A Home For Her Baby. Eleanor Jones

arm felt cold and tight. “Thank you,” she said but he didn’t acknowledge her gratitude.

      At the door he held out his hand. “Your key?”

      She shook her head. “It’s not locked.”

      The door opened with one push and she followed Tom into the kitchen, where he motioned to her to sit before walking across to fill the kettle at the sink. Neither of them spoke.

      Ali nursed her arm, fighting off another wave of dizziness as the sound of the bubbling water gurgled inside her head. Tom just watched, grim-faced, as the steam rose in clouds, filling the room.

      She wanted to reach out to him, wanted him to know how she felt. “I’m so sorry, Tom...so very, very sorry.”

      He brewed the tea and poured her a cup. When he handed it to her she saw that his eyes were dark with pain. “Sympathy won’t bring Bobby back,” he said. “Nothing will.”

      He left then, abruptly, and she just sat for a while with her mind in turmoil. What now? She so wanted to help, to speak to Bobby’s parents, to talk to Lily...and Ned. But what to say...what right had she to encroach on their grief?

      * * *

      FOR THE NEXT few days Ali hardly set foot outside. She watched Tom walk by the window every day from his cottage two doors down, staring straight ahead, his shoulders rounded. He never stopped though, never even gave her a glance or paused to ask her if she was okay. One day faded into another. She thought about Bobby, dwelled on if-onlys and remembered those pleasant evenings in the pub. She and Tom had chatted about fishing and life. She’d told him all about finding her dad just a few months earlier—that he’d been diagnosed with terminal cancer and how they’d finally gotten to know each other. She’d felt they were almost friends then, she and Tom. She’d even told him about her husband, Jake, not the details of course, just that they were having a trial separation. It had meant a lot to her, their friendship—he realized that now more than ever. But she knew that it could never be the same. Because of her, his brother, her good friend Bobby, was dead. How could either of them ever get past that? And yet he’d taken her to the hospital; she clung onto that thought like a lifeline.

      It was late afternoon on the fourth day when a knock came at Ali’s door, a knock so intense that it made the door frame rattle. Her heart leaped with hope but anticipation quickly gave way to dismay. Was it Tom? What would she say to him...?

      She turned the handle just as the door burst open, almost knocking her over. Stepping quickly back she braced herself against the wall as Ned Roberts appeared in front of her. His face was drawn, his eyes so black with an icy anger that she felt her whole body recoil.

      “Happy are you?” he asked, his tone harsh, “Happy that you managed to survive when my brother died. We’ve been making the arrangements for Bobby’s funeral today, you see, and all I could think of was you...living your life. He was just twenty years old with his whole life ahead of him and he’s gone, snuffed out because of you.”

      Ali started to shake. “No... I didn’t...I didn’t mean it to happen. It was an accident, just an accident.”

      “An accident that wouldn’t have happened if you’d stayed away from him. Bobby was almost ten years younger than you, little more than a boy, and yet you used his feelings for you to get what you wanted. You should never have gone out on the boat that night. You had no right.”

      “I’m sorry,” she cried, her voice rising uncontrollably. “I’d do anything to make things different.”

      “Well, then, why don’t you start by getting out of Jenny Brown’s Bay and staying away from my family? No one wants you here.”

      With that parting shot Ned pushed past her and disappeared out the door. Ali sank to her knees, watching him run off along the shore. Ned was right, Bobby had been little more than boy and that was how she’d thought of him. To suggest that he’d had feelings for her and that she’d used him in any way was so far away from the truth. Closing her eyes tightly against the pain that flooded over her she rocked to and fro. She had to come to terms with this, had to try and understand what Ned was going through. He was just twenty five years old, six years younger than Tom, and he’d lost his baby brother because of her... He had every right to hate her. She’d so wanted to go to the funeral, to talk to Bobby’s parents—and Tom—to help somehow, but maybe Ned was right and she should just leave.

      After he’d gone she just sat there, going over and over that awful night, again and again. Ned’s words circled round inside her head. His life snuffed out, because of you...you lived and he died...no one wants you here.

      He was right, she realized, trying to pull herself together, everything he said was right. It had all been her fault, and she had no right to hang around sharing the family’s grief. She’d come here, to Jenny Brown’s Bay, with so many hopes and dreams, to finish with her old life and start afresh with new friends around her. Tom had been a friend but, like Ned, he probably hated her now. Not that she could blame him either. Everything had changed, so suddenly and drastically, that it was difficult to know what to think or what to do.

      Time ticked by and still Ali sat, her mind a million miles away from the things that had seemed so important just days ago, like the article she was going to write. Her notepad lay unopened on the table and right now she didn’t think that she would ever open it again.

      When she heard the knocking at her door, her whole body froze. She couldn’t face Ned’s anger again however much she deserved it; there was nothing she could say to him that might help. When the knock sounded again, more urgent this time, she stumbled to her feet; what if it was someone else. Her hand shook as she reached for the door handle.

       CHAPTER FOUR

      TOM WALKED SLOWLY homeward along the clifftop, looking down at the stretch of silver sea that sparkled in the distance. Awaiting the returning tide, the wide sweep of sand shimmered, smooth and serene. In fact the whole scene looked so starkly beautiful and totally harmless right now that it seemed impossible to think that within just a couple of hours the sea would come rushing back in, tearing away the tranquility. That’s what he’d always loved about the sea, its changeability. Now he was not so sure. It was in his blood though, an untamable beast that he couldn’t resist, and he could never have a normal life because of it. What woman would want to share her life with constant fear and danger?

      Someone moved way below him, across the sand, a tiny, sticklike figure in the distance. Ned, it was Ned. What was he doing... Had he been to see Ali as he’d threatened to so many times? No, surely not, for no matter what his brother thought, there was no peace to be had from displays of anger or laying blame; he’d made Ned see that...hadn’t he?

      Increasing his pace he hurried along the clifftop path wondering if he should call in on her, just to make sure she was okay. He’d felt bad for ignoring her these last few days but everything had been too raw for him to be able to face up to the memories that seeing her might invoke. There was something about her that called out to him, a familiarity way deeper than their surface friendship; it had been forged when she was first at The Fisherman’s Inn, when she’d picked his brains about being a fisherman... After Bobby’s death, he found himself questioning his way of life. Fishing was in his blood, his soul, but was it worth the heartache it so often caused? Why, there were ten men he could name who had drowned over the last few years while following their life’s passion, a passion that sometimes seemed cursed. The Sea Hawk’s fateful trip had been cursed, too, that night, cursed by love. For Bobby had been in love with Ali and he’d died trying to save her; how could any of them get past that? There could never be anything between Tom and Ali now that wasn’t steeped in guilt, even friendship, because Bobby was no longer here. Tom needed time away from her, he knew that, time to grieve and time to sort out the confusion in his head.

      Despite his determined thoughts as he approached her cottage, Number Three, his footsteps slowed again and doubt set in. She’d been so brave when he took her to the hospital. Her arm