Caroline Anderson - Risk of a Lifetime

Annie flopped into the corner of the sofa and sighed. ‘It was exhausting. We’ve had one thing after another. I don’t think I’ve sat down for more than a few minutes all day. How were the girls? They seem lively enough.’

‘Fine. No problem. They really seem to like the hospital nursery. They were full of everything they’d done today.’

‘I noticed,’ she said drily. ‘They didn’t stop telling me about it all through their bath, but at least it’s a good sign.’

It was good. More than good. It was essential. Her mother was wonderful, and she couldn’t possibly have managed without her since the twins had been born, but she felt so guilty asking, so guilty burdening her with the girls. Although she’d said a million times that having her granddaughters wasn’t a burden, she knew it was. It had to be. They were a burden on her, and she was their mother, although if she had her time over again she’d change nothing. Well, except their father, who’d had the fastest pair of running shoes she’d ever seen, but that wasn’t their fault.

Chloe and Grace were the most wonderful things that had ever happened to her, and the fact that they were happy at the nursery was important for all of them. If the girls weren’t happy, none of them would be happy.

‘How’s Grannie?’ she asked, and her mother shrugged.

‘Oh, much the same. Stubborn, independent, won’t take any painkillers and then wonders why everything hurts.’

Annie smiled ruefully at her mother. ‘Are you OK, Mum? I know you say we aren’t a burden, but between my girls and your mother, you’re stuck between a rock and a hard place.’

‘No, I’m not.’ Her mother brushed it aside with a dismissive flap of her hand. ‘What else would I be doing with my time? Arranging flowers in the church? Working in a charity shop?’

She got to her feet, the subject closed. ‘Are you ready for your supper? It’s Thai curry. I’ll just heat it up and we can eat it in here in front of the television, with your feet up.’

Annie smiled gratefully at her. ‘That sounds lovely. I’m starving. I haven’t eaten all day. Well, only chocolate biscuits.’

Her mother tutted and walked off in the direction of the kitchen, and she watched her go and felt guilt. Always guilt.

She should have got up, gone to help, but she was exhausted. It had been a killer shift, not made any easier by trying to dodge Ed Shackleton. Impossible. They’d seemed to end up working together all day.

Which was fine. Working with him was fine. He was great to work with. It was those little moments in between, when the pressure was off and he’d strip off his gloves and apron and fold his arms and slouch back against the wall with that casual grace...

She rested her head back, gave a little sigh and closed her eyes, but there he was, welded on to her retinas—laughing at something silly, sprinting to the ambulance bay, snapping into action when someone had arrested in Resus—images of him tormented her and she sat forward and dropped her head into her hands.

‘What’s up?’

‘Oh, nothing. New colleague. He’s a bit...’

‘Useless?’

‘Oh, no, he’s not useless. Far from it. He’s excellent. He’s just—I don’t know. There. All the time.’

What was it with a mother’s radar? She could almost hear the antenna twirling.

‘Single?’

She stuck the fork into her curry and lifted a chunk of chicken up to her mouth.

‘Mum, I have no idea. It’s irrelevant. I’m not interested.’

‘How old?’

She shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Thirty? Thirty-two? He’s a registrar.’

And he didn’t wear a ring, which meant nothing, of course, because she didn’t either and she was far from free. Single, yes, but free? Available? Not in this lifetime.

‘So what’s the problem with him?’

Nothing she was about to discuss with her mother!

‘Nothing. There’s no problem. It’s just—settling into a new working relationship. It’s difficult.’

Which was a downright lie, because there was nothing difficult about it. Not professionally. They seemed to work together seamlessly as if they’d done it for years, anticipating each other, communicating without words.

They made a great team.

She just didn’t want to be on the same team as a man like Ed Shackleton, because he played havoc with her hard-won peace of mind, and she resented that.

A lot.

* * *

Ed let himself in and closed the door softly, following the sound of running water to the kitchen.

‘Hi, Marnie. How’re you doing?’

His grandmother dried her hands and smiled fondly at him. ‘All the better for seeing you. How was your first day?’

He laughed softly and hugged her. ‘It was fine. Nice people, interesting cases. How’s Grumps?’

She shrugged, and he saw the shimmer of tears in her eyes. ‘Oh, bit up and down today. You know. Living up to his name.’

He knew only too well, and he hugged her again, rocking her against his chest as she’d rocked him so many, many times over the years.

She let him hold her for a while, then sighed softly and pushed away, her hands, the hands that so many times had wiped away his childish tears, gentle on his chest. He let her go, tipped up her chin and stared down into her eyes. Her own tears now weren’t very far away, and he frowned and tutted softly.

‘I’m here for you, Marnie, you know that, don’t you? Any time, day or night. You just have to call me.’

‘I know that, darling. Thank you.’

He shook his head. ‘Don’t thank me. We’re all in this together. I love him, too, you know.’

‘I know.’ She sighed. ‘I think he’s going to need a wash and a change before we settle him for the night.’

‘OK. I’ll sort him out. You make yourself a drink and sit down and have a rest. You look done in.’

It took him a while to sort out his grandfather. It wasn’t helped by the fact that the old man was a bit feisty and resistant to his physio.

But when Ed tucked him back up in bed, settled him on his pillows and kissed him goodnight, the old man settled back with a sigh.

‘That’s better, Edward.’

The words were slurred, but he knew what his grandfather was saying and it was the nearest he’d get to thanks. His answering smile was a little crooked. ‘We aim to please, Grumps.’

‘Well, go on. All done now.’

Ed sighed and straightened up, the tenuous link broken. ‘Goodnight, Grumps. Sleep well. I’ll see you in the morning.’

There was a grunt, but the old man was already drifting off, and he went out and closed the door softly behind him.

His grandmother was waiting in the kitchen, a cup by the kettle. ‘Tea or coffee?’

‘Oh, tea, weak. I’ve had too much coffee today.’

‘So how was he with you?’

‘OK. Bit argumentative.’ He gave a wry grin, and his grandmother smiled sadly.

‘I don’t know what we’d do without you.’ Her face crumpled briefly. ‘Hideous bloody disease,’ she muttered, a little quiver in her voice. ‘It’s so cruel, so wicked. He used to be such a nice man, so kind and affectionate, just like you. I can’t bear the thought of having to watch you disintegrate like him—’

‘You won’t have to,’ he said firmly. ‘I’ve told you that.’

‘So you have,’ she said quietly, and then she straightened up and looked him in the eye with that way of hers that told him she knew he was lying.

He felt a flicker of guilt and dismissed it. It wasn’t really a lie. She wouldn’t see him deteriorate like his grandfather—but possibly only because she was unlikely to live long enough for the disease to manifest itself. If he’d even got the gene...

He drank his tea, chatted about his day to give his grandmother something to distract her from the topic he was so keen to avoid, and then left her, driving the short distance to his rented house.

He hadn’t needed to rent it. He could have stayed with his grandparents or his parents. Both of them lived within minutes of the hospital, but this had been closer, and he’d used that as an excuse because he’d needed it. It was his sanctuary, his private space, his bolthole from the awful reality that was his potential destiny.

He parked in the carport at the back of the garden and let himself in through the conservatory. It was a lovely evening, a little chilly but he didn’t mind that. He needed the fresh air. He poured himself a glass of wine, took it back out to the garden and dropped into the swing seat, shifting it idly to and fro with one foot and letting his mind drift over the day.

And centre stage was Annie Brooks.

She was older than him. Mid-thirties? Maybe late? He didn’t know exactly, but she was consultant grade and even with his rigid focus on his career he hadn’t got there yet. Just this last rung on the ladder to go and he’d be able to look for a consultant’s post.

Where would he be then?

London? Back to Great Ormond Street, maybe.

Not here, that was for sure. Once his grandfather had gone, there would be nothing to keep him here in this quiet coastal backwater where nothing much ever happened.

At least, it hadn’t in the last thirty-two years, and he had no reason to believe it would happen now just because he’d come home to watch his grandfather die a slow and lingering death.

He sighed, the image of his grandmother’s face as she’d looked at him in the kitchen triggering another twinge of guilt.

Did she really know he was lying?

He hadn’t lied, though. Not exactly, and she wouldn’t have to watch him disintegrate, not unless he got really unlucky. He’d told her he hadn’t had a positive result from the predictive screening test, which was true, because he hadn’t had the result at all.

He’d had the genetic counselling, the blood test, gone through the whole process right up to the bitter end. But he hadn’t taken that last step of hearing his fate, and he didn’t want to. It was his life. He could make his own decisions about it, and choosing whether or not to know the truth about his own destiny was one of them. Not telling his family about that decision was another, but it would stop with him, that wasn’t a lie, because he wasn’t having children.

Ever.

And nor was he taking some poor unsuspecting woman with him on the journey to hell, if that should turn out to be his fate.

His grandmother’s face disappeared, replaced inexplicably by the face of Annie Brooks, and he frowned.

No. No way. He wasn’t touching her with a bargepole. She was too nice, too decent for the only kind of relationship he had in mind. He’d be better off with Kate. At least she knew the rules.

Except he didn’t want Kate.

He wanted Annie, and he couldn’t have her. It wasn’t fair to her. And anyway, she’d made it clear she wanted to put as much distance as possible between them at all times.

Well, thank goodness one of them had some common sense.

He swore softly, drained the wine and went to bed.

CHAPTER TWO

THERE WAS SOMETHING different about him the next day.

Annie couldn’t put her finger on it, and it took her till lunchtime to work out what it was.

He was avoiding her eye.

It had taken her that long to cotton on because she’d been so busy avoiding his, but once she realised it, she felt curiously, stupidly disappointed.

Why? She didn’t want him to look at her, to crowd her space, to be underfoot all the time like he had been yesterday.

Did she?

No!

‘Annie?’

She glanced up to see James Slater, their clinical lead, standing a few feet away, watching her with his head tilted to one side.