‘Pathetic,’ Richard whispered as they hauled the bathtub back to shore. ‘See what cystic fibrosis can do for a man?’
‘I’ll get better,’ Fergus said.
‘Not if you only stay here a few more weeks,’ Richard told him. ‘It takes a lifetime to build a skill like that.’
He broke off, gasping, and Ginny flinched. But it seemed she was determined to keep them all cheerful.
‘We all need a swim,’ she said determinedly. ‘Richard, would you like us to push you further in?’
‘I’m happy where I am,’ Richard managed. ‘Just watching. I’ve pushed my bathtub for twenty-three poles. What more can a man expect out of life?’
They stayed until dark. Miraculously Fergus’s pager stayed silent. They dried off. Ginny did a quick change behind a beach towel that had Fergus fascinated. Then they toasted marshmallows on the fire and sat and watched as the moon came up over the water.
Miriam excused herself. ‘I’ll be back at the house when you get there,’ she told them, ‘but there’s not a lot of nursing to be done here. Fergus, if you’ll stay to help Ginny get them all home, I might nip home myself and spend an hour or two watering my vegetable patch.’
‘She shouldn’t be staying with us,’ Ginny said, obviously feeling guilty as Miriam left.
‘It’s cost-effective,’ Fergus told her. ‘We worked it out. Two patients needing full-time care. We’d have to put another nurse on if we had them in hospital so the board’s happy to pay Tony and Miriam and Bridget to work like this.’
‘How hard did you have to twist their arms?’
‘I didn’t,’ Fergus said honestly. ‘This is a great little community, Ginny.’
‘I know it is,’ she said. ‘I hadn’t realised… If only my parents had asked for help…’
‘And you hadn’t had a neighbour like Oscar.’
She shrugged. ‘Oscar’s irrelevant.’ She turned and looked at Richard. As the sun had set they’d piled blankets over him to keep him warm. He’d stayed awake until the last ray had faded behind the distant mountains, watching with something akin to greed.
He’d watched the sun set on the lake. He’d watched his daughter trying to swim.
This was some hospice, Fergus thought. Would that all dying patients got such care.
He was deeply asleep now. Deeply…
For a moment Fergus hesitated, but then he rose and crossed to the makeshift bed. He stooped and felt for the pulse.
It was still there. Just. A thready, too fast pattern.
He turned and Ginny was hugging Madison to her, tight. Her face had blenched.
‘It’s OK,’ he said gently. ‘He’s still with us.’
The tension eased from her face, but not the pain.
‘Soon,’ she whispered.
‘Soon,’ he agreed. ‘But you’ve given him this night. You’ve given him the knowledge that his little girl will be cared for. It’s some gift, Ginny.’
‘You’ve helped,’ she whispered. Like Richard, Madison had slumped into sleep. She’d been seated beside Ginny and gradually she’d eased down onto Ginny’s knees. Ginny was cradling her, taking comfort as well as giving it.
The little girl stirred now and whimpered a little, as if she realised that the arms she was in weren’t those of her mother. Ginny eased her down onto the rug, pulling another rug over her. Then she sat and watched the tiny face, concentrating fiercely on sleep.
Soon they’d have to stir. They’d have to wake Richard and move him back to the house. Soon this evening would be ended.
She didn’t want it to end, Fergus thought, watching Ginny’s face and knowing instinctively what she was thinking. She knew her brother wouldn’t be coming back here.
Something was ending tonight.
He couldn’t bear it.
He didn’t remember moving. He just…did. One minute he was kneeling beside Richard. The next minute he was on the rug with Ginny. He had her in his arms and he was kissing her.
He was kissing her as she needed to be kissed.
It was different from last night. Last night their love-making had been driven by passion and laughter and mutual need.
Tonight…
Tonight he needed to kiss this woman as he needed to breathe. She was so beautiful, so needful, so brave…
She was taking the world onto her shoulders and she’d already been there. He had no doubt of the childhood she’d had, loaded with responsibility beyond her years, and here she was taking it on all over again.
She was so…so…
Ginny.
And she needed him. He could feel it in the way her body melted into his. In the way her face came up to meet his kiss, but more. It was as if she was a part of him that he hadn’t realised was missing. When her lips met his it was a completeness that he’d never experienced, could never experience with anyone but this woman.
Ginny.
Her lips were opening under his. She was wearing a fleecy jogging suit, soft pants and an oversized sweater, which should be keeping her warm on such a mild night and so close to the fire, but she was trembling.
He held her and kissed her and kissed her and he thought this was right, this was how the world was meant to be.
This woman in his arms for always. For ever.
But Madison’s little body was hard pressed against Ginny. Maybe she felt the change in Ginny’s body. Maybe she felt the trembling and it fed her own insecurities. For whatever reason, she suddenly whimpered a little and drew away.
It broke the moment. Ginny’s hands touched his shoulders but already he was drawing away, looking down at the child in concern, looking back at Ginny, seeing Ginny’s uncertainty in the firelight…
‘I…’ She reached up and touched her lips where she’d been kissed, as if she had trouble understanding the sensation, the taste, the lingering feeling of awe she must feel because that was how he felt. Like the world had changed.
She’d said their time in the boatshed had changed her world, he thought, dazed. Maybe…maybe tonight had changed his.
No. Last night he’d known that he wanted this woman. The only thing that had changed was the intensity of that feeling.
‘Ginny, we need to be together,’ he whispered, and touched her face.
‘I don’t see how.’
‘We can work it out. We must.’
‘I don’t see how.’
‘I can do this,’ he said. He hesitated, taking in the scene lit by the firelight and the rising moon. A dying man. Three dogs, lying by Richard’s side. Richard had demanded the leftover sausages and he’d fed pieces of them to the dogs while they’d swum, making them his devoted fans for ever. Or for however long he had.
Before him was a beautiful woman, huddled into an oversized windcheater, gazing at him with eyes that were uncertain-but challenging. All or nothing, her gaze said. If I can do it, you can do it. Start again.
A child.
A little girl lying by her side.
He could do this. He could step back into…
‘It’s too soon, Fergus,’ she said gently but surely. ‘Molly’s been dead only these last few months. It’s too soon to even think you can create another family.’
‘It’s not replacing,’ he said, but for the life of him he couldn’t keep the uncertainty out of his voice. ‘Molly and Madison…they’re so different.’
