His Emergency Fiancée (15 page)

* * *

‘Kirsty, love.’ Morag hugged her warmly in the doorway, then stood back to usher her inside. ‘You look terrible. What’s happened?’

‘It’s a long story,’ Kirsty said quietly, putting her overnight bag down, ‘and I didn’t want to tell you over the phone.’

‘Ben’s all right?’

She nodded. ‘He’s fine. Just…’ She took a deep breath. ‘It’s hard to know where to start.’

‘Try the beginning.’ Morag led her into the kitchen, sat her down and switched the kettle on. ‘Tea? Or do you need a tot of whisky?’

Kirsty grimaced. ‘Sorry, I’m not a spirits drinker. Tea’d be lovely, thanks.’

‘It must be serious for you to fly all the way up here and then get a hire car,’ Morag said. ‘If you’d phoned earlier I could have sent a taxi.’

‘That’s OK. I didn’t mind driving.’ Actually, she had. Driving along the lochside had been hell—she’d driven like a snail, worried that she might hit a deer, and she’d ended up pulling into a passing place several times so the impatient traffic behind her could file past. Plus, she’d been reminded of the last time she’d driven there, with Ben. In the days before she’d ruined everything.

‘So what’s happened?’

‘I…’ To her horror, Kirsty burst into tears. By the time she’d composed herself again and Morag had made them both a cup of tea, she felt hideously embarrassed. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘That’s all right, love. Now, what’s wrong?’

Kirsty ended up telling Morag the whole sorry story—how the engagement had been cooked up by Ben to stop Morag worrying about him, and how she’d agreed to help him. And how she’d made the fatal mistake of falling in love with him and telling him, so she’d ruined everything.

When she’d finished, Morag looked stricken.

‘I’m sorry, Morag. I know you’re ill—that’s why I came up to tell you in person. I thought it’d be less of a shock for you than hearing it over the phone,’ Kirsty said finally. ‘Also I’m a doctor, so I’m here if you’re taken ill overnight or what have you.’

‘Oh, Kirsty. What have I done?’

‘What have
you
done?’ Kirsty repeated, not understanding.

Morag passed a shaking hand over her face. ‘I’m not ill.’

‘But—the angina?’

‘Oh, that’s nothing.’ Morag flapped her hand dismissively. ‘The doctor’s given me tablets for that.’ She bit her lip. ‘I thought if Ben was worried about me, he might wake up to himself and settle down. So I let him think there was a bit more to it than that.’

‘So you’re all right really? Apart from the angina, that is?’

Morag nodded. ‘I knew I shouldn’t have done it. I always brought him up never to tell lies. When you asked me what was wrong—here and on the phone—I lost my nerve a bit. I didn’t know how to tell you the truth. If I had, you wouldn’t have had to hare all the way up here…Oh, I’m so sorry.’

‘That’s OK. I can understand why you said it. I didn’t think Ben’d ever settle down either,’ Kirsty admitted. ‘Even his nicer girlfriends never seemed to last more than three weeks. He just didn’t seem to let anyone get close.’

‘Except you,’ Morag pointed out.

‘As his friend. I’m not even that now.’

‘And you love him?’

Kirsty nodded. ‘If only I hadn’t told him.’

‘He’d probably have guessed,’ Morag said.

‘And backed off anyway,’ Kirsty finished. She sighed. ‘I don’t understand it. Why’s he so scared of commitment—of love? He had a happy childhood with you.’

‘Not as happy as it could have been.’ Morag poured them both some more tea, and opened a tin of her homemade honey biscuits. ‘His mother saw to that.’

‘But she died when he was young, didn’t she?’

‘Is that what Ben told you?’

‘No, but he never mentioned her being around after his father died. I just assumed…’ Kirsty’s voice faded. It looked as if Ben hadn’t trusted her completely either—even in the days when they’d been close. He hadn’t told her the truth about his mother. Kirsty ignored the fact that she’d been just as economical with the truth about Luke.

‘Sarah couldn’t cope when Ben’s father died. She went to pieces and asked me to look after the boy for a while. Then she took him back—until she met someone else. Gordon didn’t want children and she wanted Gordon, so she shipped Ben back to me. He was five at the time.’

Kirsty, imagining Ben as a small, confused child, not understanding why his dad and then his mum suddenly weren’t around, could have cried for him. ‘But he stayed with you for good after that?’

‘Though he still wanted his mum. He used to be so excited when Sarah was coming to see him for the weekend.’

‘At least they had weekends together, then.’

Morag’s eyes glittered. ‘Precious few. Most of the time, she cancelled at the last minute. There was always some excuse—Gordon needed her to go to a function with him or there was an important dinner party. Always something. I used to ring her to remind her about Ben’s birthday, but most of the time she was weeks late for it. Even his Christmas presents were late, and she always said it’d be better for me to go to parents’ evening and the nativity play at school, seeing as I was bringing him up.’

Kirsty’s eyes sparked orange with outrage. ‘How could she
do
that to him, keep letting him down like that?’

‘It’s just the way she was.’ Morag was phlegmatic about it, but Kirsty guessed the older woman had been angry on Ben’s behalf at the time. As angry as Kirsty was now.

‘Is she still alive?’ Kirsty asked.

Morag nodded. ‘Though Ben hasn’t spoken to her since he was fourteen. She asked him to come and live with her after she divorced Gordon—but three weeks later she met someone else.’

‘And sent Ben back to you again?’ Kirsty guessed.

‘Aye. She didn’t mean to hurt him, mind. She just couldn’t be the kind of mum he wanted, there for him all the time.’ Morag gave a heavy sigh. ‘Maybe that’s why he’s never settled down. Maybe he’s afraid to get too close to anyone in case he’s let down again. Or maybe he thinks he’ll turn out like his mother and he doesn’t want to hurt anyone the way he was hurt. I don’t know.’ She bit her lip. ‘I thought with you it’d be different.’

‘I’d never let him down,’ Kirsty said fiercely.

‘I know, dear. He knows it, too, deep down. But sometimes when you’re scared you can’t think logically.’

Kirsty nodded slowly. ‘So where do we go from here?’

‘I don’t know.’ The old lady’s eyes glittered. ‘It’s something you’ll have to work out between you.’

* * *

Kirsty slept badly and was sitting in Morag’s kitchen early the next morning, drinking tea with her feet up by the old range cooker, when the phone rang. Not wanting the old lady to rush downstairs and risk a fall, Kirsty answered it. ‘Hello?’

‘Kirst? Is that you?’

She recognised his voice instantly. ‘Hello, Ben.’

‘Are you all right?’

‘I’m fine.’

‘And Gran?’

‘Fine.’

‘What have you told her?’

‘The truth. That we never really were engaged.’

‘And?’

‘And she’s fine, Ben. She understands.’

‘But her illness…’

‘You’ve got nothing to worry about.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘I’ll let her tell you.’

‘I’m catching the first flight up this morning.’

She could hear the panic in his voice. ‘You don’t need to do that. Really. She’s fine.’

* * *

Gran was all right, thank God. But how was Kirsty? He couldn’t tell from her voice. She had her doctor’s voice on, professional and calm. Was she hurt, angry, sad? Relieved, even? Ben’s throat hurt and he could hardly get the words out. ‘Your note…Did you mean it?’

‘Yes.’

‘All of it?’

‘How do you mean?’

The bit about not being friends again. Please, don’t let her have meant that. ‘It wasn’t your fault, you know that. It was mine.’ He sighed. ‘I should have just left things how they were between us.’

‘It’s done now.’

And it can’t be undone. ‘Kirst, I never meant to hurt you. You were—
are
—my best friend.’

‘So why didn’t you tell me about your mum?’

His
mother
? Why was she asking about his mother? Ben’s knuckles turned white as he gripped the receiver. What had Gran told her? ‘It wasn’t important.’

‘Not important enough to share with me?’

‘No,’ he said shortly. He didn’t want to discuss Sarah. Not now, not ever. She wasn’t part of his life any more. ‘Anyway, according to your note, you’re not.’

‘Not what?’

‘My best friend any more.’

He was taken aback to hear her laugh. ‘What’s so funny?’

‘You sound like a five-year-old at school. I bet your bottom lip’s sticking out.’

‘It’s doing nothing of the kind,’ he said stiffly.

‘You’ve got your sulky voice on.’

‘Now who’s behaving like a five-year-old?’ He paused. ‘Come home, Kirst.’

‘Home?’

‘To Southbay.’ To
me.
No. He couldn’t tell her that. Sound too needy and she’d walk away—just like Sarah always had. He had to keep it light. ‘We’re out of clean plates and it’s your turn to do the washing-up.’

‘You know where the dishcloth is.’

‘I miss you.’ The words were out before he could stop them. Hell. He hadn’t meant to tell her that. He could barely admit it to himself. ‘Being around the place, I mean. It’s weird not having to queue for the bathroom.’

‘Maybe you ought to get a new housemate.’

‘No, I’m used to you now.’

‘Seriously, Ben. Maybe I should move out.’

‘Don’t do that, Kirst. We’ve been together too long.’

‘Maybe that’s the point,’ she said sadly.

‘Look, I’ve hurt you and I’m sorry. I told you I can’t do the white-lace-and-promises bit. But I don’t want to lose you,’ he added for clarification.

She didn’t want to lose him either. But she wasn’t sure if she could cope with going back to their old relationship after what had happened between them. How could she stand watching him go out with other women when she wanted him for herself? Would this longing she had for him ever go away?

‘Kirst? Are you still there?’

‘I’m here,’ she said softly.

‘Come home. We’ll sort it out, I promise. I’ll keep my hands to myself. I’ll even do your share of the housework for the next week.’

‘Hmm.’ She pretended to consider it.

‘Next fortnight?’

‘Make it a month and it’s a deal.’

‘You’re a tough woman.’ He paused. ‘Let me know which flight you’re catching. I’ll meet you from the airport.’

‘No need. I haven’t got that much luggage.’ She paused. ‘I’ll get your gran to call you later, OK?’

* * *

When Kirsty returned to Southbay the following evening, Ben met her at the airport. She hadn’t called him with her flight details, so she guessed Morag had done it for her.

‘Hi.’

‘Hi, yourself.’

‘Good flight?’ He took her bag, ignoring her protests that she was perfectly capable of carrying her own.

‘Fine. Your gran sent you some goodies.’

‘She told me.’ He sighed. ‘And that she’d lied to me about her health.’

‘A white lie, Ben,’ Kirsty reminded him. ‘She had your best interests at heart. And we lied to her, too.’

‘I suppose that makes us quits.’ He gave her a sidelong glance. ‘What about us?’

‘What about us?’ She threw the question firmly back at him.

‘Are we quits, Kirst?’ At her continued silence, he added, ‘What I mean is, are we still friends?’

‘I suppose so.’

He smiled at her. ‘It’s good to have you back, best-friend Kirst.’

Best-friend Kirst. If only—if
only
—she could have been more.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

B
EN
was as good as his word. He kept his hands off Kirsty over the next few days and treated her like the friend she’d been for years. Though he found it harder than he’d expected. The time they’d spent together as lovers had been so short, and yet it had generated so many memories. Everything reminded him of making love with Kirsty. Honey—when he’d licked it from her lips over breakfast. Coffee—when they’d shared it in bed. Ice cream, cannoli wafers, red wine…The kitchen soon became off limits. Having a bath or shower was just as bad. And waking up alone in his bed was torture now he knew what it was like to wake up curled round her body.

It’ll go away, he told himself. Because he wasn’t in love with her. It was just…unrequited lust.

Though it hadn’t been unrequited, had it?

It took him twenty minutes under a cold shower to stop that thought. And even then it kept sneaking back to him. Especially the time he tried the old trick of stopping Kirsty studying too hard.

Bad move, he told himself even as he walked through her door. He could still remember the last time he’d stopped her studying, by carrying her to his bed. It would be so, so easy to do that now.

But he couldn’t. He shouldn’t. He
mustn’t.

‘Time to stop, Kirst,’ he said.

She looked at him over her shoulder. How had he forgotten how delectable her rear was? And those gold lights in her eyes…Was she remembering, too, how it had been between them?

No. It wasn’t part of their deal. ‘You’ve got ten minutes. I’ll make you some hot milk. If that book’s still open when I come back, I’ll chuck it straight out of the window,’ he said.

‘Tyrant.’ But at least she was smiling. Sort of.

‘One hot milk with cinnamon and brown sugar coming up,’ he said, and left the room before he really lost it and carried her to his bed anyway. Somehow he managed to make her a drink and took it back to her room. To his relief, she was actually putting her books away. If she’d still been lying there, he wasn’t sure if he’d have been able to keep his hands off her.

He cleared this throat. ‘Hot milk.’

She took the mug from him, sipped the contents and smiled. ‘Thanks. This is good.’

‘I’m glad you’re being sensible now.’

‘I’m always sensible.’

Not always, he thought. Not the nights you spent in bed with me. Not the times you kissed me back.

He really had to stop thinking about her like this. And there was one sure-fire way of doing that. He’d prove to himself once and for all that he was not head over heels in love with anyone. Particularly with Kirsty.