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At the end of July and at twenty-five weeks gestation Cat went into spontaneous labour and Gemma delivered her a little son. Thomas Gregory Hayes. Thomas because she loved the name. Gregory, after her brother. Hayes because it was her surname.
Cat would treasure every minute of the two precious days and one night that Thomas lived.
Most of them.
His severe cleft palate meant she couldn’t feed him, though she ached to. She would never get out of her mind the image of her mother’s grimace when she’d seen her grandson and his deformities—Cat had asked her to leave.
For two days she had closed the door to her room on the maternity ward and had let only love enter.
Her brother, Gemma and her new boyfriend, Nigel, a couple of other lifelong friends, along with the medical staff helped her care for him—and all played their part.
When Cat had no choice but to sleep, Greg, Gemma or Nigel nursed him and Thomas wasn’t once, apart from having his nappy changed, put down.
His whole life Thomas knew only love.
After the funeral, when her parents and some other family members had tried to tell her that maybe Thomas’s passing was a blessing, it was Gemma who held Cat’s hand as she bit back a caustic response.
Instead of doing as suggested and putting it all behind her and attempting a new normal, Cat took all her maternity leave and hid for a while to grieve. But as her return-to-work date approached she felt less and less inclined to go back, especially as Mike still worked there.
She applied for a position in the accident and emergency department at the London Royal, where her baby had been born and where Gemma worked.
Four months to the day that she’d lost her son Cat stepped back out into the world… Only, she wasn’t the same.
Instead, she was a far tougher version of her old self.
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_86009e78-6af2-55cf-a263-a6c1a1a1654d)
Seven years later
‘YOU’RE FAR TOO cynical about men, Cat.’
‘I don’t think that I am,’ Cat answered, ‘though admittedly I’d love to be proven wrong. But, no, I’m taking a full year off men.’
Cat was busy packing. Just out of the shower she was wearing a dressing gown and her long, curly black hair was wrapped in a towel. As she pulled clothes out of her wardrobe she chatted to her close friend Gemma, who was lying on Cat’s bed and answering emails on her phone.
They were two very busy women but they usually managed to catch up a couple of times a week, whether at the hospital canteen, a coffee shop or wine bar, or just a quick drop-in at the other’s home.
This evening Cat was heading to Barcelona for an international emergency medicine conference, where she was going to be giving a talk the following morning. She had got off early from her shift at the hospital to pack and Gemma had popped around to finalise a few details for the following weekend. Gemma and Nigel’s twin boys, Rory and Marcus, were being christened and Cat was to be godmother to Rory.
They were used to catching up on the run. Any plans they made were all too often cancelled at the last minute thanks to Cat’s position as an accident and emergency consultant and Gemma juggling being a mother to two eighteen-month-old boys as well as a full-time obstetrician.
Their lives were similar in many ways and very different in others.
‘So you and Rick have definitely broken up?’ Gemma checked that Cat’s latest relationship was really over.
‘He’s been gone a month, so I’d say so!’
‘You’re not even going to think about it?’
‘Why would I consider moving to Yorkshire when I’m happy here?’
‘Because that’s what couples do.’
‘Oh, so if Nigel suddenly decided that he wanted to move to…’ Cat thought for a moment and then remembered that Nigel was taking French lessons. ‘If he wanted to move to France, you’re telling me that you’d go?’
‘Not without consideration,’ Gemma said. ‘Given that I’m the breadwinner there would have to be a good reason, but if Nigel really wanted to, then, of course, I’d give it some thought. Relationships are about compromise.’
‘And it’s always the woman who has to be the one to compromise,’ Cat said, but Gemma shook her head.
‘I don’t agree.’
‘You’ve never played the dating game in your thirties.’
‘Yes, I have—Nigel and I only married last year.’
‘Ah, but the two of you had been going out for ever before then. It’s different at our age, Gemma. Men might say that they don’t mind independent working women and, of course, they don’t—just as long as you’re home before them and have the dinner on.’
‘Rubbish!’ Gemma responded from her happily married vantage point. ‘Look at Nigel—I work, he gave up teaching and stays home and looks after the children, and the house and me…’
‘Yes.’ Cat smiled. ‘Well, you and Nigel are a very rare exception to my well-proven theory.’
But Gemma suddenly had other things on her mind when she saw what Cat was about to add to her case. ‘Please don’t take them,’ Gemma said, referring to Cat’s running shoes. ‘They’re ugly.’
‘They’re practical,’ Cat said. ‘And they are also very comfortable. I’m hoping to squeeze in a little bit of sightseeing on Sunday afternoon once the conference wraps up. There’s a modern art museum, hopefully I’ll get some inspiration for this room…’
She looked around at the disgusting beige walls and beige carpet and beige curtains and wished she knew what she wanted to do with the room.
Gemma got off the bed and went to Cat’s wardrobe and took out some espadrilles.
‘Take these instead.’
‘For walking?’
‘Yes, Cat, for walking, not striding…’ She peered into her friend’s luggage. ‘Talk about shades of grey—that’s the saddest case I’ve ever seen. You’re going to Spain!’
‘I’m going to Spain for two nights to catch the end of a conference. I’m not going on a holiday. I shan’t even see the beach,’ Cat pointed out. ‘I wish that I was flying off for a holiday,’ she said, and then sat on the bed. ‘I hate July so much.’
‘I know you do.’
It had been seven years since Thomas had died.
She didn’t lug her grief around all the time but on days like today it hurt. Gemma smiled as her friend went into her bedside drawer and took out his photo. Cat kept it there; it was close enough that she could look at it any time and removed enough not to move her to tears. The drawer also meant she didn’t have to explain the most vital piece of her past to any lovers until she was ready to.
She simply found it too painful.
‘Rick asked how likely I was to have another one like him,’ Cat admitted. It was what had really caused the end of her latest relationship. ‘I told him about Thomas and then I showed him his photo…’
‘He’s not a doctor, Cat,’ Gemma said. ‘It’s a normal question to ask. It’s one you’ve asked.’
‘I know that. It was more the way…’ She was so hypersensitive to people’s reactions when they saw her son but she smiled when Gemma spoke on.
‘I loved how he smiled if you touched his little feet,’ Gemma said, and her words confirmed to Cat that she was very blessed to have such a wonderful friend. ‘He’s so beautiful.’
He was.
Not to others perhaps but they had both seen his lovely eyes and felt his little fingers curve around theirs and they had felt his soft skin and heard his little cries.
And this was the hard part.
It was late July and she’d be away on those days.
The day of Thomas’s birth and also the day that he had died.
‘Do I take his photo with me?’ Cat asked, and Gemma thought for a moment.
‘I don’t think you need his photo to remember him,’ she said.
‘But I feel guilty leaving him in the drawer.’
‘Leave him with me, then,’ Gemma said. ‘I’ll have a long gaze.’
Yes, she had the very best friend in the world, Cat thought as she handed over her most precious possession, and because she was going to start crying Cat changed the subject. ‘Hey, did you have any luck tracking down that dress for the christening?’
‘Nope.’
Gemma shook her head as she put the photo in her bag. ‘I knew that I should have just bought it when I saw it. It was perfect.’
‘It was very nice, but…’ Cat didn’t continue. A white broderie anglaise halter-neck with a flowing skirt was a bit over the top for Cat’s tastes but, then, that was Gemma.
And this was her.
She pulled on some white linen pants and a coloured top and added the espadrilles.
‘Am I girlie enough for you now?’
‘You look great.’ Gemma laughed. ‘It’s once you get there that worries me. With those clothes you’ll just blend in with all the others…’
‘Which is exactly my intention,’ Cat said. ‘I have to go soon.’
‘But your flight’s not till nine.’
‘I know but I’ve booked in to get my hair blow-dried on the way.’
Her long black curls would be straightened, just as they were twice a week. Cat always washed it herself before she went to the hairdresser’s, though.
It saved time.
They headed downstairs, chatting as Cat did a few last-minute things. ‘You’re speaking in the morning?’ Gemma checked.
‘At nine.’ Cat nodded. ‘I’d have loved to have flown last night but I couldn’t get away. Hamish isn’t back till tomorrow and Andrew is covering me this weekend. Same old. It would have been nice to stay on for a bit and spend a few days in Barcelona…’
‘Are you ever going to take some time off?’
‘I’m off in October for three weeks.’ Cat smiled. ‘My exams will be done and I’m going to celebrate by decorating my bedroom. I can’t wait to turn it into something that doesn’t make me want to sleep downstairs on the sofa.’
‘You’ve done an amazing job with the house.’
Last year, after a year of looking, Cat had bought a small two-bedroom home in a leafy London suburb. It was a twenty-minute drive to work at night, which meant, if Cat was on call, that she had to stay at the hospital. Yes, perhaps she could have bought somewhere just a little bit closer but the drive did mean that when she left the hospital, she really left the building.
Here, she could pull on tatty shorts and a T-shirt and get on with her second love—knocking down walls, plastering and painting. The house had been a real renovator’s delight and Cat had delighted in renovating it.
The ghastly purple carpet had been ripped up to expose floorboards that, once sanded and oiled, brought a warmth to the house. A false wall in the lounge had been removed to reveal a fireplace and the once-purple-themed bathroom was now tiled white with dark wood fittings and had a gorgeous claw-foot bath.
‘Will you sell it once you’ve decorated the bedroom?’
‘I really don’t know,’ Cat admitted, tipping milk down the sink. ‘Initially that was the plan, but now I love the place and want to simply enjoy it, but…’
‘But?’
‘I’ve really enjoyed doing it up bit by bit. I’m going to miss that.’
‘After your bedroom you’ve still got the garden to make over.’
‘Oh, no!’ Cat shook her head. ‘I’ll get someone in to do that.’
As they headed out, Cat locked up and Gemma looked at the small front garden.
‘It’s the size of a stamp,’ Gemma pointed out. There was just a rickety path and two neglected flower beds, and the back garden, Gemma knew, was a small strip of grass and an old wooden shed. ‘You could have it sorted in a few days…’
‘Nope!’ Cat smiled. ‘I have black thumbs.’
They said goodbye on the street.
‘We’ll catch up properly soon,’ Cat promised. Both women knew that they wouldn’t get much of a chance to gossip at the christening. ‘I’ll come over to yours after the conference. I haven’t seen the twins for ages. I’ll bring them a stuffed donkey each back from Spain.’
‘Please, don’t!’ Gemma winced and glanced at her phone to check the time. ‘Ooh, I might make it home in time to give them their bath before bed. Nigel’s cooking a romantic dinner for the two of us tonight…’
‘Lovely.’
‘Enjoy Spain,’ Gemma called. ‘You might find yourself some sexy Spanish flamenco dancer or matador…’
‘At an emergency medicine conference?’ Cat laughed. ‘I don’t think there’s much chance of that.’
‘Well, a gorgeous waiter, with come-to-bed eyes and—’
‘Oh, please!’
‘Why not?’ Gemma winked. ‘If you can’t manage a love life, then pencil a few flings into that overcrowded diary of yours.’
