Christmas-Eve Baby (14 page)

The food was taken care of, and the drinks they’d get from Tony, and she’d spoken to everyone except Jack and Ed. Ed she’d emailed, because it was the easiest way to deal with it, and she’d sent Jack a text.

Needless to say, he hadn’t called her back, but he was obviously up to his eyes. He was working hard, throwing himself into his career—although to hear her father on the subject you’d be forgiven for thinking he was never out of night-clubs—and she knew he’d get back to her when he could.

As for the rest—well, there was no ‘rest’. That was it, the sum total of the arrangements. The hymns were chosen, the order of service typed up on Ben’s computer and printed off on fine card, and there was nothing left to do but wait for Jack to ring and her father to come round.

She wasn’t holding her breath.

‘You OK?’

She smiled up at Ben. ‘I’m fine. How about you?’

‘Good. All done. The skip’s full, the house is empty, all
ready for the decorators to come in and blitz it, and guess what I found?’

He dangled a big old iron key in front of her, and she exclaimed in delight and reached for it. ‘The front door key!’

‘Is it? I thought it might be. It was under the mat. Want to try it?’

‘Oh, yes. I expect it’ll be a bit rusty, but we used to go out into the garden in the summer through the front door. It’s got bolts as well—I’ll let you do those.’

So he struggled with the bolts and finally freed them, and she put the key in the lock and turned it, and although it was a bit stiff, they heard the lock go, and together they turned the doorknob. A gust of wind caught the door and blew it open, and in front of them, beyond the garden and the field, was the sea, sparkling in the low winter sunlight.

She filled her lungs with the cold, fresh air and laughed. ‘Oh, that’s gorgeous! Oh, Ben, thank you.’

‘What, for finding the key? We could have had another one made.’

‘No,’ she said, turning to him and cradling his face in her hands. ‘For getting me my house.’

He stared down at her in silence for a moment, then he sighed softly and drew her into his arms.

‘It’s a pleasure,’ he murmured. ‘Just to see you happy is more than enough reward.’

He let her go, lifting his head, then he said, ‘Is that your phone?’

‘Oh—yes. I’ll get it.’ She hurried to her bag and pulled it out, pressing the button just in time. ‘Hello?’

‘Hi, kiddo.’

‘Jack! Oh, Jack, I’m so glad you’ve got back to me. You got my text?’

‘Yes, I got it. That’s why I’m ringing you.’

‘Tell me you can come,’ she pleaded. ‘Dad’s being really difficult—it’s because it’s Ben. He’s still being really stupid about it and I can’t get through to him. I don’t think there’s a prayer he’ll come to the wedding, and Ed’s in Africa—Jack, I want you to give me away.’

There was a lengthy silence, and her heart sank. ‘Jack?’

‘Ah, hell, Lucy. Oh, God, I’m so sorry, kiddo, I can’t. Did you hear India died?’

‘Yes, of course I did. It was in all the gossip rags. Not that you told me, of course, because you never tell me anything—’

‘She’s got a child,’ he cut in.

‘Yes, I saw. But—’

‘Lucy, he’s mine. His name’s Freddie, and—he’s my son. I’ve been granted custody of him, and—oh, sis, I need you. I’m just so out of my depth. I don’t know what I’m doing with him.’

She walked back into the kitchen and sat down again at the table they’d set up in there. ‘Oh, Jack. I don’t believe it. How old is he?’

‘Um—little. Nearly three. I’m just— I’m having problems with him adjusting to me. He misses his mother, and he doesn’t know who the hell I am, and I really don’t think I can leave him right now, and I certainly can’t bring him, not all that way. And all the fuss would just confuse him more.’

He wasn’t coming. And he was a father! Much more important, she told herself, and set aside her disappointment.

‘Oh, Jack, I quite understand. Don’t beat yourself up over it. And remember, you’re not alone. We’re all here for you. You could move back down here, so we can all help you.’

‘I can’t see Dad helping. He’d say I brought it on myself.’

‘No,’ she said, but with more conviction than she felt. ‘He’ll come round.’

‘I wish I had your confidence. Oh, Lucy, I just don’t know how to deal with Freddie—what to say to him to make it better.’

‘Just put yourself in his position, and be there for him, and be kind. And think about what I said, about moving back here. You don’t have to do this by yourself.’

He gave a ragged laugh that broke in the middle. ‘Just at the moment I don’t know if I can do it at all, sis. You know, give me a job I can do—a really messy RTA with lots of reconstruction work—and I’m happy as a pig in muck. Give me a little boy with huge blue eyes that watch me warily all day long, and I just fall apart. He needs a mother, and his own was bloody useless but at least she loved him…’

His voice cracked, and Lucy’s heart ached for him. For both of them. ‘Oh, Jack, you’ll cope,’ she said gently. ‘If I wasn’t so pregnant I’d come and see you, but—’

‘No, don’t be silly. You marry your Ben, and I’ll be thinking of you at the time, but I can’t get down. I’m so, so sorry.’

‘Don’t be. You’re doing the right thing. Give him a hug from his Aunty Lucy, and you take care. I’ll send you both a bit of cake.’

‘You do that—and have a really great day. Love you, kiddo.’

‘Love you too, big bro.’

She lowered the phone to her lap and looked up at Ben, her heart heavy. ‘He can’t come. He’s got a son—Freddie. He’s only just found out, and he’s having problems with him and can’t leave him. There won’t be anybody in my family there, Ben. Not one.’

‘Oh, darling…’

He gathered her into his arms and cradled her close, his heart breaking for her. And then the baby kicked him, and he lifted his head and smiled down at her. ‘That’s not true. I’ll be there, and so will the baby. I don’t know if it’s enough, but we’re your family, too, and we’ll be there. So you won’t be alone.’

Her hands slid down and cradled the baby, and a tear slipped down her cheek, catching on her lip as she smiled. ‘No. I won’t. You’re right. And you’re all I need—all I’ll ever need.’

Kate knocked briefly on Nick’s consulting-room door and walked in.

He was standing at the window, his jaw set, arms folded, and a muscle twitched in his cheek.

‘Nick?’

‘I’m not going.’

‘Why?’

He turned, letting out his breath in an explosive sigh. ‘You know why.’

She couldn’t let him do this. She couldn’t let him miss his own daughter’s wedding because when he came to his senses it would be another layer of guilt to add to the countless others.

‘You have to go. This isn’t about you, it’s about Lucy, and it’s about her mother.’

‘Her
dead
mother.’

‘Exactly. Her mother who can’t be there for her. Her mother who can’t sit just over her left shoulder, sniffing into a handkerchief and being ridiculously proud of her. Lucy’s not asking you to give her away, and neither am I. Mike Trevellyan’s doing it. She just wants you there, in the congregation, so she’s not the only one there from the Tremayne family.’

‘He let her die.’

‘No. No, he didn’t, Nick. He did everything he could, and he was gutted that she died. And he loves Lucy to bits. He’ll be a good husband and father. He’ll make her happy—which is more than you’re doing at the moment. So—are you coming, or not?’

For a moment she thought he’d say no, but then he snatched his coat off the back of the door, shrugged into it and yanked the door open. ‘Well, come on, then, we don’t want to be late.’

Nick couldn’t believe he was doing it.

Going to Lucy’s wedding, in the church where his father and brother and Annabel had all been laid to rest.

He nearly turned round and drove back, but Kate wouldn’t have let him and, anyway, she was right. He had to be there, for Lucy’s mother.

The church car park was full, to his surprise, and he had to go to the Smugglers’ Inn. It was only a few yards further, but as they hurried back, he saw Lucy arriving in Mike Trevellyan’s wonderful old car. It was done up with ribbons, and it was gleaming, and as Mike helped her out, Nick’s footsteps faltered.

He should be doing that. Giving her away. Not some man who was almost a stranger.

He broke into a run, Kate after him, and they reached the church just as the music started and she was walking down the aisle.

‘Here,’ Kate said, tucking a flower into his buttonhole, and she gave him a little shove.

The vicar was there in his ceremonial robes, Ben standing ramrod straight in front of him, and when he turned to look at Lucy, his eyes met Nick’s and held. Then he looked down into Lucy’s face and smiled.

‘He’s here,’ Ben said.

‘Who?’

‘Your father.’

She turned, searching the crowd, but then she saw him, hesitating at the back of the church, as if he was unsure of his welcome. He smiled at her, a sad, twisted smile, and she held out her hand, but he didn’t move.

For an endless moment everyone held their breath, and then she gave up, and turned back to the vicar. Ben’s hand caught hers and tightened on it, giving her support, and she clung to him.

Her father was here. He’d said he wouldn’t come, but he was here. Mike was hovering beside her, unsure what to do, but she smiled at the vicar and nodded, and he smiled back.

‘Dearly beloved,’ he began, and Lucy listened and tried to concentrate, but then, when Mr Kenner said, ‘Who gives this woman to be married to this man?’ there was a ripple through the congregation, and her father’s voice rang out.

‘I do,’ he said, and reaching her side he took her right hand, kissed her cheek and said softly, ‘I’m sorry,’ and placed her hand in Ben’s.

B
EN
wasn’t sure he could believe it.

After all the agonising and trauma of the past two weeks, he’d come, in the end, and given his daughter away.

And his eyes, as he’d placed her hand in Ben’s, had held a challenge that should probably have struck fear into Ben’s heart.

It didn’t, because it was a challenge he had every intention of meeting. He was going to make Lucy happy if it took his last breath, and he didn’t need Nick Tremayne to challenge him to do it.

And Lucy
was
happy.

Her face shone, her eyes were bright, and she’d never looked more beautiful. And when she paused outside the church and walked over to her mother’s grave and laid a single white rose from her bouquet in front of the simple headstone, her eyes sparkled with tears, and he was sure his did, too.

He didn’t know about Nick. He wasn’t looking at him, he had eyes only for Lucy, and as they made their way to the Smugglers’ Inn, it seemed as if the whole of Penhally had turned out to shower them with good wishes.

Ben chuckled to himself. They might be the most phenomenal load of old busybodies, but they were there because they loved Lucy, and he couldn’t blame them for that.

He recognised several of the faces in the crowd gathered on the clifftop—Toby Penhaligan, the fisherman with the broken arm, Bea Trevallyn from the guesthouse with the salmonella outbreak, fortunately contained to just the five identified, and others such as Mrs Lunney, with her new husband Henry, who’d come all the way from Wadebridge just to cheer them as they came out of the church.

It was touching, and as they walked away, Lucy tucked her hand tighter into the crook of his arm and smiled up at him.

‘He came.’

‘I know.’ But he was worried, and he said softly, ‘Lucy, don’t expect too much. One step at a time.’

She nodded. ‘I know. Early days. But one step, today, is enough for me.’

The pub was packed.

They’d booked a room for up to twenty-five, and it should have been enough, but so many people had come to wish them well, and her father asked the landlord to give them all a drink in celebration.

‘Ouch. That’ll cost him,’ she said with a smile, and Ben chuckled.

‘I don’t think he’ll mind. Come on, we need to stand here and greet everyone.’

As a reception line, it was a strange affair, oddly formal in the rather informal and yet curiously fitting surroundings of the pub.

Her father, Ben’s parents—lovely, lovely people who’d
been so sweet to her in the last two weeks—his brother, Rob, just like him in many ways, his sister-in-law, Polly, who she was looking forward to getting to know much, much better, and hovering in the background organising, as ever, was Kate.

Dear Kate, who must have talked her father into coming, because without her Lucy was sure he wouldn’t have come.

She greeted her with a heartfelt hug and a whispered, ‘Thanks.’

Kate smiled back and mouthed, ‘Any time,’ and then moved on down the line, followed by all the others.

Neither Marco nor Dragan had come, both electing to hold the fort to make sure Nick had no plausible excuses, she was sure, but apart from Sue who was manning the reception desk and Alison Myers who had a baby clinic, the rest of the staff were there, and Ben’s colleagues, and after them, it seemed, came the whole of Penhally, so many of them, come to wish her and Ben well.

And get plastered on the doctor’s slate.

There wouldn’t be a lot of work done in Penhally that afternoon, she thought, and wondered how many more people were going to hug and kiss her before she could go and sit down…

Nick hated speeches, and this was one he’d never intended to make, so it was short and to the point.

‘I’ve never seen my daughter look so radiant,’ he said. ‘And her mother, who should have been here, would have been so, so proud of her. And on her behalf, I’d like to wish you every happiness. Ben, take care of her. Love her well. And may you be as happy as we were. Ladies and gentlemen, the bride and groom.’

And he drained his glass, sat down and took a deep, steadying breath. He didn’t like Ben, and he didn’t intend to spend time in his company, but Lucy apparently loved him, and after all he didn’t have to live with the man. And today, on their wedding day, he wasn’t going to fight with him.

Nick reached for the bottle of champagne and refilled his glass. He only lived at the bottom of the hill. He could walk home. It was his daughter’s wedding day, and everybody was having too much to drink. He was damned if he wasn’t going to join them…

‘Ben, why are we here?’

‘Just humour me,’ he said. ‘Stay there.’

Lucy paused, her dress caught up in her hand so it didn’t trail in the dirt, and Ben disappeared round the side of the house, came back a moment later, scooped her up in his arms and carried her, laughing, round to the other side of the house and in through the front door.

‘You’re crazy. What are you doing?’ she said breathlessly, then realised, and her heart lodged in her throat. He was carrying her over the threshold.

‘There,’ he said, sliding her carefully to her feet. ‘You wouldn’t let me do it before we were married, but there’s no excuse now. Welcome home, Mrs Carter.’

‘Thank you.’ She went up on tiptoe and kissed him, still laughing, then looked around and gasped. She hadn’t been allowed in the house for days, and she’d spent last night at her flat, getting ready this morning with Chloe and Lauren to help her.

But now…

‘It’s furnished!’ she exclaimed. ‘How? When?’

‘Today. The removal men had strict instructions, and hopefully they’ve done everything right. I’m sure they won’t have done, and we’ll have to move all sorts of stuff, but I wanted to bring my bride home—to our real home.’

‘Oh, Ben,’ she said, lost for words. Taking him by the hand, she went from room to room. ‘Oh, it’s lovely. Oh! The nursery! Oh, Ben, you’ve had it painted in just the right colours.’

‘
I
painted it,’ he said, following her into the room she’d used as a child. ‘I wanted to do it myself. For the baby.’

‘Oh, Ben,’ she said again, and then she couldn’t talk any more. She just threw herself into his arms and hugged him so hard she thought she could hear his ribs creak.

‘Is it OK? Do you like it?’

But she could only nod, because the tears were clogging her throat and she just couldn’t believe how much he’d achieved in so short a time.

‘I take it that’s a yes,’ he said with a laugh, and hugged her back, rather more gently. ‘Come on, you haven’t see our bedroom yet.’

And he led her up the corridor and opened the door. A beautiful old French sleigh bed took pride of place opposite the window, positioned just where she’d be able to sit up in bed and look at the sea. It was made up with fresh, crisp white linen, the duvet a cloud of goosedown, and piled with pillows just right for propping herself up to take advantage of the view.

It also looked hugely inviting.

She was tired. It had been a long day and was hard on the heels of a night when she hadn’t slept a wink.

‘How do you fancy trying it out?’ he asked, drawing her back against him. ‘I missed you last night, and I didn’t sleep at all.’

‘Neither did I.’ She turned in his arms and smiled. ‘I think trying it out sounds wonderful. Take me to bed, Mr Carter—please?’

He chuckled. ‘Since you ask so nicely,’ he said.

They couldn’t take any time off.

Because it was so close to Christmas, they both had to go back to work on Tuesday morning, and it was a real effort to drag themselves out of the blissfully comfortable embrace of their new bed.

Ben had to leave earlier than Lucy, and after he’d gone she wandered around the house, touching it, remembering. ‘I wonder what you’d make of it, Grannie?’ she murmured. ‘I hope you’re happy that we’re here. We’ll look after it, and love it, and love each other and our children just as you did. You can rest now.’

Gosh, such sentimental nonsense. She blinked hard and went into the kitchen to make herself another cup of tea before she had to leave. The old Aga was still there, and there was a six-week wait for a new one, but she didn’t mind. There was something curiously comforting about the sight of it, and Ben had promised her he’d try and get it going for Christmas. In the meantime there was a rather elderly electric stove standing next to the fridge, but it would do.

She drank her tea, washed up the mug—a novelty, that, not having a dishwasher, she’d got rather used to Ben’s—and went to work.

Wow. Christmas Eve.

She’d done her Christmas shopping on Saturday, with Ben, and the presents were wrapped and under the tree in the
sitting room—all except for the fire dogs she’d bought him from the salvage yard to put in the big granite fireplace in the sitting room. They’d been hiding in the boot of her car under a blanket until she’d struggled to heave them out that morning after Ben had gone, but they were a bit heavy for her to lift and she’d had to tuck them round the corner of the little stone barn beside the house. Her father had been hard to buy for. What could you give a man who didn’t seem to connect with life any more?

Not at any real level. Even after the wedding, he’d still been distant, and any hopes she might have cherished that they were back to normal had been dashed when she’d asked him to join them at the house for Christmas Day, the following Tuesday.

‘I’m going to Kate’s,’ he’d said. ‘Sorry. Can’t let her down. But I’m sure you’ll have a lovely day.’

‘Can’t you come for some of it? Bring Kate and Jem—come for a drink, or tea, or something.’

‘Sorry, Lucy.’

And that had been that. So she’d bought him a bottle of a fine single malt whiskey and a Christmas cake and a pot of Stilton, and put them in a wicker basket, and it was under her desk at the moment waiting for a chance to give it to him. Dull, boring but safe, she thought, and wondered if he’d be disappointed. No more than he was disappointed in her, she was sure.

Oh, well. She didn’t have time to worry about it. She had a surgery until ten, and then two minor ops booked in, one the removal of a sebaceous cyst on the back of a man’s neck, the other a seborrhoeic keratosis, harmless but irritating and looking troubling like a melanoma to the uninitiated.

She was examining it, reassuring herself about her initial diagnosis, when she noticed Ben’s car pull up in the car park.

What was he doing here?

She forced herself to concentrate, and infiltrated the area in the man’s armpit with local anaesthetic, listening to his stream of inconsequential chatter and putting in the odd remark from time.

‘Oh, I’ve got a message for you from Mrs Pearce, Mrs Jones’s neighbour. She says to tell you Edith’s doing really well and hopes to be home in a week or two.’

‘Oh, good. I’ll go and see her when I’m next at St Piran. Right, is that numb now?’

‘Yes—can’t feel a thing.’

‘OK.’ She curetted it off, cauterised the wound and dressed it with antibiotic cream and a non-adherent dressing. ‘Right, keep it dry if you can, put the cream on twice a day, leave it uncovered once it stops being sore and in two to three weeks it should be gone. It’ll just look and feel like a burn, and that’s what it is, really, because I’ve singed the blood vessels to seal them. OK?’

‘What about that thing?’ He pointed at the flat brown blob of tissue she’d removed and put in a specimen tube.

‘I’ll send it for analysis, just to be on the safe side, but I’m absolutely confident that it’s harmless.’

‘So you’re sending it off so I can’t sue you?’

She chuckled. ‘No, I’m sending it off because I want to know that I’ve done everything I should have for you. I’m only a doctor, I don’t have all the answers. And I don’t want to let you down.’

He nodded. ‘Fair enough. Thank you very much.’

He left, and she thought about it. Would she send the
sample off just so she didn’t get sued if it later turned out to be a melanoma? Or was it belt and braces?

The latter. Being sued would be horrible, but the chances were it would happen in her working lifetime. Being responsible for someone’s death because she hadn’t taken enough care—that was quite different. It would destroy you, unless you simply didn’t have a conscience.

She felt a twinge—nothing much, just another of those wretched Braxton Hicks contractions that she’d been plagued with for ages. Still, she was finished now, and she wasn’t due back to work until Thursday. And Ben was here. He must have popped in to see her, but she had to get the sample off.

She was just coming out of her consulting room with the histology sample in her hand when she overheard his voice coming through her father’s open consulting-room door.

‘Please, come—not for me, but for Lucy. Even if it’s just for a drink. She’s so disappointed that we won’t see you.’

‘Well, that’s her fault, not mine. She knows where I’ll be, and it won’t be with you. Just because I was at the wedding doesn’t mean I’ve forgiven you or changed my mind about you. I only went to the wedding for Lucy, and for Annabel. I gave her away because I couldn’t break her heart, but I don’t have to like it, or you, and if you’ve got any ideas about cosy little suppers and so forth you can just forget it, because frankly even one minute in your company is one minute too long. You’ve taken my family home, taken my daughter, taken my wife—’

‘No!’ Ben cut in, his voice firm, and Lucy sagged against her open door, wondering if this was ever going to stop. ‘I didn’t take the house, I bought the house at a fair market price at an open auction because I thought it would make your daughter happy, and I didn’t take Lucy, she came to me be
cause she loves me and knows l love her and I didn’t take your wife, Tremayne. On the contrary, I did everything I could to save her once she came to my attention.’

‘That’s a lie!’ Nick said furiously. ‘You gave up on her! I saw you!’

‘I know. And you shouldn’t have done. But we didn’t give up. We stopped, simply because she was already dead. Her pupils were blown, her heart had stopped beating thirty minutes before. She was dead, Nick. She was dead, and if I could have changed that, for you, for her, for Lucy, don’t you think I would have done so? But I never, ever gave up on her while there was the slightest chance of saving her.’