Alison Roberts - One Night To Wed

Tom shook his head. ‘That’s not different. It’s a total cop-out.’ He glanced at Angus. ‘You sure she’s there right now?’

‘As far as I know.’

‘You worried, mate?’

Angus could say nothing. He could only set his lips into a grim line and look away from the concern on Tom’s face.

Of course he was worried.

Worried sick.

Why hadn’t he tried earlier to find Fliss? To contact her? To see if he could find a way to persuade her to come home?

To arrive like this wasn’t going to help anything. His bullet-proof vest and dark camouflage clothing would only remind Fliss of why she had left in the first place.

But that didn’t actually matter right now. The need to find and protect the only woman he had ever truly loved was an issue quite separate from the possibility of them ever getting back together. It was simply something that Angus had to do.

He clenched his fists, urging the helicopter on into the black night. Not that willpower was going to make them get there any quicker but at least it felt like he was doing something.

Before it was too late.

EVEN important decisions could sometimes be made purely by default.

Fliss knew she couldn’t, in all conscience, choose to stay safely hidden but the sporadic sound of continuing gunfire made her postpone any move from the relative safety of Jack’s now darkened kitchen.

She sat on the floor near the interior door and Jack sat beside her just under the telephone. Waiting for the next, still shocking, evidence of what was going on outside, they strained to hear anything that might warn of danger getting too close.

And in the eerie, waiting silence between gunshots, Fliss was all too aware of the sound of Jack’s breathing. It sounded worse than it had when she had arrived for her home visit but that was hardly surprising, given the level of stress they had both been plunged into.

‘Where are your pills, Jack?’

‘On the window-sill. Just above the electric kettle. That way I remember to take them when I make a cuppa, first thing.’

‘Did you take one this morning?’

‘Yep.’

‘I want you to take another one now,’ Fliss instructed. ‘I’ll get it for you.’ But she found a hand on her elbow, dragging her back to the floor as soon as she tried to get to her feet.

‘You stay right where you are, lass. I’ll get it for myself.’

With a grunt that revealed the effort involved, Jack pushed himself slowly upright. With the ease of familiarity, he negotiated a route past the spindle-backed chairs towards the bench more successfully than Fliss would have managed, but a chair got nudged and scraped on the wooden floorboards all the same. Fliss felt her heart skip a beat and then start to race alarmingly.

She forced herself to take a deep breath in through her nose. And then she let it out slowly.

There was no avoiding the situation they were in. Somehow she had to get a grip on herself and deal with it or she would be no use to anyone, including herself. The notion that she might be paralysed by a panic attack was almost as abhorrent as the violence going on in Morriston.

She was not like her mother. She was not about to choose to become a victim—of her own emotions or anyone else’s behaviour.

‘Jack?’

‘Yep?’

‘Do you keep your spray with your pills?’

‘You mean that stuff for if I get chest pain?’

‘Yes.’

‘Don’t need it.’

‘It’s not just for angina, Jack. It might help quite a bit with that breathlessness you’ve got at the moment.’ Jack’s blood pressure had been high enough to tolerate the potential lowering effect nitrates could have. ‘I want you to take two sprays under your tongue.’

‘Hmmph!’ She could hear Jack shaking a container of tablets. ‘I’ll take the extra pill and see how I go.’

‘No. Take the spray.’ Fliss scrambled upright. ‘I’m going to have to go down to my surgery, Jack. I don’t want to be worrying about you getting worse while I’m gone.’

The lid of the plastic container hit the bench with a rattle. ‘You’re not going out there!’

‘I have to, Jack!’ Fliss straightened her back to reinforce the determination in her tone. ‘You know how we saw one of the Johnston twins hiding under that bush? What if he’s not hiding?’ Concern tightened her voice. ‘What if he’s hurt and needs help but he’s too scared to go looking for someone?’

Fliss gulped in some air. ‘And where’s his brother? And what if Maria’s waiting for me and she’s terrified and she goes into labour? And what about Mr—?’

Jack held up his hand. ‘All right, pet, I get the message.’ He stared at Fliss through the gloom of the unlit room. ‘But there’s no way I’m going to let you go by yourself. I’m coming with you.’

An eighty-six-year-old with one arm and heart failure as her protector? Fliss almost smiled but had to blink back tears instead. This old man really cared about her safety and she’d almost forgotten what it was like to have someone really care about her. Maybe she couldn’t have the man she really needed by her side right now but Jack was better than nothing. A whole lot better than nothing.

‘Let’s go, then,’ Fliss urged. Now, she added silently, while she had enough courage gathered to turn her back on personal safety.

‘Wait.’ Jack scratched his beard thoughtfully. ‘You can’t go outside like that.’

‘Like what?’

‘All white and…kind of glowing. That pretty hair of yours would catch anybody’s eye.’

Fliss did smile now. ‘Is that a compliment, Jack? Why, thank you!’

Jack made a dismissive growling sound. ‘If you’re mad enough to want to go out there I can’t stop you, but you need to cover up. I’ve got a black hat somewhere. And maybe a jersey or two.’

‘You’ll need a hat yourself. Your hair’s paler than mine.’

‘What’s left of it.’ Jack ran his hand over his balding scalp. Then he smiled at Fliss. ‘Guess I’ve compensated by growing fluff on my chin instead, haven’t I?’ He didn’t wait for a response. ‘I’ve got some old fishing gear out the back. I’ll see what I can find.’

‘Have you taken that pill yet?’

‘Yes.’

‘And the spray?’

Grumbling, Jack reached for the small red GTN cannister. ‘Bossy, aren’t you?’

‘I can be.’ Fliss nodded. ‘But only when I care about what happens to the people I’m bossing.’

She should use any skills in that department to try and make her patient heed police advice and stay in his own home, Fliss decided in Jack’s absence. Justifying the danger he was prepared to face with the rationale that she would be able to take better care of his current condition by having him with her at the surgery wasn’t good enough.

When Jack returned with an armload of dark clothing, Fliss was ready with her sternest tone.

‘I can go by myself, Jack. I’d much rather you stayed here.’

‘Not on your nelly.’ Jack sounded affronted. ‘I’ll make my own decisions about some things, missy. You can’t always get what you want by being bossy, you know.’

Too true.

Jack’s reprimand hit a nerve. Angus had considered Fliss to be bossy as well. Stubborn. Uncompromising. The expression ‘control freak’ had surfaced more than once in the escalating arguments that had marred their last few weeks together.

Did she try and use a position of authority for selfish motives? Had her bossiness really been due to the degree to which she had cared about Angus or had she been more concerned about her personal welfare? Getting what she wanted? Had her training as a doctor, in fact, given her a mistaken belief that she could make choices for others that went beyond medical assistance?