The Secretary's Secret

He glanced down from his position on the scaffolding. Caro. Not holding a meat cleaver. ‘Nice to see you too,’ he drawled.

Kit emerged from the house with a tea tray. At her side trotted a dark-haired child of about four. A boy.

Alex froze.

He didn’t know why the sight of the child rocked him, but it did. To his core. He’d seen other children, of course, since he’d lost Chad, but…

He hadn’t talked to one, touched one.

His hand tightened around the paintbrush. Maybe it was the combination of a pregnant Kit and child.

Kit and child.

Kit and—

Chad would be about this child’s age now.

The thought slammed into him from nowhere and the strength drained from his legs. He braced a hand against a weatherboard. In the back of his mind he was dimly aware that the board was wet. Ignore the paint. Keep breathing.

Paint from his brush dripped onto his trainer. He clenched the paintbrush as if it were his last grip on reality as he tried to push the memories of Chad away, deep down into the unexplored parts of himself where they couldn’t torment him.

It didn’t work. Questions pounded at him.

Would Chad be the same size and shape as the child at Kit’s side? How tal would he be now? Had his hair darkened or grown lighter? The need to see Chad, to hold him, burst the straitjacket he normal y kept it bound to, and for a moment darkness swirled al around him.

‘Look, Mum, I’m helping Auntie Kit and I got the most important job—carrying the biscuits!’

‘Not just any biscuits, but chocolate biscuits,’ Caro said with what he guessed must be the appropriate amount of admiration. Thankful y she turned the child towards the outdoor chairs and table. ‘And you’re al owed to have one just as soon as you set them down.’

‘Alex, that looks great.’

Kit’s voice, her appreciation, pushed some of the darkness away and helped him breathe again. He did his best to ignore the childish patter behind him.

‘Would you like some tea?’

He nodded and final y found his voice. ‘I’l be down in a minute.’

She turned to carry the tea tray to the table, and Alex clenched his eyes shut and tried to control his breathing, tried to block the images that rose up to torment him, taunt him, remind him of al he’d lost.

Tonight he’d have that nightmare—the endless rooms in that mansion, the childish laughter always out of reach. Despair threatened his control. Some days he thought it would take his sanity. With every ounce of strength he possessed, he pushed it back, tamped it down. He couldn’t lose his mind. He had Kit’s house to finish.

He gritted his teeth. The mundane would al ay the nightmare. He opened his eyes, unclasped the paintbrush from fingers that had started to cramp and did his best to wipe the wet paint from his hand with a rag.

‘What are you doing?’

That childish voice came from almost directly beneath him. He stared at the weatherboards. He could do this. He’d wrapped his heart in ice once before. He could halt the thaw that Kit had somehow started and put it in deep freeze once again. He would not think about Chad.

He dragged in a breath. He didn’t turn around. ‘I’m painting your Auntie Kit’s house.’

‘My name is Davey.’

Another deep breath. ‘Mine’s Alex.’

‘Are you Auntie Kit’s boyfriend?’

The voice was even closer now, and the question made Alex blink. In another time, another place, he suspected it would’ve made him laugh. ‘I’m her friend.’

‘I’m going to marry her when I grow up.’

He had to hand it to the kid. He had great taste.

‘Can I help?’

And then Davey’s head appeared and Alex’s heart lurched. Davey had climbed up the side of the heart lurched. Davey had climbed up the side of the scaffolding. What if he fel ? ‘Hold on a minute, Tiger.’

His heart cramped. He’d always cal ed Chad Tiger. Don’t think about Chad!

Alex forced himself to move. He vaulted to the ground and then seized Davey beneath the armpits to swing him down too. ‘Your mum wil come after me with a meat cleaver if you—’

He couldn’t go on. He froze. Davey’s solid weight, his warmth, the trusting way he stared at Alex with dark-fringed eyes that were the same brown as Chad’s. Al of it was imprinted on his memory. A low moan threatened to burst from his chest. Chad would weigh this much now too. He’d stil be chubby-cheeked and chubby-legged like the last time Alex had seen him, held him, but he’d be tal er. He’d probably be asking awkward question and—