Can two and two really make four?

Widower Major Matt Galloway came to London Grace Hospital for his tiny daughter. But he finds himself facing a barrel of emotions on meeting beautiful Dr. Brooke Bailey—his late wife’s best friend and single mother to her own baby girl.

Brooke can’t believe Matt is her new boss. But the feelings she has for him are even more troublesome. Brooke swore she would raise her baby alone, but loving father Matt melts her heart and Brooke starts to hope...could they really make one big happy family after all?

‘You’re a romantic, Dr Bailey?’

Brooke smiled at Matt before returning her gaze to the couple in front of them. ‘And a dreamer. But don’t we all hope and dream for happiness in some way?’

Matt didn’t answer. But he stared at her profile, at the way her nose turned up slightly at the end, at the fullness of her smiling lips, at the gentle way one brown tress of hair had escaped her messy bun and rested upon her shoulder. It looked soft and silky, and it seemed wrong to him that someone as sweet and lovely as her should be alone when clearly she had so much love to give.

He concentrated for a moment on his notes. Blood pressure. Respirations. Pulse. Patient. But his mind wouldn’t stay focused. It was as if there was a small cyclone of thoughts whizzing around, picking up the leaves of his thoughts and tossing them into the mix.

Lily.

Yes. His daughter had to be his priority. Worrying about Brooke’s love life was not his responsibility. Nothing to do with him. She was his friend, but that was all she would ever be. He couldn’t allow himself to think any more of her than that.

But if that was the case then why was she the only thing he could think about?

Dear Reader,

When I had my babies I went to a variety of baby classes. One of them was a Music and Movement class, where I naively thought that I’d get to sit on the floor holding my baby and helping her move to music—kind of like baby yoga.

Only it wasn’t a class where I could sit on my butt and pretend my baby was enjoying herself. It was a singing and dancing class, and the leader announced at the first one that we would ‘all go round the circle, take it in turns to dance into the centre, and introduce yourself and your baby!’

I’m sure you can imagine my horror.

So I had to include something similar in Brooke and Matt’s story. It was hilarious revisiting all those old feelings and memories and the cringe-worthy stuff you put yourself through in an effort to be a good parent.

Brooke and Matt are trying to be excellent parents. They want to do what’s best for their babies, no matter how strong their urge to stay indoors and hibernate away from the rest of the world. They learn, as we all do, that some days you just have to push through.

I hope you enjoy reading their story as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Love,

Louisa xx

Their Double Baby Gift

Louisa Heaton

www.millsandboon.co.uk

LOUISA HEATON lives on Hayling Island, Hampshire, with her husband, four children and a small zoo. She has worked in various roles in the health industry—most recently four years as a Community First Responder, answering 999 calls. When not writing Louisa enjoys other creative pursuits, including reading, quilting and patchwork—usually instead of the things she ought to be doing!

Books by Louisa Heaton

Mills & Boon Medical Romance

The Baby That Changed Her Life

His Perfect Bride?

A Father This Christmas?

One Life-Changing Night

Seven Nights with Her Ex

Christmas with the Single Dad

Reunited by Their Pregnancy Surprise

Visit the Author Profile page

at millsandboon.co.uk for more titles.

For Becca xxx

Praise for Louisa Heaton

‘An emotional rollercoaster ride… One Life-Changing Night is medical drama at its best.’

—Goodreads

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Praise

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

Extract

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

SHE WAS RUNNING LATE. Very late. And as she stared at the clock on the car dashboard it seemed to be whizzing through minutes, as if a mischievous imp was maniacally pressing down hard on the fast-forward button.

Why was this happening today? Today of all days? Her first day back after maternity leave. Her first day as a single working mother, back in the A&E department she loved. A department that would now be all the quieter because Jen wasn’t in it.

Dr Brooke Bailey had so wanted this day to start well. Because if it did—if she got through it—then that would be all the proof she needed that her decision to do this on her own was a good one.

It had seemed doable in the early months of her pregnancy, when bravado and optimism had got her through the days. She didn’t need a man. She didn’t need anyone. Only herself—which was just as well, seeing as there wasn’t a whole lot of people she could turn to now. Millions of other single mothers held down a job and coped, didn’t they? Why should it be any more difficult for her?

Only back then, with her rose-tinted spectacles on, she hadn’t predicted that she’d be awake the night before going back to work, doing hourly feeds because Morgan wouldn’t settle. She hadn’t expected that the very second she’d decided to strap Morgan into the car for her commute to work Morgan would have an almighty nappy explosion and would need to be taken back inside the house to be bathed and have everything changed.

Nor had she forecast that she would get caught in an endless traffic jam, tapping her fingers impatiently on the wheel as she glanced at the London Grace Hospital—so temptingly close, but unattainable—as she sat bumper to bumper between a four-wheel drive and a large white delivery van, listening to people sounding their horns. She was wincing with each one, hoping that the noise wouldn’t wake her daughter, who was finally—thankfully—asleep.

Beside her on the passenger seat her mobile phone trilled with a message, and as the traffic wasn’t moving she decided to check her hands-free device.

It was Kelly.

Where are you? X

She couldn’t respond. Not behind the wheel. Even if she was stuck in traffic. She’d seen enough evidence of what happened to people when they drove and texted. The cars might move at any moment. She could be texting and have someone rear-end her and give her whiplash as well as a late mark for her first day.

Not only had she to find a space and park the car, she also had to get Morgan to the hospital crèche.

An event she’d been worrying about for weeks.

It had seemed such a simple thing when she’d first planned it—I’ll just put the baby in the crèche. But what if her baby didn’t like it? What if she screamed the place down? What if she clung to her mother and refused to let go?

She’d never left Morgan alone with a friend, let alone in a crèche for ten hours a day. Eric had seen to it that she’d lost touch with most of her friends. Had isolated her until no one was left. So that when she had walked away, when she had broken free, she’d felt so ashamed about what she’d allowed to happen she’d felt she couldn’t call anyone.

It had just been her and Morgan. And that had been enough. Till now.

Snakes of anticipation coiled in her stomach at the thought of leaving her daughter, and she was just contemplating sounding her own horn when the traffic finally began to move and she could make the turning into the hospital car park. Free, she zoomed up to the barrier, wound down her window to let in the mixed aroma of exhaust fumes and recent rain, swiped her card over the scanner and watched the barrier slowly rise.

For the first time ever she could take advantage of the parent and child spaces on the ground floor near the lift, and she pulled into an empty space. ‘Thank you, thank you, thank you...’ she muttered to any car park god there might be, and got out of the car, opening up the boot to assemble the buggy.

She got Morgan into it in record time, and without tears, and headed on over to the lift.

As the lift slowly took her up to the floor she needed she contemplated what it would be like to work a shift without Jen.

Jen had been a recent friend. But an amazing one. An unexpected treasure Brooke had located when she’d first started working at the London Grace. At the time she had still been with Eric, but she’d been having serious doubts, starting to be sure that she would have to walk away from him, but struggling with her conscience about the best way to do it with her pride still intact.

Her mood had been low and pensive as she’d stood in the staff room one day, dunking a tea bag over and over. In had walked a woman with a bright streak of pink in her short blonde hair—a shade of pink that had matched the stethoscope draped around her neck.

She’d taken one look at Brooke, walked right up to her, put her arm around Brooke’s shoulder and said, ‘Whoever he is, dump him. No man should make you look like that!’

It had been the beginning of a beautiful friendship, and when Brooke had dumped Eric, and then found out a few weeks later that she was pregnant and Eric wanted nothing to do with her or the baby, Jen had been the one who had picked her up, dusted her down and taken her to a show where there’d been masses of gyrating male strippers and lots and lots of hot, writhing, perfectly muscled flesh.

Brooke smiled as she recalled that night. Jen had been an absolute diamond. Rough-cut, maybe, but still one of a kind. And when Jen had discovered that she too was pregnant, and that they had due dates within days of each other that had just solidified their friendship all the more.

Jen’s husband Matt had been in the army medical corps, and hardly ever at home, so she and Jen had grown their babies together, comparing bump sizes and ankle swellings and seeing who could hold their pee the longest before having to wobble off to the bathroom.

But I don’t have Jen to pick me up any more. No one to pick me up if the day turns out to be the biggest mistake of my entire life.

As the lift pinged open and Brooke began striding down the long corridor that would take her to the hospital crèche she tried not to go over that phone call once again. When Kelly had called to let her know that Jen had died during the birth—complications from eclampsia.

At the time she herself had just delivered Morgan. Had been home for just three days and struggling to get her daughter to latch on. Frustration had been building and the sound of the phone had been a welcome distraction. A few moments to gather herself and calm down. Contact from the outside world.

And then...

She swallowed back tears. She could not cry today. It was stressful enough without going over Jen’s death all the time. Life moved on. You couldn’t stop its inexorable march. Jen was dead. Brooke was alone. Again. She was back at work. Late. She needed to get a move on or she’d have a cranky boss to deal with too.

She buzzed at the door and a staff member let her in.

‘I’ve brought Morgan Bailey. It’s her first day...’ She tried to sound braver and more together than she really felt.

The crèche nurse wore a bright tabard decorated in a multitude of teddy bears, with a name badge that said ‘Daisy’. Like the flower, she seemed bright and sunny, as if her face had a permanent smile upon it.

Behind her, Brooke could see children playing in a small ball pit, others daubing painted handprints onto a long strip of what looked like wallpaper, others at a table drawing, another group listening to a story. Beyond was another door, labelled ‘Baby Room’, and as she looked the door opened and a tall man with a military demeanour stepped out.

But she had no time to concentrate on him—despite the fact that some tired, exhausted part of her sex-starved brain still worked and had registered how attractive he was. The bossier part of her brain—the exhausted, sleep-deprived, worried-about-being-late part—overrode all other messages.

She unbuckled Morgan from the buggy and lifted her out. ‘She’s been up most of the night, I’m afraid, so she might be a little grumpy. There are bottles in the bag...’ she unhooked the baby bag from the handles of the buggy and handed it over ‘...with expressed milk. I’ve labelled them with her name, so you can give her the right ones. There’s a teddy in the bag, that’s her favourite—Mr Cuddles. She likes to sleep with it. You usually have to wind her twice before she’ll go to sleep, and if you sing her “Baa-Baa Black Sheep” she’ll cry, so please don’t do that. And...and...’

She couldn’t help it. The tears that had been stinging the backs of her eyes now readily began to fall. The moment of having to hand her daughter over was too much. Her little girl had been the one to keep her together these past few months. She was all she had, and now...

Morgan, sensing her mother’s distress, began to cry, and now Brooke was feeling worse about leaving her baby. She stood there clutching her daughter, hiccupping her way through her own tears, as if giving her up to the crèche meant certain death.

I can’t do this! I don’t need to work, do I? I could wait a little longer, take some more time off. I—

Daisy reached forward to take the crying Morgan. ‘We’ll be fine—don’t worry. Have you got the crèche app on your phone?’

The hospital crèche had developed its own app, so that parents could click in at any time during the day and receive updates about their child—whether they’d slept, when they’d eaten or had a bottle, what the child was playing with. There was even an option to access the crèche’s webcam.

Grateful for the fact that Daisy was ignoring Brooke’s embarrassing tears, she tried to breathe. Sucking in a breath and dragging a tissue from her pocket to wipe her nose, Brooke nodded. ‘Yes.’

Daisy was still smiling and bobbing up and down as she gently swayed Morgan, trying to soothe her. ‘You go off to work, then, Mummy. Don’t worry about us.’

Morgan looked sickeningly distressed to be in a stranger’s arms, which was disconcerting for her mother. ‘I’ve never left her before. You’ll call me if there’s any problem?’

‘Of course we will.’

‘Anything at all?’

Daisy nodded, but as Brooke opened her mouth to ask another question she felt a firm hand upon her arm. The man she’d seen before looked down at her with intense blue eyes and said, ‘It’s best to just walk away. Don’t look back.’

Brooke looked up at him hopefully, gratefully, with her ugly crying face still at full throttle, dabbing at her tears and trying to hold on to his words of wisdom. Had he done this, then? Did he know what he was talking about? He’d just come out of the Baby Room, so perhaps he’d just dropped off his own child?

‘Really?’

‘Really. Come on.’

He had a stern, no-nonsense tone to his voice. A voice that was used to issuing commands and having them obeyed without question. It was clear he expected the same from her. He gently draped his hands over hers, forcing her fingers to release the death grip she’d had on the buggy since letting go of her daughter, then took the buggy from her and parked it in the buggy bay. With a guiding hand in the small of her back, he purposefully escorted her to the exit.

Brooke was desperate to turn around and make sure Morgan was okay. She could still hear her baby wailing. Her daughter needed her. But the man blocked her view and ushered her out through the door and into the corridor like an expert collie dog herding a reluctant sheep.

‘But I need to—’

He held up his hand for silence. ‘No. You don’t.’

Brooke stepped away and looked him up and down, irritated that he thought he knew what she needed. Sniffing desperately and wiping her nose with the tissue, she wondered just who this man was, anyway. She’d never seen him before at the hospital. But, then again, she’d never had reason to come to the crèche before and the hospital was a big place. He might work anywhere. He might be a new employee.

Wiping away the last of her tears, she stared up at him. He was a good head taller than she. With very short dark blond hair, longer on top. Piercing blue eyes. Trim. Oozing strength and quiet, confident dominance. That was something that usually rubbed her up the wrong way. Eric had been overbearing. Had tried to control her. It was the kind of thing to send up the warning flags.

‘Look, I appreciate that you’re trying to help me, but—’

‘If they sense weakness it makes them more upset.’

She wiped her nose again for good measure, sure it was now probably as red as strawberry jelly. ‘The babies?’

He gave one curt nod.

‘She’s five months old. The only thing she senses is hunger, tiredness and whether she’s wet or not.’

‘You’d be surprised.’ He began to walk away.

Narrowing her eyes, Brooke followed after him. He was going in her direction anyway. She needed the lift again, to go down a couple of floors to A&E.

She pulled her mobile from her pocket to check the time.

Damn it!

The man got into the lift ahead of her. ‘Which floor?’

‘Ground level.’ She noticed he’d pressed the ‘G’ button, but no other. Frowning, she realised that he must work on her floor. He might work anywhere, though—A&E, the Medical Assessment Unit, Nuclear Medicine, Radiology...

He was looking at her. Looking her up and down. And, sickeningly, she noticed his gaze appeared to be centred on her chest. Men! Feeling her cheeks heat, she stared back at him, trying to make him lift his gaze a good few inches upwards, towards her face.

‘Is there a problem?’

‘You...er...might want to get out of those clothes.’

‘Excuse me?’ He had some front! He’d only just met her!

What is it with men? They do you one tiny favour and suddenly expect you to drop your—

‘You’ve got milk on your blouse, something questionable on your skirt, and you appear to be...’ he smiled and looked away, as if he was preserving her modesty ‘...leaking.’

Leaking? Brooke looked down at herself and instantly felt her cheeks flame with heat. She was indeed in a state. Her boobs had leaked milk—no doubt due to Morgan’s cries—she had a smear of what might possibly be poo at the top of her thigh from the earlier explosion, and there was indeed a smelly, sour milk stain, crusting away on her shoulder.

‘Oh, God...’

She reached into her handbag for wipes, but she didn’t have any. They were all in the nappy bag that she’d left with Daisy down in the crèche. She couldn’t work looking like this! She’d have to put some scrubs on. Making her even more late!

The lift doors pinged open and both she and the military man stepped out and turned left towards A&E. Frowning, Brooke looked at him once again, noting his proud bearing, his march rather than stride, and the fact that they were both most definitely heading towards the same department.

‘Do you work in A&E?’ she asked, curious.

Had she embarrassed herself in front of a new work colleague? Staff did come and go frequently. It was a pressured environment—stressful. Some people couldn’t hack it. But Brooke could. She loved it there.

‘I do.’

‘I work there, too.’

He stopped in his tracks immediately and looked at her, this time with a single raised eyebrow. ‘This is your first day back after maternity leave?’

How did he know that? Unless her friends had mentioned it to him... ‘Yes.’

His eyes widened. ‘You’re Dr Bailey?’

She nodded, surprised that he knew her name. ‘Yes. Who are you?’

He didn’t answer right away, and it took him a moment before he held out his hand. ‘Major Matt Galloway. Jen’s husband.’

She was unaware that her mouth had dropped open. But she numbly reached forward and shook his hand anyway.

She’d meant to call. She’d meant to. Only... Life had got in the way and she’d been struggling to cope herself. Life was harder and busier than she’d suspected it would be with a baby, and she was doing everything alone. Jen’s death three days after she’d given birth to Morgan had made her postnatal blues a lot worse and she’d been grieving herself.

Trying to get herself together just to get dressed and out of the house had seemed an insurmountable task—and then there was the fact that she’d never met Jen’s husband. She’d thought it might be awkward if she just turned up at their house on the other side of London. So she’d put it off and put it off, and when finally she’d thought that she really ought to go and offer her condolences and help so much time had passed she’d just felt that it wouldn’t be right.

It had made her feel incredibly guilty, and now the last person she’d expected to run into at work was Jen’s widower.

Had he just dropped off Lily?

She hadn’t even been able to make it to Jen’s funeral on time. She’d misjudged how long it would take her to get ready and out of the house, and when she’d got there the funeral had already started. She’d slipped into the back of the church and huddled in a pew at the back. Then—naturally—Morgan had begun crying and, not wishing to disturb the service, she’d crept back out. The only thing that would settle her daughter was being pushed in her pram, so she’d gone for a walk.

Returning to the church long after the service had finished she had stood looking down at Jen’s grave, tears dripping down her cheeks. Feeling so alone.

She’d thought maybe that Jen would have forgiven her for being late. It was the kind of person she’d been.

But Matt...? She had no idea how he’d feel. All she knew from Jen was that he was a stickler for rules and regulations.

‘Erm...hello.’ She managed a smile, aware now that he had seen her at her worst. ‘I didn’t expect to see you here.’

‘I work here.’

He did?

‘I’ve taken up Jen’s post. I needed to be working after—’ He stopped talking suddenly, his eyes darkening, and looked away.

‘I’m so sorry for your loss. I did make it to the funeral. And I tried to stay, but...’

‘But your baby started to cry and you took her outside.’

‘You noticed?’

He nodded, looking at her strangely. ‘I heard.’

‘I tried to make it back, but by the time she’d settled you’d all gone.’

‘That’s okay. I imagine you had your hands full.’

‘Well, I’m sure you did, too. How are things with the baby? It’s Lily, isn’t it?’

‘Yes. They’re difficult. She’s teething. Not sleeping very well.’

Morgan had just started teething too, so Brooke knew the misery of that. ‘It gets easier, they say. Let’s hang on to that.’

He continued to look at her carefully. ‘We should show our faces, seeing as we’re both late.’

She nodded. ‘Yes—yes, you’re right. Don’t want to anger the boss on the first day.’

‘You haven’t angered me.’

Brooke blinked. ‘You’re my boss?’

‘I’m Clinical Lead, yes.’

‘Right...’

She wasn’t sure what to say to that. The department had obviously gone through some changes she didn’t know about. Why hadn’t Kelly let her know? She’d mentioned they’d got some new eye candy in charge, but hadn’t mentioned who he was. Why not?

‘Well, I’m sorry I’m late.’

‘Why don’t you get changed and meet me in my office in ten minutes? There are a few new protocols you need to be aware of, and then I’ll assign you your duties.’

‘Sure.’ She nodded and smiled as he marched off towards his office.

Her new boss.

Jen’s husband.

She looked upwards, as if to heaven, and muttered, ‘You had to throw me one last curveball, huh?’

She shook her head in disbelief and pictured Jen grinning down at her.

* * *

Her first patient was a guy in his forties. When she called his name in the waiting room he stood up, one hand supporting the other. His triage card said ‘Query fracture left wrist’.

Matt had assigned her to Minors. She’d gone to the changing room, got into a pair of dark blue scrubs. When she’d gone to put her own clothes into her locker she’d done a double-take, noticing that Jen’s locker was just as she’d left it. No one had cleared it out yet. Seeing it there, with her friend’s name still on it, plastered with pictures of Hollywood heartthrobs, had made her heart miss a beat. In a way she was glad that no one had rushed to empty it. It meant that Jen had been valued. Loved.

Brooke had scooped her long brown hair up into a messy bun and set off to see Matt.

He’d looked every inch an army officer, seated behind his desk with his straight back in his neat office, everything perfectly positioned and aligned. He’d clasped his hands on the desk in front of him and run her through the new burns protocols and triage assessments.

Sitting there, looking at him, she’d wondered if the reason he held himself so formally in check was because he might fall apart if he relaxed. He seemed very stiff and distant now he was working—nothing like his relaxed, friendly, affable wife, who’d thought nothing of draping her arms around the shoulders of friends, who’d positively warmed everyone with her wide smile and closeness.

And then he’d said, ‘When you’ve dealt with each of your patients I’d like you to run your results past me before you discharge anyone.’

Run her results past him?

‘Why?’

‘Because I’ve asked you to.’

‘You don’t trust my judgement? I’ve been a doctor for many years. I know what I’m doing.’

‘But I’ve never worked with you before, and though I’m sure you have a stellar reputation, Dr Bailey, I’d like to make sure that my department is operating at its optimum level.’

So...the sympathetic father persona had disappeared the second he’d clocked on. He was all business, and Brooke had felt slighted that she wasn’t being trusted to treat a patient by herself, but would have to check in with Matt.

‘Fine—Major.’

She escorted her first patient through to a vacant cubicle and got him to sit down whilst she pulled out a new file. ‘So, do you want to tell me what happened?’

‘Nothing happened. That’s why I can’t understand why my wrist hurts so much!’

Brooke frowned. ‘Why don’t you start at the beginning? When did the pain start?’

‘I went to bed last night and my wrist was fine, but in the night I got woken suddenly by this intense pain in it—like lightning, it was. I sat up immediately and rubbed at it, and took some painkillers, but it was ages before I could get back to sleep. When I woke up it still hurt, and I noticed this bruising to the side of it.’

Brooke peered at his wrist. There was some bruising to it—like a dark cloud. Not much, though. ‘Have you had a fall recently?’

‘Not really. I was crouched down loading the washing machine the other day and I lost my balance slightly, put out my hands to stop myself from falling, but that’s all. It wasn’t a fall, as such.’

She examined his wrist and checked his range of motion. He could bend it and move it around without causing any extra pain. But he said he felt a constant burning sensation in the centre. She touched his fingers, asked if he could feel the sensation, if he had any numbness or tingling. He reported some tingling in his ring and little fingers. Capillary refill was good, and there didn’t seem to be any occlusion of the blood vessels.

‘I think, Mr Goodman, that you may have carpal tunnel syndrome. The pain waking you in the night is a classic symptom. But I’m going to send you for an X-ray just in case you’ve got a small fracture in one of the wrist bones, because carpal tunnel wouldn’t cause this bruising.’

‘Oh, right. Okay...’

‘Do you need any more painkillers whilst you wait?’

‘No, I can cope.’

She scribbled her findings onto his notes and then filled out a small slip of paper. ‘Right, would you like to come with me?’

Brooke walked him to the main corridor and pointed out a red line on the floor.

‘Follow that. It’ll take you to a new waiting area in Radiology. Hand in the form, they’ll take an X-ray or two, and then come back to the main waiting room. I’ll call you in when we’ve got the result.’

‘Thank you, Doctor.’ Mr Goodman headed off.

Brooke headed over to the doctors’ station to transfer her notes to the computer. Her friend Kelly was there too.

‘Welcome back! Finally got here, then?’

‘Yeah... Hey, why didn’t you tell me that our new boss was Jen’s husband?’

Kelly smiled. ‘Because I knew how guilty you felt about not calling in on him, and I thought that if you knew he was going to be your boss then you would just fret for weeks about starting work and today was going to be hard enough for you! How is Morgan? Did she settle into the crèche okay?’

‘She screamed her head off, which caused me to get upset, and that allowed our kind new Major to take great pleasure in letting me know I’d sprung a leak.’ She patted her chest and raised an eyebrow at her friend.

Kelly laughed. ‘Pads are in now, though, right?’

Brooke smiled. ‘Pads are most definitely in. They might be the most unsexy thing a woman ever has to wear, but they don’t half make your boobs look good.’

She pushed out her chest to emphasise their impressive size to her friend, unaware that at that moment Matt had come up right behind her.

He cleared his throat and Brooke instantly hunched over and spun in her chair to smile at him, cheeks flaming. ‘Hi.’

There was a ghost of a smile on his face. ‘How’s everything going, Dr Bailey?’

‘Erm...yeah...good, I think.’

She could hear Kelly sniggering behind her and made a mental note to kick her under the table later. How many more times would she get to embarrass herself in front of him? So far she’d cried, leaked milk everywhere, worn poo-stained clothes and thrust her breasts out on show like an amateur glamour model. What must he think of her?

‘How are things with you?’ she asked awkwardly, trying to fill the silence.

He smiled, and she briefly wondered why he didn’t do that more often. It transformed his face completely. He was a good-looking guy, but holding that stern, stoic I-am-not-amused pose did nothing for him. But smiling? Genuinely smiling? He could compete with the best of those heartthrobs stuck on Jen’s locker.

‘I’m good, thank you.’

‘That’s great.’ She smiled back, wondering what to say, what to do.

Why was this so awkward? She didn’t normally have difficulty getting on with colleagues or superiors. Why was talking to him so different?

In her scrubs pocket, her phone trilled. Not wanting to check her phone with him standing there, she continued to grin at him, waiting for him to say or do something.

‘Kelly, I’d like a quick word, if I may, when you’re free?’

Kelly nodded. ‘I’ll be five minutes.’

‘I’ll be in my office.’ And Matt turned on a dime and headed off.

Brooke let out a breath she hadn’t been aware she was holding. Then she turned to Kelly. ‘Wow. Way to go, Brooke. How come he calls you by your first name but calls me Dr Bailey?’

Kelly grinned. ‘Probably because of my stellar good looks and beauty and because he wants to get in my pants.’

Brooke gaped. ‘What?’

Her friend laughed. ‘I’m kidding! We’ve been working together for weeks now—he knows me more than you. This is your first day. He’s just being polite. He hasn’t met you properly over a packet of chocolate biscuits and a good mug of tea in the staff room yet.’

‘And he has you?’

In her mind she could still see him striding away. Tall. Straight-backed. Determined. A man on a mission. He didn’t seem the type to bond over a chocolate biscuit. Not with normal civilians, anyway. She wondered what he was like with his patients. Warm and fuzzy?

I don’t think so.

‘Absolutely. You don’t know the man until you’ve shared your deep and darkest secrets over a good brew.’

She sighed. ‘He doesn’t seem the type to do that. He seems quite standoffish to me. At least on duty, anyway.’

‘It’s hard for him.’

Brooke looked at her friend sharply. ‘It’s hard for us all.’

‘He’s stepped into his wife’s shoes. Taken her post. And he knows that we all knew her, that we all lost her, and most of all I think he’s frightened of you.’

‘Me? Why?’

‘You were her best friend. Everyone here knows how close you two got. And when Jen did get a call from him, from the deepest darkest jungle that Costa Rica could offer, and got to tell him about her day...she talked about you.’

‘She did?’

‘Of course she did. Jen loved you very much. She loved us all, but you the most. And he knows that of all the people in the world, you had a special place in his wife’s heart. Apart from him, you were the one who comforted her, who gave her a soft place to fall when he could not. Who looked after her as she carried his child.’ Kelly smiled. ‘You’re different to the rest of us mere mortals. He doesn’t know how to be with you yet.’

‘He doesn’t have to be afraid of me. We both loved her.’ All the sweet things Kelly had said had caused a lump to appear in her throat.

‘He’ll call you, Brooke. When he’s ready.’

‘He’s keeping me at a distance on purpose?’

Kelly nodded, then grinned. ‘Perhaps he needs to.’

Brooke gave her friend a questioning look. She was being ridiculous! She was no threat to anyone. Never had been, never would be. Men didn’t need to worry about her. They never had. Not her father, not Eric, not anyone.

Major Matt Galloway was the least likely man she would want to get too close to. He was abrupt and controlling and...and...

And she’d sworn never to have another man control her ever again. Not after the way Eric had become. That had been bad.

‘Do you need to wear make-up?’

‘Why have you put on perfume?’

‘I really don’t think you should wear that dress.’

‘Cover up more.’

‘Were you flirting with that guy?’

She shuddered just thinking about him.

No. Brooke was never going to get involved with another man again. They were too much trouble. Look at Eric! Look at her father! Every man there had ever been in her life had let her down. Walked away when she needed them the most.

It had made her self-sufficient. Taught her that she could stand on her own two feet. Getting pregnant with Morgan and becoming a single mother had taught her that she could do anything, but most of all it had shown her that she didn’t need anyone else.

And most definitely—most importantly—she knew that she did not need, or want, the approval or attention of her new boss Major Matt Galloway.

‘Well, he has nothing to fear from me. My heart most definitely has a “Do Not Enter” sign.’

CHAPTER TWO

‘DO YOU BELIEVE in broken hearts, Doc?’

Major Matt Galloway peered at his patient. She was seventy-nine, with fluffy white hair, and sat huddled in her wheelchair, as if life had beaten her down gradually, day after day. Pale, with dark circles under her eyes, she looked as if she needed a damned long sleep.

Yes, he did believe you could have a broken heart. Physically, there were lots of ways a heart could fail. But literally...? He saw people give up on life after the death of a loved one—die within days, hours or even minutes of a husband, wife or child. He’d thought it might happen to him once, but his body had stubbornly refused to give up. His logical mind had overpowered his heart and told it to suck it up, because he had a job to do. He had to be a father. And his principles had refused to let him leave someone behind who needed him.

‘I do,’ he said, but he was not keen to discuss his personal feelings with this patient. At work, he liked to remain professional. ‘It says here on your chart that you have non-specific chest pain. Your ECG was normal, as was your BP. Why don’t you tell me what you’re feeling and when it started?’

His patient rubbed at her chest. ‘I lost my Alfred three weeks ago. Cancer. After the funeral my chest began to hurt—up here.’ She rubbed at a spot just above her sternum. ‘It won’t go away.’

‘And if you had to rate the pain between zero and ten, ten being the worst pain you’ve ever felt, what would you score it at?’

‘A good seven.’

‘Does it hurt more when you breathe in? When you take deep breaths?’

‘Sometimes. And when I twist in my chair, reach for something, sometimes it can be like someone is stabbing me with a hot pick.’

It sounded skeletal or muscular to Matt. But they’d taken bloods and he wanted to see what they said before he made a diagnosis. ‘I’d like to examine you, if I may?’

She smiled at him good-naturedly. ‘Normally I wouldn’t mind if a good-looking man wanted to see more of me, but would you mind if you got a lady doctor to do it?’

He smiled back, not offended at all. ‘I’ll just get someone. Give me two minutes.’

He closed the curtain of the cubicle behind him and went looking for a spare doctor. They all looked incredibly busy, hurrying here and there. The only person he could see who was apparently doing nothing, standing by the triage board, checking her mobile phone, was Dr Bailey.

He’d known today was the day. That she would be returning after maternity leave. He’d known that today they would finally get to meet and his stomach had been a jumbled mess in anticipation. He’d heard so much about her—and not just from Jen. Apparently Dr Bailey was a wonderfully warm doctor—kind, caring, well-liked and respected in the department. But Jen had also said that Bailey was the loneliest person she had ever met. It was why she had befriended her. She’d said that this doctor gave so much of herself to others, including her patients, but always seemed somehow to be so alone. Afraid to reach out and depend on others.

He’d not known how to interpret that. Matt had never been alone. Raised in a large family of brothers, he had left them to study medicine, then enlisted. He’d had an army family. A whole platoon! And he’d had Jen, and then the news that there would be a little one coming along.

He’d never been alone until now. Oh, his brothers were always on the phone, and he sometimes heard from old comrades-in-arms, but Jen’s death had isolated him. It was as if her death had quarantined him from others. As if he was contagious. There’d been plenty of visitors to bring him food, and to offer to help with Lily, but something was different. He felt tainted. As if people were afraid to get too close to him in case something happened to them too. Or maybe it was a vibe that he was giving off, making people feel that they couldn’t get too close?

Jen had adored Dr Bailey. Loved her. He’d lost count of the amount of times his wife had laughed down the phone saying, ‘Oh, you’ll never guess what Brooke said today...’

He’d not expected the leaking, poo-stained, crying woman he’d met this morning to be the Dr Brooke Bailey. Nor for her to have awoken in him a protective streak when he’d heard her crying at the crèche. He’d empathised with her pain. Remembered how it had felt for him to leave Lily with a relative stranger.

The sound of her heartbroken sobs had tugged at his heartstrings and made his gut lurch. And that had been before he’d even known who she actually was! And that brief moment when she’d leaned against him, into him, enveloping him in her perfume as he’d guided her out through the crèche door, had made him yearn to wrap his arms around her.

And then he’d remembered she was a stranger. Someone he didn’t even know. Whom he’d probably never meet again.

Until he’d found out who she was.

Now he would have to work with her, keeping her at a safe distance while knowing that the two of them shared a bond—their love for a woman now gone.

He knew Brooke Bailey had been the most important person in his wife’s life—after him and Lily—and he’d been keen to meet this woman whom he’d felt sure would be intelligent, warm and sociable, just like his wife. A together person. Someone with whom he could also build a bond. No, he’d definitely not expected the woman he’d met this morning. Emotionally wrought and no doubt sleep-deprived too, if Lily’s current behaviour was anything to go by.

‘Dr Bailey?’

He saw her guiltily drop her mobile phone back into her scrubs pocket and look up, her cheeks colouring with a most beautiful shade of rose.

‘Major! Sorry, I was just checking everything was okay at the crèche.’

He could understand that. The first few days he had left his daughter there he had done the same thing. Lily was the most precious thing in the world to him, and to hand her over to strangers had been difficult. It was easier for him now. He’d been doing it for over a month. Not so Dr Bailey. He had to make allowances.

‘And is it?’

She nodded, seeming surprised that he had even asked.

‘A patient has requested a female doctor for an examination. Are you free?’

‘Yes. I was just looking for you, actually. You wanted me to report in before I discharged my patients.’

He could hear the reluctant tone in her voice but he dismissed it. It wasn’t a personal thing he’d done, just because she’d been away from work for a while. He’d asked it of all his staff. He needed to know how the people who were on his team worked.

‘Okay. I’ll take a look at your findings once we’ve dealt with Mrs Merchant.’

He led her over to his patient’s cubicle and, once inside, explained her symptoms and the results of her tests so far. Then he stepped back. ‘I’ll step outside.’ And closed the curtain behind him, listening as Dr Bailey conducted her examination. He heard her ask to listen to the patient’s chest, heard her check the range of movement and finally warning Mrs Merchant that she was about to press on the front of her chest...

‘Ow! That hurts!’ His patient cried out.

‘Here?’

‘Yes! Dear Lordy—what do you think is causing that?’

Dr Bailey let Mrs Merchant fasten her clothing again and invited Matt back in.

Matt nodded to let her know he’d heard what had happened and to deliver the diagnosis. ‘I think you may have costochondritis.’

‘What’s that when it’s at home?’

‘It’s an inflammation of the cartilage that joins your ribs to your breastbone. It’s a very painful condition.’

‘I know it is. I can feel it!’

‘We’ll just check your bloods first, but I think we can safely say we need to get you on some anti-inflammatories. I’ll be back in a moment.’

They left Mrs Merchant and headed over to the doctors’ station. Dr Bailey handed him her notes from the guy with carpal tunnel syndrome. He’d also got a non-displaced break in his scaphoid, the small bone at the base of his thumb, and she’d given him a splint to wear and prescribed painkillers in case it got worse. Simple enough. Direct, effective, and she hadn’t wasted resources on tests that he hadn’t needed. Exactly what he’d wanted to see.

‘That’s excellent. You can discharge him.’ He handed back the file, expecting her to walk away from him and get on with her work, but she lingered, as if wanting to ask him something. ‘Anything else?’

‘Yes...’ She looked around her, lowering her voice. ‘Jen’s locker.’

He straightened, felt his chin lifting. He was defensive because he hadn’t got around to sorting it out yet. He’d felt that by doing so he would finally be wiping away the existence of his wife here. Seeing it still there each morning was reassuring. He could almost pretend that she was about to walk in through the door at any moment.

‘Yes?’

‘If you need someone to help sort it...when you feel ready... I’d like to offer to help.’

Jen’s locker.

It was one last tiny island of his wife. Coming back home to the house from Costa Rica had been bad enough. There had been a whole houseful of her possessions to sort through. At first he’d not wanted to get rid of anything, thinking that Lily would want to know all about her mother when she got older. But seeing his wife’s clothes draped over radiators and the shower rail in the bathroom had got too much, and he’d conducted a vast cleaning frenzy, taking bags of her stuff to local charity shops but keeping small things like jewellery, the odd knick-knack that Jen had loved, just in case Lily wanted them when she grew up.

Items that were precious—her wedding ring, her engagement ring, a clay pot she’d once tried to make at a pottery class. The pot had gone drastically wrong, and looked as if a four-year-old had tried to make it, but it didn’t matter that it was ugly and misshapen. His wife’s hands had made it—her fingers had deftly tried to mould the clay—and he’d been unable to throw it out. He knew that one day Lily would hold it in her hands and imagine her mother’s fingers in the same places.

There were still photos of Jen at the house. He’d not made a clean sweep and erased her completely. She was still there. Her paint choices on the walls. Her silly magnets on the fridge. Her perfume in the bathroom.

Getting rid of her things had been painful, and when he’d come to work at the London Grace he’d forgotten that she would have a locker here. That was going to be very difficult. Touching the things she’d used and worn every day. Things that were as familiar to her as they would be new to him.

He knew he had to do it. At some point. It had been there too long already and everyone else had been too polite to mention it. Not that Dr Bailey was being impolite. Just concerned. And he understood that. She was right. It was maudlin to think that keeping a dead woman’s locker undisturbed somehow kept her alive.

‘Yes. I’ll...get round to it later today.’

Her mouth dropped open. ‘Oh! I didn’t mean to force you to do it straight away. I—’

‘It’s fine. I should have done it a long time ago.’

‘I’ll help, if you need it.’

‘I should be fine doing it myself. Thank you, Dr Bailey.’

He hadn’t meant to be so dismissive of her. She was only offering to help him do a task he’d been shirking for too long now. But the tone in his voice had risen because she’d reminded him that he was afraid to tackle it on his own. Worried about what he might find in there. Something uniquely personal, perhaps. Some keepsake that would strike another blow to his heart when it was already so weakened.

She nodded, blushing at his tone, and though he liked the way the soft rosy colour in her cheeks somehow made her eyes sparkle that little bit more, he felt guilty as she walked away with that look of hurt in her eyes.

Had he meant to be so acerbic? Could he not have reined that in? After all, he’d become a master at doing that lately. Putting a tight leash on his emotions. It was easier, after all, to pretend that things didn’t hurt. When you were on your own it was easier, anyway.

He briefly wondered who was there for Dr Bailey. Surely she wasn’t as alone as his wife had made out? For a start, there had to be a father to her baby. Where was he? Jen had mentioned he was some low-life who had adhered to the adage Treat them mean, keep them keen. Though, thank the Lord, Dr Bailey had had enough self-respect to walk away from someone like that!

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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