The Baby Bonding. Caroline Anderson

no idea you were here, either. You used to live the other side of Ipswich, so you must have moved, too, unless you’re commuting.’

      ‘No, I’m not commuting, we’ve moved. We live in Audley now—near Mick’s parents, so they can see Libby. I’ve been working here for six months.’

      He shook his head, his eyes bemused. ‘Amazing—but I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. There aren’t that many hospitals, and it’s not the first time I’ve run into someone I know.’ He glanced up and checked the clock on the wall. ‘Look—are you busy now?’

      She gave a tired laugh. ‘I’m always busy—it goes with the territory,’ she said, quoting his words back at him. ‘What did you have in mind?’

      ‘Coffee? Lunch? I don’t know—just a chance to catch up.’

      Her heart hitched against her ribs. She wasn’t sure she wanted to catch up. She’d worked so hard to put Sam and Crystal behind her, and she’d battened down her heart around her memories of Jack. ‘Catching up’ sounded like the perfect way of ripping it all open again, exposing the wound and prodding it just for the hell of it.

      ‘I don’t know,’ she said honestly, not wanting to hurt him, but not willing to hurt herself again, either. ‘I’m not sure I want to, Sam. It was a long time ago—a lot of water under the bridge.’

      His face became shuttered, and she could feel him withdrawing, all that glorious warmth pulling away from her and leaving her cold and lonely and aching.

      ‘Of course. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be so thoughtless. Well, it’s lovely to see you looking so well. No doubt I’ll see you again.’

      And turning on his heel, he strode away, leaving her standing there in a daze.

      Idiot, she chastised herself. You fool! You should have talked to him. You’re going to have to work together, how can it help you to have this cold and awkward distance between you? And there’s Jack…

      Jack’s not your son, she told herself. Let it go.

      She dragged in a deep breath and stared blindly out of the window. Count to ten, she told herself. Or twenty.

      Or ten zillion.

      Or you could just go after him.

      She went, freeing her feet from the floor with a superhuman effort and then, once she’d started to move, almost running after him down the corridor.

      She reached the lobby just as the lift doors were sliding shut, and called his name.

      A hand came out, blocking the doors, and they hissed open and he stepped out, his expression still guarded.

      He didn’t say anything, just stood there waiting, watching her. The lift doors slid shut again behind him, but still he stood there. Oh, lord. She looked down, unsure what to say, then abandoned subterfuge and pretence. She’d never been any good at it, anyway. She let her breath go on a little whoosh.

      ‘I’m sorry,’ she said softly. ‘I didn’t mean to sound so cold. I’d love to have coffee with you.’

      He was silent for a second, then nodded slowly. ‘Now? Or later?’

      She shrugged. ‘Now would be fine for me. I was going to take a break now anyway, and nobody’s doing anything exciting at the moment. If things change they’ll page me. How about you?’

      ‘I’m fine. I’ve finished in Theatre. I only had a short list this morning, and we’re all done. I was just going to change and do a bit of admin. You’ll be doing me a huge favour if you take me away from it.’

      She laughed, as she was meant to, and, instead of calling the lift again, he ushered her towards the stairs. They went down to the little coffee-shop at the back of the hospital, the one, she told him, that members of the public hadn’t really discovered, and he bought them coffee and sticky gingerbread slices and carried them over to a sofa. It was by the window, tucked in a corner overlooking a courtyard, and it was the closest thing they’d get to privacy.

      For a moment neither of them said anything, and Molly wondered what on earth she was doing here with him. She must be mad.

      He’d leant forward, his elbows on his knees, his fingers interlinked and apparently requiring his full attention, and she wondered what he was thinking. Then he looked across at her, catching her with her guard down, and his eyes seemed to spear right through to her soul.

      ‘So—how are you?’ he said, his voice low. ‘Honestly?’

      She shrugged, suddenly swallowing tears. ‘I’m all right. Still the merry widow.’ Her laugh was hollow and humourless, and he searched her face with those piercing blue eyes that missed nothing.

      ‘Ah, Molly,’ he said gruffly, and, reaching out, he gave her fingers a quick squeeze. ‘I had hoped you’d be married again by now, settled down with someone worthy of your love.’

      ‘I am with someone. I’ve got Libby.’

      ‘A man, I meant.’

      ‘We don’t all need to be in a relationship, Sam,’ she pointed out softly. ‘Sometimes it’s better not to be.’

      She looked away, not wanting him to read her eyes, but he was looking down at his hands again anyway, staring fixedly at his fingers as they threaded and unthreaded through each other. When he spoke, his voice was gruff.

      ‘I’m sorry I reacted like that—assuming you’d be as pleased to see me as I am to see you. It was crass of me. I apologise. I should have realised you’d moved on.’

      ‘I am pleased to see you,’ she told him, unable to lie, unable to let him believe anything less than the truth. ‘It’s just—I found it so hard, three years ago. I didn’t think I would, but it’s been really difficult, and I didn’t want to stir it all up, but now it is, anyway, and—well, I’ve longed to know how he is.’

      He looked up and she met his eyes, and she saw sorrow and compassion in them, and an amazing tenderness. ‘He’s wonderful, Molly. Beautiful. Jack’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. He’s brought me more joy than I could ever have imagined—and I owe it all to you.’

      She swallowed again, shocked at how readily the tears seemed to form. She was always so grounded, so sensible, so dispassionate.

      But not about Jack.

      ‘I’d love to see a photo,’ she said, wondering if she was just opening herself up to heartache but unable to deny herself this one small thing.

      ‘A photo?’ He laughed softly. ‘I’ve got hundreds—and videos going back to his birth. You’re welcome to them. Why don’t you come round? Then you can meet him, too.’

      An ache so large it threatened to destroy her built in her chest. ‘But Crystal didn’t want us to stay in contact.’

      ‘And I never did agree with her. Besides, it’s irrelevant,’ he added, his voice curiously flat. ‘Crystal’s dead, Molly. She died two years ago.’

      Molly felt shock drain the blood from her face. ‘Dead?’ she echoed silently. ‘Oh, dear God, Sam, I’m so sorry.’

      His face tightened. ‘It was a long time ago,’ he said, but she could feel his pain, could remember her own when Mick had died, and she ached for him.

      She reached out, her hand covering those interlinked fingers, and he turned his hands and caught hers between them, renewing the bond that had been forged three years ago in blood and sweat and tears.

      ‘So—how do you manage?’ she asked, her voice surprisingly steady. ‘About Jack, I mean? Who looks after him?’ Oh, lord, she thought, tell me you’re not married again. Tell me someone else isn’t bringing him up.

      ‘I have a couple who live in the house—Mark’s disabled after an accident and can only do very light work, and Debbie needs to be around to look after