Whisked Away by Her Millionaire Boss

He unwrapped it carefully as emotion tightened his chest. It was a picture—a quirky black and white shot of the cathedral.

‘Thank you.’ The words were a little hoarse.

‘If you don’t like it, that’s fine. I just thought...because you said how much you love the cathedral...’

‘I love it. I really do. Thank you.’

He wanted to say more—hell, he wanted to stand up and pull her back into his arms. He wanted to—

Instead he cleared his throat. ‘When did you get it? I had no idea.’

‘When I said I needed the loo after we left the cathedral. I—’

Before she could complete the sentence her phone rang, and she frowned as she rummaged in her bag. For an instant he could see panic etched on her face and an echoing alarm pinched his nerves.

‘Mum? What’s wrong?’

He couldn’t make out the answer but he saw her relax. Her expression morphed from terror to surprise—a frowning surprise. He watched as she paced, asking the odd question, but nothing added to his understanding of events.

Then a few final sentences. ‘Mum, we’ll sort it out one way or the other when I come back. And it does sound positive. It’s fine. I love you too. See you tomorrow.’

Dropping the phone, she turned to face him.

‘Is everything OK?’

‘I’m not sure.’ She ran a hand over her face, almost as if to wipe away the worry and concern, and he felt a shimmer of need, a desire to walk over and pull her into a hug. Instead he compromised by moving a bit closer. Reminded himself that if Sarah needed help it would be better to offer it on a practical level. Money. Cold, hard cash. Because that was the help he was best equipped to give.

‘Is Jodie OK?’

‘Yes, she’s fine. It’s...’ She began to pace.

‘If it’ll help to talk, I’m happy to listen.’ Because he wanted to help, but couldn’t figure out how if he didn’t know the problem.

This drew a half-laugh as she paused mid-stride. ‘I’ve told you so much this evening I might as well keep on going. My parents divorced eight years ago.’

Her tone was factual but Ben knew that she felt responsible. He recognised the shadowed, stricken look in her eyes.

‘Whilst you were with Kevin?’

‘Yes. My father became a functioning alcoholic who gradually morphed into a dysfunctional one. He lost his job—lost everything. Mum tried to help, to hold their marriage together, but she couldn’t. They ended up divorcing. After Jodie was born I tried to reach out to him, but he didn’t want to be reached out to. Didn’t want anything to do with me or Jodie.’

Her pain was so palpable that he had to do something. He moved into her path so she had to come to a halt, and put his hands on her shoulders.

‘I’m sorry. Divorce is hard, regardless of the circumstances. But alcoholism adds a whole new dimension; it changes a person. I imagine that makes the loss greater?’

‘Yes. The dad I remember was gone. He was a good dad when w—’ She stopped. ‘When I was growing up. A happy, loving dad, who carried me around on his shoulders, did embarrassing dad dances at birthday parties... But that man is gone; the last time I saw him he ranted and raved...said Jodie was tainted.’

He could hear the hurt and bewilderment, the anger and sadness in her voice. And he too knew the pain of losing a father—not to death but to change. He had lost the man he’d believed to be his dad for the first five years of his life—the man he’d loved and who had loved him. That love had stopped—been switched off as easily as a faucet.

‘I’m sorry... I wish I could take that hurt away, but I can’t.’ Somehow, almost without realising it, he had taken her hands in his.

‘Anyway, Mum just called because he has been in touch. Dad has joined Alcoholics Anonymous—he’s trying to turn his life around. He wants to make amends.’

The scepticism in her voice was clear, alongside more than a hint of bitterness.

‘That’s a lot for your mum and you to take on.’

‘Yes... Mum is going to see him tomorrow—after we get back. He’s in a hostel now, but he’s been living on the streets in Newcastle.’