This Could Change Everything(66)

‘OK.’ What else was there to say?

‘Have you told her?’

‘No.’

‘She’s your mother. She’s going to need to know at some stage.’

‘I know, but not yet. There’s still plenty of time.’

Giselle nodded. She hadn’t told her own parents yet, either. As she’d already said, it still seemed weird to both of them. The idea that they were having a baby was bound to take some getting used to.

‘How are you feeling?’ said Lucas, because she was looking pale and distracted.

‘Still not great. A bit sick. It’s like having the worst kind of exam nerves the whole time.’

‘Come here.’ He put his arms around her, breathed in the scent of her shampoo. ‘Don’t worry, the sickness won’t last. You’re going to be a fantastic mum.’

‘Am I? God,’ she exhaled, ‘I hope so. It’s nerve-racking, isn’t it?’

Lucas could feel the tension in her neck and shoulders. Everything was about to change; of course it was a nerve-racking experience. He stroked her tangled wet hair. ‘Just a bit,’ he agreed.





Chapter 31


It was the very end of February and the snow was back, tumbling like fat feathers from an off-white sky. Conor had been working to clear the garden of a house in Monkton Combe. The owners, desperate to sell the property, had put it on the market a few days ago. Having been advised that it might help matters if their garden were less of an overgrown jungle, they had hired him to make it look better in the space of a single day.

Well, he’d given it his best shot in the few hours available, but it would be getting dark soon and enough was enough. Conor filled the last wheelbarrow with tangled dried shrubs and branches and ran it along the narrow path that led from the back of the house to the road at the front, where his van was parked.

He stopped dead when he saw who was standing on the pavement right next to it.

‘It is you!’ Scarlett, wearing a purple gilet and pink jeans, spread her arms wide with delight. ‘I thought I recognised your van!’

‘Hi.’ Pushing the wheelbarrow up the lengths of board he’d propped up to create a makeshift ramp, Conor emptied the garden waste into the back of the van. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘Nearly freezing,’ said Scarlett.

‘That’s probably because you aren’t wearing a coat.’

‘It was sunny this morning! I came over here to help my friend out. She needed someone to look after her kids while she took her grandad to the hospital.’ Her face lit up as she saw him throw the boards into the van and close the rear doors. ‘Then she came home and I thought I’d be in time to catch the bus back into town but I just missed it and the next one isn’t due for another two hours, so now I’m walking. That’s if I don’t collapse in the snow and die of hypothermia first.’

‘Poor you,’ said Conor.

Scarlett hugged herself and shivered dramatically. ‘You wouldn’t be heading into town, would you?’

‘No.’

‘Don’t look at me like that, it’s only a lift I’m after.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘I’m not planning to ravish you.’

As if he’d be scared. Conor relented. ‘OK, I’ll give you a lift.’

She beamed. ‘You’re my hero.’

He pulled open the passenger door of the van and hastily cleared the remnants of his packed lunch off the seat. ‘Hop in, then.’

‘I can smell mustard.’ Having settled herself, Scarlett wrinkled her nose. ‘Ew, there’s an open sachet . . . How can you like that stuff? It’s gross!’

Conor said steadily, ‘Or you could always walk.’

Three minutes later, as they were driving up a hill, a small tabby cat darted out into the road ahead of them. A lorry coming in the opposite direction tooted its horn but only succeeded in confusing the animal, which scooted to the left then at the last moment darted back to the right.

As it disappeared from view beneath the oncoming vehicle’s wheels, Scarlett screamed, ‘Noooooo!’

With a lurch of nausea, Conor braked hard. The lorry driver, clearly assuming he’d managed to avoid hitting the cat, grinned and shook his head, miming relief as he passed the van and carried on down the hill. Within seconds he was out of sight, on his way to wherever he was going.

Conor pulled into a gateway. ‘You stay here,’ he told Scarlett. ‘I’ll go.’ There was a small unmoving mound visible in the gutter on the other side of the road and he feared the worst.

But Scarlett threw open the passenger door. ‘No way!’ She jumped down, almost losing her footing on the uneven snowy ground, and together they raced across the road.

The second before they reached the bundle of fur, it moved, jerked, then the cat’s eyelids opened and it let out a shriek of pain. It struggled to its feet and stood there staring at them in terror, dazed and clearly traumatised.

‘Well, he’s alive,’ said Conor. That was something at least.

‘But there’s blood . . . Where’s it coming from?’ Kneeling on the pavement as the cat let out another yowl, Scarlett breathed, ‘Oh be careful . . .’

‘I’m being careful.’ Slowly approaching it, Conor wondered what the next move should be. ‘We need something to wrap it in. There’s a bit of sacking in the footwell of the van; could you go and fetch it?’