The Fiancée He Can't Forget. Caroline Anderson

TOOK her weeks to work out what was going on.

      Weeks in which Matt was in her head morning, noon and night. She kept telling herself she’d done the right thing, that not seeing him again was sensible, but it wasn’t easy to convince herself. Not easy at all, and Daisy and Ben being so blissfully happy didn’t help.

      She ached for him so much it was physical, but she’d done the right thing, sending him away. She had. She couldn’t rely on him, couldn’t trust him again with her heart. And she was genuinely relieved when her period came right on cue, because although she might want him, the thought of going through another pregnancy terrified her, and for the first time since the wedding she felt herself letting go of an inner tension she hadn’t even been aware of.

      She could move on now. They’d said their goodbyes, and it was done.

      Finished.

      The autumn came and went, and December arrived with a vengeance. It rained, and when it wasn’t raining, it was sleeting, and then it dried up and didn’t thaw for days. And her boiler broke down in her flat.

      Marvellous, she thought. Just what she needed. She contacted her landlord, but it would be three weeks before it could be replaced—more, maybe, because plumbers were rushed off their feet after the freeze—and so she gave in to Ben and Daisy’s gentle nagging, and moved into Daisy’s house just ten days before Christmas.

      ‘It’s only temporary, till my boiler’s fixed,’ she told them firmly, but they just smiled and nodded and refused to take any rent on the grounds that it was better for the house to be occupied.

      Then Daisy had her twenty-week scan, and of course she asked to see the photo. What else could she do? And she thought she’d be fine, she saw them all the time in her work, but it really got to her. Because of the link to Matt? She had no idea, but it haunted her that day and the next, popping up in every quiet moment and bringing with it a rush of grief that threatened to undermine her. She and Matt had been so happy, so deliriously overjoyed back then. And then, so shortly before her scan was due—

      A laugh jerked her out of her thoughts, a laugh so like Matt’s that it could so easily have been him, and she felt her heart squeeze. Stupid. She knew it was Ben. She heard him laugh all the time. And every time, she felt pain like a solid ball wedged in her chest.

      She missed him. So, so much.

      ‘Oh, Amy, great, I was hoping I’d find you here. New admission—thirty-four weeks, slight show last night, mild contractions which could just be Braxton Hicks’. Have you got time to admit her for me, please? She’s just moved to the area last week, so we haven’t seen her before but she’s got her hand-held notes.’

      She swiped the tears from her cheeks surreptitiously while she pretended to stifle a yawn. ‘Sure. I could do with a break from this tedious admin. I’ll just log off and I’ll be with you. What’s her name?’

      ‘Helen Kendall. She’s in the assessment room.’

      Amy found her sitting on the edge of the chair looking worried and guilty, and she introduced herself.

      ‘I’m so sorry to just come in,’ Helen said, ‘but I was worried because I’ve been really overdoing it with the move and I’m just so tired,’ she blurted out, and then she started to cry.

      ‘Oh, Helen,’ Amy said, sitting down next to her and rubbing her back soothingly. ‘You’re exhausted—come on, let’s get you into a gown and into bed, and let us take care of you.’

      ‘It’s all my fault, I shouldn’t have let him talk me into it, we should have waited and now the baby’s going to be too early,’ she sobbed. Oh, she could understand the guilt all too well, but thirty-four weeks wasn’t too early. Not like eighteen weeks …

      ‘It’s not your fault,’ she said with a calm she didn’t feel, ‘and thirty-four weeks is quite manageable if it comes to that. It may well not. Come on, chin up, and let’s find out what’s going on.’

      She handed Helen a gown, then left her alone for a few minutes to change and do a urine sample while she took the time to get her emotions back in order. What was the matter with her? She didn’t think about her baby at all, normally. It was seeing that picture of Daisy’s baby, and thinking about Matt again—always Matt.

      She pulled herself together and went back to Helen.

      This was her first pregnancy, it had been utterly straightforward and uncomplicated to this point, and there was no reason to suspect that anything would go wrong even if she did give birth early. The baby was moving normally, its heartbeat was loud and strong, and Helen relaxed visibly when she heard it.

      ‘Oh, that’s so reassuring,’ she said, her eyes filling, and she was still caressing her bump with a gentle, contented smile on her face when Ben arrived.

      ‘OK, Helen, let’s have a look at this baby and see how we’re doing,’ he said, and Amy watched the monitor.

      The baby was a good size for her dates, there was no thinning of Helen’s uterus as yet, and her contractions might well stop at this point, if she was lucky. Not everyone was.

      She sucked in a breath and stepped back, and Ben glanced up at her and frowned.

      ‘You OK?’

      ‘Just giving you a bit more room,’ she lied.

      He grunted. It was a sound she understood. Matt used to do the same thing when he knew she was lying. Maybe they were more alike than she’d realised.

      ‘Right, Helen, I’m happy with that. We’ll monitor you, but I’m pretty sure they’re just Braxton Hicks’ and this will all settle down. We’ll give you drugs to halt it if we can and steroids to mature the baby’s lungs just to be on the safe side, and then if it’s all stable and there’s no change overnight, you can go home tomorrow.’