Chapter Eight

‘So, how are you?’ Sally asked, Chloe in arms as she followed David into the kitchen.

David took a second to answer. ‘Er, good, yes.’ He turned from where he was retrieving a plastic cup from the drainer, to look her over curiously. ‘You?’

‘Oh, fine, you know.’ Sally smiled. ‘All things considered.’

David nodded contemplatively. ‘Good.’ He gave her a short smile back and then turned to extract milk from the fridge.

‘I live over the road.’ Sally nodded toward her cottage as he turned back.

‘Oh, right.’ David knitted his brow. ‘I didn’t realise.’

‘I gathered,’ Sally said, noting his awkward expression. ‘I would have popped over, but with everything going on …’

David nodded again, his attention now on pouring milk into the plastic cup. She hoped Chloe didn’t spill it all over herself as they did not have a sipper cup, obviously.

Sally waited expectantly then, still no comment forthcoming from David, she turned her attention to Chloe. ‘Well, this is a surprise, isn’t it, Chloekins, hmm?’ she said jollily. ‘You and your mummy moving in with the good doctor?’

David glanced towards the stairs, where Andrea had gone up to find something to make her look ‘a little less cuddly’.

‘This would be because her house burned down, I suspect,’ he pointed out, looking Sally quizzically over again as he turned to put the milk back in the fridge.

Honestly, it was like wading through molasses, Sally thought peeved. Would the man not speak to her? Look at her, properly?

‘God, I know,’ she said quickly. ‘Isn’t it dreadful? I honestly couldn’t believe it. I saw Andrea arrive, poor thing. She looked absolutely terrified. I tried to get to her but the firemen wouldn’t let me past. And then, well, I saw you were with her, so …’ Sally trailed off, aware that she might have sounded a bit flippant, which she hadn’t meant to be.

It was a terrible, awful thing to have happened. Sally was truly devastated for her friend. There was a tiny part of her, though, that wished David hadn’t been quite so fast to offer Andrea refuge at his house. But then, that was obviously the kind of person he was, caring. And brave: risking his own safety to help Andrea’s family escape the inferno. He was undoubtedly a good man.

‘She could stay with me, you know. I wasn’t just offering because I felt obliged to,’ Sally went on, feeling a bit put out that Andrea had declined her offer just now. She’d said Sally’s cottage was too small, which Sally supposed it was, with only two bedrooms. The bit that upset Sally, though, was that Andrea thought the mess the children would make of her elegant furnishings and décor would drive Sally to move out.

She’d said it jokingly, without really thinking about it, which Sally couldn’t blame her for – Andrea would have so much on her mind – but still, it did hurt. Andrea, above all people, must know that Sally craved the mess children might make.

‘I’m sure she knows it was a genuine offer,’ David assured her. ‘Can I get you some tea, coffee?’

‘No, no thanks. I have to get to school.’ Sally’s mind was still on Andrea’s housing problem. ‘I suppose there’s always The Swan or the Travelodge in town until she can get fixed up. Actually, thinking about it, I’m sure there’s a house to rent on Hibberton Road. I could pop by the estate agents for her and—’

‘I’m not sure she’s had time to think about anything much yet,’ David said before Sally had finished. ‘She’s fine here for now,’ he added, handing Sally the cup of milk to give to Chloe and Chloe a chocolate biscuit.

‘Oh?’ Sally glanced at him, feeling a bit put out. ‘Well, yes, of course. I’m sure she is, if that’s what you’ve both, um …’ She hoisted Chloe higher in her arms, who was now busy stripping chocolate from the digestive with a long length of her tongue. ‘It’s just that I thought with you only having the three bedrooms …’

‘We’re managing,’ David assured her. ‘The boys are okay in Jake’s room. Andrea’s in the master bedroom.’

‘Oh,’ Sally said again, trying to keep her tone ever so casual, whilst smiling to stop herself from licking the excess chocolate from Chloe’s outstretched palm.

‘It is a bit of a squeeze …’ David went on, turning to wet a wad of paper towelling, as Sally tried to digest what he’d just said about the sleeping arrangements ‘… with Sophie, Chloe and Andrea’s mother in there as well, but it’s manageable with a spare mattress on the floor. And I can decamp from the sofa and use the spare room, once I’ve cleared it out.’

‘Splendid idea,’ Sally said delightedly as he walked across to attempt to find Chloe’s face under the chocolate. ‘The spare mattress,’ she clarified, lest David get a glimpse of a green-eyed monster. He didn’t know that much about her and possessive and stupidly jealous wasn’t how Sally wanted him to perceive her. ‘And if it all gets too hectic and you need a bolthole, we can always crack open a bottle and cosy up at my place, can’t we?’

‘Er, yes, maybe.’ David scanned Sally’s face, his expression inscrutable, and then turned his attention back to Chloe.

Good Lord. Sally sighed inwardly. Did she have to spell it out? Hello, Doctor Adams, I’m inviting you for more than wine. Do you think you could summon up at least a smidgeon of enthusiasm?

‘Though I’m assuming your husband might not be too thrilled at my cosying up?’ David eyed her questioningly.

Aha, so that was it. Sally felt a huge surge of relief. He was worried about being caught in flagrante by an enraged husband; that was all. Phew. Sally didn’t think her brittle self-esteem could have coped with him turning her down flat.

‘He won’t,’ she assured him, with a sad smile as she gave Chloe some milk before putting the cup down. ‘He left me, three being a crowd in a marriage, to quote Lady Di.’ She swapped a now wriggling Chloe from one arm to the other. ‘He’s moved on to pastures new.’

‘Oh?’ David’s eyes flicked towards her. ‘I’m sorry.’ He offered her a smile of commiseration. ‘Here, let me,’ he said, reaching to relieve her of the chocolate-coated toddler, Chloe now wanting ‘downsies’.

‘Oh, it’s fine. I won’t miss him. We weren’t compatible anyway. It was bound to happen.’

‘It’s still hard,’ David’s tone was soft. He studied her for a second, genuine sympathy in his eyes.

Oh no, don’t. Sally glanced quickly down. Kindness – especially from a man – would set her off in an instant. She’d rather he be mean and moody. ‘Damn. Chocolate,’ she said, noting a stain breast level. ‘All over my blouse. Now I’ll have to go home and change.’ Sally dabbed at the smear with her fingers, annoyed – with Nick for leaving her, and with David for feeling sorry for her, when she wanted him aroused by her. Mostly annoyed with herself for being annoyed with Chloe. What on earth was the matter with her?

‘My fault,’ David said, setting Chloe carefully down on her feet. ‘Should know better than to let a toddler loose with chocolate.’

‘No, no. It’s not,’ Sally insisted, marvelling at how paternal he seemed. How patient. ‘It’s just …’ She squeezed her eyes shut, forcing back a tear. ‘Oh no, I can’t believe I’m doing this. Poor Andrea, here she is, homeless and heartbroken, and here’s me feeling sorry for myself.’

‘I think that’s called being human,’ David said kindly. ‘Whoops, hang on a sec.’ He moved quickly to close the kitchen door before Chloe went a wandering. ‘Come on, little one. Let’s do some drawing with Jake’s special pencils, shall we?’ He lifted her back up and carried her to the table, reaching for a pad and crayons from the work surface as he went.

‘Dougal.’ Chloe smiled gleefully. ‘Draw doggy.’

‘Certainly.’ David glanced ruefully at Sally, whose heart seemed to be melting along with the chocolate. He really was a nice man, more caring by far than Nick had ever been. Perfect father material.

‘Now,’ he sat Chloe gently in a chair and popped paper and crayons in front of her, ‘you sit there, while I get Sally a cloth, and then we’ll make a really good drawing, okay?’

‘Iggpiggle.’ Chloe, having apparently changed her mind as to the content, resolutely plucked up a pencil.

‘No problem.’ David nodded obligingly. ‘Give me two minutes. Iggpiggle?’ he mouthed, obviously mystified as he walked back towards Sally.

‘Igglepiggle,’ Sally repeated. ‘CBeebies In the Night Garden,’ she enlightened him. ‘He’s blue with red sticky up hair and carries a red blanket. I think you need to watch more daytime TV.’

David eyed the ceiling. ‘Hopefully not.’ He reached for more towelling and handed it to Sally.

‘Thank you.’ Sally smiled through a sniffle. ‘And for offering me a shoulder. I’m not normally the falling apart sort, but … You know.’

‘It’s allowed. Perfectly normal. Other people’s traumas often trigger latent emotional responses to our own.’

Sally dabbed at her cheek and nodded, then swallowed. ‘I feel so bloody selfish.’

‘Don’t.’ David reached out and squeezed her arm. ‘Feeling upset after the events of last night, on top of losing a partner, for whatever reason, isn’t unreasonable.’

Sally stared at him in wonder. He’s genuine, she thought giddily, her heart swelling as she noted the compassion in his searching blue eyes.

‘Doesn’t mean you’re selfish or bad, just flesh and blood.’

Oh, I’m definitely that, Sally thought, her flesh tingling at his touch. ‘Thank you.’ She smiled. ‘In case I forgot to mention it, your bedside manner, for your information, good doctor, is quite exquisite.’

Sally saw a flicker of apprehension now in David’s eyes as she stepped towards him.

He was right. It was chock-a-block in here. Andrea blinked against the semi-darkness once inside the spare room, then walked across to draw back the curtains. The bed was covered in stuff, but not leftover jumble from a house move, as she’d expected. There were clothes. Many clothes, all women’s and folded so neatly Andrea didn’t like to disturb them: sweaters, T-shirts and jeans, much like those any thirty-something woman would wear, much like her own.

Oh, no. Andrea closed her eyes, realisation finally dawning. There’d been no bitter custody battle. Jake wasn’t suffering the fallout of an acrimonious divorce. He was lost and he was lonely because the poor child was grieving the loss of his mother. And David? Could she have ever been more wrong?

Berating herself, Andrea gazed around the room, noting several painted canvasses leaning against the far wall. Tentatively, feeling as if she were trespassing, she walked across to look through them. There were abstracts, some representational. Life drawings too, which were amazingly sensual and extremely well drawn.

Did his wife produce these?

They were beautiful. Passionate. Andrea looked for the artist’s signature. Michelle Adams, it read, painted in italic script, soft and flowing, yet bold and strong.

Was that the measure of the woman? Andrea wandered across to peek in the wardrobe, where slightly bohemian, yet exquisitely pretty, summer dresses nestled with stylish skirts and smart blouses. Soft and feminine, yet bold and strong, Jake’s mother, the woman who had shaped the child’s formative years. David’s wife.

Andrea felt she almost knew her, yet couldn’t possibly. What had happened to her?

She wiped away a tear.

Padding across to the bed, her gaze fell on a photograph frame on the bedside table. She picked it up and studied the portrait therein. This was her then, Michelle, unquestionably. Jake had his mother’s eyes, deep blue, lively, intelligent eyes, where David’s were ice-blue almost, and often unreadable.

Jake had David’s colouring but his features were more his mother’s: delicate, but in a way that would look handsome on a man, showing him to be sensitive. David’s features were more rugged. He was the kind of man that wouldn’t look out of place climbing a mountain, where his son might be better placed in an art studio.

He might well be climbing a mountain, Andrea thought sadly, David and Jake both; most likely having days where even getting out of bed would seem like an uphill struggle.

Her heart breaking for them, Andrea placed the photograph carefully back on the table, and then selected the simplest garments she could find, lest it be too painful a reminder, for both father and son.

She hadn’t noticed any other photographs adorning the house, she realised, other than those gathering dust here in the spare room along with the clothes. Why was that? she wondered, pulling on a plain tracksuit. True, David had only just moved in but she’d noticed ornaments on display, albeit a bit haphazardly. Surely one or two of these photos should be on display alongside them? She didn’t know how recently they’d been bereaved, but judging by Jake’s behaviour, it couldn’t have been all that long ago. It seemed early days yet to have tidied their memories away.

Did Jake have a photograph in his room? He should have. Andrea knew from the loss of her own father, along with the course she’d taken to enable her to help kids through bereavement in school, that Jake needed to know it was all right to grieve the loss of his mum, to celebrate her life and keep whatever he needed to out in the open, for as long as he needed to. She’d ask David about it, when the time was right, she decided. First, she needed to at least offer the man her condolences.

He’d never imagined he would be, but David couldn’t have been more grateful to have a toddler throwing a timely tantrum in his kitchen, and a teenager, sulky or otherwise, to hand her over to. Where Sally was concerned, David realised he might have a problem. One he could never have envisaged in a million years. So much for making a new start.

He’d just have to deal with it later. Right now, he needed to concentrate his attention where it should be, on his son. Buttoning a clean shirt as he went, David headed for Jake’s room. He hadn’t had a chance yet to talk to him about his new school, mainly because Jake had given him the silent treatment when he’d picked him up yesterday. And since then … Well, he could hardly blame Andrea, but pandemonium all around pretty much put a stop to private conversation.

Bracing himself, he knocked and waited, and then, on the basis that Jake probably wouldn’t invite him in, pressed the handle down and went in anyway.

Jake was parked in front of his flat screen watching some animated DVD.

‘Hey,’ David said.

Jake said nothing.

‘We didn’t get a chance to talk yet, about your new school.’ No reaction.

‘So, how did it go, Jake? Your first day?’

Jake shrugged, arms folded, essential Bench cap pulled way down, eyes under there somewhere fixed firmly on the TV.

David tugged in a breath and tried again. ‘Make any new friends?’

Jake sighed, audibly. He didn’t avert his gaze.

So far, so good, thought David, dragging a frustrated hand over his neck. ‘Do you like it, Jake, the new school?’

More silence.

‘I thought being a smaller school it might be easier for you to make new friends,’ David pushed on, recalling with overwhelming sadness at how his son had withdrawn, almost visibly, when he told him about Michelle. He hadn’t cried. He’d known his mother was ill, Michelle had talked to him quietly, as only a mother could, preparing him for an uncertain future, but maybe he’d never really expected her to die. Maybe he just couldn’t accept that she had.

Damn it. It was all maybes. Jake didn’t talk about it. Wouldn’t talk about it with him anyway. He’d confided in his aunt, possibly because he knew, as Michelle’s sister, she would understand his grief. Telling her how much he missed his mum, every single minute of every single day. Crying out in his sleep, according to Becky most nights since his mother had died. David had heard him, too, the night before last, his first night alone with him. Jake, obviously not wanting any comfort David might try to offer him, had feigned sleep when he’d gone in to check on him.

David couldn’t blame him. He swallowed back the heavy taste of guilt, born of his own culpability in Michelle’s death. If only he’d been there. Glancing towards the window, where a fresh deluge of rain spattered against the glass, David tried not to dwell on it because it crushed him all over again every time he did, and he’d be no help to Jake feeling like that. He couldn’t have saved her, ultimately. David knew that, deep down. Jake might realise it too, though it didn’t look as if he’d confide in David anytime soon – if ever.

He couldn’t blame him for that either. The fact was he hadn’t been there for Michelle way before the accident. As a doctor, yes, for all the good that could do, but emotionally … He’d bailed out. He knew that much was true. Jake did, too. How could he forgive his father that?

He didn’t deserve forgiveness. He’d turned his back on the two … No, three people who most needed him, when they most needed him because he’d been too scared and inadequate to offer the boy’s mother the support she desperately needed. How the hell was he supposed to explain that to a ten-year-old child? Tell him how sorry he was that he’d been incapable of focusing on anything but his own self–centred pain. He couldn’t. He’d tried, several times, stumbling over useless words.

And failed.

Jake didn’t want to hear it. Didn’t want to talk to him at all. David understood why, though it didn’t hurt any the less. He hadn’t needed the counsellor at his last surgery to tell him you don’t just go through stages and that was it, grief over. It might become more manageable after the sheer desolation at the beginning. You might pass through so-called stages, move on, accept it eventually, but you could never deny it. Grief had a habit of washing over you when and where you least expected it, David was well aware of that. His own grief was bad enough, but Jake’s … The boy was probably grieving twice over, for the loss of his mother, and for the loss of the father who, in his mind, had deserted them both.

David wanted Jake to know it was okay to feel it, to express the hurt, the anger. That grieving was as unpredictable as life and couldn’t be packaged up and packed away. He wanted to help Jake not to forget, if only he knew how. To recall the good stuff, not just the bad, to be able to talk about it with him. How he wished Jake and he could talk.

He glanced at Jake again, recalling vividly the look of adoration that once shone in his son’s eyes, when Jake had trusted him, laughed with him, as kids should with their fathers. ‘What’s it to be,’ David would ask him on the drive home from Jake’s regular Friday football practice, ‘Rachmaninoff or Radio One?’

‘Old man music, I suppose.’ Jake would have indulged him whilst shaking his head, denigrating his dad’s sad taste in music.

David would give a wry smile and then play Rachmaninoff’s ‘Piano Concerto No. 2’ at full volume, windows wide and not giving a damn about anything or anyone. David wished the kid would denigrate him now. Say something, no matter how banal.

Shout at him. Anything.

Realising Jake wasn’t going to utter even a word, David gave up and turned to the door, knowing that if he tried to physically reach out to him, Jake would shrug him off – and that’s what hurt most of all, the fact that he couldn’t even hug the boy, when Jake so badly needed him to.

‘We really should stop meeting like this. People will talk.’ Andrea smiled coming out of the spare room to meet David on the landing.

David sighed, feeling ragged inside. ‘I needed to get changed,’ he said, forcing a smile back. ‘Sally, she, er, got chocolate on my shirt.’

Andrea blinked at him, clearly bemused.

‘Chloe, that is, got chocolate on Sally’s shirt. Blouse, I mean. I took Chloe off her and—’

‘Got in a mess?’ Andrea suggested.

‘Definitely.’ One hell of a mess, David thought ruefully, still reeling from the shock of Sally’s impromptu kiss. Damn it. He shouldn’t have allowed that to happen. Allowed any of it to happen. David pulled himself up, looking at Andrea looking at him. Her pretty green eyes scrutinising his very thoughts, he felt.

‘Your mother was in the bedroom when I went in, unfortunately,’ David attempted to change the subject. ‘I was half out of the shirt before I realised. She thinks I’m out to have my wicked way with her now.’

Andrea laughed. ‘She’s hoping, you mean. Just watch she doesn’t sink her wandering teeth into parts of your anatomy when you walk past her.’

‘I’ll be on my guard,’ David assured her, his eyes involuntarily travelling over her. It suited her, the tracksuit. The trainers obviously fitted her too. He was glad she’d chosen something innocuous that didn’t scream Michelle, for Jake’s sake. Would Michelle have minded him doing this? Offering this woman her clothes? His hospitality?

David thought not. She’d probably congratulate him for finally finding the courage to be there for someone in a crisis.

‘I’d better go and put some washing in. We’re all out of shirts.’ Offering her another smile, he turned for the stairs, wishing he could turn back the clock and do things differently. Allow Jake to be the child he should be.

‘No work then?’ Andrea asked conversationally.

‘I’m not due to start until next week. Jake’s aunt cared for him for a while before the move, but now … Well, I need to give him a little more of my time, you know? The surgery has a locum covering for me, so …’

Andrea nodded, understanding.

‘I said he could stay at home today, by the way. It seemed unfair to make him go to school with so much going on around here. I hope Miss Kelly doesn’t disapprove?’

‘Absolutely not. He’d feel pushed out if he was packed off while my tribe get to stay at home. We’ll all get back to normal soon.’ Andrea shrugged hopefully. ‘Somehow.’ She stepped towards him and briefly placed a hand on his arm. ‘David, I just wanted to say I was sorry, about Michelle. Your loss. I didn’t realise.’

David shot her a quizzical look. Michelle? Where had she …? Ah, the paintings. She’d obviously seen them. She hadn’t known Michelle. How could she? Nor then, by association, what a bastard he’d been.

‘Don’t be.’ David closed his eyes briefly. The woman taught at Jake’s school. She should know, he supposed, at least some of why there was a gulf the size of an ocean between him and his son. ‘I … let her down.’

‘Oh.’ Andrea nodded, obviously not sure what to say. ‘Well, none of us are perfect,’ she started sympathetically. ‘We all make—’

‘Badly,’ David added, reinforcing the fact that sympathy for him would be sympathy wasted. ‘I wasn’t there for her … before she died. Jake, he, er … He has some issues, as you can probably—’ David stopped, looking past Andrea to where Jake stood in his doorway, his complexion ashen, his expression as if he’d run full-force into a goalpost. ‘Jake?’ David moved quickly towards him, but Jake moved faster, stepping back swiftly into his room.

‘Jake!’ David ground to a halt outside the slammed door.

‘Go away!’ Jake shouted from inside. ‘I hate you!’

David placed his hands either side of the doorframe, every muscle in his body tense with frustration and anger. ‘Damn it!’