Sarah's Gift

She stopped on the half landing and turned to look up at him. Heavens, he looked even bigger! ‘Don’t worry, I’m never lost, and if I was, believe me, I’d yell.’ She ran down the last few stairs, conscious of him close behind her, exuding masculine charm in waves.

They found Ryan and Ginny in the kitchen, his hands in the sink scrubbing potatoes, her arms around his waist and her head resting on his shoulderblades.

Ginny straightened and smiled, and Sarah thought she looked tired. ‘Hi, there,’ Ginny said, and her eyes flicked past Sarah to Matt. ‘How did you get on? Ryan says you seemed to fit in very well.’

‘He has the same sick sense of humour at least,’ Ryan growled from the depths of the sink.

Matt laughed. ‘That was just something silly the guy said. It wasn’t even that funny, it just struck a note.’ He peered in the sink. ‘Anything I can do?’

‘Yes—make me a cup of tea while Ryan sticks the jacket potatoes in the microwave. He’s got fresh salads and cold meat and cheese from the deli counter in the supermarket, so he’s got damn all to do. For heaven’s sake, don’t help him, he’s got it easy enough as it is!’

‘Ignore her, she’s just jealous because she insists on doing it the hard way,’ Ryan said with a grin, and then ducked the end of a teatowel Ginny snapped at him.

‘Cook, slave,’ she ordered, and then ran upstairs to change, leaving Ryan humming happily over his potatoes.

‘So, who am I making tea for?’ Matt asked.

‘Pass. Ginny definitely, and I’ve never known Sarah say no,’ Ryan told him, stabbing potatoes and lobbing them into a dish.

‘Absolutely not. Count me in.’

‘Unless you’d prefer wine or beer?’ he continued, looking at Matt.

‘Got any low-alcohol beer?’

‘In the fridge. I’ll have some too. Sarah?’

She was watching Matt as he stooped over the fridge, his jeans pulled taut over his hips and thighs. ‘Tea is fine. I’ll make it,’ she said absently, and wondered what on earth had got into her that she couldn’t seem to stop looking at him. She made tea for herself and Ginny, then took it through to the sitting room, leaving Ryan and Matt alone together.

She needed a minute or two alone, time to think about how she felt and why. It was crazy—must be because they’d worked together all day and were in tune.

So why didn’t she feel the same about Ryan, or Patrick, or Jack? Because she worked with them often enough, God knows, and they shared sick jokes and horrendous tragedies and hilarious moments of black comedy.

So why Matt? And why now, after all this time, did she have to choose a man with a child—and not just a child, but a girl, a five-year-old girl with dark hair and solemn eyes, in need of a mother.

Her arms ached, and she hugged them around her waist so they didn’t feel so empty. Overhead she could hear Ginny, talking to Ryan’s children. She was a stepmother. Her own life had contained tragedy, as had Ryan’s, and they were happy.

Clearly it was possible to start again, to find happiness again with someone else.

She tried to remember Rob’s face, but she couldn’t see it, or hear his voice. Only the voices of the children, and the lusty wail of a new-born baby girl—

‘Hi. Which tea’s mine?’

‘Um—the mug with yellow poppies on it,’ she said, and wondered if her voice sounded odd to Ginny or if she’d get away with it.

Nope.

Ginny sat down beside her and laid a hand on her arm. ‘You OK?’

She nodded and dredged up a smile. ‘Yes, fine. Just a bit tired. I think I’m getting a cold,’ she lied.

‘Aren’t we all? Norwich is hell. I’m thinking of giving up.’

Sarah looked at her in astonishment. ‘But you’re almost there! You’ve nearly done your training!’

She shrugged. ‘I didn’t mean just yet. I want to qualify as a GP, then I can do locum work in the term, but the kids need me. It’s all very well Betty and Doug having them occasionally, but they’re getting on a bit to have them all the time in the holidays and they need continuity.’

‘And you need them,’ Sarah added quietly.

‘Yes—yes, I do.’

‘I can understand that. I need them, too. We’re no different in that respect.’

Ginny looked down into her tea and swirled it, her face pensive. ‘You could always get married again and have more children,’ she suggested tentatively.

Sarah swallowed the tight lump in her throat. ‘Yes, I suppose I could. I won’t get them back, though.’

Anguish chased across Ginny’s weary features, and she reached out to Sarah. ‘No, of course not. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to imply they were like tins of beans in a supermarket—just go and buy some more or something. I know you can’t get them back. I just thought, if you could fill the void—’

‘I know.’ Sarah reached out and laid her hand on Ginny’s knee for a second. ‘I know. Don’t worry about me, Ginny, I’m fine.’

‘Virginia, do you want me to do all this garlic bread?’ Ryan yelled from the kitchen.

She stood up with an apologetic smile. ‘Don’t run away.’

Sarah didn’t run. She sat there, listening to the byplay in the kitchen, the teasing laughter and affectionate ribbing, and tried to remember what it had been like married to Rob.

Very similar, she thought. She couldn’t quite remember, though, not clearly. It was almost sad how little she did remember, how much she must have forgotten. It didn’t seem to do them all justice, somehow.

Gus came in, trailed by Emily, looking tired but otherwise quite at home. It was amazing how resilient and flexible children were. Gus turned on the television and they sat down cross-legged in front of the screen. Evie ran in then, hugged Sarah in passing and sat down beside them, changing channels until she found something she wanted to watch.

Sensing a squabble brewing, Sarah got to her feet and called the children. ‘Shall we go and see if the table needs laying? I think supper’s nearly ready.’

‘Did I hear Daddy say something about garlic bread?’ Evie asked, looking over her shoulder.

‘Yes, you did.’

Oh, yum, I like garlic bread. Come on, you two, let’s go and lay the table.’

Sarah followed the headlong dash into the dining room, helped them count the number of places that were needed and then went to find another chair while they set out the cutlery.

Matt was lounging in the kitchen doorway, a beer dangling from his finger, an indulgent smile playing around his lips. He turned to her. ‘How long have these two been married?’ he asked softly.

She peered past him to where they were wrestling with the corkscrew and giggling, and smiled. ‘Just over a year.’

‘It shows,’ he said drily. ‘Shall we start taking things through to the dining room?’

‘Good idea.’ They loaded up with salads, plates of cold meat and cheese, steaming garlic bread and hot jacket potatoes crisped in the oven, and then went back for Ryan and Ginny.