A Surgeon For The Single Mum. Charlotte Hawkes
quickly, I’m afraid.’ Tak nodded. ‘CT revealed a depressed skull fracture and an underlying subdural bleed, so we took him straight into an OR. When he awoke the aphasia was still present, but reduced.’
‘So he’s in rehab?’ She squeezed her eyes shut, remembering how sweet the guy had been, and how close he and his worried wife had seemed.
‘He is,’ Tak confirmed. ‘He’s doing well, and he has a good support network, so with any luck he should be fine.’
‘That’s good.’ She smiled, more to herself than at Tak.
It occurred to her that he’d been distracting her. Telling her a story—a work-related story—which he’d known would make her feel less tense, more at ease.
She should be angry that he’d played her, but instead she just felt grateful to him.
Allowing Tak to guide her to a large, chauffeur-driven limousine, she slid inside, trying not to marvel at the bespoke rich plaid wool and leather seats. And then he was climbing in gracefully beside her, closing the door, and the entire back seat seemed to shrink until she was aware of nothing but how very close his body was to hers.
Now it was just the two of them together, in such a confined space, it was impossible for her to keep up the pretence. To keep telling herself that his voice didn’t swirl inside her like a fog which refused to clear, that his eyes didn’t look right into her soul as though they could read every last dark secret in there, that his touch didn’t send electricity coursing through her veins only to conclude in a shower of sparks as breathtaking as the best fireworks display.
The realisation thrilled and terrorised her in equal measure.
‘You shouldn’t be embarrassed about where you live, you know.’
It took a moment for her to focus, and then another for shame and guilt to steal through her. ‘I’m not,’ she said, and lifted her chin a little higher.
‘Then why did you insist on meeting me in the lobby instead of letting me pick you up from your apartment?’
‘I just... It wasn’t about being embarrassed.’ Not entirely true, but close enough.
‘Then what was it about?’
There was no justification at all for her wanting to tell him the truth. Effie had spent her whole life shutting people out—as soon as she’d learned it was either that or be shut out. It shouldn’t be difficult to tell Tak to mind his own business.
Yet there was a quality about him which reminded her of the one woman who had cared for her, helped her so long ago. She couldn’t explain it, nor shake it. It was bizarre. This wasn’t even a proper date, and the fact that she kept finding that detail so difficult to remember was concerning in itself.
‘It wasn’t about where I live, although I know it’s no penthouse. It was more about keeping the two parts of my life separate. My private life and my professional one.’
‘Does it matter that much?’
Was she guarding her personal details because they were none of his business? The way she would keep any other one of her colleagues at bay? Or was there a part of her that wished she could be—just for one night—the kind of carefree single woman that a man like Tak might actually want to date? And not just pretend.
Ridiculous.
Guilt speared her. She wasn’t that kind of woman. She had barely been that kind of girl. Her carefree single days had ended the moment she’d found out that she was going to become a teenage mum. And there had been absolutely no one in the world to support her.
For the last thirteen years it had been just her and Nell. Together. She was ashamed that a part of her should want to pretend otherwise, even for a few hours.
‘Yes, it does matter.’ She nodded. It was now or never. ‘To me. And to my daughter.’
Silence dropped between them like the thick, heavy curtain on a stage, separating the players from the audience. Her from Tak. What on earth had possessed her to say anything? Was it simply because Tak reminded her of a woman who was long gone?
‘You have a daughter?’
His voice was even, just as before. Perhaps the silence had only been in her own head.
‘Nell. Short for Eleanor. She’s thirteen.’
‘Thirteen? You must have been...’
‘Just turned eighteen.’ She didn’t mean to sound so snappy, but she couldn’t stop herself. ‘Yeah, you don’t have to do the maths. I’ve lived it. Now you know why I don’t date. Why I won’t date.’
Whatever she’d been expecting him to say, it wasn’t the words which came next. Or the soft, almost melancholy tone.
‘Difficult age, thirteen. I imagine she hasn’t taken kindly to the move?’
She floundered. ‘Um...no. Not really.’
‘She’s acting out?’
It was less of a question, more of a statement. As though he knew. And there was something else, too. Effie couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was, but if she’d had to hazard a guess she might have thought that he didn’t like the fact that he knew. That he felt it was a connection between them which he didn’t want to feel.
Hadn’t Hetti once told her that Tak had spent much of his childhood taking care of his younger siblings—not just the usual big-brother-as-playground-protector stuff, but all the tasks that a parent would ordinarily do? If that was true then it had to be hard for him to shake that responsibility, even now they were all grown up.
It was certainly hard for herself, trying to let go of the past. Trying not to let it cloud the way she dealt with Nell. Trying not to let her own life experiences turn her into an over-protective mother. But maybe she was just imagining it. Either way, it was all she could do not to nod in agreement and wonder...
‘What makes you say that?’ she asked.
‘Because you were agitated when I met you in the lobby. Like you’d had a run-in with someone. I assumed it was the teenage lads I saw hanging around outside.’
‘Those lads are fine. And the place isn’t that bad. It’s a desirable city-centre location. Besides, it’s the closest thing I could find to Nell’s new school on such short notice.’
‘Desirable is a matter of opinion,’ he disputed. ‘So the run-in was with someone else? I’m thinking it was with your daughter. Nell. Want to talk about it?’
‘Nope.’ But she couldn’t fault him for being astute. It was impressive, really.
‘It might help.’
She opened her mouth, then snapped it shut again. Surely she shouldn’t be discussing this with him, an almost stranger? Effie wanted to shut the conversation down, but found that she couldn’t. There was something about Tak, about those broad shoulders, which suddenly made her think how nice it would be to get another perspective and some adult support.
She did, however, find herself tugging on a stray thread from her clutch bag. A habit she’d formed decades ago, when she was anxious and unhappy. Or feeling cornered.
‘I don’t see why I would talk about it,’ she managed stiffly.
‘Because everyone needs to talk sometimes.’
She might have believed him if she hadn’t caught the flash of irritation in his expression. However fleeting it had been.
Being a foster kid had made her sensitive—some might argue over-sensitive—to when people were asking questions out of a sense of obligation rather than any actual desire to hear the answer.
What she didn’t understand was why she wasn’t consequently shutting