The Wedding. Caroline Anderson

you, Jeremiah,’ Nick said hoarsely. ‘I do want you—more than you can ever imagine. But I didn’t think you’d want me. The man you’ve always thought was your father was a hero, a brave man. How could I be as good as that?’

      He stopped abruptly, turning to the window and propping his hand on the frame, staring out into the courtyard. Kate could see the muscles working in his jaw, see the tears tracking down his cheek, and she reached out a hand and laid it against his side in comfort. He closed his eyes and swallowed, and she dropped her hand and turned back to her son.

      ‘Don’t blame him, Jem,’ she said softly. ‘It was me who lied to you, me who let you believe my husband was your father. And Nick didn’t know. I didn’t tell him for ages, because of Auntie Annabel. It wouldn’t have been fair to her. He’s only known for two years.’

      ‘So why didn’t you tell him before? After Auntie Annabel died, why didn’t you tell him then? You could have told him then,’ he said, his voice accusing.

      ‘I didn’t know how,’ she said softly. ‘He was very sad and angry when she died, and he was very busy at work sorting out the practice. It wouldn’t have been a good time. There was never a good time. I thought there would be, I kept waiting, but then—when he did know—’

      ‘I tried,’ Nick said, turning back from the window again, his face taut. ‘It may not seem like it, but I did try. But James was a hard act to follow. I thought maybe you’d be happier with things as they were, with me just as Uncle Nick, just as I’ve always been. And I tried to spend more time with you, quality time, to get to know you and let you get to know me, and I thought we might be getting somewhere, but then that woman commented on us looking alike, and I panicked. I wasn’t sure the time was right, and I was so worried I’d make it worse. And just when I thought we ought to try again, your mother met Rob, and they seemed to be getting on so well. He’s a good man, and I thought he’d make you a good father, a much better father than I would. You all seemed to be so happy together, and I didn’t feel I had the right to destroy that. What good would it have done, Jem? I could have ruined it for you, for all of you. I didn’t want to do that. I didn’t have the right—’

      ‘But you’re my real father,’ Jem sobbed, his bruised face anguished. ‘You should have told me! I should have known.’ I don’t care if you’re complete rubbish. It’s better than being dead!’ And he turned his face into the pillow and sobbed brokenly.

      Kate leant forwards, resting a hand on his shoulder, but he shrugged her off, and she bit her lip and tried to stop the tears, but they fell anyway, coursing down her cheeks and dripping off her chin, and then she felt Nick’s arms round her, cradling her gently against his side as he perched on the arm of the chair.

      ‘Shh. Come on, he’ll be all right,’ he murmured, his voice ragged. ‘He’ll come round.’

      ‘No, I won’t,’ Jem sobbed from the depths of the pillow. ‘I won’t be all right. Leave me alone! I hate you both! Go away!’

      And then she felt Nick shudder, felt the pain tearing through him, and she slid her arms around his waist and hung on.

      ‘Come on, let’s give him some space,’ he muttered after a few seconds, but she wouldn’t leave him.

      ‘I can’t go. Not now. You go, leave me with him. I’ll talk to him.’

      ‘Will you be all right?’

      She lifted her tear-stained face to him and tried to smile. ‘I’ll have to be, won’t I? I have to do this, Nick. He’s my son.’

      A tremor ran through him, and he stood up. ‘I’ll see you later—I’ll give you an hour. Call me if you need me to come back,’ he said, and, closing the curtains around the bed, he walked swiftly away.

      

      She watched him go, listened to the sound of his footsteps retreating, and then she turned back to Jem, biting her lip and wondering how on earth she could unravel this sorry mess of hurt and lies and broken trust that they’d created.

      She had no idea. She just knew she had to find a way.

      Tentatively, with nothing but love on her side, she reached out her hand and touched him.

      ‘I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry,’ she said unsteadily, and after a moment he opened his eyes and turned his head to look at her.

      ‘Why?’ he asked, his voice breaking. ‘Why didn’t you tell me? I could have kept a secret. All these years, I thought I didn’t have a dad, that I’d never have a dad. And then you met Rob, and I thought maybe he could be my stepdad, but all the time I had a real father, and I didn’t know!’

      ‘I know. But you do at least know him, even if you didn’t realise he was your father. I’ve made sure you see him regularly, and he knows you, and all about you. I did everything I could under the circumstances. Don’t blame him, Jem. It was my fault, too, and he didn’t have any choice. I kept it from him too. And I’m so sorry we’ve hurt you.’

      He sniffed, but the tears still welled, and, unable to bear it, she got up and leant over, taking him gently into her arms, and he burrowed his face into the side of her neck.

      

      Nick held it together just long enough to get out of St Piran, and then he pulled over on the coast road into a parking area, got out of the car and sucked in a lungful of the fresh, salt air.

      If he’d been that sort of man, he could have wept bitter, anguished tears for the son he’d let down and all the years that had been lost. Years he couldn’t give him back, years that were gone for ever. But he wasn’t, and so he shoved it all aside and concentrated his efforts on the future.

      If it took him till the end of his life, he vowed, he’d do his best to build a relationship with this child.

      He got back in the car and drove to his house. There were some things he needed to pick up, and he could be alone there, think things through.

      Except he wasn’t alone. Sam Cavendish was there, just coming out of his mother’s house next door, and he propped himself against the fence and frowned at Nick.

      ‘You look like hell. Fancy a drink?’

      ‘No, I’m going back to the hospital. We just told him.’

      Sam winced sympathetically. ‘Ouch. How did it go?’

      ‘Pretty much as expected. Why don’t you come in? I don’t really want to talk about it here.’

      So Sam followed him into the house and propped himself up on the worktop while Nick put the kettle on, for something to do as much as anything.

      ‘So—what happened?’ Sam prompted.

      Nick sighed and rammed a hand through his hair. ‘There was a kid in there having a blood transfusion, and Jem was asking about where his own blood transfusion had come from, and it sort of followed from there. He’s the same blood group as me.’

      ‘Yeah, Jack told me,’ Sam said. ‘And how did he take it?’

      ‘Badly. He’s angry. He said he’d spent nearly eleven years thinking he didn’t have a father, and all the time he did, and he said…’ His voice cracked, and he coughed again and flexed his fingers. ‘He said he didn’t care if I was complete rubbish, it was better than being dead.’

      Sam snorted. ‘Well, I’d agree with him if my own wasn’t so useless he might as well be dead, but what made him think you’d be rubbish?’

      ‘I did. I told him James was a hard act to follow, that he might have preferred a hero. Apparently not. I didn’t realise Jack had told you about the blood group thing.’

      ‘Mmm. He was angry, but he’s not really surprised.’

      Nick’s head snapped up and he stared at Sam, stunned. ‘What makes you say that?’

      Sam laughed softly. ‘Oh, come on, Nick,