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And it turned out he didn’t even recognise her.
Or remember her.
If she was so forgettable, then she wanted to make sure he meant just as little to her now.
She did not need his help or advice. She knew what she was looking out for. And the idea of spending more time with him when she wasn’t prepared for this unexpected onslaught only made her feel sick.
He was not the man she wanted by her side.
* * *
Quinn hauled himself into the passenger seat as Tasha gunned the engine. There seemed to be fewer people about now, the morning market trade dissipating, so she was able to reverse easily and begin the drive back to the Sunshine Children’s Centre.
Her nerves were on edge. She felt prickly. Uncomfortable. He still hadn’t recognised her and she was in two minds about telling him who she was.
If Abeje recovered quickly, perhaps there would be no need to tell him anything? But her gut reaction was that Abeje was in for a long fight and that it would take some time before they saw any signs of recovery. Malaria was an aggressive disease in this part of the world still, and she’d racked her brains to try and remember what she knew about the condition.
A single mosquito bite was all it took to get infected, and most people showed symptoms within a couple of weeks of being bitten. The terrible thing was that it could be fatal if treatment was delayed. She could only hope that they had got to Abeje in time. A combination of drugs was slowly being dripped into Abeje’s system through an IV. She hoped it was enough.
‘What made you come to Africa to teach?’
So he wanted to do small talk? Though she wasn’t sure if any talk with him would ever be small for her.
‘I just did.’
The desire to keep her life away from his scrutiny was strong. He’d already ridiculed her once. It might have been years ago, but that didn’t mean the pain was any less. Being with him now made her feel raw again. Unguarded. The wound in her heart, open to infection.
‘You’ve always taught English?’
‘No.’
‘What did you do before?’
She glared at him as she drove, before turning back to keep an eye on the road. It was none of his business.
‘This and that.’
‘Mystery woman, huh?’
Without looking at him, she knew he was smiling. She heard it in his voice. He really had no idea, did he?
So two-faced! Trying to charm a woman you once thought so little of.
‘What made you take a post on the ship?’
There was a pause before he answered, allowing time for the potholes in the road to bounce them around, so that their shoulders bashed into each other briefly before the car was righted again.
‘I needed a change. I’d spent some time working in British hospitals, but I felt like stretching my wings. I didn’t want to become stale, you know? Complacent. I needed a new challenge.’
‘Well, Africa certainly does that to you.’
He nodded. ‘It does.’ He turned to look at her. ‘Did you come out here for a challenge?’
What could she tell him? That she’d come here on pure instinct? That teaching at schools in the UK had worn down her spirit?
Such long, gruelling hours, weighed down by the gazillions of reports and lesson plans and resources she’d had to create. Hours spent on assessments and figure-juggling that would never see the light of day but had to be there in case the inspectors turned up. Weeks spent worrying about work politics and staffroom gossip and pressure from the senior management team to be constantly at the top of her game.
She’d just wanted to teach. She’d wanted to forget all the rest and get back to what she enjoyed. Seeing the face of a child light up with understanding. Being with children who were eager to learn. She’d wanted to get back to grass roots. Find her joy again. Her spirit.
Africa had always seemed to her an exotic place—both beautiful and dangerous at the same time—and after going to a seminar in which the speaker had talked about her time teaching in Senegal she’d found an agency and signed right up. She’d needed to get away from the everyday. She’d needed to find something special.
And she had. It had brightened her heart, coming here. Given her exactly what she’d needed.
‘I came out here to make a difference.’
He nodded in understanding. ‘I know what you mean.’
She doubted it. She imagined that Quinn’s life had always been rosy. Nothing too horrendous or upsetting for him. Surely he must have cruised through life? Privileged and well off?
Tasha drove on through the hot, dusty streets of Ntembe. She was glad that Quinn had made her drink that tea. She had needed it. And now she was hungry, too, but that would have to wait. They had children to check up on.
She parked the vehicle outside the centre.
The Sunshine Children’s Centre was a long, low building, with a corrugated tin roof and a hand-painted sign made by the children. There was a bright yellow sun in one corner, its rays stretching across the sign, behind the words, and in another corner, if you looked hard enough, beyond the accumulation of dust, there was a child’s face with a big, happy smile.
‘This is it.’
‘How many children live here?’
‘Fifty-three. Most of them girls.’
They got out of the car and dusted themselves down. ‘How many of them are your students?’
‘Ten—though others go to the same school. They’re just in different classes.’
‘We should check them all—hand out anti-malarials just in case.’
She nodded. Yes, it was best to err on the side of caution. Preventative medicine was better than reactive medicine.
‘Okay. I’ll introduce you to the house matron—her name’s Jamila.’
‘Lead the way.’
She led him into the interior, explained the situation to Jamila and told her what they wanted to do to check on the children. Permission was given for them to treat them.
Tasha was glad it wasn’t a school day, so the children were all at the centre, though some of the boys were out at the back, playing football. All seemed to be in good health. None of them were showing signs of illness or fever.
‘Looks like Abeje was the unlucky one.’
Jamila stepped forward. ‘Abeje travelled with an aunt back to her village two weeks ago.’
‘With Ada?’ Tasha asked.
‘Yes. The village is about a two-hour drive from here. Do you think she could have got infected there?’
Tasha looked at Quinn and he nodded. It was a distinct possibility.
‘I wonder if anyone is sick at the village? Is it remote? Do they have any medical facilities nearby?’
Jamila shook her head. ‘The Serendipity is the closest they have.’
Quinn frowned. ‘They might feel they’re too sick to travel. Perhaps we ought to go out there? Check on everyone?’
‘Do you have enough medication?’
‘We’ll have to go back and restock. Maybe get a nurse to come along, too. You’ll come, Tasha, won’t you?’
At one stage in her life she would have jumped at the opportunity. But this was different. She didn’t need to go if Quinn and a nurse were going. As far as they knew she was just a teacher. They didn’t need her. Besides, she wanted to stay here and keep an eye on Abeje. Taking a trip with Quinn was her idea of hell!
‘You won’t need me.’
‘Nonsense! As Abeje’s teacher you’ll be able to explain why we have to do this. Introduce us to the aunt. Talk to the villagers.’
‘I barely know Ada. I’ve met her maybe once. Perhaps twice.’
‘More times than any of us.’
The way he was looking at her was dangerous. As if he needed her. Wanted her. Desperately. And it was doing strange things to her insides. Confusing things.
Okay, so more hands on deck might help get the medication distributed more quickly, and she couldn’t expect him to take many medical personnel from the ship to help. Some of them needed to stay behind. To look after Abeje, for one thing.
She could feel her resolve weakening and she hated that. Just like before, she was being pulled deeper and deeper into Quinn’s world.
‘Fine. Okay.’ She nodded quickly, hating herself for giving in. Imagining already how difficult it would be to spend so much time in his company.
‘Great.’ He beamed. ‘And whilst we’re getting there you can tell me how you know me—because I sure as hell can’t place where you’re from.’
She froze as he walked back outside.
So there was something, then. He recognised her as being familiar, but couldn’t place her.
How would he react when he realised she was Nit-Nat? How would he feel? Would he have forgotten what he did? What he’d said? Who she was? How he’d destroyed her little heart in a matter of minutes?
She wanted him to suffer. To feel uncomfortable. To apologise and grovel for her forgiveness...
Part of her wondered if it was better just to pretend she didn’t know what he was talking about. To insist that they’d never met before. But a stronger part of her wanted to let him know their connection. Their history. To surprise him and have him see how she had changed. She was no longer a chubby, nit-infested, braces-wearing girl in secondhand clothes.
She had not changed for him. She’d just grown up and been battered by life in so many ways. Life had given her plenty of challenges—killing her parents when she was young, making her grow up in a children’s home, having Quinn humiliate her, her job destroy her and her marriage break down. And yet she had come through it all. Was still standing. Still able to find joy in her life. To enjoy it. To feel worthwhile.
Was fate, or karma, or whatever it was called, finished messing with her life?
She hoped so. But the fact that she was here and Quinn was here and they were together made her suspect that fate hadn’t finished putting her through the wringer just yet.
Tasha stepped out into the sunshine, shielding her eyes from the worst of the sun’s rays. She climbed into the vehicle, started the engine and turned to look at him, butterflies somersaulting in her stomach, her mouth dry.
It was time. She had to say it.
Just say it. Get it out there.
‘You do know me. I’m Tasha Kincaid now—but you might know me by my former name, Natasha Drummond.’
She saw him frown, think, and then his eyebrows rose in surprise as his eyes widened.
‘That’s right. You’re in a car with Nit-Nat.’
CHAPTER TWO
NIT-NAT? SHE WAS NIT-NAT?
When she’d first said her name his mind had gone blank. Natasha Drummond? Nit-Nat? He hadn’t recognised those names at all. And then a small tickle of a memory had suggested itself. A sense of something appalling. Something he couldn’t quite grasp, slippery and evasive. Something about that name being familiar. Something about that name being unpleasant.
Then he’d realised. It was something shameful. A memory he had tried to suppress... And then the memory had become stronger, fiercer, until it was roaring loudly, like a lion, right up in his face, and the hot breath of fetid shame was washing over him as he remembered what he’d once done.
He’d been fifteen years old the first time he’d become aware of her. Although perhaps ‘aware’ was the wrong word. She’d just been one of the many background faces at the children’s home where his best friend Dex had lived.
He’d always been fascinated by them each time he went to the children’s home, simply because of what they represented. He was one parent away from being there himself, having been raised by his ex-Marine father because his mother had walked out on them. The children at the home had been a bright example of what his life might have been like if his father had left, too.
He’d gone there for Dex, so that they could play footie, or rugby, or cricket. Or simply just go for a wander, try to hook up with girls. He’d never paid much attention to the other kids at the home, but there had been one stand-out girl there. But she’d stood out for the wrong reasons.
Overweight, always a bit sweaty-looking, she’d had a thick mass of hair that had never looked combed. Metal braces on her teeth.
And the worst thing...? She’d had a crush on him.
Dex had told him.
‘Nit-Nat’s got the hots for you, mate! You’re in trouble!’
‘Why do you call her Nit-Nat?’
‘She’s got bloody nits! They’re all caught up in that mop she calls her hair! They can’t escape! I reckon it’s one massive nest!’
He’d wrinkled his nose in disgust. Nits? They were always sending letters from school to parents telling them to be vigilant against nits. He’d remembered having them himself once, when he was about seven or eight—not that he’d been about to tell Dex that.
Dex had had great fun teasing him about Nit-Nat fancying him. It had been a running joke that never seemed to go away. Quinn had hated it. He’d worked so hard to perfect his image amongst his friends. He’d wanted to be known for going with the hottest girls of his year—not for the disgusting crush Nit-Nat had on him!
He’d tried to laugh it off, tried to ignore it, and he’d even once got angry with Dex for going on about it. In the end he’d let it wash over him, pretending to play along, pretending to be mortified so that the joke wasn’t on him but on poor, misguided Nit-Nat.
The crush had become more and more obvious each time he’d visited Dex—almost to the point that he hadn’t wanted to go there any more and had asked Dex to meet him somewhere else. That had worked for a while. He’d stayed away for a good six months. And then, when even he had forgotten about it, he’d made the mistake of calling in on Dex at the children’s home.
She hadn’t changed. In fact she’d seemed thrilled to see him.
‘Quinn! You’re back!’
She’d beamed a smile, revealing all that metal.
He’d been appalled. It wasn’t over.
‘Hi.’
‘You here for Dexter?’
‘Yep.’
He hadn’t wanted to give her anything. It had been embarrassing, the way she’d stood there—thirteen years old, her hair a frizzy mess and her round body forced into a dress that was at least one size too small. Those buttons had looked as if they were about to burst apart.
‘Haven’t seen you for a while.’
‘I’ve been busy.’
‘What with?’
‘This and that.’
‘Did you know there’s going to be a party this Friday?’
‘Nope.’
‘It’s for Lexi. She’s sixteen. We all get to bring a friend.’
‘That’s nice.’
‘Would you come as my friend?’
He’d stared at her in horror, and realised her invitation had been timed perfectly to coincide with Dex’s arrival down the stairs.
Quinn had looked at his friend, hoping he hadn’t heard, but it had been plain by the look of awesome amusement on Dex’s face that he had heard every word.
He’d been embarrassed, not at all happy that she’d had shamed him this way again when he’d been trying to be so cool and standoffish. He’d had to make it stop. Had to make that crush of hers end. And the only way he’d known how to do that at the time was to be brutally blunt.
Only it had somehow tipped over into cruelty.
He’d grimaced, walked right up to her.
‘You realise you’re ugly, right? And fat? And that there are so many things living in your hair they could do a nature documentary over five seasons?’
He’d looked her up and down, unaware that loads of the other kids in the home had gathered round to see what all the shouting was about.
‘If you were the last girl on earth I’d probably kill myself!’
He’d seen the look of horror on her face. The way her cheeks had flushed bright red. The way tears had welled up in her eyes and had begun to run roughly down her ruddy cheeks. And he’d hated what he’d said, but hadn’t been able to stop himself.
‘The only boyfriend you could ever get would be a blind one.’
And then he’d grabbed the gaping, gawking, laughing Dex.
‘Let’s go.’
Dex had ripped into him for hours after that, and he’d spent days feeling angry and ashamed that he’d treated someone like that, made her feel small just so he could maintain his street cred with a friend.
He’d not been brought up to be that way. His dad had raised him to be respectful of women, despite the way his own wife had treated him. He’d been taught never to bring another person down, but instead to make yourself better. Despite his mother walking out on them, he had never heard his father badmouth his wife.
And what had he done? Believed his reputation to be more important. Believed that being ‘one of the boys’ was more important.
He’d never gone back to the children’s home after that. He’d not wanted to see the hurt in Nit-Nat’s eyes. Not wanted to be reminded of what he’d done. And the only way he’d been able to cope had been to push it to the back of his mind, pretend it had never happened and bury the shame beneath mountains of other stuff. Fighting the urge to go and apologise the way he knew he should.
He hadn’t thought about her for years. Why would he? He’d been just sixteen when it had happened. She had been thirteen. It was ancient history. So much had happened since then. Other stuff had taken precedence, as was wont to happen in life.
Until now.
He’d never believed they would ever be face to face again. The world was a big place to get lost in.
Quinn sucked in a breath, his heart pounding in his chest, the shame from all those years ago flooding him like a tsunami of regret. He knew what he ought to say. Right now.
I’m sorry I hurt you. I apologise. I never meant to do it. I hated myself for it.
‘Tasha, I—’
‘You know, I know we were just kids, but I was thirteen years old. Thirteen! You were my first love. The first boy I lost my heart to. Now I know why they call it a crush. Because when you’re rejected and humiliated in front of everyone it feels like you’re being crushed. That’s what you did. That’s how you made me feel. Tiny. Inconsequential. Stamped on from a great height. You could have just said No, thanks. I would have understood.’
He watched as she gunned the engine, put her hand on the gearstick to shove it into first gear.
Quinn laid his hand upon hers. He didn’t want her to start driving yet. He had to tell her. Had to let her know.
‘I’m so sorry. I behaved appallingly. I know I did. You won’t believe me, but I was incredibly ashamed of what I said to you. It haunted me. I wasn’t raised to act like that and yet I did, out of some misguided belief that my credibility with my friend was more important than your heart. I felt guilty for ages.’
She yanked her hand out from under his. ‘Good. I’m glad.’
‘I really am sorry, Tasha. I should never have hurt you.’
‘Well, you did.’
She stared at him for a moment, those eyes of hers welling up once again. As the first tear dripped onto her cheek she revved the engine.
‘Let’s get back to the ship.’
And then she was driving.
He sat in the passenger seat beside her and gazed at her profile as she concentrated on the road. The curls had been tamed and glinted golden in the hot African sun. She had a soft caramel tan and her blue eyes were steely and determined. The set of her jaw showed she meant business and wouldn’t take any crap from anyone.
He knew he had to make it up to her. Make up for all the years of hurt and anger she must have carried inside because of him.
Tasha Kincaid—once Natasha Drummond—had certainly grown up. The puppy fat of youth had disappeared with the braces and she’d emerged as a beautiful young woman. A gazelle—long-limbed and graceful. He’d seen the possibility in her back then. But kids were kids and anyone different—fat, bespectacled, red-haired—was an object for their attempts at humour.
He vowed that he would show her the way a woman deserved to be treated. That he would be charming, caring and kind. He would build her up and replace her harsh memories of him with something more wonderful.
He hoped he could do that.
He’d originally asked her to go with him to introduce them to Ada and the villagers because he’d wanted to spend more time with this enigmatic woman who knew his name and somehow seemed familiar.
He didn’t regret asking her. Because now he knew it was important that she came with them. Because he needed more time with her.
Time to put things right.
* * *
Before Quinn’s humiliation of her they’d once gone on a trip together. Years ago—when they were children and Tasha’s home had organised a visit to the zoo. Everyone had gone along, and somehow Dexter had wangled a place for Quinn on the bus.
The boys had sat at the back, loud and vocal, but Tasha had been at the front, very aware that Quinn was there.
She’d worn her best dress—a pale blue number, with tiny daisies on it—white ankle socks and scuffed patent leather shoes. Hours had been spent in front of the mirror, trying to tame her hair, but the more she’d combed it the frizzier the curls had become, so in the end she’d tied it back with a red bow, wanting to look her best for Quinn. She’d practised her smile in front of the mirror before they left, trying to work out the best way to do it so her braces didn’t show too much.
She’d said hi to him when he’d arrived in the morning, barely getting a nod of acknowledgement in return, but that hadn’t mattered. She’d offered him a drink and fetched him a glass of juice from the kitchen. He’d taken it, smiled at her and said, ‘Thanks, Nit-Nat.’
Her little teenage heart had almost exploded with excitement. This dashing, handsome, blond-haired young stud had smiled at her! Said her name!
And then he’d said, ‘You look nice today.’
It was the only thing he’d got to say to her before they’d left but she’d dined out on that compliment for days. It had warmed her. Had made her feel good. All gooey inside and yet shy. He’d liked her dress. Liked what she’d done to her hair. She vowed to do her hair like that all the time if he liked it that way.
She’d wanted to turn and smile at him on the bus but she hadn’t, knowing that Dexter would wind her up about it, so she’d spent the trip staring out of the window, intently listening to everything she could—hoping that he might be talking about her in a nice way.
He never had been.
Her day had been spent half looking at the giraffes and the wolves and the lions and monkeys, and half sneaking glances at Quinn and having little hopeful dreams about their future together. She’d wished she had a camera, so she could take his picture and put it in her bedroom.
He’d wanted to be a doctor and so had she. She’d imagined them working together at the same hospital. They would save lives! He would look at her after a long day together and thank her, and give her a hug, and then they would go home together, because of course they would be married. And at home it would be even more blissful than at work. She would have beautiful little blonde-haired children, with big blue eyes, and they would take them with them on their many trips around the globe.
None of that had ever happened, of course.
But here they were today. Together again. In Africa. Hopefully off to save some lives.
Maybe all she’d ever needed to do was wait?
* * *
It didn’t take him long to inform the personnel on the ship of what they were doing. The staff seemed excited about the idea of a road trip, and as they busied themselves in preparation for a possible mass vaccination Tasha found a moment to check on Abeje.
She was asleep. Sweat beaded her brow and pooled in the dip at the base of her throat. Her breathing was rapid.
Tasha laid a hand against the little girl’s skin and winced at the heat. Poor thing. She let out a breath and took a moment to centre herself. She could remember being poorly as a young child herself, with no one to sit by her bed, to soothe her brow or just to give her cuddles and goodnight kisses. It had been so lonely.
Quinn knew who she was now. It was an even playing field. And, though she’d been worried about telling him who she was, now that it was out in the open she felt glad. He had a lot of making up to do if he was ever going to be in her good books again. He’d apologised, but that was too little, too late.