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  ‘What do you want me to say here?’ Angus asked. ‘That we should tell everyone? Tell them at work, tell Gemma, tell my mother, tell the kids … And then what? You’ll go. You’ll be on that plane and back to your life in Australia and I’ll still be here. Surely it’s better if it’s just between us.’

  ‘Which is why I think I should go. I don’t think it can work with your mum here. I think it might be awkward …’ Imogen gulped. ‘I mean, it’s hard enough keeping it from the kids.’

  ‘She doesn’t still tuck me in at night.’ Angus attempted a joke, only she didn’t return his smile.

  ‘It’s not about that …’ Tears were welling in her eyes. ‘It’s about us. I mean, she’ll know I’m not the nanny or just a friend helping out. She’ll see what we’re like….’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Like this.’

  And she answered the question that he hadn’t been able to back at the café. When she’d asked him what the different things had been that he and Gemma had wanted, he hadn’t known how to answer, but this was what he wanted and this was what he couldn’t have.

  ‘Stay.’ He didn’t know if he was asking for the next few nights or for ever, but he knew her answer covered both.

  ‘I can’t.’

  ‘Don’t go.’ His eyes closed on the impossibility of it all, then opened again, his voice firmer now. ‘Look, I’ve got to pick up the kids at three. Come to the airport, stay for a couple of days, at least till after New Year. You can’t stay at the hostel for that …’

  ‘I might want to go out partying!’ Imogen tried, but they both knew she wouldn’t.

  ‘Stay a bit longer and let the kids get used to the idea of you going …’

  ‘They’re not going to miss me….’

  ‘Oh, they will.’ Angus insisted. ‘I can assure you my mum won’t notice a thing. And if by some miracle she does …’ he blew out a breath ‘… then I guess I’ll have to just deal with it.’

  ‘You’re so pretty!’ Clemmie sighed as, feeling anything but, Imogen peered in the mirror at her puffy face and dragged a brush through her hair.

  ‘Really? Well, so are you.’

  ‘Oh, I will be,’ Clemmie nodded assuredly, ‘when my teeth stop falling out.’

  They were just adorable.

  Used to dealing with kids, it still took her by surprise how quickly she’d come to like Clemmie and Jack. Oh, all kids were cute and all kids were nice and funny if you stopped to look, but too many years in Emergency had knocked some of that sentiment out of her.

  Till she’d had Heath and till she’d met Clemmie and Jack.

  Jack, as direct and as serious as his father could be.

  Clemmie, as offbeat and as funny as her father could sometimes be too!

  And she adored them both for it—for the way they’d made Heath feel welcome, for the tiny moments like this one as Clemmie stood in the bathroom and told Imogen she was wonderful then promptly steered the conversation back to herself.

  ‘I wish I could look pretty for the party tomorrow.’

  ‘That’s right.’ Imogen smothered a smile as Clemmie worked her way up to whatever it was she’d be asking. ‘You and Jack have got a party to go to.’

  ‘I don’t want Nanny to do my hair.’ Clemmie came over and fiddled with her hairbrush. ‘She hurts when she brushes it and she doesn’t do it very nice—she always puts it in bunches. But if you’re my nanny too …’

  ‘I’m not really a nanny, and your Nanny’s a different sort of nanny …’ Imogen attempted, but it was too hard. ‘But, yes, I am helping look after you and, if you want, I can do your hair.’

  ‘With that sparkly stuff that was in my stocking?’ Clemmie checked, finally getting to the point she had been wanting to make all along!

  ‘Sure.’ Imogen grinned.

  The drive to the airport was pretty fraught, the traffic moving at a snail’s pace, giving Angus and Imogen plenty of time to pause for thought as they watched the planes take off and land. Three weeks had stretched endlessly ahead, when Imogen had first landed. A long, long holiday then she’d go back home with Heath. At first it had felt like for ever, only now, as all good holidays do at the end, the days were starting to fly by fast. New Year’s Eve was just around the corner and then just a few days after she would be on her way home. She’d made so many plans, there had been so many things she’d wanted to do in her time here, and she’d achieved them all—just never when she’d made those plans had she expected to fall in love.

  Yes, love.

  Oh, she’d told herself it was a holiday romance, only that didn’t quite fit.

  Holiday romances didn’t work, apparently because you were lying on a beach by day getting nice and tanned and out at night sipping cocktails, which didn’t translate to the real world.

  Yet they’d lived in the real world.

  Through the rain and the gloom they’d still managed to find laughter, so it couldn’t be a holiday romance. And it certainly wasn’t a fling … at least not for her.

  Heathrow was as daunting as it had been when she’d arrived with Heath—people everywhere, trolleys, noise, tension, and that was just the car park! But standing in Arrivals she couldn’t help but get caught up in the excitement. Clemmie, dancing on the spot, arguing with Jack as to what presents Nanny might bring. Imogen wondered what Angus’s mother would be like. She imagined some stern, serious, forebidding-looking woman and reeled a touch when all four feet eleven of Jean was introduced to her. Imogen realised before they’d even made it back to the car that Angus’s mother was completely potty and really quite lovely.

  ‘Could you make me a cup of tea?’ She smiled sweetly at Imogen as they stepped into the house and Angus baulked.

  ‘I told you, Mum, she’s not a housekeeper. Imogen’s a friend who’s helping out.’

  ‘Then she won’t mind making me a cup of tea!’

  ‘I don’t mind at all,’ Imogen answered, smothering a smile as she filled the teapot.

  ‘She’ll be back soon!’ Jean said, as if Gemma had gone on day trip.

  ‘It’s over, Mum.’

  ‘Marriage takes work, Angus.’

  ‘And we did work at it.’

  ‘It wasn’t all perfect for your father and I. But we worked at it.’

  ‘Mum, Gemma’s met someone else.’

  ‘Maybe she’s got that postnatal depression or something.’

  ‘Give me strength!’ Angus gritted his teeth as Jean headed off to the bathroom. ‘Clemmie’s four!’

  ‘She just doesn’t want it to be over.’

  ‘But it is.’ Angus gave a wry shake of his head. ‘Why am I the only one who believes it?’

  Still, as delightful as Jean was, as nice as dinner was, as Imogen lay in bed that night she knew there’d be no getting up for a glass of water. Knew Angus was right, that it would be unfair on Jean to tell her, unfair on the kids…. It was just unfair all round.

  That glimpse of Heathrow airport, just too real to ignore, meant she couldn’t pretend it wasn’t happening any more.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  ‘SORRY, no, I’ve actually got plans for New Year’s Eve!’ Imogen snapped off the phone just a little pink in the face as Angus knew she was lying.

  ‘What are they?’ Angus asked.

  ‘Bath and bed!’

  ‘Go on,’ Angus pushed, ‘I’m working it. It would be fun.’

  ‘New Year’s Eve in Accident and Emergency really isn’t my idea of a fun night. Now, if they offered me Maternity, I might consider it.’

  ‘Morning! Anything I can do?’ Not quite so potty, Jean had retired to bed when it was time to do the dishes, had woken only after the children had eaten breakfast and was now pouring a drink from the pot of tea Imogen had just made.

  ‘Did you hear the kettle, Mum?’ Angus grinned, as Imogen’s mobile shrilled again.

  ‘Go on.’ He smiled. ‘It will pay for Madame Tussaud’s.’

  He wasn’t smiling a moment later when h
e saw her face pale.

  ‘Talk about what, Brad?’ Imogen said as she stood up and left the room. For Angus it was almost impossible to carry on chatting to his mother as if nothing was happening. It was hell for him to just sit there and drink tea and pretend it didn’t matter that for the first time since he’d known her she’d left the room to take Brad’s call.

  ‘I have to go out,’ she said when she came back.

  ‘Problem?’ Angus asked, his face as strained as hers and both trying not to show it. ‘Is Heath OK?’

  ‘Heath’s fine.’ Imogen gave a tight shrug. ‘Brad’s got something he wants to discuss. I should only be a couple of hours—I’ll be back in time to do Clemmie’s hair.’

  ‘Who’s Brad?’ Jean frowned, the second Imogen had gone.

  ‘Imogen’s ex-husband.’ Funny, that of all the new phrases he’d been getting used to these past couple of weeks, that one came out the hardest.

  ‘Nice that they’re civil.’

  She must be becoming a local, Imogen briefly thought as she raced up the escalator instead of just standing. She hadn’t even noticed the other passengers on the tube, had just sat there staring blindly out of the darkened windows, trying to fathom what Brad could possibly have to say. Oh, he’d pulled out more than a few surprises in their time together, and a few in their time apart. She’d considered herself quite unshockable where Brad was concerned, till now.

  She’d never heard him so nervous.

  Laid-back Brad, suddenly supremely polite and, yes, definitely nervous.

  He’d met someone, Imogen decided, taking the lift up to his apartment, just like she had … Only that wouldn’t faze Brad! But maybe this one was serious … Maybe, Imogen gulped, this one was pregnant and there was going to be a brother or sister for Heath.

  Knocking on his door, Imogen blew out her breath, sure she’d covered all options.

  ‘Hey!’ He kissed her on the cheek, just as he always did, and she played with Heath for a few moments, just as she always did, then Brad asked Heath if he’d play in his room for a moment because Mum and Dad had something they wanted to talk about.

  ‘I don’t know how to say this …’ Brad wasn’t his usual laid-back self as, instead of lounging on the sofa opposite he stood up and paced. ‘Actually, I don’t even know if I should say this. But if I don’t tell you …’

  Oh, she hadn’t covered all her options, Imogen realised, sitting on the sofa, listening to what he had to say and realising that even after all this time Brad still had it in him to surprise her.

  They were extremely civil, Angus thought darkly, sitting in an empty lounge, trying not to notice the semi-darkness, trying not to care that two hours had turned into six.

  Only he did care.

  A lot.

  To ring or not?

  For the hundredth time he picked up the phone, and for the hundredth time he replaced it and stared out of the window as if willing her to appear.

  She’d gone to see Brad for a couple of hours, six hours ago. She’d told Clemmie she’d be back to do her hair for the party—but she hadn’t been. Clemmie was at the party wearing Jean’s bunches, though Angus had managed to avoid tears by spraying them silver.

  Would it look like he was checking up on her?

  Was he checking up on her?

  But what if she was hurt?

  What if something had happened and he hadn’t rung, hadn’t rung because he didn’t know if he was allowed to check up on her.

  Seeing Brad’s car pull up, seeing her pale face as she climbed out huddled in her coat, Angus’s load didn’t lighten. He could see the set of her shoulders, could see as she came up the steps the tension in her pale face, and as she turned the key in the door, somehow he knew it wasn’t going to be great. Even before he saw her tear-streaked face and eyes that couldn’t quite look at him, he knew that she had something difficult to tell him.

  ‘I’m sorry I didn’t get back earlier.’

  ‘It’s fine.’

  ‘Was Clemmie OK?’

  ‘She’s fine too. Mum’s taken them to the party …’ He managed a smile. ‘I had a go with the sparkly stuff.’

  ‘I wanted to ring …’ Still she couldn’t look at him. ‘Only I didn’t know what to say.’

  ‘That’s OK …’

  ‘Brad kind of sprang something on me, something I wasn’t expecting …’

  And it was Angus who didn’t know what to say now, Angus who really just didn’t.

  ‘I need to think, Angus.’ Now she did look at him, tears pooling in her eyes. ‘I know you must think—’

  ‘I don’t know what to think Imogen.’

  ‘We were just talking about things.’

  ‘What things?’ His candid question was merited, and she looked up into those questioning jade eyes and it would have been the easiest thing in the world to tell him, to reveal to him her quandary, to ask this knowledgeable, strong man if maybe, just maybe he could show her the way. Only Imogen knew she had to find the answer herself, had learnt long ago that the easy option often turned out to be hardest in the end.

  ‘What would you call this?’ She saw his perplexed expression at her strange response. ‘Us,’ she elaborated. ‘A fling, a relationship, a holiday romance? I mean, if you had to describe it …’ The pause was interminable. Watching, waiting for him to answer, seeing the hesitation, the indecision gave Imogen the first taste of bitterness. ‘But, then, you wouldn’t have to describe it, because no one knows about us, do they?’ She stared at him for the longest time. ‘Is there any chance for you and Gemma?’

  ‘I’ve already told you.’ His answer came readily this time. ‘We’re finished.’

  ‘Because if there is a chance,’ Imogen said, ignoring his response, ‘then you need to explore every option and I don’t think you can do that while we’re together …’

  ‘Who are we talking about here, Imogen?’ Angus asked. ‘Do you really think I would have embarked on this if my marriage wasn’t completely over?’

  ‘This what, Angus?’

  And he didn’t know what to call it because it wasn’t a fling and it wasn’t some knee-jerk response to freedom either and it certainly wasn’t a holiday romance, because he was right here at home and Imogen had been there for him during the most difficult of times.

  Yet it couldn’t be love, because if this was love, then very soon he was going to lose it, and out of all of this, it was the thing he couldn’t stand losing the most. Couldn’t risk loving her, only to lose her.

  ‘Brad and I have some things that we need to sort out, and so do you and Gemma.’

  He didn’t even have it in him to be angry, even when later Brad’s car pulled up to collect her, because as Heath thundered in and Brad waited in the car for her, though Imogen wasn’t crying, she was the saddest, most confused he’d ever seen her.

  It should have been easy too, for the kids to all say goodbye. Used to comings and goings, surely people who’d been in their lives for only a couple of weeks shouldn’t hurt so much to lose. But they’d been through a lot together, and three tearful children didn’t help matters.

  ‘You can write …’Angus attempted.

  ‘I can’t write,’ Clemmie wailed.

  ‘Well, you can ring then.’ His eyes met Imogen’s. Maybe she was right to just go, because if two weeks hurt like this, imagine what it would be like in three?

  ‘Ring me!’ He fiddled with the buttons on her coat. ‘I might see you at work.’ He managed a weak smile. ‘I promise not to haul you off Maternity again.’

  ‘You can!’ Imogen said. ‘I’ll call you—before I go back, I mean.’

  ‘Do.’ He didn’t care if his mother was there and if he might have to explain later, didn’t really care about anything, except that she was going, and he pulled her into him. Despite her bulk when he held her close, because he couldn’t bear to let her go, never had someone felt more fragile.

  ‘He’s not worth it.’ For the first time he crossed the line, entere
d a discussion where he didn’t belong. ‘He’ll let you down.’

  ‘I have to think,’ Imogen mumbled into his shoulder, then pulled away, ‘and so do you.’

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  ‘READY for action?’

  Smiling, even though it was false, Angus walked into the staffroom at ten minutes to nine, depositing a couple of cakes and bottles of fizz on the table as he greeted the team that would witness probably the busiest of nights on the Accident and Emergency calendar year.

  Oh, Christmas Eve was impossible once the pubs closed, and Christmas Day always managed to pull a few unpleasant surprises out of the hat, but the fireworks that heralded the new year weren’t exclusive to the London skies. Come midnight the department, or rather the patients, would, no doubt, put on a spectacular display of their own, and extra security guards had been rostered on along with the most experienced medical staff.

  ‘Ready!’ Heather grinned—a true emergency nurse who was actually looking forward to the night. ‘I’ve bought in a vast turkey curry—it’s in the fridge, just help yourself!’

  ‘Oh, I will!’ Angus agreed, doing just that and picking up a couple of mince pies to get him started. The mood was festive almost, and although he’d brought food in and would join in with the crazy, alternative New Year’s Eve party the staff would have—every breath hurt.

  Hurt because a year that needed to end was about to.

  Another year was starting, only he didn’t quite feel ready.

  He would have, though.

  If Imogen hadn’t entered his life.

  If she hadn’t waltzed right in and given him a taste of how good, how wonderful, how normal and just delicious being good and wonderful and normal could be.

  He was supposed to be busy getting divorced at this point.

  Not nursing a broken heart for someone else.

  ‘Have a slice now.’ Barb, one of the nurses misread his watery gaze and pushed a massive pavlova towards him, lashings of meringue laced with sugared mango. ‘Imogen gave me the recipe.’

  How long would it last?