A Child To Heal Them. Louisa Heaton

      She thought about having to leave the ship. Leave Abeje behind. ‘I don’t want to leave her alone.’

      ‘She’s in safe hands.’

      Of course. Of course he would say that. He still believed in medicine and his skill to save this little girl’s life. Her own belief was a little more battered. But then, as his words began to have more potency the longer they lingered in her brain, she thought about the other children in her class—Machupa, Tabia, Claudette, Habib and the others—all those little faces, all those little people she had come to care so much about. She knew she had to do the right thing and go and check on them.

      ‘Of course. You’re right. I’ll go right now.’

      She had to get away from him. Needed some breathing room. Some time to think.

      ‘Wait.’ He held up his hand as she moved to slink past him. ‘I think maybe I ought to come with you—and you need to have a drink first. It’s the middle of the day and you’ve had nothing since your arrival. You need to hydrate.’

      Her stomach was churning. How would she be able to drink anything? He wanted to go with her.

      ‘I can do it by myself,’ she said quietly.

      What’s happening to me? How has he turned me into a mouse again?

      ‘I insist. Abeje doesn’t need her teacher collapsing on her as well, does she?’

      Tasha sat down in her chair and looked at the sleeping girl. So young and already fighting for her life. How much more bad luck did she need to experience at such a young age? There was no one else to sit by her bedside. Just Tasha. And, yes, she did need to look after herself. No one else would do it for her. But she felt herself bristling at his suggestion. Ordering her about. Telling her what was best for her. Even more so because he was right.

      I’m going to have to deal with it.

      If the other kids were sick, wouldn’t it be better to have a real doctor by her side?

      ‘Okay.’

      ‘How do you like it?’

      She blinked. ‘What?’

      ‘Your tea.’

      He smiled, and the devastating power of it—the familiarity, the punch-in-the-gut strength of it—almost winded her. Those teeth... That dimple in his right cheek...

      Remember what he did to you.

      ‘Er...milk. One sugar.’

      His eyes creased as he smiled again, bookending the corners with lines that had never been there before, but that just increased his attraction. How did the nurses get any work done around him? How did anyone concentrate? Were they immune? Had they had some sort of vaccination? Because if they had then she damn well wanted one for herself!

      She’d worked so hard to forget this man. And she’d thought she’d been successful. It had just been a crush, as a child—so what? He’d broken her heart badly—but who cared? It had been years ago. Years.

      And it turned out he didn’t even recognise her.

      Or remember her.

      If she was so forgettable, then she wanted to make sure he meant just as little to her now.

      She did not need his help or advice. She knew what she was looking out for. And the idea of spending more time with him when she wasn’t prepared for this unexpected onslaught only made her feel sick.

      He was not the man she wanted by her side.

      * * *

      Quinn hauled himself into the passenger seat as Tasha gunned the engine. There seemed to be fewer people about now, the morning market trade dissipating, so she was able to reverse easily and begin the drive back to the Sunshine Children’s Centre.

      Her nerves were on edge. She felt prickly. Uncomfortable. He still hadn’t recognised her and she was in two minds about telling him who she was.

      If Abeje recovered quickly, perhaps there would be no need to tell him anything? But her gut reaction was that Abeje was in for a long fight and that it would take some time before they saw any signs of recovery. Malaria was an aggressive disease in this part of the world still, and she’d racked her brains to try and remember what she knew about the condition.

      A single mosquito bite was all it took to get infected, and most people showed symptoms within a couple of weeks of being bitten. The terrible thing was that it could be fatal if treatment was delayed. She could only hope that they had got to Abeje in time. A combination of drugs was slowly being dripped into Abeje’s system through an IV. She hoped it was enough.

      ‘What made you come to Africa to teach?’

      So he wanted to do small talk? Though she wasn’t sure if any talk with him would ever be small for her.

      ‘I just did.’

      The desire to keep her life away from his scrutiny was strong. He’d already ridiculed her once. It might have been years ago, but that didn’t mean the pain was any less. Being with him now made her feel raw again. Unguarded. The wound in her heart, open to infection.

      ‘You’ve always taught English?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘What did you do before?’

      She glared at him as she drove, before turning back to keep an eye on the road. It was none of his business.

      ‘This and that.’

      ‘Mystery woman, huh?’

      Without looking at him, she knew he was smiling. She heard it in his voice. He really had no idea, did he?

      So two-faced! Trying to charm a woman you once thought so little of.

      ‘What made you take a post on the ship?’

      There was a pause before he answered, allowing time for the potholes in the road to bounce them around, so that their shoulders bashed into each other briefly before the car was righted again.

      ‘I needed a change. I’d spent some time working in British hospitals, but I felt like stretching my wings. I didn’t want to become stale, you know? Complacent. I needed a new challenge.’

      ‘Well, Africa certainly does that to you.’

      He nodded. ‘It does.’ He turned to look at her. ‘Did you come out here for a challenge?’

      What could she tell him? That she’d come here on pure instinct? That teaching at schools in the UK had worn down her spirit?

      Such long, gruelling hours, weighed down by the gazillions of reports and lesson plans and resources she’d had to create. Hours spent on assessments and figure-juggling that would never see the light of day but had to be there in case the inspectors turned up. Weeks spent worrying about work politics and staffroom gossip and pressure from the senior management team to be constantly at the top of her game.

      She’d just wanted to teach. She’d wanted to forget all the rest and get back to what she enjoyed. Seeing the face of a child light up with understanding. Being with children who were eager to learn. She’d wanted to get back to grass roots. Find her joy again. Her spirit.

      Africa had always seemed to her an exotic place—both beautiful and dangerous at the same time—and after going to a seminar in which the speaker had talked about her time teaching in Senegal she’d found an agency and signed right up. She’d needed to get away from the everyday. She’d needed to find something special.

      And she had. It had brightened her heart, coming here. Given her exactly what she’d needed.

      ‘I came out here to make a difference.’

      He nodded in understanding. ‘I know what you mean.’

      She doubted it. She imagined that Quinn’s life had always been rosy. Nothing