Chapter Fourteen

Tom took her at her word. In the weeks since she’d stolen out of his room at the Lodge, she hadn’t even had a text. He hadn’t called because she’d begged him not to in her note. That was the idea, to make a clean break and warn him off. Her stomach lurched, adding to the queasiness brought on by the heat and the crowds packing the shop where she was Christmas shopping with Su.

What if Tom had already gone abroad?

“Red or purple, hon, what do you think?”

Keira turned her eyes on the bolts of silk Su was holding up in front of her. Even the clash of colours made her feel woozy, the dazzling dark blue, imperial mauve, gold and red. Crimson Lake, Yellow Ochre, just like the paint pots at school. There was Prussian blue too: just like Tom’s eyes.

“Hey, are you with me in the shop or on another planet?”

She managed a smile. Her friend deserved better than this, especially as the shopping trip was for her sake anyway. Su knew they’d split up; she just didn’t know why.

“Sorry. They’re both stunning. Beautiful.”

“Hmm. Maybe I should get both made up,” said Su, fingering the silken bolts which shimmered in the harsh lights of the store. Keira tried hard to concentrate. This wouldn’t do. She still wanted Tom so much it had started to make her ill.

“Let’s decide over a drink,” said Su gently, laying a hand on her arm. “What’s it to be? Latte, mochaccino or just plain tea and a mince pie?”

“Can I just have mineral water?”

“Sure, but are you all right? I mean, is this Keira Grayson turning down a caffeine and sugar hit?”

Keira tried to stifle the tide of heat and nausea rising through her. “Sorry, Su, it’s so stuffy in here. I feel a bit dehydrated.”

“Water it is, then, and the going-away outfit can wait.”

Keira jumped out of her skin as the intercom buzzed out, sending her neatly arranged pile of papers fluttering from the sofa to the floor. She glanced at the clock above the mantelpiece. Was it half-past nine already? She must have been sitting here since dinner, if you could call a half-eaten bowl of cereal a dinner.

She hesitated before answering. Already on the point of giving up on the application form for deputy head, she had abandoned the marking an hour ago. She wasn’t really doing justice to the children’s projects on the Tudors, creative though most of them were. Ben Chalmers’ painting of Henry VIII fighting pirates with a cutlass really was something.

But even Ben at his most endearing couldn’t stop her mind from dwelling on what had happened earlier in her tiny bathroom. The turmoil of emotions, the creeping dread, and the sliver of hope, as she’d perched on the edge of the bath and waited. She’d watched every second of the three minutes tick by and then, holding her breath, peered at that little window on the indicator stick.

She might have known, of course, that her cycle wasn’t as regular as she thought, especially not lately with all the excitement and worry over a new relationship with Tom. Nonetheless, she’d cried like a baby when she’d seen her suspicions confirmed by the blue lines in the indicator, even thought she’d already known it, deep in her heart.

The intercom nagged again. A double buzz this time, impatient and demanding. She felt a jag of unease that didn’t help her swirling stomach. Who came calling at half-past nine? Double glazing salesmen? Hmm… That was a possibility. Or maybe her mum. If it was her mum, how the hell was she going to keep a straight face and hide the truth?

Springing up from the sofa, she pressed the button. “Mum!”

There was a pause, then a voice. Deep, rich and definitely not her mother.

“It’s Tom.”

Keira put her hand on the wall to steady herself. Her heart thudded wildly. Her mum turning up right now would have been bad enough, but Tom? That was a hundred times worse! Keeping her secret from the other side of the world was one thing, but lying to him face-to-face? How could she do it?

“What do you want?” she said, shaky-voiced, against the intercom.

“Let me in, and I’ll tell you.”

“I don’t think it’s such a good idea.”

“Please, Keira.”

The metal speaker was misted with her breath. She leaned back against the wall and clenched her fists. The moment she’d seen the positive result, she knew what she must do; she just hadn’t banked on having to face him. Tom must never hear that she was carrying his child. If he knew before he went, he’d never go. He’d stay and care for her because it was his duty. And now she knew completely, now he’d told her what happened with Sarah, that the man she loved did duty and guilt better than anyone she’d ever known.

His voice cut through her. “I’m not going away, Keira, so you may as well give in now. Unless you want a frozen body on the doorstep in the morning.”

Her heart flipped. “That’s an interesting thought. Tempting, in fact, but I’m busy and going to bed.”

“Both at once? Well, while I’m quite prepared to bed down here, there is an alternative. I could also use your spare key. At the back of the electricity meter cupboard, isn’t it?”

Keira pressed the button, put her head in her hands and wailed inwardly. There was only one thing for it. She had to put on the performance of a lifetime.

Tom took the stairs two at a time, cursing as the plastic bag he was carrying bumped against the pushchair left by Keira’s neighbour. He heard the baby upstairs crying as he reached the landing and waited to be allowed inside. When the door finally opened, he was met by a woman whose unusually grave expression was a strange contrast to her pyjamas. If he wasn’t mistaken, they had cartoon rabbits romping over them. Her hair was scraped back in a ponytail, her face was free of makeup, and she looked so fragile and beautiful she almost took the breath from his body.

He knew then, if he hadn’t known before, that he was lost. “Yes?” Her eyes regarded him unflinchingly, so different to the girl he’d first met in the churchyard. Back then he’d been arrogant, cool and confident, and she’d been awkward and embarrassed. Somehow, he felt their roles were reversed now, that she was in charge. “I wasn’t sure you were still in the UK.”

“As you can see, at the moment, I am. There’s been a delay with my visa. Keira I got your note.”

“Oh.” He saw something bloom on her face. Guilt? No, she mustn’t feel that, not for his sake. “I—I’m sorry about that. But you see, I wanted to avoid…this kind of a scene. If that makes me a coward, then I’m sorry, but I thought it was for the best,” she said.

A coward? Her? No, he wouldn’t let her lay that on herself. “No,” he said firmly. “You don’t have to apologise or explain. After what you heard from me, you had every right to leave.”

She lifted luminous blue eyes to him. Beautiful eyes like a tropical lagoon under a noonday sky. And yet, close up there were faint shadows under them. Had he caused this? Was it wrong to hope he had, and because of that, he still had a chance?

She sounded dreadfully tired. “What happened? What you told me has nothing, and I mean nothing, to do with the way I left.”

Tom raised his eyebrows and felt a tug of pure love.

“It’s not that I don’t care about you, Tom. I do, of course I care. It’s just that I don’t know how to help you, and I thought it was for the best. I wanted to spare both of us any pain. You don’t need it with your new job ahead of you, and I certainly could do without any more upheaval. We’ve got Ofsted inspections coming up at school.” This was a new Keira, with steel in her voice, steel sheathed in velvet but every bit as unyielding.

“Hear me out, please. I brought you this.” He held out his gift. It was wrapped in a supermarket plastic bag. It was all he had, but he hoped she would understand. Uncertainty flickered across her eyes like a breeze riffling the surface of a lagoon. She pulled off the bag with shaky hands and held it.

“It’s beautiful,” she said, balancing it reverently on upturned palms.

“It’s a story board,” he explained as she sat down and laid the carved wooden panel on her lap.

She hadn’t asked him to sit. She didn’t want him lingering, he knew that, but he wouldn’t be put off. He’d say what he had to, had wanted to for almost as long as he’d known her and had admitted it to himself only when he’d finally allowed himself to speak of his pain and guilt at being comforted.

Only in the morning when he’d found her note had he realised what he was about to lose or rather what he might be carelessly throwing away. Day and night since he’d last seen her, he’d turned it over in his mind until the tiny chink of light in his wall of guilt had opened a little farther. Until he’d admitted that he might take the first step to move on if she would walk alongside him. If he could persuade her to come with him to Papua…

But now he felt sick. Like there was no glimmer of light, after all. That his way lay on the other side of the world, on his own.

“It was carved in the village where I work,” he said quietly, as if speaking too loudly, moving too boldly, would frighten her. “It tells a story of day-to-day life there, such as fishing on the river, people working, cooking, and bringing up children. You see…” He pointed to two small figures playing by a boat, carved and painted in earthy shades of charcoal and chocolate, terracotta and russet.

His eyes were drawn to her fingers as she traced the outlines of men and boats and animals, her thumb rubbing at the figures playing by a canoe.

“It really is very special, Tom.” She stopped, and he was sure she could hear his heart beating. Even though he knew it to be impossible, that thudding in his chest, was it audible?

She couldn’t hear, of course not, and she asked him softly, “How can you bear to part with it?”

How can I bear to part with you, Keira? Those were the words that tore at him but stayed inside his heart, locked up and imprisoned forever now.

“I wanted you to have something as a keepsake. To remember me by…and…”

“That’s very sweet.”

“Sweet?” he echoed.

“Very, Tom. I’ll treasure it. Always.” It was still on her lap. Her soft fingertips were still resting on the figures by the boat. It had to be the moment…

“And now”—her voice was so soft and gentle as she cut him through—“please, can you leave me? I can’t do good-byes. I’m sorry, but I just can’t.”

Tom wanted to scream in frustration. She couldn’t do this. He had to say what he had come for, what he had agonized over since she’d left his bed in the cold morning after the dream.

“Tom…” Her voice was so gentle and yet so devastating to his hopes. “It’s over between us.”

His carefully rehearsed speech, the words he had struggled for so hard, froze on his lips. The questions he’d intended to ask evaporated. What if you came with me? Took a sabbatical from school? You could see how you like it; they’re crying out for teachers, wonderful teachers like you. I could do my job, and we could be together. It would be the best of both worlds.

He only mouthed mechanically, “I just came to…tell you to take care. To see if you were okay and give you this gift.”

“And it’s a wonderful farewell gift. What we’ve had has been incredible and amazing, but it’s time for us both to get back to reality.”

But…there was always a but. Life could never be what he wanted, not even close. The idea that he could be together with her started to disappear like a ship on the horizon, and he was the man marooned on the desert island, a bone-dry dot of land, with no hope of ever seeing Keira again.

“It’s been wonderful, but it’s time for us both to move on. You see”—she smiled ruefully at him from shining eyes—“I have plans too. Not as worthy or exciting as yours, but important to me. In fact”—she nodded at a pile of papers lying on the carpet—“I’ve applied for a deputy head’s job. That’s what I was doing when you called.” She smiled. “If I get it, I might even get a bigger flat.”

He couldn’t speak, with all he wanted to say frozen on his lips. Keira, I need you. Come with me. Love me.

It could never be. How could it have ever been?

She had the final blow for him, and it felt as if she were twisting a knife into his heart.

“Once upon a time, you know, I had my chance to move and live somewhere different and exciting. Someone else—my ex, Alex, he wanted me to go to Dubai with him. I didn’t, of course. I had Mum to look after, and it meant giving up everything. He didn’t understand. He tried to make me, in fact. He called me dull and boring and unadventurous. Well, he might have been right, but now I’m going to do something for me. Not very exciting, but that’s what I want from life.”

“Keira, you have the right to everything you’ve ever dreamed of.”

She gripped the contours of the story board again and wished with all her heart he would just disappear. He stayed solidly where he was, tall and strong and so very real. He pierced her with one of his looks, so intense that she thought he must be able to see into her eyes and beyond, to see that she loved him, that she was carrying his precious gift to her.

“The man who called you that was wrong.” He wished that man had been there now so he could crush him. He felt an anger and loss of control he hadn’t before. “You are the bravest, sweetest person I know.”

He looked at her, sitting there, holding his farewell gift, and he knew. She didn’t care about him enough to follow him, she didn’t love him, and that was his true punishment.

She got to her feet and put the story board down on the sofa next to her. “Thanks for the adventure, but now it’s time for you to go on the next part of the journey without me. I’ll stay here and go on mine. Maybe in another time, another place, it might have worked out but not here and now.”

As she said it, Keira thought she could hear her heart beating, and although it was impossible, that of the tiny life blooming inside her. Tom mustn’t know the truth. If he did, he’d stay, probably offer to marry her and maybe grow to despise her too for keeping him here against his will and judgment. She’d always know he’d stayed out of guilt and duty for just the same reasons he was going back to Papua now.

She brushed the lips that had once kissed her so passionately, so hungrily, so many times before.

“Good-bye, Tom,” she murmured. “Do what you have to do.”

“You too,” he whispered, his breath warm against her cheek. “Good-bye, Keira.”

Then he turned and opened the door to the flat and walked out, without looking backwards or uttering another word. She heard his footsteps growing quieter on the stairs until there was only silence.

Keira did not go in for weeping as a rule. She saved that for major trauma and soppy films. For when her mum had told her she needed the biopsy, for instance, and for when the surgeon had given her the news that she was on the road to recovery. She saved crying for when she watched something really silly like Pretty Woman or Ghost. She saved her tears for the two extremes. The stuff that didn’t matter and the stuff that really, really did.

Parting from Tom really, really mattered, and finally, after all these weeks, she knew she had to let her emotions out, otherwise she’d do it in school during the nativity play or in the playground or shopping or round at her mum’s for tea.

Grabbing a box of tissues, she curled up under the duvet on her bed and waited. It took a whole hour, and finally it was the sound of an old diesel engine rattling past the window that did it. Before long, the pillow was soaked, her nose was running, and she knew, dimly, as she hurled her pain into the darkness, that her anguished howls must be breaking every noise rule in the flat’s lease.

And she didn’t give a damn, not a single, bloody damn, she told herself as she ripped another fistful of tissues from the box. She didn’t care about anything at that moment but the fact that Tom was gone forever and she was carrying his child, and what on earth was she ever going to do?

Back at the Lodge Tom threw his keys on the kitchen table and leaned against the worktop. Keira’s note was still lying on the kitchen worktop where he’d left it, accusing him. It was stained with coffee now, the purple pen oozing into the paper, he’d read it so often. “Maybe in another time, another place—but not here and now.” That had been her final word to him as she’d practically pushed him out of the flat.

Next to the note was an A4 manila envelope with a London postmark. He knew what it would be without opening it: an information pack and a contract to sign.

Leaving was just a formality now, and yet he felt his gut twisting, an anger rising in his heart, his mind. He brought his arm down and swept the papers off the worktop, sending them flying onto the shiny tiles.

It was three in the morning when he woke up cold and stiff on the sofa, having spent the rest of the evening checking through the kit in the dining room. In a few days, he was off to London to discuss the schedule for his new posting.

He had to conquer this. He had work to do, and staff to brief ready for his new post. He owed it to the job to give 100%, and by Christmas he would be back in the village amongst the people who needed him. That was where his body belonged, and one day, if he worked as hard as he could, he hoped his heart and mind would follow too.