santa presents.’
‘But it’s the start of Christmas.’ Tim wrinkled his nose. ‘And you know what Christmas is like in the department. All the winter ailments, the fractures from icy days, and then Christmas itself when people start drinking and falling out, and we have to spend half our time patching them up.’
‘Yes, but that’s only some of the population,’ she reminded him. ‘Most people enjoy the chance to spend time with the people they love, eating too much and playing board games and...’ She looked at him. ‘What’s this really about, Tim?’
He shook his head, not wanting to put it into words. ‘Nothing.’
She folded her arms and stared at him, waiting.
He sighed and gave in. ‘OK. Mandy really, really loved Christmas. She always made a big thing of it—the decorations, the music, the food, the Christmas get-togethers. I’ve had two Christmases where I just haven’t been able to face her not being there on Christmas Day, and I’ve worked late so I don’t have time to think. I’ve been a coward and made my girls go to their in-laws for Christmas Day, because I know I can’t make them the sort of Christmas their mum did.’ He grimaced. ‘And it worries me that they might think I’m pushing them away.’
‘I’m sure they understand,’ Rachel said.
Something in her expression made him wonder if they’d confided in her. He sighed. ‘I know I could order Christmas and get it delivered in a box, but that’d feel wrong, too, because it isn’t what the day’s meant to be about. And it feels wrong to celebrate Christmas in our house, when Mandy was the centre of it.’
‘I think,’ she said, ‘you’re panicking. And it sounds to me as if you’re trying too hard.’
‘How?’
‘This is going to sound harsh, but you need to accept that you just can’t have Christmas like you did with Mandy, not any more. It’s always going to be different now,’ she said.
And that was what he couldn’t handle.
‘But different doesn’t mean that you’re pushing her out of your life or pretending that she never existed,’ she said, reaching out to hold both his hands. ‘If you start accepting that things will change from year to year, it means you can cherish your memories of the good times instead of focusing on what you’ve lost. The last Christmas you had with Mandy was very different from your first Christmas together, yes?’
‘Yes,’ he agreed. ‘That last Christmas, it was dinner for sixteen because everyone came to us. A roast turkey, veggie options, all the trimmings, three puddings, crackers and charades and board games. But our first Christmas—we spent it in a pokey little flat, where we barely had the space to put up a tiny artificial Christmas tree. I was working an early shift, and Mandy was determined to cook Christmas dinner for us and our parents because it was our first Christmas together. We didn’t have space for a dining table, so everyone was going to eat off trays. She’d got everything planned and this mammoth timetable. Except the oven went wrong, so she couldn’t even cook the pigs in blankets, let alone the turkey.’ He smiled, remembering. ‘She probably should’ve admitted defeat and begged one of the parents to let us cook at their place instead. But Mandy refused to give in and did the lot on the hob. She diced the turkey and made it into a kind of Christmas stew, including the pigs in blankets and stuffing balls. There was a mountain of mashed potato, and the most vile boiled sprouts.’ He smiled. ‘And it didn’t matter.’
‘Because you were together. Which is entirely what Christmas is about,’ she said gently.
‘On the first of December,’ he said, ‘she always made Christmas Stew. So we could remember and laugh about it.’ He blinked hard. ‘The sprouts got better, though.’
She squeezed his hand. ‘Mandy sounds like an amazing woman.’
‘She was. And I know she’d be furious with me for moping and acting like a wet weekend at her favourite time of year. I know I need to move on. And I want to move on. I really do.’
‘You know that with your head,’ she said, ‘but not with your heart.’
‘I don’t know how to change that,’ he said. He’d been trying. But Christmas felt like an enormous iceberg sliding into his path.
‘How about this: even if Mandy had still been here with you, Christmas would’ve been different this year because you might have a new grandchild to celebrate with,’ she said. ‘Next year, it will change again, because the baby’s going to be old enough to start realising what’s going on, and the year after that new traditions might start—Christmas carols and mince pies at nursery, going as a family to take the baby to see Father Christmas, or maybe everyone spending Christmas at Hannah and Jamal’s rather than everyone congregating at yours.’
Tim knew Rachel had a valid point, but he still couldn’t make himself feel it.
‘You’re a Christmas-aholic, aren’t you?’ he asked.
‘I’m afraid so,’ she said. ‘Last Christmas was awful. Mum was battling pneumonia and she didn’t know any of us. Steve had just slapped me with the divorce papers. We were supposed to be going to his family’s for Christmas Day because Steve wouldn’t be there, but at the last minute he decided to go and take his new girlfriend. Thank God, my sister-in-law warned me he’d changed his plans; I ducked out of going, because I wasn’t sure whether he was going to be sniping at me or ostentatiously snogging his girlfriend every two minutes to show me what I was missing.’
Tim felt another surge of dislike towards Rachel’s ex. Christmas was a time to try and heal the rifts, not widen them. And didn’t the man care about the hurt he was causing his daughters?
‘The girls didn’t want me to be on my own on Christmas Day, so we stayed at home and had a very non-traditional Christmas dinner. Which was fine. We still managed to find the love. We caught up with Steve’s family later, when Steve had gone off skiing. And this year,’ she said, ‘we’re making up for it. We’ll be doing all our old traditions, with extra chocolate and gin.’
Making up for what they’d missed. He understood that, but he couldn’t find the heart to do it himself. It was just too, too big.
Rachel was clearly trying to help him, so he’d try and meet her halfway. ‘What are your family traditions?’
‘The girls and I always have a Christmas movie night—when Mum was alive, she joined us, too. We all put on a Christmas jumper, we make big mugs of hot chocolate laced with cream liqueur—a vegan version for Saskia—we start working our way through the Christmas shortbread, and we cuddle up on the sofa under a fleecy throw and watch movies. Usually there’s at least Love Actually and Elf.’
It was just the sort of thing that Mandy had done with their girls.
‘We used to go skating at the Natural History Museum or Somerset House, though with Meg being in her Finals year we’re giving it a miss this year—the last thing she needs is a sprain or fracture that means she can’t practise a piece for her exams. And I always make them stockings.’ She grinned. ‘I don’t care that they’re eighteen and twenty-one, and neither do they. They still hang a stocking on their door, and I fill it after they’ve gone to bed. Lots of little things that I pick up during the year, plus the last-minute stuff that I don’t want to be out of date. I normally include a chocolate reindeer and a sugar mouse, a decoration for the Christmas tree, a miniature bottle of flavoured gin, make-up, nail varnish and something ridiculous to make them laugh, like a wind-up toy. I’ve got personalised plectrums for Meg, this year, and packets of herb seeds for Saskia.’ She looked wistful. ‘I used to make a stocking for Steve, even before we had the girls; I always bought a crazy gadget from the shop at the Science Museum for his desk, a miniature bottle of brandy, and Christmas-themed chocolate.’
Tim noticed what was missing. What went in Rachel’s stocking? ‘What about you? Didn’t you get a stocking?’
‘Once the girls were old enough to stop believing in Santa, they collaborated with Mum,’ Rachel said. ‘Even last year, when Mum could barely string a sentence together, they made time to sit with her and chat about Christmases past. I have no idea how they managed to help her write a Christmas card to me—it must’ve been before the pneumonia really knocked her for six—but that’s the most precious gift I could’ve had. The last Christmas card, in her own handwriting.’ Tears shimmered in her eyes for a second.
Tim put his arms round her and held her close. ‘And this is your first Christmas without her.’
‘Yes. She died in January,’ she said.
‘The first Christmas without them is the roughest one,’ he said. ‘But your mum will be here with you in spirit. She’ll be there in your memories. That’ll never go away.’
A single tear spilled over her lashes, and he kissed it away.
‘That goes for you, too, you know,’ she said shakily.
‘Yeah. Mandy always did stockings for our girls, too. I do them, now, because I don’t want them to miss out.’ It was about the only thing he managed to do for Christmas.
‘I bet they really appreciate it,’ she said.
He nodded. ‘But I don’t have Mandy’s touch. It feels like going through the motions. They’re always nice about it, but I’m sure I’ve fallen short, and I don’t understand where I’m going wrong.’
‘Maybe,’ she said, ‘we can do a joint shopping trip. One just for stocking fillers.’
It filled him with dread and anticipation in equal measures. He had a feeling that Rachel loved Christmas even more than Mandy had; he wasn’t sure he could live up to her ideals, and he didn’t want to let her down. But, given that this was going to be her first Christmas without her mum, he didn’t want to back away from her either.
‘I assume you put up a real tree, rather than an artificial one?’ he asked.
‘Yes, because I love the scent. I always buy it on the first of December. And I’ve still got the tree decorations that the girls made me at nursery—the yogurt pots painted like a bell with a pipe-cleaner clapper, the salt dough Christmas tree with the splodges of paint for baubles. It doesn’t matter that they’re getting a bit tatty now, because they were made with love. And I make my own front door wreath.’
Of course she did. Tim felt even more inadequate. He’d avoided any kind of Christmas decorating for the last two years, because it had just been too hard to make the effort. With every stretch, the paper-thin walls around his grief had shredded even further.
‘Even last year, I made a wreath for the door,’ she said. ‘I took all the bits to Mum’s room. I chatted to her about the times we’d made wreaths together, I made a playlist of Christmas songs she loved, and I sat there holding her hand and singing until she fell asleep. Then I worked on the wreath until she woke up.’ Her smile was bright, though tinged with sadness. ‘I’ll make a Christmas wreath for her grave, too, this year. An eco one, full of berries to feed the birds. She loved watching the birds in the garden.’
So had Mandy. And there was a huge lump in his throat. Rachel was so brave about this. Why couldn’t he be brave, too?
‘What are you doing for Christmas, this year?’ she asked.
‘Working,’ he said. ‘The girls will go to their in-laws, just like they have for the last two years. It’s fine.’
‘Do your girls love Christmas?’ she asked gently.
He nodded.
‘Do you want to be with them?’
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘and no. Yes, because I’m their dad and of course I want to spend family time with them. I love them.’
She waited.
The old doctor’s trick, of waiting until your patient told you what was really wrong, worked just as well on someone who wasn’t a patient, because he found himself admitting, ‘And no, because I feel so inadequate and I can’t do things the way their mum did, and I find Christmas just too much.’
‘Have you talked to them about it?’
‘No. I’m not great at talking about feelings. I never have been.’ He glanced at her and could see on her face that she was thinking, But that’s what he’s doing right now. ‘It’s different with you,’ he said. ‘I can talk to you.’
‘Why?’
‘I don’t know.’ He shook his head. ‘I just can.’
‘I’m taking that as a compliment,’ she said. ‘Did you have any traditions that you did with them particularly?’
‘Obviously Mandy and I took them to see Santa when they were tiny, but they’re too old for that now.’
‘What about going to a carol service, or to one of the Christmas markets, or just out for a walk to see the Christmas lights?’ She smiled. ‘I would suggest ice skating, but with Hannah being so close to her due date it wouldn’t be fair for her to have to sit on the sidelines and watch.’
‘I used to take the girls to see the Christmas lights when they were small,’ he said, ‘and I kind of feel I ought to let the people in the department with small kids have the time to spend with them, because mine are old enough to wait.’ He shrugged. ‘I know Hannah has a baking session with Sophie for the school Christmas fair. They make gingerbread reindeer and mince pies. But you know how hopeless I am in the kitchen. I’d just get in the way if I tried to help.’
‘Maybe you could be their official barista and washer-upper, if you want to join in,’ she suggested gently. ‘Or maybe you need to make a new tradition, something they didn’t do with Mandy. Something to make new memories that will help you smile when you remember the old memories, like your Christmas Stew, instead of wanting to howl inside because you can’t do the old stuff any more.’
‘I...’ He looked helplessly at her. ‘I don’t know where to start.’
‘You could do some things with me, maybe,’ she said, ‘and if you think it’s something the girls might like to do with you then you can suggest doing it with them, too.’ She paused. ‘I happen to be working on Christmas Day as well. Meg and Saskia are volunteering to serve dinner at a shelter, and we’re going to make a proper Christmas dinner for the three of us on Boxing Day. The whole thing—a vegan filo pastry thing for Sophie and turkey for Meg and me, all the trimmings, a fresh pineapple and really good ice cream for pudding. We’re going to raise a glass of Prosecco and gin to Mum and eat way too much chocolate.’ She looked at him. ‘Why don’t you all come to us on Boxing Day: you, your girls and their partners? That way, it’ll be something new; and because it’ll be here, rather than at your place, it means you won’t have constant reminders of Mandy not being there.’
He just stared at her, not knowing what to say.
‘It’s not a way of pushing Mandy away or pretending she didn’t exist,’ she reminded him. ‘It’s helping you come to terms with things so you can remember the good times and smile. So you can enjoy Christmas again with your girls—all the important family stuff.’
‘That’s incredibly generous of you,’ he said, ‘and bits of me really want to say yes. But it’s taking up time you’ll want to spend with your girls. It’s not fair to just expect them to host people they don’t know.’
‘I’m pretty sure they’ll say yes,’ she said.
So was he, because he’d met them and he’d had the distinct impression that they’d both inherited their mum’s huge heart. But he wasn’t taking any of it for granted. ‘Ask them first,’ he said.
‘All right,’ she said, ‘and then you ask your girls.’
As Rachel had expected, Meg and Saskia agreed immediately. And Hannah and Sophie were delighted to accept the invitation.
Hannah—after Tim had checked that Rachel wouldn’t mind if he gave her number to his daughters—called her. ‘It’s really kind of you to ask us, Rachel.’
‘It’s not kind of me at all. If anything, it’s totally selfish,’ Rachel said.
‘How do you work that out?’
‘I miss having a really big family Christmas, because my family now is just my girls,’ Rachel explained. ‘Even though my ex’s family get on with me and still see us, it’s a bit too awkward still for me to accept an invite to a family thing if my ex is going to be there.’
‘It’s going to be really good spending the time with Dad, but he hates Christmas because...’ Hannah stopped. ‘Sorry.’
‘Because your mum loved Christmas and he can’t cope with it without her. I know, love,’ Rachel said gently. ‘Probably because I never knew your mum, he’s able to talk about her to me and be honest about how he feels. I’m hoping I can make him see Christmas a bit differently this year. I’m not pushing your mum out at all—I know I’ve already told you that, but I really want to make sure you and Sophie don’t feel I’m intruding. I’m simply hoping that he can make some new memories that will help him remember how to enjoy the old ones and also keep him close to you.’
‘That,’ Hannah said, ‘would be amazing—and it means this’ll be the first good Christmas we’ve had in three years. But it’s also not fair to expect you to do everything. What can we do to help?’
‘How about,’ Rachel suggested, ‘you bring pudding? Maybe Sophie can make her amazing tiramisu or something. But honestly, the best thing you can bring is yourselves and a smile. Oh, and let me know of any—’ she balked at the word ‘allergy’, not wanting to trample on a sore spot ‘—dietary requirements. There’s going to be a vegan option, because of Saskia. It’s a filo pastry snake filled with veggies, pearl barley, apricots and spices, and she’s making a spicy tomato sauce to go with it.’
‘That sounds good.’ Hannah chuckled. ‘Dad tells me you’re as much of a cheese fiend as he is. So we’ll bring cheese, too. And a vegan one for Saskia.’
‘Perfect,’ Rachel said, ‘and I’ll make cheese biscuits.’
‘The ones you took into the department and Dad raved about? That sounds wonderful.’
‘We have board games,’ Rachel said, ‘and including one where you have to play kazoos and guess the song. Meg usually plays the piano so we can sing our heads off. And there will be chocolate.’
‘I can’t wait,’ Hannah said.
It was the first time in three years that Tim had actually enjoyed the team Christmas meal out, and it was all thanks to Rachel. They were still keeping their relationship quiet at work, but he couldn’t help glancing at her when he donned a Santa hat to hand out the Secret Santa presents. And, even though she was sitting at the other end of the table from him, she met his gaze every so often and gave him an encouraging smile. He danced with everyone in the team after the meal; his dance with Rachel wasn’t the slow one he longed for, though he consoled himself that at least it helped him keep up the pretence at work that they were just good friends because it meant he wouldn’t slip up and accidentally kiss her in front of the department.
Because they lived in different parts of the city, they left the party separately; but Tim had arranged beforehand to catch a taxi from his place to Rachel’s. When she opened the front door to him, he smiled. ‘You look absolutely gorgeous in that dress, Ms Halliday.’
‘You scrub up rather nicely yourself, Mr Hughes,’ she teased back. ‘Can I tempt you to a glass of wine?’
‘Yes, please.’ He handed her a bottle of chilled pink Prosecco.
‘Thank you. Nice choice,’ she said. ‘Come into the kitchen.’ She deftly opened the bottle without spilling a drop, poured them both a glass, and handed one to him. ‘So did you enjoy tonight?’
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘thanks to you. But I wish I’d had a chance to dance with you a bit more.’
‘That can be arranged,’ she said, putting her glass on the worktop and picking up her phone. ‘Christmas mix?’
‘Something slow and bluesy is more what I’ve got in mind,’ he said.
She found a playlist on her streaming app and connected her phone to the speaker. ‘Like this?’
‘Perfect,’ he said, as Fleetwood Mac’s ‘Need Your Love So Bad’ came on. He put his own glass down, hung his jacket over the back of a chair and drew her into his arms. ‘This is what I wanted to do earlier,’ he said, ‘but not in front of everyone. I don’t want to make things awkward for us at work.’
‘I know. It’s sensible,’ she said. ‘Though at the same time it makes me feel a bit like a dirty little secret.’
‘You’re not a dirty little secret. Not at all,’ he said. ‘It just saves the complications, that’s all. The people who are important know. The rest can wait until we’re ready.’
‘I guess.’ She rested her head on his shoulder and swayed with him to the music; he closed his eyes, enjoying the feel of her arms wrapped round him and the warmth of her body against his. He wasn’t sure which of them moved first, but then he was kissing her, his eyes closed, everything focused on the way her lips moved against his.
He really, really liked this woman.
And he wanted more. Except it wasn’t fair to rush her. He was meant to be taking this slowly.
Gently, he broke the kiss and dragged himself out of her arms. ‘I’d better go before I outstay my welcome.’
She held his gaze, her grey eyes huge. ‘Maybe you’re not outstaying it.’
His heart rate speeded up a notch when she added, ‘We’re both on a late tomorrow, so we don’t have to be up early.’
He caught his breath. ‘Are you asking...?’
‘If you like porridge for breakfast. Oh, and just in case you were wondering, I bought a new bed after I split up with Steve, and I’ve redecorated the room.’
‘There won’t be any comparisons,’ he said softly. ‘For either of us. Though I probably should warn you it’s been a while since I’ve slept with anyone, and decades since I slept with anyone except my wife.’
‘Me, too,’ she said. ‘So maybe we both need to get the awkward stuff over and done with. This isn’t going to be perfect. It’s going to be different.’
‘But it’s still you and me,’ he said.
‘Bring your glass,’ she said, scooping up her own glass and the bottle; she took his hand and led him up to her bedroom.
It was a pretty room with a wrought iron bedstead, floral curtains and pale blue walls. She put her glass and the bottle on her bedside table and switched on the lamp; he placed his glass next to hers.
‘Are you sure about this?’ he asked.
‘Bits of me are scared that this is rushing it. But bits of me have wanted this since the first time you kissed me,’ she admitted.
He appreciated her honesty. ‘I’m not sure if I’m more thrilled or scared.’
‘Born again teenagers, the pair of us,’ she said.
Slowly, slowly, she removed his tie and undid the buttons of his shirt. Her hands were shaking, he noticed; just as his were when he undid the zip of her dress.
Colour bloomed across her cheeks as she turned to face him. ‘I don’t have a condom but, just so you know, I haven’t slept with anyone in two years and there’s absolutely no chance I can get pregnant.’
‘I haven’t slept with anyone since Mandy died,’ he said, wanting to reassure her that she didn’t need to worry about STDs; as a doctor, she’d be very aware of their effects. ‘And I don’t have a condom, either. But if you want to wait, there are other things we can do.’
‘So there are,’ she said, and her smile made his heart feel as if it had just done a backflip.
She stepped out of her dress and hung it over the top of her cheval mirror; though he noticed how tense her shoulders were.
‘The thing about being a born again teenager rather than an original one,’ he said, stepping out of his trousers and hanging them on the cheval mirror too, ‘is that we do our own laundry and tidy up after ourselves.’
The ridiculous joke made her laugh and took the tension out of her, to his relief. He drew her into his arms and kissed her; when the kiss turned heated, he scooped her up, pushed the duvet aside and laid her against the pillows.
‘You’re beautiful, Rachel,’ he said, ‘and you make me feel things I never thought I’d ever feel again.’
‘It’s the same for me,’ she said, stroking his face.
He made love with her, enjoying finding out how and where she liked to be touched, what made her gasp with pleasure; and in turn he enjoyed the way she explored him.
Afterwards, he cradled her in his arms. For the first time in years, the bed didn’t feel too wide. It didn’t matter that he was lying in a strange bed, because he was getting to know the woman lying in his arms—and it felt as if he was finally coming out of the darkness that had smothered him for the last two years.
The next morning, Rachel woke, warm and comfortable; then she turned over and realised the bed beside her was empty.
A little flutter of panic went through her as she opened her eyes. Clearly, they’d taken it too fast last night and she shouldn’t have asked him to stay. It was obvious that he’d woken before her and had left, feeling embarrassed and ashamed about what they’d done, and too awkward to face her.
But when she sat up, planning to change into her workout gear and run her own shame and embarrassment off before she went to work, she glanced over to the mirror and realised that Tim’s trousers and shirt were still there. He hadn’t left.
A few moments later, she heard footsteps on the stairs, and he appeared in the doorway, wearing just his boxer shorts and carrying two mugs of coffee.
‘Good morning,’ he said.
She could feel her skin heating. For pity’s sake; she was fifty-two, not nineteen. ‘Morning,’ she mumbled.
He put both mugs of coffee on her side of the bed—he’d obviously taken the bottle and glasses downstairs when he went to make coffee—then bent down to kiss the tip of her nose. ‘At our age, the walk of shame is supposed to be when we’ve forgotten that we’re driving and had one glass of wine too many. But I’m dropping thirty years and being the med student who goes home the next morning in his party clothes from the night before.’ He climbed back into bed beside her. ‘Regretting it?’
‘No. And yes,’ she admitted. ‘I don’t regret what we did; but I do feel a bit awkward this morning and I don’t really know what to say to you.’
‘“Thank you for the coffee, Tim” would do,’ he teased.
She smiled. ‘Yes. Thank you for the coffee. Maybe I’ll have worked out the etiquette for this sort of thing by the time I’m eighty.’
‘You’ll still be beautiful when you’re eighty,’ he said. ‘That bone structure and those amazing eyes.’
She hadn’t expected the compliment and it felt all the sweeter. ‘Thank you. You’ve got gorgeous eyes, too. It was the first thing I noticed about you, when you interviewed me. The colour of cornflowers.’ She felt brave enough to trace the line of his jaw and steal a kiss. ‘You’ll be beautiful at eighty, too.’
‘So what happens now?’ he asked.
‘We could have breakfast together. Here, I mean,’ she said. ‘And we’re on a late. So we don’t actually have to have breakfast until late...’
‘I like your thinking,’ he said, and leaned over to kiss her.