Accidental Baby. KIM LAWRENCE

Circumstances had conspired to draw them together almost from birth: the proximity of their homes in rural East Anglia; the fact that their mothers had been school friends, and, whilst her father was the local vet, his was a successful horse-breeder. Leaving home and pursuing diverse careers hadn’t weakened the bond between them.

      She felt his arm slide across the wooden frame just above her shoulders and then quite suddenly he withdrew it. That made her want to cry quite badly. Their friendship had always been a tactile one—that he had to think about touching her now and then decide not to was a sad reflection of the new shape of things. . .

      ‘It started with a hug,’ he reminded her gruffly.

      He could still read her mind, then, some things didn’t change.

      ‘That bastard hurt you so much I wanted to make you feel better. Then what do I do?’ He hit his clenched fist into his open palm and the slapping sound made Jo jump.

      He had made her feel better—very much better! ‘You were the one that tried to stop.’ She could feel her cheeks burning with mortification at the memory. ‘I wouldn’t let you. Don’t go all hair-shirty on me, Liam.’ I wonder if there are any buttons left on his shirt? She gulped as she recalled how she’d torn the garment off him.

      ‘A man doesn’t take advantage of a woman like that,’ he maintained stubbornly.

      ‘You’re a rat, heel, skunk. There—satisfied? Does it make you feel any better?’ she demanded tartly. ‘Are you going to let your urge to be noble ruin our friendship? It’s not as if we’re going to make a habit of this, is it?’ she pointed out practically.

      I’m speaking rhetorically, she told herself. All the same, when his laughter came it was much too spontaneous for her taste. He could have at least pretended to think about it, she thought indignantly.

      ‘You’re right, Jo.’ This time his arm did go around her shoulders but Jo didn’t relax into his embrace. ‘We should just forget this ever happened.’ He couldn’t disguise the relief in his voice.

      

      If the circumstances had been different Jo had no doubt that would have been exactly what she would have done. However, fate had stepped in to make that an impossibility for her.

      ‘Did you have a nice walk, dear?’

      ‘Lovely, thanks, Dad.’ The wind along the beach had made her cheeks glow. ‘I went farther than I meant to.’ She released the Velcro fastening on her waterproof jacket and shook back her hair. ‘What time are they expecting us?’

      ‘Half eight, but if you’re feeling too tired?’

      ‘Don’t fuss, Dad, there’s an angel,’ she pleaded. Her pleasure at all the pampering had already turned to impatience.

      ‘You’re meant to be taking things easy this weekend,’ he protested with a worried frown.

      ‘I am. If I relax much more I’ll disintegrate.’ Laughing, she went upstairs, mentally planning what she had in her wardrobe that would be suitable for the informal meal. She really would have to do some serious shopping very soon.

      She’d thought her loose apple-green silky shirt was perfect, hiding a multitude of sins. Then she saw her sixteen-year-old sister in a minuscule miniskirt and skinny-rib top that left her tanned midriff bare. Her legs in knee-length leather platform boots went on for ever. Jo immediately felt extremely old and the size of a house.

      ‘Won’t you be cold, Jessie?’ Bill Smith asked casually as he averted his eyes from his daughter’s eye catching ensemble with a pained expression.

      Jessie exchanged a grin with her elder sister. ‘He’s so subtle,’ she said admiringly. ‘What do you think, Jo?’ She gave a twirl.

      ‘You look great, Jessie,’ she replied honestly.

      ‘Yeah, I know.’ she said, preening herself in front of the mirror with a smug expression. ‘You’re looking a bit podgy, Jo, if you don’t mind me saying so.’

      ‘Thanks a lot.’ Jo received this news with admirable equanimity.

      ‘Jessie!’ Bill Smith protested.

      ‘I’m kidding, Dad, just kidding,’ Jessie replied, her shoulders shaking with laughter.

      

      ‘Let me look at you.’

      ‘Yes, Aunty Maggie,’ Jo said meekly as the older woman placed her hands on her shoulders and examined her face with keen eyes. ‘Will I pass?’

      ‘You may smile, but your mother, God rest her, would have expected me to keep an eye on you. Wouldn’t she, Pat?’

      ‘Indeed she would, but don’t keep them standing out there in the hall, woman. Come along in.’

      The fire in the grate of the high-ceilinged Victorian drawing room was as warm as the welcome. Aunt Maggie had been her mother’s best friend and this house had been a second home to Jo during her childhood.

      ‘Jo!’ Jessie, who stepped into the room in front of her, yelled. ‘Why didn’t you tell us Liam would be here?’

      ‘I didn’t know,’ Jo said faintly as she was carried over the threshold by a combination of her Uncle Patrick’s strong, guiding arm and an avalanche of goodwill.

      ‘She didn’t say a word, Liam,’ Jessie was saying as she hung around the neck of the glamorous son of their nextdoor neighbours. ‘We all thought you were digging up sleaze and exposing baddies behind the Iron Curtain.’ She ruffled his collar-length wavy dark hair and grinned affectionately into his blue eyes. She’d decided recently that older men were fascinating and Liam must be almost thirty now.

      ‘The Iron Curtain dissolved some time back.’ He placed her firmly back down on her feet. ‘Don’t they teach you anything in school these days?’

      In a daze Jo watched her father move forward to shake the hand of the tall, rangy figure who stood with his back to her. ‘Pat tells me you’ve been digging into the archives in Moscow. Something interesting on the burner?’

      ‘Could be,’ Liam replied easily, ‘but it’s early days.’

      ‘I read that article you did on the working conditions in sugar plantations on the Dominican Republic. It was an outstanding piece,’ Bill Smith said warmly.

      ‘The photographer I was working with was the best.’

      ‘He’s so modest,’ Maggie Rafferty said fondly. She was justifiably proud of her son’s reputation as a top investigative journalist. ‘He’s working on another book, you know.’

      ‘Modest!’ Pat at her elbow mocked gently. Jo wasn’t fooled; she knew he was every bit as proud of their son as his wife. Liam’s last book had stayed in the best-seller list for three months, which was pretty good for a critically acclaimed serious tome.

      Liam turned around at the sound of his father’s mocking laughter and saw Jo for the first time. His smile didn’t fade, but it did freeze as though his facial muscles were momentarily paralysed. She could see the falseness, but she rather envied him his composure. He’d been expecting to see her, she reminded herself. It was all so ridiculously normal she wanted to laugh. Bad time for hysterical outbursts, Jo.

      It was the very first time since that eventful morning-after that she’d actually seen him in the flesh, so to speak. There had been nothing deliberate about this; his job meant his lifestyle was gypsy-like. It had always been usual for them not to see each other for several months at a stretch. They’d written and spoken on the phone just as if it had never happened. But then that was the way they’d decided to play it, wasn’t it? And from Liam’s point of view it was probably working.

      If Liam had felt any awkwardness at seeing her, he certainly recovered fast. He moved forward and kissed her on each cheek before pushing her to arm’s length, very much as his mother just had, and warmly examining