‘It’s good that he’s trying. It’s positive that he wants to turn his life around.’
‘Yes.’ But the dull flatness of the syllable sounded forced. ‘I just don’t want Mum to get hurt, and I don’t want Jodie to know about any of this. It all feels a bit...’ she managed the ghost of a smile ‘...complicated.’
The word was a reminder of exactly why he didn’t want relationships—why he had refused to be part of his mother’s attempt at reconciliation with his half-brothers. He had fully supported his mum’s desire to be part of their lives again and would do all within his power to make that happen. He would fly them and their families over from Australia, where they now lived—anything his money could buy he would provide. But no more.
‘Would it help if you got home earlier? Would it make you feel better to see your mum? To allow her to go and see your dad sooner? I should be able to move our flight.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Consider it done.’
‘Thank you. Really.’
And as she looked up at him there it was again—the urge to hold her, to try and take the burden from her shoulders.
Instead he gently released her hands. ‘You’re very welcome. Now, why don’t you try and get some sleep and I’ll let you know how soon we can fly.’
CHAPTER ELEVEN
SCANT HOURS LATER, ensconced once more in the luxurious interior of the private jet, its engines roaring in preparation for take-off, Sarah looked across at Ben, full of gratitude for his willingness and ability to make this happen purely to allow her to get home earlier. For his innate understanding of her need to be with Jodie and her mum at this time.
So much had changed since their flight out; she’d learnt so much more about this man who, even now, amidst her emotional turmoil, still raised her pulse-rate as he smiled across at her.
‘How are you doing?’ he asked. ‘Nerves under control?’
‘Yes.’ And in truth they were—although there was still a flutter of fear in her tummy which she was only just able to quell. Helped by the knowledge that this was the quickest way to get home. And also helped by the reassuring warmth of his presence.
Another emotion swirled into the mix: a whirl of sadness. Because after this flight she wouldn’t see him again.
As if his thoughts had followed her own he said, ‘When we get back would you like me to start the paperwork for your job in head office? I meant what I said last night about the intern’s job.’
‘And I truly appreciate the offer, but I can’t take you up on it. Or at least not yet. You see, I’m not sure how things will pan out with my dad, but I do know I can’t rely on my mother as much for childcare. There are school holidays to think about. I’d be working and studying and looking after Jodie—I’m worried Jodie will suffer.’
Ben considered her words, a slight crease on his forehead. ‘There are answers to that—after-school clubs, other types of childcare, flexible hours. I can’t help thinking the
re’s something else—some other reason. Is it because of what happened between us?’
His frown deepened and she could see the concern on his face. She hastened to speak, to reassure him. ‘No. Truly it isn’t. We agreed not to regret that kiss and I don’t. It’s not you. It’s...’
It was all the reasons she’d stated, but Ben was right—there was more. Alongside the practicalities was an innate, illogical knowledge that it was somehow wrong to take the chance on offer.
‘It’s just that the time isn’t right. I’ve also been thinking that Jodie and I may need to move out of my mum’s for a bit.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I know my mum. She won’t be able to abandon my dad in Newcastle. Dollars to doughnuts she’ll bring him back to London. In which case she’ll want him to be able to come to the flat. I don’t want to be there and I certainly don’t want Jodie to be there.’
She could hear the bitter undertone in her own voice but it was impossible to erase the last time she’d seen her father. The squalor, the empty bottles and a man she’d barely recognised. A father who had ranted at her, his words slurred, accusing her of breaking her mother’s heart with her behaviour, of letting the memory of her sister down. And worst of all had been his repudiation of his granddaughter.
‘She’ll be tainted by that waste of space who fathered her. Blood will out, m’girl. And hers is tainted.’
There’d been a pause as he’d taken a hit from the bottle in his hand.
‘Just like my Imo’s was. My poor precious Imo.’
Then he’d cried—loud, unabashed sobs—but when she’d approached him he’d pushed her away.
‘Get out, get out, get out! Your face! It’s a reminder of all I’ve lost. Get out.’