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‘Not—?’ Molly swallowed and dragged in a lungful of air. There she went again, she thought, jumping in with both feet.
‘Not yours?’ she finished, still on autopilot, wondering all sorts of things. Like, if not his, then whose? Was he their uncle? Godfather? Guardian? Friend? Stepfather, maybe. They called him Jack. And where were their real parents? Was his ex-wife their mother? And where had the parents been a year ago at that dreadful party—?
‘Their parents are dead,’ he told her, answering at least one of the questions.
A wave of regret washed over her, drowning the frenzied thoughts for the moment. ‘I’m sorry,’ she murmured automatically. ‘How awful for them. How? What happened?’
He sighed. ‘Nick was my partner—we worked together,’ he told her, his voice expressionless. ‘He was shot working under cover. His wife was just pregnant with Nicky at the time, and he didn’t know. Then while she was pregnant she found out she had cancer.’
‘Oh, no.’ Molly put her hand over her mouth, stemming the questions, letting Jack talk. After a moment he went on.
‘They couldn’t treat it because of the baby. She died when Nicky was five months old.’
‘And you took the children on,’ she added softly, aching for them all.
‘Yes. I’m Tom’s godfather anyway. I married Jan just before Nicky was born.’
Whatever she’d expected, it hadn’t been that. ‘You didn’t waste any time,’ she said without thinking, and his face hardened.
‘There wasn’t a lot of time to waste,’ he said harshly, and scraped back his chair. ‘I’d better go and pick Nicky up. Thanks for the coffee.’
And he went, leaving the full mug slopping gently on the plastic table. She mopped it up mechanically, throwing the coffee down the sink, and wondered how she’d grown so tactless in her old age. Fancy accusing him of marrying the children’s mother in undue haste, without knowing anything except the barest outline—and she only knew that because she’d blundered onto the subject by talking about sterility!
‘What a fool,’ she muttered, and wondered if he’d ever speak to her again. Probably not. He’d probably ignore her, and she’d deserve it. Damn.
And then she forgot her own problems and remembered the children, Seb and Amy and Tom, who must have grieved bitterly for their parents, and little Nicky, who had never seen her father and wouldn’t remember her mother, and the ache that had been growing for the last few minutes welled up and spilled over.
What had it been like for Jack, losing his friend and then his—well, wife, really, she supposed. Had he loved her for years? And the children—how had they coped?
She sniffed and scrubbed away the tears. Poor little things. Fancy growing up without a mother. Who would cuddle them when they were hurt and frightened, and tell them—especially Amy and Nicky—all the things girls needed to know and boys needed to understand?
Jack, of course, being mother and father to them.
And what kind of a man was Jack to take them all on? He must be a complete fool, or an angel. Either that or he had loved their mother—perhaps was Nicky’s father, even—and he was doing it out of guilt.
Whatever, he was doing it, and the vast majority of men would have run a mile before they’d take on such a responsibility.
Her estimation of him went up another notch, and she wondered yet again if she’d damaged their tentative friendship beyond repair. She hoped not, because if ever a man needed help it was this one, and, for some crazy reason she just couldn’t fathom, she wanted to be the person to give it…
Jack waited by the entrance to the go-kart rink, looking out for Molly. She’d said she was karting this afternoon, and he owed her an apology for storming off like that. He’d just had so much of it from Jan’s mother, and initially from the children, too. He hadn’t wanted to deal with it again, but even so he should have expected her reaction and stayed to explain the reasons to her.
Instead he’d flounced off like a toddler with a tantrum, and probably left her upset and confused.
Damn.
There she was, dressed in jeans and trainers and a T-shirt, walking tentatively towards him. He went to meet her.
‘I’m sorry—’
‘I’m sorry—’
He gave a rueful laugh, and she smiled, cautious and uneasy. ‘I never should have said it. Why you married her is none of my business.’
‘I should have explained—I know all the things going through your head; I’ve heard them all. Let’s just say for now it was for the kids. I’ll tell you more later—if you’ll listen?’
The strain left her face. ‘Of course I’ll listen,’ she said, and he felt as if a weight had been taken off his chest.
‘Good. Right, let’s see if frogs can drive karts.’
‘Meaning you, or me?’
He grinned. ‘Either. Both.’
‘Speak for yourself.’
‘Ribbet-ribbet.’
He saw the laughter bubble up inside her, transforming her worried expression. ‘Idiot,’ she said, and he grinned again, absurdly pleased with himself for making her smile and bringing the light back into those gorgeous blue-green eyes.
He was disgustingly good at karting. She struggled to control the feisty little machine, but Jack didn’t seem to have any such problem. He whipped past her time and time again, his focus absolute, his concentration mind-boggling.
When they stopped, he unravelled himself from the little rollerskate of a kart and stretched, grinning from ear to ear. ‘That was brilliant. I haven’t done that for ages.’
‘I haven’t done it ever,’ she said drily, ‘and it shows.’
He chuckled. ‘You did fine.’
‘You didn’t even see me. You were going too fast to notice.’
‘Oh, I noticed.’ His mouth quirked and he searched her eyes. ‘We need to fetch the kids. I’d better go; I have to be in three places at once.’
‘Why don’t I get the boys? Then you can pick up the girls—the theatre workshop’s quite near the kindergarten, and the trail-bikes are right over on the other side. It would make sense.’
He nodded thoughtfully. ‘You sure? That would be great.’
He did have the most gorgeous eyes, she mused. ‘Absolutely sure. I’ll meet you back at the cabins in a bit.’
He waved her off at the bike park, and she headed across the site, following the wiggly paths amongst the cabins until she reached the trail-bikes.
The boys were just coming out, looking grubby and cheerful, and she waved to them.
‘Where’s Jack?’ Tom asked, peering round.
‘Picking up the girls. You’re both coming back with me and we’re meeting up at the cabin. Have a good time?’
‘Brilliant!’ Philip said. He could hardly keep his feet on the ground he was so high, and Tom was the same. They went ahead, chattering all the way back to the cabin while she struggled to keep them in sight, and threw their bikes down and rushed round the back to find the others. She propped the bikes up, locked them and followed more slowly.
Jack was there with the girls, sprawled behind his cabin on a sun lounger, Nicky draped over his chest fast asleep while the boys blasted Seb with a loud and chaotic resumé of their trail-biking exploits.
She sat on the grass beside Jack and tipped her head towards Nicky. ‘She looks bushed,’ she said quietly.
‘Busy day. She’s only two and a half; it’s all a bit much. I might take tomorrow morning off and do something quiet with her.’
Molly grinned. ‘You’re just looking for a way out—too much activity for your old bones.’
He gave her a wry grin. ‘You’d better believe it. I’m supposed to be doing a paintball game with Seb tomorrow—all that crashing about in the woods getting scratched to bits and dolloped with paint—I can hardly wait.’
‘You’ll love it.’
He snorted, then looked down, his fingers playing idly with the baby’s blonde locks. ‘Maybe, but she’s tired. I don’t think she can cope with another busy day.’
‘I’ll have her if you like,’ she offered, before her brain took over.
‘You’re mad.’
She smiled, covering up her regret at yet another impulse. ‘Probably. I like little children. We can feed the ducks and read a book and make biscuits, and she can have a nap if she needs it.’
He looked thoughtful—because he didn’t trust her? Because she’d sounded forced and over-jolly? She must be nuts. If anyone needed a day off she did—and then she looked at the dark shadows under Jack’s eyes, and the lines of fatigue in his cheeks, and her soft heart melted all over again.
‘I am a trained nursery nurse,’ she reminded him gently, ‘and I’ve brought up two children alone for the past five years. I can cope.’
He pursed his lips, then nodded, swallowing. ‘If you really don’t mind. I can’t be everywhere at once and I feel I ought to spend some time with Seb doing man stuff, you know?’
She smiled softly. ‘Yes, I know. I have a friend I bribe occasionally to do “man stuff” with Philip. You go and have fun with Seb. It’s just too easy to forget how important these little things are.’
He nodded. ‘Tell me about it. I spend my life juggling—and most of the time I drop all the balls.’
‘I’m sure you don’t. The kids all look well and happy.’
‘I try.’ He looked down at Nicky again, then at Molly. ‘I’d offer you a cup of tea, but she looks too comfy to move.’
‘I’ll get you one.’
‘Bless you.’ The smile crinkled his eyes, just a little, an almost imperceptible softening of his features. It made him devastatingly attractive—at least to Molly. She stood up hastily, brushed off her jeans and went into the kitchen. It was the same layout as hers, so finding things was easy, which was just as well because that tiny smile had utterly scrambled her brains…
They met just after nine, when the five younger children were safely tucked up in bed and Seb was slouched in front of the television. Jack appeared at the patio doors at the back of her cabin, and together they strolled down to the lakeside.
It was a beautiful evening, the sun’s last rays dying over the water and touching the trees with gold. Ducks and geese glided silently over the surface of the lake, rippling the still water and scattering the sunlight.
It was peaceful and beautiful, and they sat down together on the edge of the water and just absorbed the stillness for a while.
It was amazingly quiet. There was the occasional sound of laughter, a child crying in the distance, and here and there the odd call of a bird or scuttle of a vole.
Beside her Molly could feel Jack thinking—could almost hear the cogs turn. Maybe he didn’t know where to start. Maybe he needed help.
‘Tell me about Jan,’ she prompted gently.
Jack’s sigh was soft and full of regret. ‘Jan? She was stocky and feisty and loud, and Nick adored her. It was mutual—she thought the sun rose and set on him. They fell in love at sixteen, married at twenty, had Seb at twenty-three. His parents hated her—she was a little off the wall for their taste, and they never really trusted her. When Jan found out she was dying, they said they’d have the children. She couldn’t bear the idea, but she had no choice. Her own parents were dead; she couldn’t see another way.’
‘Until you suggested one.’
He looked down at his hands. ‘Nick had asked me, years ago, if I’d have their kids if anything happened to them. I was married then, they’d only had only Seb and Amy, and I said yes. Nick had it put in his will, but Jan thought everything had changed so much I wouldn’t have them—not all four. As I saw it, they needed me even more. I suggested we got married, and I adopted the children. It was what Nick would have wanted, and it gave Jan the security she needed to die in peace.’
‘And the children?’
‘Amy and Tom were OK, and Nicky was too tiny to know what was going on.’
‘And Seb?’
He sighed. ‘Seb thought it was awful. He couldn’t understand why they couldn’t go to his grandparents and he could look after them all there. He was twelve, too young to cope, too old to be told what to do without questioning it. And he didn’t like the thought of me touching his mother.’
‘And did you?’
He shot her a searching look. ‘Hardly. She was my best friend’s wife, a real one-man woman. She was dying of cancer. Of course I didn’t touch her. I didn’t want to. That wasn’t what it was about.’
Molly felt relief for a moment, but there was another question she and her foolish mouth just had to ask. ‘Did you love her?’
‘Yes. As a friend, as a wonderful mother to my godson, as an incredible and beautiful human being—yes, I loved her. As a woman—no. Not in that way. I never once looked at her and envied Nick anything but his relationship with her. That I would have given my eye teeth for, but Jan herself? No. She wasn’t my type. Does that answer your question?’
Her smile was wry. ‘I think so. And Nick’s parents—did they take it lying down?’
Jack laughed humourlessly. ‘You are joking. They went up the wall. They wanted the children, said they could cope. Now, they won’t even have them all at once for the weekend because they’re too much!’
‘And are they too much for you?’ she probed softly.
He chuckled and threw a little stone into the lake, watching the ripples spread. ‘Only most of the time. Sometimes—usually when they’re asleep—I can almost cope.’
She could hear the love and despair in his voice, and wanted to hug him. Instead she slid her hand over the mossy turf and threaded her fingers through his, squeezing silently.
‘I think you’re amazing taking them on,’ she said quietly. ‘Most men would have handed them over to their grandparents with a heartfelt sigh and legged it.’
‘Nick would have had mine,’ he said, and something in his voice said it all.
She wanted to cry for him. ‘He must have been a good friend.’
‘He was the best.’
His voice sounded raw and hurt, and his fingers tightened on hers. She returned the pressure, offering wordless comfort, and after a moment the pressure eased and he sighed. ‘It’s crazy, I still miss him.’
‘I’m sure you do.’ Her mind rambled on, dealing with the nitty-gritty, imagining life in his household—imagining a week-day morning in term-time, with everybody’s homework lost on the kitchen table, three lunches to get, Nicky to wash and dress, buses to catch—hideous. ‘It’s a good job you were already writing,’ she added. ‘You couldn’t have looked after the children if you’d been at work.’
‘I was at work. I gave up. Luckily my writing was just taking off and I was able to pull out of the force and just about manage to live on my earnings.’
She shifted a little, turning towards him. ‘But the children must be provided for—you don’t have to pay everything for them, do you?’
He shook his head. ‘No. There is a fund I can call on, but I’m trying not to. They’ll need it when they’re older. It’s their inheritance.’
He slipped his fingers out of hers and stood up, holding his hand out again to draw her to her feet. ‘Walk?’ he suggested, and she cast an anxious glance back at her cabin, where her children were sleeping.
