More Than A Gift. Josie Metcalfe

out.

      ‘If I’d known then what I know now,’ she muttered through chattering teeth, her breath emerging in a ghostly cloud, visible even in the dark of the car.

      She had no idea how long she’d been here. At this time of the year any time between four o’clock and seven o’clock would be dark whichever end of the day they appeared.

      With a feeling of dread she realised that it must still be evening, and the only reason it seemed lighter was because the snow was beginning to accumulate around the car.

      She almost regretted her return to the stark reality of her present situation. It was far more pleasant reliving those first heady days after she’d met Dmitri.

      She glanced at the luminous dial on her watch and was surprised to see that it was only just past four in the afternoon.

      Unfortunately, she didn’t know whether any cars had come along while she’d been unconscious and it didn’t look as if there were going to be any more along this particular road today, in spite of the fact that it was still relatively early.

      With snow falling this close to Christmas, perhaps the locals were wise enough to stay at home with their families where it was warm and safe.

      All she had to keep her company were memories, and they weren’t going to be enough to keep her warm or get her out of there.

      ‘How ironic,’ she whispered. ‘To spend a year trying to disappear only to be found every time, and when I need someone to find me, there’s no one around.’

      A solid kick landed on her ribs, as though to remind her of a certain person’s existence.

      ‘Apart from you, of course,’ she apologised, stroking the spot with gentle fingers. ‘But you’re not really in a position to help.’

      In fact, the ungainly shape of her body was the reason why she hadn’t been able to reach the release for the safety belt; that and the fact that she didn’t dare move too much in case she sent the car tumbling into infinity.

      The fact that she could see her surroundings a little better led her to crane her neck towards the back of the car. She’d flung the two small bags that had contained all her worldly goods for the past year into the back seat when she’d taken off this morning. If they were within reach, perhaps she’d be able to get an extra layer or two of clothing to drape over herself while she waited for someone to find her.

      There was one bag nearby, unfortunately the one with the tiny items she’d lovingly stitched and knitted in preparation for her baby’s arrival.

      ‘Perhaps I could put a mitten on each finger,’ she mused with a watery chuckle, trying to fight off the first waves of real fear.

      She knew that the rescue services always recommended staying with the vehicle rather than wandering off and getting lost, and she was wearing a thickly padded jacket, but that still left a large amount of her too poorly covered to preserve her body heat.

      Over the space of a night, at these sorts of temperatures, she could soon be looking at the onset of hypothermia. And if the temperature dropped still further outside…

      From her time on the neonatal ward, she knew only too well how critical temperature could be to tiny babies fighting for their lives. She had no idea what effect hypothermia had during pregnancy and was now praying fervently that she wouldn’t have to find out.

      She pulled the collar of her jacket closer around her cheeks so that the warmth of her breath was deflected down inside her clothing then tucked each set of fingers inside the cuff of the opposite sleeve.

      ‘What if…?’ she mumbled into the cocooning layer, slipping into a favourite childhood game.

      Whenever Robert Wainwright had been at his most abrasive and domineering, she’d retreated into her own private make-believe world.

      One of her earliest memories was of telling her favourite doll that she was really a princess and one day her father and mother, who were king and queen of a beautiful kingdom far away, were going to come for her, and then they’d all live happily ever after.

      The scenarios had changed over the years, probably influenced by whatever books she’d been reading at the time, but one theme had remained constant. Finding a way to escape the Wainwright sphere of influence.

      How paradoxical it was that when she’d finally achieved her most enduring dream she should end up in such danger.

      ‘But that doesn’t mean that I can’t imagine my way out of it,’ she murmured, and set her imagination to work.

      ‘If only…’ Suddenly a pair of liquid silver eyes appeared in her mind’s eye and it felt as if a hand squeezed around her heart. That was almost too easy.

      ‘If only I hadn’t had to leave Dmitri like that,’ she whispered, feeling the hot press of tears behind her eyes. She closed them tight, refusing to give in to them. She knew she’d had no option when she’d seen that black car and recognised that all-too-familiar figure behind the wheel.

      But in her game, Laurel could imagine that the car that had seemed to slow when it had passed the gateway a little time ago had been Dmitri’s car.

      She’d even imagined earlier on today that she’d seen the metallic sapphire of Dmitri’s beloved sports car coming up beside her on the motorway, but by the time she’d looked again, all she’d been able to see had been nondescript saloons and high-sided lorries.

      Anyway, there was no way it could have been Dmitri. It was so many months since she’d left him that he’d probably gone back to Russia by now and forgotten all about her.

      But that couldn’t happen in her fantasy.

      In her mind she could imagine the way he’d see the damaged wall beside the road and instantly recognise it as the place where she’d tumbled down the hillside.

      She could almost see him phoning for assistance then scrambling over the wall to help her out of the car and swear his undying love…

      She snorted as her fantasy took off into the realms of impossibility. The last few years had left her with too few illusions about real life to be able to immerse herself in her make-believe world the way she had as a child.

      ‘If only I hadn’t left, I probably wouldn’t even have been on that road at that time. I’d have been working on the ward and waiting to catch a glimpse of him…’

      Another sharp jab in her ribs brought reality crashing through the fantasy.

      Even if she’d been able to stay, she certainly wouldn’t have been at work today, not at this stage of her pregnancy. She did a quick mental calculation of the number of days until her due date.

      ‘Fifteen days to go, provided you arrive on time,’ she murmured with a sudden burst of excitement at the prospect. She couldn’t wait to hold her child in her arms for the first time.

      Of course, the baby books all warned that first babies were notoriously slow to arrive, so she could still be waiting in a month’s time.

      ‘But only if I get out of here safely,’ she said with a shiver of dread. She couldn’t bear to think that, after all these months, she might never see the tiny being she’d been nurturing for so long.

      ‘It’s not going to happen like that,’ she said, trying to sound positive, but even with her mouth buried inside the collar of her jacket she could hear the quiver in her voice. She ignored it.

      ‘Any minute now, some kind person is going to catch sight of the damaged wall and is going to organise a rescue party. Then you and I will be taken to…Hey!’ A sudden thought struck her. ‘We’ll probably be taken to the hospital at Edenthwaite to be checked over. I don’t imagine there’s one closer than that and I already know there’s an accident and emergency department there.’

      That information had been easy to find, unlike her sister’s whereabouts. She’d moved about so often that it had been