Читать книгу By Request Collection April-June 2016 - Оливия Гейтс - Страница 33

MELANIE woke first the next morning, aware she was wonderfully warm and cosy and sleepy. Then her eyes snapped open. Forde. He was curled into her back, one male arm resting possessively across her stomach.

Very, very carefully she eased his arm off her and then turned to face him. He was fast asleep, the duvet down to his waist revealing his wide, muscled shoulders and the black curly body hair covering his chest. She drank him in for some moments and then slid silently out of bed. She didn’t intend to sneak away like the time before, she wouldn’t do that to him again, but neither did she want to pretend they were like any other couple waking up together.

Gathering her clothes in her arms, she padded through to the bathroom, locking the door behind her. When she emerged, fully clothed and coiffured, she glanced through the open bedroom door. Forde was sitting up in bed, his hands behind his head, and her heart raced like a runaway horse. He looked like every woman’s fantasy of what she’d like to find in her Christmas stocking.

‘Hi, sweetheart,’ he said lazily. ‘All finished in there?’

She nodded jerkily. And then found she couldn’t tear her eyes away as he flung back the duvet and stood up. She had seen him naked many times but she didn’t think she would ever grow tired of looking at him. The flagrant maleness was intoxicating and he moved as beautifully as one of the big cats, his muscles sleek and honed and not an ounce of fat on his hard frame. He had almost reached her before she pulled herself together, but as she went to disappear down the stairs he turned her round with his hand on her arm. His kiss was firm and sweet but he didn’t prolong the embrace, although as he turned away and strolled into the bathroom Melanie noticed a certain part of his anatomy was betraying his desire for her in the age-old way.

Heat slammed into her cheeks as she scurried downstairs, but then the faint feeling of sickness that would gather steam throughout the day before dispersing round seven or eight o’clock in the evening made itself felt. It was the one thing about pregnancy she truly hated, she told herself, forcing down a couple of dry biscuits once she reached the kitchen. Before she had become pregnant with Matthew she had always imagined morning sickness was just that—you woke up, you vomited, and then you got on with the rest of the day as right as rain. Instead this horrible nausea and the overall feeling of being unwell dogged her all day, but if this baby followed the same pattern as Matthew it would only be another two or three weeks before she felt better.

Melanie plugged in the coffee machine and then stood with her hands on her stomach, the wonder that a little life was growing inside her engulfing all her worries and fears and doubts for a few moments. ‘You’ll be told about your brother, little one, as soon as you’re old enough to understand,’ she whispered. ‘He was our first child and greatly loved, but that doesn’t mean you won’t be loved too, for who and what you are.’

Would this baby understand that she had to leave it for its own good, though? Could any child take that on board? It might hate her. But would that matter so much if it was safe and protected and having a good life? The turmoil came in again on a great flood of anguish. She was doing the right thing, wasn’t she? Yes, yes, she was. She couldn’t doubt herself. And there must be no more nights like last night. This separation had to stand. And that meant she mustn’t see Forde any more, because if he was there, in front of her, then all her resolve went out of the window. She wasn’t strong enough where he was concerned.

‘What’s wrong?’ said Forde sharply from behind her.

Melanie swung round, her hands springing away from her belly. ‘Nothing, nothing’s wrong.’

‘You were standing there like that and for a minute I thought you were in pain,’ he said thickly, his eyes searching her face as though he still wasn’t quite sure if she was telling him the truth.

‘I’m fine.’ She took a deep breath. She had never voluntarily mentioned Matthew or what had happened, Forde had always been the one to broach the subject and more often than not then she had refused to discuss it, knowing she would break down if she did, but now she said quietly, ‘I was thinking of Matthew, that’s all. I—I don’t want him forgotten. I want this baby to know it had a brother.’

‘Of course.’ His voice was soft but with a note in it that made her want to cry. ‘That’s taken as read, Nell.’

‘Forde, if I agree to go and see Miriam, to talk to her, I want—’ she took a deep breath ‘—I want you to promise you won’t come here again. That’s the deal. I mean it.’

She saw him take a physical step backwards as though she had slapped him across the face.

‘We can’t keep—’ She shook her head. There was no kind way to say it. ‘I don’t want you here. It complicates everything and it will just make the final parting all the harder. I can cope on my own.’

‘And if I can’t? Cope, that is?’ he said grimly. ‘What then? Or is this all about you to the exclusion of anything else?’

Now she felt as though he had slapped her.

‘You’re carrying my child,’ he said with deliberate control. ‘That gives me certain rights, surely? You can’t shut me out as though I don’t exist.’

‘I’m not trying to shut you out, not from the baby.’

‘Oh, I see.’ He raised dark brows. ‘So I promise to stay away for the next nine months—’

‘Six. I’m already three months pregnant.’

‘Six months,’ he continued as though she hadn’t interrupted, ‘and then what? I get a phone call saying the baby’s born and I can come and pick it up? Is that what you’ve got planned?’

She stared at him. He had a right to be angry but now she was angry too. ‘I didn’t have to tell you I was pregnant,’ she said stiffly. ‘Not so early on anyway.’

‘As I recall, it was me turning up at the doctor’s that forced you to reveal it. Right? Whether you would have told me if you’d had time to think about it, I’m not so sure.’

Probably because he had touched on something she had been questioning herself about for the last twenty-four hours, Melanie was incensed. ‘I’m not discussing this further, but I’d like you to remember that this is my house and I have a perfect right to say who comes over the threshold.’ She glared at him, hands on hips and her eyes flashing.

‘If you weren’t pregnant I’d try shaking some sense into you,’ he ground out between clenched teeth.

She knew he didn’t mean it. Forde would never touch a woman in anger. Nevertheless her small chin rose a notch. ‘You could try,’ she said bitingly, ‘but don’t forget what I do for a living. I’m stronger than I look.’

‘Actually, I’ve never doubted how strong you are,’ he said tersely. ‘It’s your best and your worst attribute. It got you through the first twenty-five years of your life until you met me but now it’s in danger of ruining the rest of your life. You need to let me in, Nell. You don’t have to fight alone. Don’t you realise that’s what marriage is all about? I’m in your corner, for better or worse, richer or poorer, in sickness and health. I love you. You. The kind of love that will last for ever. I’m not going to give up on you whatever you say or do so get that through your head.’

‘And you get through your head that I can’t be what you want me to be. I’m not good for you, Forde. I’m not good for anyone.’

‘You are the best thing that ever happened to me,’ he said from the heart. ‘The very best. Now you can try to tell yourself different if you like, but I know what I feel.’

She stared at him. ‘I can’t do this,’ she said flatly, the tone carrying more weight than any show of emotion. ‘I want you to go, Forde. Now. I mean it.’

She did. He could see it in every fibre of her being. But he had one last thing to say. ‘Even before the accident, you were expecting the bubble to burst, Nell. It became a self-fulfilling prophecy and you are the only one who can change that. I don’t think I can do or say any more but I hope you have the courage to dig deep and face what you need to face, for the sake of our child as much as us.’

Her chin was up and her voice was tight and thin when she said, ‘Have you finished?’

He gave her one last long look and then walked into the dining room, where his jacket was still hanging over the back of a chair, shrugging it on and leaving the house without another word.

Melanie heard the front door slam behind him but she didn’t move for a full minute simply because she couldn’t. She felt sick and ill and wretchedly unhappy, but she told herself she’d done what had to be done.

After a while she poured herself a coffee because if ever she had needed one it was now, walking into the sitting room and sinking down on one of the sofas. She sat for some time. It had started to rain outside, big drops splattering against the window, and she shivered. The weather was changing at last. Winter was round the corner.

It was the following evening when her phone rang just as she was finishing dinner. She hadn’t felt like a meal, but had forced herself to cook a cheese omelette after she’d had her bath and changed into her pyjamas, conscious that she had to eat healthily now. To that end she’d had a glass of milk with the omelette and finished with an apple crumble and custard. Shop-bought but tasty nonetheless.

Her heart thudded as she picked up the phone but it wasn’t Forde. Instead a woman’s voice said, ‘Can I speak to Mrs Masterson, please?’

‘Speaking.’ This had to be the woman Forde had mentioned.

‘This is Miriam Cotton. Forde asked me to give you a ring.’

‘Oh, yes.’ Melanie suddenly felt ridiculously nervous. She didn’t want to go and see a stranger and talk about her innermost feelings, but she had made a bargain with Forde that he’d leave her alone if she did so. ‘I—I need to make an appointment, Mrs Cotton. I’m sure you’re very busy so I quite understand it might not be for a while.’

It was another minute or two before she put down the phone and her head was spinning. She was going to see Miriam Cotton after work the next day. She didn’t doubt that Forde had pulled strings to make it happen; ‘strike while the iron was hot’ was his style.

She sat and brooded for a good hour, looking at the address and telephone number Miriam had given her and wondering whether to call her back and cancel the appointment. It would mean she would have to take a change of clothes to work and get ready before she left Forde’s mother’s house, but that wasn’t really the issue.

She was frightened. Scared stiff.

As the thought hit she realised her hands were clenched into fists in her lap and she concentrated on relaxing her fingers slowly. Forde had said she would have to find the courage to dig deep. Why should she put herself through that? What if it did no good? What if it made her feel even worse?

Panic rose, hot and strong, and then she remembered something else Forde had said, something she’d tried to put out of her mind, but which had only been relegated to the subconscious, waiting to jump out the minute she let it. He’d said she’d been expecting the bubble of their marriage to burst all along, that it had become a self-fulfilling prophecy and she was the only one who could change that. It had made her so mad she could have cheerfully strangled him, and she’d told herself at the time that was because it was untrue and terribly unfair.

She shut her eyes tightly. But it wasn’t.

Opening her eyes, she stood up. She was exhausted; she couldn’t think of this any more. She was going to bed and in the morning she would decide what she was going to do. But even as she thought it she knew her decision had already been made. Because something else Forde had said had cut deep. She had to do this for the sake of the baby. She had to try. It might be a lot of pain and anguish for nothing, and in digging up the past she might open a can of worms that was best left closed, but if she didn’t try she would never know, would she?

She didn’t even bother to brush her teeth before getting into bed, so physically and emotionally tired her limbs felt like dead weights, but in the split second before she fell asleep she acknowledged it wasn’t just for the baby she was going to see Miriam tomorrow. It was for Forde too.

Miriam Cotton wasn’t at all what Melanie had expected. For one thing her consulting room was part of her home, a cosy, friendly extension to the original Edwardian terrace overlooking the narrow walled garden consisting of a neat lawn and flowerbeds with an enormous cherry tree in the centre of it. And Miriam herself was something of a revelation, her thick white hair trimmed into an urchin cut with vivid red highlights and her slim figure clothed in jeans and a loose blue shirt. She had a wide smile, big blue eyes and lines where you would expect lines for someone of her age on her clear complexion. Altogether she gave the impression of someone who was at peace with herself. Melanie liked her immediately.

Once sitting in a plump armchair next to the glowing fire—artificial, Miriam informed her cheerfully, but the most realistic Melanie had ever seen—and with no consulting couch, which she had been preparing herself for all day and dreading, Melanie began to relax a little. There was something about Forde’s friend’s mother that inspired trust.

Miriam smiled at her from the other armchair. ‘Before we go any further I must make one thing perfectly clear. Anything we talk about, anything you tell me is strictly between the two of us. Forde is a dear man but he will not be party to anything which is said in this room, not unless you wish to confide in him, of course. You have my absolute word on that.’

‘Thank you.’ Melanie nodded and relaxed a little more. She didn’t want to have any secrets from Forde, it wasn’t that, but knowing she still retained some control was nonetheless reassuring. It made her feel safe.

‘Forde tells me you’re expecting another baby?’ Miriam said quietly.

Melanie nodded again. She was glad Miriam had said ‘another’ and not pretended Matthew hadn’t been born. ‘Yes, in the spring.’ She hesitated. ‘I suppose that’s the main reason— No.’ She paused, shaking her head. ‘That’s not right. It’s one of the reasons I’m here. I guess falling for another baby has brought everything to a head.’

‘Everything?’ Miriam said even more quietly.

Melanie looked into the gentle face opposite her. There were family photographs covering one wall of the room and she had noticed one little girl was in a wheelchair. This woman knew about trouble and heartache, she thought, biting her lower lip. She would have known that even without the photographs. It was in Miriam’s eyes. ‘Shall—shall I start at the beginning?’ she asked. ‘My childhood, I mean.’

‘That would be good,’ Miriam said softly. ‘And take your time. You can come to see me here as often as you like, every evening if you wish, until you feel ready to stop. Forde has been a wonderful friend to my son and you take priority right now. All right?’

Melanie left the house at seven o’clock feeling like a wet rag. She, who prided herself on not wearing her heart on her sleeve, had wept and wailed through the last two hours in a manner that horrified her now she thought about it.

She climbed into the pickup, which she’d parked a few metres from Miriam’s front door. It looked somewhat incongruous in the line of mostly expensive cars the well-to-do street held, but Melanie didn’t notice.

She took several deep breaths before she started the engine. She was far from convinced all this was a good idea, she told herself grimly. She felt worse, much worse if anything, after all the emotion of the last hours. Admittedly Miriam had seemed to guess how she was feeling and had assured her it was the same for everyone initially. She had to persevere to come out of the other end of the dark tunnel, according to Miriam. But what if she got stuck in the tunnel? What then?

She drew out of the parking space into the road, a deep weariness making her limbs feel heavy.

Then she straightened her back and lifted her chin. She had promised Forde and she would keep her end of the bargain. She would come back tomorrow and all the other tomorrows until this thing was done.

Melanie drove home slowly, aware she was totally exhausted and needed to be ultra careful. Once at the cottage she fixed herself a quick meal before falling into bed. She was asleep as soon as her head touched the pillow.

That evening was to set the pattern for the next few weeks, but the morning after her first visit to Miriam she attended the local hospital for her first scan. It was a bittersweet day. She remembered how she and Forde had come together for Matthew’s first scan, excited and thrilled as they had waited to see the baby on the monitor, and slightly apprehensive in case everything wasn’t as it should be.

This time she sat alone in the waiting area, which was smaller than the one in the hospital in London—her own choice, she reminded herself as she watched the couple in front of her come out of the room where the scan took place wrapped in each other’s arms and smiling.

Once she was lying on the bed it was more of a repeat of the time before. The lady taking the scan was smiling; all was well, heartbeat strong, baby developing as it should be and no concerns.

She left the hospital clutching two pictures of the child in her womb and with tears of relief and thankfulness streaming down her face.

Once she was sitting in the truck in the hospital car park she took a few minutes to compose herself before phoning Forde on his mobile. He answered immediately. ‘Nell? What’s wrong?’

‘Nothing’s wrong. I’ve been to the hospital for the first scan and everything’s fine with the baby. I just wanted you to know. I’ve a picture for you. I’ll leave it with Isabelle.’

It was a moment before he spoke and his voice was gruff. ‘Thank God. And I mean that, thank God. They can’t tell if it’s a boy or a girl at this stage, can they?’

‘No. That’s at twenty weeks. Do you want to know?’ They hadn’t found out with Matthew.

‘I don’t know. Do you?’

‘I’m not sure. I’ll ring you near the time and discuss it then. I have to go to work now. Goodbye, Forde.’

His voice was husky when he said, ‘Goodbye, Nell.’

It took her another ten minutes to dry her eyes and compose herself again before she could start the truck and drive out of the hospital confines, but by the time she got to Isabelle’s house she was in command of herself.

Isabelle insisted on giving her a hot drink before she joined James in the garden, and her mother-in-law was entranced with the picture of her future grandchild. ‘Do you mind if I take a copy of it for myself before I pass this on to Forde tonight?’ Isabelle asked as they finished their hot chocolate and custard creams at the kitchen table. ‘He’s calling in later for dinner. I don’t suppose you’d like to stay too?’

Melanie shook her head. ‘I’m going to see Miriam again.’ She had thought it only right to tell her mother-in-law what she was doing yesterday and now she was glad she had. It was the perfect excuse and had the added bonus of being the truth.

‘Is it being nosy if I ask you how it went?’ Isabelle said gently.

‘Of course not.’ Melanie shrugged. ‘But I can’t give you much of an answer because I’m not sure myself. It was… traumatic, I suppose.’

‘But helpful?’

Melanie shrugged again. ‘I don’t know, Isabelle. I guess time will tell.’ She drank the last of her hot chocolate and stood up. ‘I’d better go and help James with the planting.’

Once outside, she lifted her face to the silver-grey sky. Helpful. How could anything so painful be helpful? She wasn’t looking forward to the next weeks.

November turned into December amid biting white frosts and brilliantly cold days, but she and James managed to complete the work at Isabelle’s by the end of the first week of December.

And Forde kept his word. He didn’t come to the cottage and he didn’t call her. In fact he could have fallen off the edge of the world and she’d be none the wiser, Melanie thought to herself irritably more than once, before taking herself to task for her inconsistency.

Pride had forbidden her to mention him to Isabelle while she had still been working at her mother-in-law’s house. It seemed the height of hypocrisy to do so anyway after she had left him and was still refusing to go back. What could she say? Was he well? Was he happy? And after that time when Isabelle had asked her to stay for dinner on the day of the scan, her mother-in-law had talked about everything under the sun except Forde. Which wasn’t like Isabelle and led Melanie to suspect her mother-in-law was obeying orders from her son.

She could be wrong, of course, maybe she was being paranoid, but, whatever, she couldn’t complain.

But she missed him. Terribly. It had been bad enough when she had first left him in the early part of the year, but then she had been reconciled to the fact her marriage was over. She had thrown herself into making her business work and finding herself a home, and, although that hadn’t compensated for not having him around, it had occupied her mind some of the time. Furnishing the cottage, turning her tiny courtyard garden into a small oasis, making sure any professional work she did was done to the best of her ability and drumming up business had all played its part in dulling her mind against the pain.

But now …

Since he had muscled his way into her life again that night in August he’d reopened a door she was powerless to shut. He’d penetrated her mind—and her body, she thought wryly, her hand going to the swell of her belly.

And in spite of herself she wanted to see him, the more so as the sessions with Miriam progressed.

She was finding herself in a strange place emotionally as her deepest fears and anxieties stemming from her troubled childhood and even more troubled teens were unearthed. She had to come to terms with the truth that she’d buried the fact she’d always felt worthless and unloved behind the capable, controlled façade she presented to the world. And as time had gone on something had begun to happen to the solid ball of pain and fear and sorrow lodged in her heart. It had begun to slowly disintegrate, and, though the process wasn’t without its own anguish and grief, it was cleansing.

Gradually, very gradually she was beginning to accept the concept that her confusion and despair as a child had coloured her view of herself. She hadn’t been responsible for her parents’ death or that of her grandmother, or her friend’s tragic accident either. None of that had been her fault.

The miscarriage was harder to come to terms with, her grief still frighteningly raw. It helped more than she could ever express that Miriam had pushed aside her professional status and cried with her on those sessions, revealing to Melanie that she’d lost a baby herself at six months and had blamed herself for a long time afterwards.

‘It’s what we do as women,’ Miriam had said wryly as she’d dried her eyes after one particularly harrowing meeting. ‘Take the blame, punish ourselves, try to make sense of what is an unexplainable tragedy. But you weren’t to blame. You would have given your life for Matthew as I would have given mine for my baby.’

‘Forde said that once, that I’d have given my life for Matthew’s if I could,’ Melanie had said thoughtfully.

‘He’s right.’ Miriam had patted her arm gently. ‘And he loves you very much. Lots of women go a whole lifetime without being loved like Forde loves you. You can trust him—you know that, don’t you?’

But could she trust herself? She wanted to. More than anything she longed to put the past behind her and believe she could be a good wife and mother and a rational and optimistic human being, but how did she know if she had the strength of mind to do that or would she fall back into the old fears and anxieties that would cripple her and ultimately those she loved?

Melanie was thinking about the conversation with Miriam on the day before Christmas Eve. She was curled up on one of the sofas in her sitting room, which she’d pulled close to the glowing fire, watching an old Christmassy film on TV but without paying it any real attention. She had finished work until after the New Year; the ground had been as hard as iron for weeks and heavy snow was forecast within the next twenty-four hours.

She and James had finished the job they’d gone on to once Isabelle’s garden was completed and James had disappeared off to Scotland to spend Christmas with his parents and a whole host of relations, although she suspected it was more the allure of the Hogmanay party his parents always held on New Year’s Eve that he didn’t want to miss. He had invited her to go with him, telling her his parents’ house was always packed full over the festive season and one more would make no difference, but she’d declined the offer. A couple of her friends had invited her for Christmas lunch, and both Isabelle and Miriam had made noises in that direction, but she had politely said no to everyone.

She had forbidden the one person she wanted to spend Christmas with from coming anywhere near her, and although part of her wanted to call Forde and just hear his voice, another part—a stronger part—didn’t feel ready for what that might entail. She had bought him a Christmas card and then decided not to send it because for the life of her she couldn’t find the right words to say. She knew she would have to phone him after Christmas about the next scan; it was only two weeks away now.

She rested her hand on the mound of her stomach and in response felt a fluttering that made her smile. That had happened several times in the last week and it never failed to thrill her. Her baby, living, growing, moving inside her, a little person who would have its own mind and personality. She had felt this baby move much earlier than she had Matthew but her friends who had children had assured her it was like that with the second. And with each experience of feeling those tiny arms and legs stretching and kicking she had wondered how ever she’d be able to hand their child over to Forde and walk away. It would kill her, she thought, shutting her eyes tightly. But would it be the best thing for her baby? She didn’t know any more. She had been so sure before she’d started seeing Miriam, but now, the more she understood herself and what had led her to think that way, the more she’d dared to hope. Hope that maybe, just maybe, the depression that had kicked in after the miscarriage and that had been fed by the insecurities of her past had fooled her into thinking that way.

‘You’re not a Jonah, Melanie.’ Miriam had said that at their last session as they were saying goodbye. ‘You are like everyone else. Some people sail through life without encountering any problems, others seem to have loads from day one, but it’s all due to chance, unfair though that is. I can’t say the rest of your life is going to be a bowl of cherries, no one can, but I can say you have a choice right now. You can either look at the negatives and convince yourself it’s all doom and gloom, or you can take life by the throat and kick it into submission. Know what I mean?’

‘Like Cassie and Sarah?’ she’d answered. Sarah was the little girl in a wheelchair in the photograph. She was beautiful, with curly brown hair and huge, limpid green eyes, but she had been born with spina bifida and other medical complications. Cassie, her mother, was devoted to her and in the summer Cassie had been diagnosed with multiple sclerosis, but according to Miriam her daughter was determined to fight her illness every inch of the way. Sarah, young as she was, had the same spirit, her proud grandmother said, and was a joy to be with. Miriam had admitted to Melanie she’d cried bitter tears over them both but would never dream of letting her daughter or granddaughter know because neither of them ‘did’ self-pity.

‘My Cassie must have had her down times over Sarah and now this multiple sclerosis has reared its head, but, apart from in the early days with Sarah just after she was born, I’ve never seen Cassie anything but positive.’ Miriam had looked at her, her eyes soft. ‘You can be like that, Melanie. I know it.’

A log fell further into the glowing ash, sending a shower of sparks up the chimney. It roused Melanie from her thoughts and she glanced at the dwindling stack of logs and empty coal scuttle. She must go and bring more logs in and fill the scuttle before it got dark, she thought, rising to her feet reluctantly. James had helped her build a lean-to in her small paved front garden in the summer for her supply of logs and sacks of coal. She hadn’t wanted to lose any space in her tiny private courtyard at the back of the property, and as the front of the properties only overlooked a local farmer’s hay barns there was no one to object. Nevertheless, they had taken care to give the lean-to a quaint, rustic look in keeping with the cottages and as one side was enclosed by her neighbour’s high wooden fence it kept her fuel relatively dry and protected.

When she opened the front door an icy blast of air hit her and the sky looked grey and low although it was only three in the afternoon. She filled the scuttle to the weight she was happy to carry now she was pregnant and took it inside, before going back for some logs. She took an armful in and then went back for some more, and it was only then she noticed a slight movement close to the fence behind the stack of wood.

Petrified it was a rat—one or two of the neighbours had mentioned seeing the odd rat or two, courtesy of the farmer’s barns, no doubt—Melanie hurried back inside the house, her heart pounding like a drum. As soon as she had closed the door she knew she had to go back and make sure what it was, though. What if a bird had somehow got trapped or some other creature was hurt? Situated as the cottages were in a small hamlet surrounded by countryside, it could be anything sheltering there.

Wishing with all her heart she hadn’t gone out for the logs and coal and were still sitting watching TV in front of the fire, she put on a coat before opening the door again. The temperature seemed to have dropped another few degrees in just a minute or two. There was no doubt excited children all over the country were going to get their wish of a white Christmas, she thought, treading carefully to where she’d seen the movement. She bent down, her muscles poised to spring away if a beady-eyed rodent jumped out at her.

But it wasn’t a rat that stared back at her. Squeezed into the tiniest space possible, a small tabby cat crouched shivering in its makeshift shelter, all huge amber eyes and trembling fur.

‘Why, hello,’ Melanie whispered softly, putting out her hand only for the cat to shrink back as far as it could. ‘Hey, I’m not going to hurt you. Don’t be frightened. Come on, puss.’

After several minutes of murmuring sweet nothings, by which time she was shaking with cold as much as the cat, Melanie realised she was getting nowhere. She could also see the cat was all bone under its fur but with a distended stomach, which either meant it was pregnant or had some kind of growth. Praying it was the former because she was already consumed with pity for the poor little mite, she stood up and went to fetch some cooked roast chicken from the kitchen, hoping to tempt it with food where gentle encouragement had failed.

The cat was clearly starving, but not starving enough to leave its sanctuary, roast chicken or no roast chicken.

‘I can’t leave you out here. Please, please come out,’ Melanie begged, close to tears. It was getting darker by the minute and the wind was cutting through her like a knife, but the thought of abandoning the cat to its fate just wasn’t an option. And if she started to move the pile of logs it was sheltering behind they might fall and crush the little thing. She had tried reaching a hand to it but was a couple of inches short of being able to grab it.

‘Nell? What the hell are you doing out here and who are you talking to?’ said Forde’s voice behind her.

She swung round and there he was. Whether it was because she was frozen or had moved too quickly or was faint with relief that he was here to help her, she didn’t know, but the next thing she knew there was a rushing in her ears and from her crouched position beside the cat she slid onto her bottom, struggling with all her might not to pass out as the darkness moved from the sky into her head and became overwhelming.