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Matt sucked in a breath. Was he ready to do this? Was he prepared? There could be anything in that locker. Jen had been like a magpie at home, storing away anything that caught her eye, that she thought was cute. He might open the door and have tons of things fall out. She’d never been one for neatly folding stuff and putting it away properly.
Hopefully it wouldn’t take too long.
* * *
He didn’t know how long he’d been standing there, staring at the locker. It was just a bit of metal. Adorned with all the Hollywood heartthrobs that she’d liked to swoon over and gently tease him about. But it was her name on the door that seemed to be stopping him—Dr Jennifer Galloway.
It was like the entry to a forbidden land. A doorway to a world he wasn’t ready to face. He kept trying to tell himself that he was being stupid. It was just a locker—it probably just held some clothes, or a pair of shoes and a hairbrush or something, but for some reason his brain and his heart were telling him that this was something he wasn’t ready for—getting rid of the last vestiges of his wife at work.
‘Can I help?’
He almost jumped at her voice. Turned to see Brooke standing in the doorway, watching him. And, though he’d been abrupt with her the last time they’d spoken, she appeared to be speaking to him with all the gentle patience of a mother to a child. No retribution. No blame. No hurt. Just a genuine desire to help him out.
Matt nodded and beckoned her in. ‘I don’t know what’s stopping me.’
‘What stops any of us but the fear of getting hurt?’
He gazed back at the locker. ‘I’m a soldier.’
‘You’re a husband.’ She leaned against the lockers and he glanced over at her. ‘Being a soldier doesn’t stop you from being human. From feeling.’
‘I guess both of us have been confronted by things we didn’t want to do today.’
She nodded. ‘Have you a key?’
He pulled it from his pocket. So small. So insignificant. All he had to do was insert it into the lock.
A heavy sigh escaped him and he closed his eyes, trying to build up the courage to do what had to be done. But he just couldn’t bring himself to do it. What if he opened her locker and it held her scent? Flowers and a summer’s day? It would hit him like an avalanche, burying him and smothering him, away from all that was light. He wasn’t ready. But he wanted to do it. Wanted to get it over with. Maybe if he just...
Fingers enveloped his and he opened his eyes to see Dr Bailey taking the key and inserting it into the lock. She turned it, and they both heard the clank of the metal lever.
Blue eyes peered into his soul. ‘Open it.’
He didn’t want to think about what he’d felt when her hand had wrapped around his. Didn’t want to analyse the fact that his heart had begun to gallop, his pulse had soared and his mouth had gone as dry as centuries-old dust.
Instead, he stared at the locker. Hoping. Praying. And with an unsteady hand he reached forward to pull it open.
A pair of wind-up false teeth was the first thing that caught his eye and it made him laugh. Relief! He picked it up, turning it in his hands, looking at Dr Bailey in question.
‘She used it sometimes with children.’
She smiled as she took it from him and he could see plainly on her face that she was reliving a memory. A memory of his wife that he didn’t have.
He reached into the locker and pulled out a change of clothes—a tie-dye tee shirt and a pair of jeans. Beyond them were a couple of books that were extremely late going back to the library, a couple of pens, some soft-soled flat shoes and a notebook that said Trust Me, I’m A Doctor. And there, at the back, where only she would see it when she opened her locker for each shift to get ready, a picture of them both on their wedding day.
Gently, he released it from the tape holding it in place and looked at it.
‘Your wedding day. How long ago did you get married?’
He glanced at Dr Bailey. ‘Five short years ago.’
‘You both look very happy.’
‘We were.’ It hurt to look at the picture, but not as much as it once had. He’d learned to accept it. Absorb it. Grief wasn’t something you got over. Like an obstacle. It was something that you accepted, knowing it would stay with you for the rest of your days.
‘I wish I’d known her for longer. You’re lucky that way.’
He gazed intently at her and nodded, before putting the picture with the rest of the things. ‘It’s no use either of us living in the past. We’ve both got difficult futures ahead.’
‘Being single parents, you mean? I think it’s easier now than it was twenty years ago. At least it’s accepted.’
He nodded. ‘Who do you have helping you?’
She shook her head. ‘No one. Not really.’
‘There must be someone. Family?’
‘I’m an only child. My mother died when I was very little and my dad... Well, he’s never been the reliable sort. We talk on the phone. When he remembers.’
He could tell there was something she wasn’t saying. Whatever it was, it was obviously hurtful.
‘Any friends?’
‘Jen was my friend. The only person who got close. So it’s pretty much me and Morgan right now.’
‘It’s difficult, isn’t it? Being alone.’
And then he realised he’d let his guard drop and he stiffened slightly, busying himself with Jen’s things, laying them in the box he’d brought from his office, neatly and in order.
He was surprised. He’d thought there’d be more. All this time he’d spent fearing this job, and now that he’d done it he realised there had been nothing to worry about. He let out a breath and then he closed his wife’s locker reverently, slid her name tag from the front of it and slowly started to remove her Hollywood heroes.
What to do with them? Throw them into the bin?
‘I’ll take them.’
Dr Bailey closed her hand around his and, surprised again by how her brief touch made him feel, he released the pictures and stared hard at her as she opened her own locker and put them inside. It had been the weirdest thing. Not lightning, not fireworks. More a gentle warmth. And he’d felt...soothed. As if a balm had been applied to his soul.
‘Thank you. For doing this with me.’
She turned to face him and smiled. ‘It was my pleasure.’
No, he thought. It was mine.
* * *
By the end of the day Matt had already decided that Dr Brooke Bailey was a very good member of his team. She worked at a steady pace, and she didn’t order extraneous tests that would upset the department’s budget. She got on well with everyone, seemed very popular, and though she might chat a little too much with her patients, rather than discharge them quickly, he didn’t think he had too much to complain about.
Before she’d come back he’d heard from everyone that she was a good doctor, but Matt lived by the axiom that he’d make up his own mind about people. He took them as he found them, and so far he liked what he’d found in Dr Bailey. Now the drama of the morning crèche drop-off was long gone he could see the woman and the professional that his wife had become friends with.
As he headed towards the lift, so that he could get his daughter from the crèche, he saw that she was standing waiting for it to arrive, too. They’d spoken on numerous occasions throughout the day since emptying Jen’s locker, and already he could sense that a tentative friendship was beginning.
‘Enjoy your first day?’
She smiled at him. ‘I did! Even though I was fretting about Morgan for most of it, it was nice to use my brain again and interact with adults. I think the most taxing thought I’ve had over the last few months has been whenever I’ve had to change a nappy, seen the contents and wondered, What colour is that?’
He smiled, having gone through the poo initiation tests that all babies presented to their parents. A sticky black tar to start, which looked like something that ought to be in a horror movie, oozing from a monster, then a khaki green that would hide any soldier in a jungle, and now they were into a kind of peanut butter effect. It had been an interesting journey, and one quite different from the Bristol Stool Chart that all doctors knew so well.
The lift doors pinged open and they both got inside.
‘At least I didn’t have to examine any grown-up’s stools today.’
Matt smiled to himself. Life as an A&E doctor did have that unknown element to it. You never knew what kind of case was going to walk through those doors, from something as simple as a splinter in the finger right through to a dramatic cardiac arrest. That was why he liked it. There was so much variety.
It had been the same in the army. One minute he might be dealing with a gunshot wound, the next dealing with an ingrowing toenail.
But he liked the adrenaline of working in A&E. The cases that needed to be worked on fast and efficiently, with each member of the team knowing their job, all of them working as a finely tuned machine to save someone’s life. There was nothing quite like it.
‘All jobs have their perks. Who knows? Perhaps tomorrow you might get your chance?’
She laughed, and the sound did strange things to his insides.
‘I hope not!’
He glanced at her briefly, curious as to why this woman, above all others, somehow seemed to make him feel...what? Uneasy? No, that was wrong. It wasn’t a bad feeling as such, it was...an awareness. Like the feeling you might get before a static storm. The air pregnant with expectation, holding a heat to it, a humidity.
Was it because of her connection to Jen? Was it simply because he’d been waiting for her return to work so that he could meet this woman his wife had loved?
That’s it. It’s because I know she was special to Jen.
He’d wanted to see just what it was about the enigmatic Dr Bailey that had made her so appealing to his wife. He could see that she liked to laugh, liked to enjoy herself and to make close connections with her patients. She liked others to feel listened to and cared for. But there was also a quiet assuredness about her. A silent strength that she didn’t seem aware she had. It was her solitude, perhaps, that did that. That shielded her from her own possibilities.
‘I’m sorry you caught me using my phone today. I don’t normally. Not at work. In fact I don’t normally carry my phone with me. But with it being Morgan’s first day...’
He waved away her concerns with a swift movement of his hand, staring at the lift display, watching as they ascended to the floor they needed. ‘It’s fine. We all worry about our children—especially when we’re new parents.’
She nodded. ‘Thank you. I appreciate that. I really do.’
She was looking up at him, trying to convey her sincerity in her eyes. But it was hard for him to stand there, that close to her, and maintain eye contact, so he looked away. She had very pretty eyes. Bright and friendly. Welcoming. Open. Innocent.
He cleared his throat. ‘It’s not a problem.’
Was the lift much smaller today? There seemed to be less air. The walls seemed to be pressing them towards each other.
To his relief, the doors pinged open again and he walked behind her towards the crèche, feeling somewhat awkward. He wasn’t sure what had caused it, or why thirty seconds in a lift with Dr Bailey had changed things when a whole ten hours with her in the same department had not.
So he walked slightly behind her, allowing her to go first and press the buzzer for the crèche.
Daisy let them in, beaming her ever-present smile at both of them, all white gleaming teeth and bright eyes, showing no signs of fatigue after spending an entire day with thirty-odd children under the age of five.
Matt wasn’t sure he’d look as calm and collected as Daisy did if he’d spent that long with that many children. He loved kids, he really did, but he was finding it hard looking after even one baby on his own. There was no one to share the workload or the worries with and he missed that.
In the army there’d always been someone to talk to—colleagues, friends and, on the occasions when he had come home, there’d always been Jen. Now his home was conspicuously quiet.
‘Lily’s been an absolute treasure today! She did a handprint painting for you!’
Daisy unpegged a messy picture that was hanging from a string above their heads, like washing on a line. He looked at it, barely able to ascertain his daughter’s handprint in the smudge of red, purple and brown. But her name ‘Lily Galloway’ had been written in pencil at the bottom.
‘Her first work of art...’ He wasn’t sure whether to act pleased or show that to him it was just a mash-up of paint on a page.
‘Watch out, Michelangelo.’
Dr Bailey smiled at him, mildly amused.
‘There’s one for you, too, Dr Bailey.’ Daisy unpegged another picture, this one in yellow and orange, and passed it over.
They both stood there awkwardly, trying to work out whether the pictures were upside down or not.
‘I’ll get Lily for you.’
‘Thanks.’ He collected Lily’s buggy from the bay and folded his daughter’s painting into the basket underneath.
Daisy came out of the Baby Room, carrying his daughter, who looked as if she’d just woken up, her blonde hair all mussed up and wafting around her head like a furry halo.
‘Hello, Lily!’ He reached out for her and, as always, was happy to see her reach for him, too. ‘Hello, my darling, how are you today?’ He kissed her on the cheek, inhaling that sweet baby scent and enjoying the soft squishiness of her little body against his.
Lily laid her head against his chest.
‘Wow! She looks just like her mum. She’s beautiful.’
He looked at Dr Bailey over his daughter’s head, hearing the wistfulness in his colleague’s voice. ‘Thank you.’
‘I mean it. She really does.’
Matt knew she was being sincere, but there was something else there, too. Loss. Grief. It reminded him that he wasn’t the only one who had lost someone special. She had too. Her best friend.
As Daisy brought out Dr Bailey’s daughter, he was struck by the similarity between the two. Morgan also had a thick head of brown hair that was slightly curling and wispy around her shoulders, and they both had the same eyes. Morgan peered at him, as if uncertain of this tall stranger who stood next to her mother.
He stooped over to put Lily into her buggy and then stood up again. ‘Well, I’ll see you in the morning. Goodnight, Dr Bailey.’
‘Goodnight, Major.’
She smiled back and it so disarmed him, hitting him like a sucker punch to the gut, that he turned quickly and hurried away.
Five months.
It had been only five months since his wife had died. The wife he had loved and adored and had expected to be with right into old age. And yet he was already noticing another woman.
It’s just loneliness. That’s what it is. Missing someone to talk to, that’s all. I don’t have to read anything else into it.
He kept his head down as he headed back to his car. Trying to remain focused on his daughter’s chubby little legs in white tights, the cute pink trainers his mother had bought for her. He tried to think about what his daughter had done that day, the painting she had done, the way she’d reached for him earlier. He was all Lily had now. She’d never known the love of a mother. Nor would she. He would have to provide everything for her. Be both parents, if he could. Provide the dreams for both of them.
Briefly, he cast his mind back in time to the day he and Jen had discussed moving to New Zealand. How amazing it would be. What a brilliant life it would provide for their future children. Jen had been in the back garden, swinging in the hammock, six months pregnant and eating an ice cream.
‘I’d really like to go back there, Matt. My gap year there was the most amazing time in the world. The people were great—really friendly—and there’d be no problem with either of us getting work out there. There’s a great little suburb in North Shore City, Auckland, that’s perfect for kids. We should do it. Really consider it, I mean.’
At the time, he’d been busy planting some fruit trees in the back garden and Jen had been supervising.
‘Move that one to the left a bit. Bit more. Bit more. That’s it!’
He’d been home on a week’s leave before he’d had to ship out to Costa Rica, and it had been one of the last times he’d seen her alive. He’d only been meant to be out there for ten weeks. He’d thought—they’d both thought—he would be home in time for the birth. But after he’d left, Jen had begun having problems with her blood pressure and they’d had to induce her early.
It had still been too late. Jen had had a massive fit from which she hadn’t recovered. They’d put her on life support until he could get back from South America and then, holding his baby daughter in his arms, he had watched through a veil of tears as they had switched off the machines.
Just five months ago.
He’d had to adapt quickly, and he’d been thankful he had Lily to look after. His daughter had saved him from falling into a deep depression. She’d anchored him in the present when he’d been in danger of drowning in the past. He’d not had time to dwell on his loss the way he would have if she hadn’t been around.
So, instead of never getting out of bed and living in the depths of despair under his duvet, he’d got out of bed. Got dressed. Taken his daughter out in her pram and walked. Sometimes for miles. Strangers had stopped him to admire his daughter, keeping his spirits lifted. They’d had no idea of the tragedy that had recently befallen him. They’d just seen a father out with his child. A beautiful baby girl. They’d wanted to admire her and cup her rosy cheeks and tell him how gorgeous she was, and each comment, each person, had unwittingly given him a reason to keep going.
‘You’re doing a good job.’
‘Lily’s okay.’
‘She’s thriving with just you.’
Jen would not have wanted him to wallow. That wasn’t who she had been. She’d been a grab-hold-of-life person. A person who’d squeezed enjoyment into every second—as much as she could. And she’d told him once that when she died she didn’t want a funeral full of people in black clothes, sobbing quietly into tissues. She’d wanted a celebration of her life.
Only that celebration had come too soon.
And now he was noticing another woman.
Guilt was a horrible sensation. He’d never really suffered from it before. Not like this. And, logically, he knew he shouldn’t really feel guilty. Jen would have been happy that he was getting to know her new best friend. And it wasn’t as if he were cheating on his wife. No. He might no longer be married, but he was determined that Dr Bailey was just going to be his friend, the way she had been Jen’s.
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