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TWO

      JAKE WAS HUNCHED over his tea when she went back to the sitting room. He looked deep in thought, and the thoughts didn’t look happy from where she was standing.

      ‘Thanks for getting the travel cot ready for me, he’s gone down like a dream,’ she said, and he glanced up at her, his eyes unreadable.

      ‘You’re welcome. I didn’t know if you’d still want him in your room, but I thought it was better to be on the safe side as it’s a strange place. We can always move him, I’m not short of bedrooms.’

      ‘No, it’s fine. I keep meaning to move him out, but—I don’t know. I quite like knowing there’s someone else there with me. It wards off the self-pity a bit.’

      She knew her smile was wry, and his eyes locked with hers searchingly.

      ‘Don’t you mean grief?’ he asked her, his voice gentle, and she shrugged.

      ‘Same thing, really, isn’t it? I miss Pete, but he doesn’t miss me, he can’t, and I’m sure he wouldn’t miss the pain he was in, or the dread of what was to come, or the worry about how we were going to cope without him. He’s spared all that now. It’s those left behind who have to pick up their lives and carry on, so in many ways grief is just a selfish emotion.’

      ‘Or an acknowledgement of the person he was, and the part he played in your life. It’s OK to grieve, Emily.’

      She smiled. ‘I know, but I’ve done that. I did most of my grieving while he was still alive, because to be honest I never really dared to let myself believe he was cured when they gave him the all-clear, so when it metastasised there was a sort of horrible inevitability about it all. I think I always knew it was coming, and now it’s just juggling the things that need to be done with the lack of support and practical help. Things like cutting the hedge and putting up shelves in Zach’s room and all the other stuff that he used to do that I’m rubbish at.’

      ‘I’ve offered to help,’ he reminded her, but she didn’t need reminding. She dropped onto the sofa beside him, tucked her arm in his and squeezed it firmly.

      ‘And you have helped. You’ll never know how much you’ve helped me, Jake. I wouldn’t have got through it without you, but I need to toughen up now and get a grip. Time to return the favour, and I’m really sorry it’s because of Jo doing a runner and turning your life upside down, but I’m here, I’m not going to run out on you, and I’ll stay until you don’t need me anymore.’

      She held his eyes for an age, but then something flashed through them and he turned away, as if he couldn’t look at her any longer, and shook his head.

      ‘I can’t ask that of you,’ he said gruffly.

      ‘Yes, you can—and by the way I rescued the supper. There was an interesting smell coming from the kitchen so I turned off the oven and opened the door a bit.’

      He swore and leapt to his feet, and she followed him into the kitchen as he whipped open the oven door and stared into it.

      ‘Is it OK?’

      He pulled the dish out and inspected it. ‘Debatable.’

      He put it onto the hob and prodded at it with a fork, and she chuckled softly and peered over his shoulder at the bits of singed pasta sticking up out of a rather dark golden crust.

      ‘Will we live?’

      He grunted. ‘Just about. There are one or two bits that might need ditching, but it won’t kill us.’

      She tutted. ‘You’re a slow learner, Stratton. I taught you to use an oven timer twenty years ago. I would have thought you’d mastered it by now.’

      He gave a low chuckle, and she slid her arms around him and rested her head against his broad, solid shoulders that were curiously comforting. ‘Thank you for everything you’ve done for me, Jake. I meant what I said, I don’t know how I would have coped without you.’

      She straightened up and slackened her arms, and he turned in them and gave her a brief hug, then reached for the kettle.

      ‘You’re welcome. Now go and drink your tea and put your feet up,’ he said over his shoulder. ‘I’ve got to steam the veg but that won’t take long. I’ll call you when it’s ready.’

      ‘Don’t forget to time it,’ she said with a cheeky little wink designed to needle him, and took herself out of range before he threw something at her.

      * * *

      He watched her go, the feel of her still imprinted on his body, front and back, then he closed his eyes and swore softly and comprehensively under his breath.

      What was wrong with him?

      He plonked the pan on the hob, poured boiling water into the steamer under the veg and laid the table, then stuck his head round the door. ‘It’s ready.’

      ‘Good, I’m starving. So—what is this?’ she asked, poking at the slightly over-browned crust as she sat down at the table.

      ‘Chicken, tomato and mascarpone pasta bake. And yes, I timed the veg,’ he growled.

      ‘Wonders will never cease,’ she mocked, rolling her eyes, then stuck a forkful of the pasta bake in her mouth and moaned. ‘Oh, that’s really tasty. Good job I caught it in time.’

      He opened his mouth to reply, and she raised both hands, her lips twitching at the corners, and he gave a soft huff of laughter and rolled his eyes. ‘Why don’t you just shut up and eat it before it’s cold?’ he said drily, and she smiled, stuck her fork into her food and then looked up at him again, her eyes almost luminous, her voice wistful.

      ‘You know, it’s really nice having someone to eat with, especially someone I can have a conversation with.’

      He raised an eyebrow. ‘Zach doesn’t talk to you?’

      It got a laugh out of her, although it was just a little one. ‘You know what I mean. I love him to bits, but it’s not the same as sharing a meal with an adult. It’s a long while since I’ve done that, and even longer since someone cooked for me. Thank you.’

      ‘My pleasure,’ he said softly, grateful for the timely reminder that she’d only lost her husband less than eighteen months ago. Dragging his eyes off hers, he turned his attention firmly back to the food.

      * * *

      ‘What time do you start tomorrow?’ she asked as he cleared the plates.

      ‘Seven. I need to leave at quarter to.’

      ‘So—will you see Matilda before you go? Does she know you’re not going to be here all day?’

      He sighed and propped his hands on the worktop, defeat in every line of his body.

      ‘Not yet. I was going to tell her in the morning. I didn’t want her worrying all night.’ He straightened up and turned back to face her. ‘Do you think that’s the wrong thing to have done?’

      She shrugged. ‘I have no idea. I have to admit to being wildly out of my depth here, but I would imagine that the loss of her mother is going to affect her. She’ll be missing her presence, the familiar surroundings—although she’s used to you and to being here, so that’s not an issue, but she doesn’t know me very well, she’s only met me a handful of times, and then there’s Zach. She wasn’t exactly overjoyed to see him and she probably won’t be thrilled at being left alone with us.’

      His shoulders slumped. ‘No. I’m sure you’re right. Damn, this isn’t going to work, is it? It’s too much to expect of either of you. I should never have asked—’

      ‘You didn’t, but you didn’t really have a choice and we’ve already had this conversation. If you want to do something useful, you could shut up and put the kettle on. I could murder another drink before I go to bed.’

      He gave a soft huff

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