Miracle: Marriage Reunited

‘Sorry, I got caught up at the office.’ Robina bent to kiss her stepdaughter, who flung her arms around her neck. She savoured the feel of the little girl’s marshmallow-soft skin under her lips and the dear, familiar smell of her. Whatever differences she and Niall had, she couldn’t love Ella more had she given birth to her, even if she were a constant reminder of Niall’s first wife—and an even more painful reminder of the baby she had lost too early, five short months after their marriage. But all that would have been bearable if only she could be coming home to a husband who loved her. Someone who would want to know about the trivia of her day and would rub the tension from her shoulders, making everything seem all right.

But shoulder rubs and evenings by the fire, sharing the day’s stresses, was never going to happen. Had rarely happened even when they had first married, and certainly not these days. The breakdown of her marriage had happened in such little steps she had hardly noticed until—well, until the miscarriage when it had all fallen completely apart.

‘Would you like me to read to Ella while you have dinner?’ Niall asked formally, as if they were complete strangers, which in a sense she supposed they were. Falling in love, her coming to Scotland for a visit, Niall proposing to her, their marriage, it had all happened so fast they hadn’t really had time to get to know each other. They had both thought—if they had thought about it at all—that there would be plenty of time later to get to know each other properly. But to her delight and amazement, the book for which Niall had written the foreword had been an immediate run-away success and she’d been asked to appear on a show to talk about it. The producer had been so impressed with the way she had been able to translate medical jargon into simple language he’d asked her to stand in for the presenter of the show, Life In Focus, who had to unexpectedly withdraw. The timing hadn’t been great, coming right on the heels of their wedding, but she and Niall had both agreed it was too good an opportunity to miss. And that was when it had all started to go wrong.

‘No, I’d like to read Ella her story, if that’s okay,’ she said, realising Niall was waiting for a response. She hated the way her tone was equally formal.

‘I told Mrs Tobin that it was okay for her to leave. She’s left a casserole in the oven,’ Niall continued, referring to their housekeeper, who had stayed on after they had married and also doubled as a childminder for Ella.

‘Oh, Daddy.’ Ella looked up at him imploringly. ‘Can’t I stay up later tonight, with you and Robina? I never get to be with both of you at once any more.’

A flash of regret darkened Niall’s eyes.

‘Not tonight,’ he said firmly. ‘It’s a school night. But why don’t I get you ready for bed and then Robina will read to you before lights out? How does that sound?’

Ella pouted, but the little girl knew her father well enough to know he wouldn’t budge. She scrambled to her feet. ‘Come on, Daddy. Let’s hurry up, then.’ Taking her father by the hand, she led him upstairs.

Robina sat at the table and picked at the beef casserole. Most evenings, Niall arrived home after she and Ella had had supper, then one or the other of them would organise Ella for bed. When Niall’s daughter was asleep, they would retreat to separate rooms, Niall to his study and Robina to the small sitting room that had, over the last few months, become hers. When the interminable and lonely evening had dragged to an end and they were ready for bed, she would go to the room they had once shared, while Niall slept in the spare room. It was a cold, unhappy home these days and if it hadn’t been for Ella, perhaps she would have found the strength to leave—even if it would have shattered her already fractured heart.

Scooping the remains of her half-eaten meal into the dustpan, Robina took her coffee into her sitting room. Before she had left for the night, Mrs Tobin had lit a fire against the cool of the late February evening and Robina warmed her chilled hands. If only she could so easily chase away the chill in her heart, she thought as she picked up the proofs of her latest book. She sighed when she saw the title. How to keep your relationship happy—in bed and out of it. If her readers knew the truth, they’d be astonished. She flung the book aside, in no mood to concentrate.

She looked around the room with its tasteful carpets and elegant furnishings. It was beautiful, she admitted, but not really her taste. Perhaps if she hadn’t moved into the home Niall had shared with his first wife, things might have been different. But Niall hadn’t wanted to unsettle Ella so soon after their marriage, and Robina had wholeheartedly agreed it was the right thing to do. She had been so in love, she would have lived in a cave if Niall had asked her to. What did it matter as long as she and Niall were together? But it had come to matter—a lot. Everywhere she looked she was reminded of the woman who had been the perfect wife and mother. A woman who was as unlike her as it was possible to be.

She became aware of a presence in the doorway and, looking up, found Niall standing there, watching her intently. He hesitated as if unsure he was welcome in her domain.

‘Are you okay?’ he asked softly, and for a moment Robina could almost make herself believe he still cared. Almost, but not quite.

‘Just tired,’ she said. ‘It’s been a long and…’ she slid him a look ‘…difficult day. And I still have the proofs of my book to finish. My editor expects them early next week and…’ She bit off the rest of her sentence. Why was she even bothering to tell him? He wasn’t remotely interested in her work.

He looked as if he was about to say something, then changed his mind.

‘Ella’s waiting for you,’ was all he said.

Robina’s heart felt as heavy as her legs as she slowly mounted the stairs. This wasn’t the life her parents—particularly her father—had envisaged for her, surely? Away from her country, her people, her family. Unable to carry a child—and perhaps never able to conceive again. Robina sighed. Perhaps she should end her marriage, even though it went against every grain of what she believed. She could return to Africa and give Niall a chance of one day finding happiness with someone else, even if the thought of leaving him almost tore her in two. Robina blinked hot tears away. They couldn’t go on this way, she decided. She had to do the right thing. And ask him for a divorce.

She paused for a moment outside Ella’s bedroom and composed herself, wiping away any evidence of her unshed tears. Pushing the door open, she saw that Ella was snuggled under her duvet, her favourite soft toy cuddled in her arms.

‘Can we have Mr Tickle?’ her stepdaughter asked, holding out the well-thumbed book.

Robina smiled as she inwardly suppressed a groan. They had already read Mr Tickle three times that week. Surely Ella was tired of it? But it seemed not. Robina climbed onto the bed and waited until Ella made herself comfortable in the crook of her arm.

She read the story as Ella’s eyes drooped. When she had finished, she gently eased Ella out of her arms. But as two bright blue eyes fluttered open, it seemed the little girl wasn’t quite ready for sleep.

‘Robina,’ Ella whispered. ‘I’ve been thinking. Would it be okay if I called you Mummy?’

Robina’s breath stopped in her throat. ‘Of course, darling. If you would like to.’ Her heart twisted. Why now? When she had been gathering the strength to leave?

‘It’s not as if I will ever forget I had another mummy. But I can hardly remember her. I used to ask Daddy about her, but it made him sad to talk about her, so I don’t ask any more.’

‘I think,’ Robina said carefully, ‘that you could talk to him now. At first, when somebody dies, it hurts so much that it’s difficult to talk about it. But in time it becomes easier. So maybe you should try talking to him again. I’m sure he doesn’t want you to forget.’ As she said the words her heart ached. She should try taking her own advice! She and Niall had never talked about the loss of their baby either.

‘You won’t leave me too?’ Ella asked. ‘I couldn’t bear to lose another mummy.’ She looked at Ella, her eyes—so like her father’s—round with anxiety. Robina squeezed her eyes shut, forcing away the wave of sadness that washed over her as she pulled the little girl into her arms and kissed the top of her head. She chose her words carefully. ‘I’ll always be here for you, mntwana—little one,’ she promised. ‘For as long as you need me. So whether you like it or not, you’re stuck with me. Just like a piece of chewing gum on your shoe. Only much nicer, I hope.’

Ella giggled and snuggled down in bed. ‘Okay, Mummy. Night-night.’

Robina stayed on the bed until she was sure Ella had fallen asleep. How could she ask Niall for a divorce now, when she had just promised Ella that she would never leave her? Whatever mess she and Niall had made of things, the little girl had been through enough heartbreak in her short life.

Her head throbbing with unanswered questions, Robina returned downstairs to her sitting room. To her surprise Niall was still there, gazing into the fire, apparently deep in thought.

He flung another couple of logs on the fire. The flames lit the room, chasing the shadows away.

‘I told Lucinda I would think about your proposal,’ he said. ‘We should have an answer for you by Monday.’ He stretched. He had changed out of his suit into more casual gear and his T-shirt lifted slightly with the movement, revealing a glimpse of his muscular six-pack. A memory of the sensation of his muscles tightening under her fingertips as she trailed a hand across the dark hairs of his abdomen flashed across Robina’s mind. Whatever their difficulties, she knew she still wanted him. Up until the miscarriage, sex had been what had kept them together even as emotionally they had drifted apart. Was it possible, she thought, to still fancy someone like mad even when you weren’t sure that you still loved them? Or them you?

Niall crossed the room, placed his hands on her shoulders and looked directly into her eyes. ‘Are you sure that doing this documentary is the right thing for you? Isn’t it too soon? Too close to home?’

Robina flinched and backed away from him. She could just about cope with anything these days—except his kindness.

She turned her back to him and watched the flames flicker in the fireplace. ‘Perhaps my…’ she took a breath to steady her voice ‘…experience makes me the best person to be doing this.’

‘Maybe it does,’ he said gently. ‘I wouldn’t know. I don’t know how you feel. You’ve never told me.’

Robina shied away from his words. She had never talked to him about the loss of their baby, because she had refused to let herself think about it. It was still too raw. Every time she thought about the baby that almost was, the pain threatened to crush her. So it was easier, and better, not to think about it at all. But was he right? Should she be doing the documentary when she still felt so wretched? But all she had left right now was her career and she would do nothing to jeopardise it. And she needed to keep busy. It was the only thing that stopped her from going crazy.

‘I’m a professional,’ she countered. ‘I’m still a doctor. My personal feelings don’t come into it.’

He made no attempt to hide his disbelief.

‘I just wish you had discussed it with me first,’ he said tersely.

Robina swung round to face him.

‘I would have,’ she retorted. ‘If we ever spoke these days. I know you don’t want to hear about my work. You’ve made it clear enough that you don’t approve of what I do,’ she added bitterly.

‘That’s where you’re wrong,’ Niall protested. ‘I only ever worried that you were doing too much, especially when…’ He stopped.

‘Especially when I was pregnant and should have known better,’ Robina flashed back at him. ‘Anyway, I don’t want to talk about it right now.’

‘When are we going to talk about it? You’re never here to talk about anything.’ Niall’s voice was cold. ‘Maybe if you were…’

That was rich, coming from him. Why did he think it was okay for him to work most evenings just because he was a man? It was an old argument. She knew he held her responsible for the miscarriage—and she could hardly blame him. God knew, she blamed herself. He had asked her enough times to slow down. But she’d refused to listen. Her fledgling career had just been taking off and she hadn’t wanted to take time off. She had argued that millions of women worked until just before their babies were born. She had thought there would be plenty of time to take it easy after the baby was born. How terribly wrong she had been, and if she could have the time over, she would do it all differently. But thinking like that was pointless. What was done was done.

‘It’s no use, Niall. Perhaps it’s time we both accepted our marriage is over.’

The shock on Niall’s face was unmistakeable.

‘Divorce—is that what you want? Is life with me so unbearable?’

Yes, she wanted to shout. Living with you, living like this, knowing you don’t love me any more—if you ever did—is tearing me apart. But she just looked at him in silence. Perhaps if they had shouted, argued when things had started to go wrong, they might have been able to fashion some sort of life together. As it was, they had barely been speaking when she had miscarried.