Читать книгу From Heartache To Forever / Melting The Trauma Doc's Heart - Алисон Робертс - Страница 13

IT WAS THE letter that finished him.

He was expecting the rest. The beautiful little box contained all the poignant things he’d tried to blank out, like the tiny, precious footprints the midwife had made for them, the photographs she’d taken of them together holding Grace, the blanket they’d wrapped her in as they’d held her for hours in their arms before they said goodbye.

But at the bottom of the box was a single folded sheet of paper, and he lifted it out and unfolded it, totally unprepared for what it was.

A letter, from Beth to her baby daughter.

My darling Grace

I can’t tell you how much I love you, how much I miss you every single day, with all my heart. But you’ll always be part of me, and you’re with me wherever I go.

Carrying you in my body for your short life, giving birth to you, holding you in my arms, was an honour and a privilege I will never forget, and I’m so grateful I had that chance.

You are the best part of me, and I will treasure you forever.

Sleep tight, my darling.

Mummy xxx

The words swam in front of him, and she took the letter gently from his nerveless fingers and replaced it in the box with all the other precious things, then gathered him in her arms and held him while the racking sobs tore him apart.

She said nothing, just held him and rocked him, and gradually the pain subsided, leaving him feeling oddly cleansed, as if he’d been wiped clean.

Except not, because Grace’s name, her footprints, her photo, and the memories they’d made that day were engraved on his heart, an indelible part of him just as they were of Beth, and it felt right.

She handed him tissues, then said gently, ‘I guess that’s been a long time coming.’

He gave a ragged, fractured laugh and met her eyes, tender with understanding. ‘I guess so. I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t be. It’s OK to cry. I can’t begin to tell you how much I’ve cried for her.’

He swiped the tears off his cheeks again with the palms of his hands and shook his head to clear it. ‘I haven’t, though. I haven’t let myself. That’s why I didn’t want to see. I suppose I’ve been in denial, really, ignoring it, but it didn’t work, because it’s always been there, deep inside, gnawing away at me like acid. It’s odd. It doesn’t feel like that any more. I’m sad, of course I’m sad, and I guess I always will be, but it’s like a weight’s lifted—does that make sense?’

She nodded. ‘It makes absolute sense. It’s acceptance, Ry. It takes a while to get there, but it makes it easier. You’ll still have bad days, though, times when things bring it all back and it catches you on your blind side.’

He nodded and leant back, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and holding her as they sat there quietly together. They didn’t speak, but for the first time he let himself think about the events of that day, the day their daughter had been born.

He thought about her delivery, how hard it had been all night knowing that at the end of it they would have nothing but memories. They’d induced her, because Beth didn’t want to wait, and she’d refused all pain relief, wanting to feel every last moment of it because it was the last thing she could do for her daughter, so he’d been there for her, supporting her as well as he could while his heart felt as if it had been locked in ice.

It had been a long night, and then as the first fingers of dawn crept over the horizon and touched the sky with gold, the midwife lifted Grace’s tiny body tenderly into Beth’s waiting arms.

He’d stood there helpless in the deafening silence, the silence that should have been filled with a baby’s cries, feeling as if he had no place there, no role in the tragedy, no way of making it better, but he’d been unable to leave them and so he’d stayed, eyes dry and gritty with exhaustion, his body as tight as a bowstring, his heart numb while Beth wept silent tears and spoke softly to her daughter.

And then she’d placed the baby in his arms, and his heart had cracked in two. It was the first and last time he’d cried for her, until tonight, and even then he hadn’t really let go.

A week later they’d gone together to register her birth and death, and then they’d held a quiet funeral service for her. Three days later he’d been recalled for his next posting by MFA and she’d told him to go, so he’d gone, relieved to be able to escape the all-consuming grief and get on and do something useful that would help someone somewhere, even though he couldn’t help her or himself.

Except of course there had been no escape, just a fierce suppression of his emotions until he’d become so used to it he’d thought he was over it.

Apparently not. Not by a long way.

He broke the silence at last, needing to acknowledge what she’d been through and his guilt for leaving her to deal with it alone. ‘I’m so sorry I wasn’t more help. I don’t know how you did it—how you were so strong, so brave, through all of it.’

‘I wasn’t brave, Ry, not at all. I was just doing what had to be done, and then once it was done I just felt empty.’

‘I shouldn’t have left you.’

She took his hand and kissed it, then held it in her hands, warm and firm and kind, Beth all over.

‘I sent you away, Ryan. I couldn’t deal with your grief as well as mine, and that was wrong. We should have grieved together for our daughter, but we didn’t know each other well enough. We still don’t, but we’re learning, day by day, and we’ll get there.’

He nodded slowly. ‘Yeah, I suppose so.’ He glanced at his phone and sighed. ‘Beth, I’m sorry, I need to go. It’s after eleven and I’m sure tomorrow will be just as long as today.’

She chuckled softly. ‘No doubt. I’m on a late, but you need to get to bed. You’ve had a hectic few days, you must be exhausted.’

‘I am. I tell you what, that bed had better be comfortable,’ he said wryly. ‘Did you try it?’

‘No, I didn’t have time, but if it isn’t there’s always the sofa. At least you know that’s comfy.’ She cocked her head on one side, her eyes searching his. ‘Are you all right, Ry?’

He laughed softly and nodded. ‘Yes, Beth. I’m all right. You?’

Her smile was sad. ‘I’m all right. I’m used to it now. It’s the new normal.’

He nodded, wondering how long it would take him to reach that point. He got to his feet, pulled her up and into his arms and hugged her gently.

‘Thank you. Thank you so much, for everything. You’ve been amazing, ever since I got here. You’ve always been amazing.’

‘Don’t be silly.’

‘I’m not. I mean it. You’re the strongest person I know, Beth, and the kindest, and I don’t deserve you. Thank you.’

She hugged him back, then let him go. ‘You’re welcome. I hope you sleep well.’

He laughed. ‘I’m sure I will.’

She walked him to the door and he turned and kissed her, just the slightest brush of his lips on hers, and let himself out and drove home, then paused a moment on the drive, staring up at the stars twinkling in the clear, dark night, just as he had everywhere he’d been sent by MFA.

He loved the stars. They never changed, untouched by all the madness around him, the one constant in a changing world, and they never failed to centre him and put everything back into perspective.

How small and insignificant we are…

He let himself in, checked his email and looked at the bed—his new bed, carefully put together by Beth to save him the trouble because that was the kind of person she was—and felt another wave of guilt for leaving her alone when she’d been so sad and lost and torn with grief.

She would never have left him. He knew that, but at the time she’d been adamant that she didn’t need him. Only now it turned out she had needed him, but she’d been unable to cope with his grief, too, because they didn’t know each other well enough to grieve together.

Well enough to make a baby, but not well enough to lose one. Maybe, given time, they would find that closeness and with it some closure. He hoped so.

He looked at the bed again, but tired though he was he wasn’t ready, so he made himself a cup of chamomile tea and went out into the garden, sitting on the steps where they’d sat together only a couple of days ago, Beth’s letter to Grace echoing in his head.

Should he do the same? Write down his thoughts about his tiny daughter, the child he hadn’t known he wanted, and add them to hers? All the milestones they’d miss, the tears, the tantrums, the laughter? Her first smile, her first tooth, her first step—

He heard a noise behind him, a slight scrabbling, rustling noise. A hedgehog, probably, or a fox. They were on the edge of farmland, so it wasn’t unlikely.

And then he heard a whimper, and turned to see something creeping towards him across the grass. Something large, much bigger than a hedgehog, less shy than a fox.

A dog?

‘Hello, sweetie. What are you doing here?’ he asked softly, and it moved closer.

A dog. Definitely a dog, and not a small one, its tail wagging tentatively, black nose gleaming in the moonlight. He held out his hand, careful not to meet its eyes so it didn’t feel threatened, and the dog crept closer, flicking out its tongue to lick his fingers. He turned his hand over and scratched its chin, and it wriggled closer—close enough for him to smell it.

Dog, river mud and who knew what else.

It whined, and he stroked the tangled, scruffy head that pressed into his hand, its ears scarcely visible under the matted hair.

‘Oh, poppet. What a mess you’re in. Who are you? What are you doing here?’

It crept closer still, until it was resting up against his hip, its head heavy on his lap, and his hand slid down and felt ribs sticking out, and the bumps of its spine. It must be starving. ‘Are you hungry? Is that the matter?’

The dog got to its feet, tail wagging, and he got up and headed inside, the dog running ahead through the sitting room door to leap onto his brand new sofa.

‘Hey! No! Get off that!’

It wagged its tail, tongue lolling, still on the sofa as if it owned it, and everything fell into place.

He let out a rueful laugh. ‘You live here, don’t you? This is your house.’

The tail thumped, and he shook his head.

‘Get off my sofa. I don’t care how cute you are, you stink and you’re covered in mud. Come here, let’s find you some food and then work out what to do with you.’ He headed into the kitchen, and the dog followed, standing up on its back legs and peering at the worktop hopefully, tail lashing.

‘Dog! You have absolutely no manners! Sit!’

Paws dropped to the floor, and the dog sat and whined at him pitifully. He tried hard not to laugh, and pulled open the pantry to find the things he’d raided from his mother yesterday.

‘Right, what have we got here? Tuna. Do you like tuna? I guess you like anything. Tuna sandwich? Yup? Just don’t tell the vet.’

He drained the spring water off the tuna and mashed it between two slices of wholemeal bread, and then chopped them roughly, put them in a bowl Beth had found in the box and dumped it on the floor.

‘Well, that went down OK,’ he said with a chuckle, and shook his head slowly. ‘Dog, you need a bath, and a serious haircut. You’re the scruffiest thing I’ve ever seen.’

He put some water down in another bowl, but after a couple of slurps it gave up and came back to him, wuffing hopefully.

Still hungry. He had some ridiculously expensive peanut butter with no added anything, so he smeared a little dollop on another bit of bread and gave it to him. Her? He didn’t even know, but that was the least of his worries.

The smell, however…

He called Beth.

‘I’m sorry to disturb you. Are you still up?’

‘Yes. What’s the matter? Is the bed awful? Don’t tell me it fell to pieces—’

‘I haven’t got that far. Do you have any very mild shampoo and conditioner? And a brush you don’t care about, and a pair of scissors with blunt ends? Oh, and a hair dryer. And old towels. Lots of them.’

He heard a slightly choked noise, like a strangled laugh. ‘OK, what’s going on?’

‘You know the house smelt of dog? Well, it’s come back.’

‘The smell?’

‘No—well, yes, but on the dog. The dog came back, I have no idea where from, but whoever it belongs to, it’s in urgent need of a bath. I think it’s been in the river.’

She chuckled. ‘I’ll be right round.’

‘I’m glad you think it’s funny. Wear something scruffy.’

He heard another laugh as the line went dead, and he slid his phone into his pocket with a smile on his face and turned back to the dog, just in time to see it sneaking back onto the sofa, a stolen banana in its mouth…

‘Oh, my word.’

‘You have a habit of walking in here and saying that,’ he said drily, and she chuckled and eyed him up and down.

‘Well, you are covered in mud. So where is it?’

‘In the conservatory. I had to banish it. It jumped on the sofa with a banana it stole off the side in the kitchen.’

She felt her eyes widen. ‘Your new sofa, that you haven’t even sat on for more than ten seconds?’

His mouth quirked. ‘That’s the one.’

She bit her lips, trying really, really hard not to laugh. ‘Oh, dear. Good job it’s leather, at least it’ll wipe clean. Well, let’s see this thing, then.’

‘This thing’ turned out to be a clump of tangled, matted fur on gangly legs, but one swipe of its tongue on her outstretched hand and she was smitten.

‘Oh, dear. You are really, really muddy, poppet. I wonder what colour you are?’

‘Goodness knows. I have no idea where to start.’

She laughed and shoved up her sleeves. ‘Water, I think. A lot of water. Have you got a plastic jug or bowl or something we can mix the shampoo in?’

It took an hour, but finally the dog was bathed, then bathed again, and it turned out to be a dull, creamy grey, although that might have been the remnants of the river mud. They cut the matted hair away around its ears and neck, and then turned their attention to its body.

‘Well, little lady, you’re a girl,’ he said softly, clipping clumps off carefully around her armpits as she lolled on her back in the kitchen, tongue hanging out and all but grinning at him. ‘I wonder what your name is, you tatty old thing?’

He sat back on his heels, studied the dog for a moment and grinned. ‘Tatty. Perfect. And we can always call you Tatiana if we’re trying to be posh.’

We? Where had that come from?

‘You don’t need to name her, Ryan. You don’t even know whose she is,’ Beth pointed out gently, and he felt a sudden sense of anti-climax.

‘No. No, you’re right, I don’t,’ he said, coming down to earth with a bump. ‘I wonder if she’s microchipped?’

‘The neighbours might recognise her. Have you met any of them yet?’

‘No, not yet,’ he said, looking up from his clipping to meet her eyes. ‘I haven’t really had a chance.’ He looked down into the dog’s trusting eyes and sighed. ‘And you’re right, I don’t need to give her a name because I can’t keep her, can I? Even if she does think I’ve bought a new sofa especially for her.’

It was an odd thought, and he wasn’t sure he liked it, but he had to be realistic. How could he keep her? He worked ridiculous hours and he lived alone. It simply wasn’t fair.

But then she licked his hand, and his heart wrenched.

‘You can’t, Ry.’

He looked up at the softly voiced words. ‘Can’t what?’

‘Keep her. You can’t keep her.’

He stroked the damp head with its appalling haircut, looked into the melting dark eyes and felt like a traitor.

‘Let’s worry about that tomorrow,’ he said hastily. ‘For now, I have to find her somewhere to sleep, and you need to go home.’

He got to his feet, walked her to the door and hugged her hard.

‘Thank you so much,’ he mumbled into hair that smelt vaguely of river mud. ‘I couldn’t have done that on my own.’

‘Don’t thank me. It’s not like it’s your dog.’

That pang again.

‘Yeah, you’re right, although I’d stake my life she belongs to the tenants. She needs to go to the vet to see if she’s microchipped. Goodness knows when I’ll fit that in.’

‘I can do it. I don’t start work until tomorrow lunchtime. If you give me the key again I can pick her up and take her.’

‘I don’t know any vets. I don’t know any anything here. I wouldn’t know where to start.’

‘I’ll ask Annie Shackleton. They’ve got a dog, she’ll tell me everything I need to know.’

He shook his head, then gave in, because something needed to be done with the dog, whatever. ‘Here—the spare key. You might as well keep it,’ he said, suppressing the thought that it felt vaguely symbolic. ‘I’ll leave her in the conservatory when I go, so if you could put her back there afterwards that would be great. There’s nothing there she can trash. You’ll need a collar and lead to take her, though, if your friend’s got one.’

‘I’ll sort it. Get to bed. We’ll be fine. I’ll see you at twelve when my shift starts, and tell you what the vet said.’

He searched her eyes, then nodded and bent his head to kiss her, just as she came up on tiptoe to do the same to him. Their lips clashed, held, and he felt fire shoot through his body. The kiss deepened, changed from an accidental clash to a very deliberate but tender caress that came out of nowhere and didn’t seem to want to end.

He wasn’t sure who backed away first, but she turned and opened the door and let herself out hurriedly with a little wave, and he watched her go, his emotions in turmoil, his body screaming in protest.

The dog whined at his side, and he dropped his hand down and found her head. ‘She’s gone, sweetheart,’ he said regretfully. ‘It’s time for bed. Come on, Tatty. Let’s find you a bed and put you away for the night. I need some sleep because I’ve got to be at work in five hours.’

Haha.

Between the kiss and the dog howling and whining in the conservatory there was no way he was going to sleep, so after two hours he relented and let her in, spread one of his new bath towels on the floor beside the bed and pointed firmly at it.

‘Down!’

She gave him a baleful look, curled up on it and stayed there, to his relief, and he finally managed to drop off.

For a while, at least, but when his alarm dragged him up to the surface at six she was there, lying up against him on the bed, her head next to his on the pillow.

He turned his head and glared at her. ‘Tatty, you can’t do this! Off!’

No chance. She grinned and licked his face, and he wondered just exactly when, if ever, she’d been wormed. He threw the covers off and got up, heading for the bathroom with the dog at his heels.

‘You need the vet, and I need a shower and some clothes that don’t smell of you, because I have to go to work. Do you want breakfast first? Probably.’

She polished off the rest of his loaf of bread, mostly while his back was turned, and she didn’t even have the grace to look guilty.

He put her back in the conservatory and went to work hungry.

Poor Ryan.

The look on his face when he’d realised he couldn’t keep her. Still, maybe by this morning he’d thought better of it. He’d probably thought better of their goodnight kiss, at least. She certainly had—hadn’t she?

Liar.

She got up, showered and washed her hair to get rid of the occasional whiff of river mud that was coming from somewhere, dressed in jeans and a top that didn’t matter, and headed for Annie and Ed Shackleton’s house.

They lived just round the corner on the seafront, and it was the school holidays so hopefully they’d be in. She pulled up outside their house just as Annie was walking back with their dog, Molly, and she got out of the car with a smile.

‘Morning, Annie. That was perfect timing!’

‘Hi, Beth. Are you OK? What can I do for you?’

Ten minutes later, armed with a collar and lead and an appointment with the Shackletons’ vet, Beth collected Tatty from Ryan’s conservatory and was about to load her into the car when a voice came from behind her.

‘She came back, then. I did wonder if she might.’

Beth turned round and saw an elderly man peering through the hedge. ‘Oh—hi. Do you know her?’

‘Yes, she belonged to the tenants. Said they were rehoming her but they looked a bit shifty about it. Did a runner in the middle of the night, too. Packed up a van and went. I reckon they owed rent again. So, you and your young man have taken it on, have you?’

For a moment she wasn’t sure if he was talking about the house or the dog, but then she realised he was looking at the house. ‘Yes—well, Ryan has. He’s not my young man, he’s just a friend.’

Why did that feel like a lie?

The man pushed his way through a gap in the hedge, and stuck his hand out. ‘I’m Reg, by the way.’

She freed a hand from the lead and shook his. ‘I’m Beth.’

Reg stooped and patted the dog. ‘He’s brave taking it on. They left it in a right old state.’

‘Yes, they did, but it’s better now. Reg, I’m sorry, I don’t want to be rude but I’ve got an appointment with the vet.’

‘Better not hold you up then, young lady. Nice to meet you. And tell your Ryan if there’s anything he needs, just ask.’

‘I will.’

He gave the dog a last pat and she watched him wrestle his way back through the gap in the hedge, then she opened the boot and gave Tatty a little tug. She sat down and whined, and Beth eyed her thoughtfully.

She was NOT a small dog. The boot was barely big enough. Did she really need to wrestle with her?

‘Please, Tatty. Come on. Good girl,’ she wheedled, and to her astonishment the dog jumped in, licked her hand and sat down.

Phew. She got behind the wheel and drove carefully to the practice, one eye on the rear-view mirror, but the dog just sat there, giving the odd whine. Presumably her last journey had ended in her being evicted from the car and dumped in the middle of nowhere—unless she genuinely had been rehomed and had simply run away?

‘Poor Tatty,’ she said softly, and the dog whined again.

‘Well? Do we know who she is?’

‘Sort of. No microchip, as expected, but I met your neighbour, Reg. She was the tenants’ dog.’

He nodded. ‘I was pretty sure she was. She made herself at home last night, anyway. She ended up on my bed.’

Beth’s eyes widened, and he laughed.

‘Don’t look surprised. She’s very persuasive when she’s howling at three in the morning and I didn’t want to be kicked out by the landlord.’

‘I don’t think that’s going to happen. After the last lot, he’s going to be only too happy to have you there. Reg said if there’s anything you need, just ask, by the way. He seemed to think we were a couple. I told him you were just a friend.’

That word again. Even less right after their kiss last night. He grunted. ‘I’ll go and introduce myself when I get home. So did he say what the dog’s name was?’

‘No, but I didn’t ask, and the vet didn’t recognise her, but apparently she’s possibly some kind of retriever cross, she’s young, and there’s something else you need to know. She’s about four or five weeks pregnant.’

He felt his jaw drop, and sighed and rolled his eyes. ‘Seriously? Oh, Beth. What the hell do we do now?’

‘We?’ She laughed and walked away. ‘Your dog, McKenna. It’s nothing to do with me. I suggest you try and contact the owners.’

Over his dead body.

But realistically, did he have a choice? He rang the letting agent, told him the dog had come back and asked if he had a forwarding address for the previous tenants, but of course he didn’t. They owed two months’ rent. Why would they give anyone their address?

Which left him with the need to rehome her somehow. He found a rescue centre on the internet, and the moment he got home he rang them.

They were full, but they said they’d take her as soon as they had a space.

‘Don’t hold your breath, though,’ the receptionist said. ‘It could be a while. Are you able to keep her in the meantime?’

He said he could, trying to work out why the feeling in his chest felt remarkably like relief, then gave her his details and went into the kitchen and found a note from Beth, propped up against the kettle.

Dry food’s in the pantry. She’s twenty-five kilos but add twenty per cent more food because she’s pregnant. Couldn’t find scales, but she’s had lunch and didn’t seem to mind! Chart on the side of the food bag. Divide by three—obvs. And keep the door shut!

He sighed, went into the pantry with Tatty at his side, and examined the chart with a bit of enthusiastic assistance. Beth hadn’t been able to find the scales because there weren’t any, but he made an educated guess.

That would do, for now. He’d give her a bit more later and buy scales tomorrow. Assuming he’d still have her. Sounded like it.

He put her dry food into the bowl Beth had left him, ate a tin of baked beans cold out of the can with a fork, and looked at the clock on the cooker.

Quarter to eight. Still time for a quick walk before dusk, if they didn’t hang about. He put Tatty—no, the dog—on the borrowed lead and took her down to the river and along the river wall. She didn’t seem keen on the lead, but she seemed happy enough by his side and soon got used to it, and they walked until the light was fading and got home just before nine.

He was still hungry, but of course she’d eaten the bread that morning so he couldn’t even make a sandwich, so he had a bowl of cereal and gave the dog another handful of kibble, then made a coffee and headed for the sitting room, the dog in tow.

All he wanted was to sit down quietly on the sofa with his phone, check his emails and do a little research into dog pregnancy and rehoming—although if he was rehoming her, the pregnancy research was irrelevant.

Assuming he got a chance to do it anyway, because Tatty had gone in the garden and come back victorious with a muddy ball in her mouth, and dropped it at his feet.

Of course. Somewhere in her ancestry was a retriever. And all they wanted to do, like all the gun dog breeds, was just exactly that. So he rolled the ball, and she fetched it, and he rolled it, she fetched it, over and over again until finally he hid it behind his back.

‘No. It’s gone. Lie down.’

She whined, gave a resigned sigh and hopped onto the sofa, curled up and went to sleep. Well, almost. One eye was still slightly open, just in case…

He grunted and turned his attention back to his dog-rehoming research.