Wishing for a Miracle (14 page)

She didn't trust him.

Man, that was a kicker.

Mac had been prepared to do anything for this woman but he was facing a wall that was so dauntingly solid he had no idea where to start trying to break it down.

He
loved
her, for God's sake. He could no more think of sleeping with someone else at this point in his life than… Good grief, he couldn't even think of something abhorrent enough to fill the gap.

She didn't trust him because she thought he was the same as the creep she'd been planning to marry. A man who clearly hadn't loved her and had used her inability to have children as an excuse for his disgusting behavior. His betrayal.

She had loved this Peter. She'd said so. She'd trusted him and had been betrayed and had her heart broken.

Fair enough. He got that.

If she loved
him
, she would trust him.

She didn't trust him. He'd made the accusation and she hadn't even tried to deny it.

She'd never said she loved him so why had he assumed she felt the same way he did?

Because he'd trusted her, that's why. He had felt it in every touch and every smile. Every moment of connection and underlying every silent conversation.

They were at an impasse here. Standing in this ridiculously small space with two mugs on the bench that were probably not going to have coffee in them any time soon.

The silence stretched on. When Julia broke it, her voice was tight.

‘I'm not the only one who has a problem with trust,' she said.

‘What the hell is that supposed to mean?'

‘You've got things in your past you haven't trusted me enough to talk about.'

‘You've never asked.'

‘OK.' He recognised the tilt of Julia's chin. The same kind of determination he'd seen when she was doing something she probably shouldn't be doing. Like volunteering to dangle from a broken bridge or climb into an unstable train carriage. ‘I'm asking now. What was it about the woman on that train? Who did she remind you of and why didn't you want to talk about it?'

Mac sucked in a breath. Did he have any hope of breaking through that wall or was this over? Was this
the time to try even? But this was about trust and honesty and Julia had told him about the baggage she carried. She deserved the same from him.

‘It was ten years ago,' he said slowly, ‘and her name was Christine.'

‘And she had long blonde hair?'

‘Yes.' Mac breathed in. Carefully, as though the very air in this room was a source of pain. ‘I thought I was in love with her. We hadn't known each other very long and I wasn't thinking about asking her to marry me but…she got pregnant.'

He'd known it would be rubbing salt into a wound. What he hadn't known was that the flash of pain on Julia's face would feel like he'd given her a physical blow.

‘She didn't want the baby,' he continued woodenly. ‘She never wanted to have children holding her back, stopping her doing what she wanted to do with her life. She saw it as an obstacle. Unimportant in its own right. And nothing I could do or say would change her mind because I wasn't important enough either. She had the abortion and told me about it in the email that also said she was leaving.'

There. He'd said it. Admitted the failure that had haunted him for all these years. Would it change anything? Make him more trustworthy because he'd been so honest?

‘
You
wanted the baby, though, didn't you?' Julia asked softly.

Oh…God. Mac could never forget that moment when he'd been told about the baby. That clutching sensation around his heart. The shock that had become
amazement at what had felt like a miracle.
His
baby. He was going to be a father. And hot on the heels of that had come the powerful urge to protect that baby. From anything. For ever.

Julia's gaze was fixed on his face. ‘Of course you did,' she whispered. ‘So don't try and tell me it doesn't matter, Mac. That we can get past this. We can't because I won't do that to you. End of story.'

This had to be the worst moment of his life. He wanted to tell her she was wrong. That ending this was wrong, but he couldn't find any words. Maybe there weren't any.

Maybe she was right.

That moment was imprinted on his heart for ever. The same kind of longing for his child—his own family—that he'd seen on Julia's face when she'd been holding Noni.

She understood. She didn't want to stand in the way of him finding that moment again.

Could he feel the same way about an adopted child? Or a childless marriage? The honest answer was that he didn't know. That there was an element of doubt. That there was a small but insistent voice suggesting that maybe Julia was right.

She must have seen that doubt in his face.

‘Oh, Mac…' With a tiny sob, she held out her arms and offered—or perhaps asked for—a hug.

Wordlessly, Mac gathered her close and held her.

Time stopped as they stood there. Holding each other tightly. Accepting that this was the end of the road.

‘It's been good, hasn't it?' Julia asked finally. ‘What we had?'

‘The best,' Mac agreed. ‘You're an amazing woman, Julia Bennett.'

She pulled away but she was smiling. ‘Will that be in your report?'

‘You can count on it.'

‘Is it nearly finished?'

‘Pretty close.'

Julia took another step back. ‘Do you think you could maybe finish it by tomorrow? Say, drop it into the office at work by lunchtime?'

‘Probably.' Mac had the distinct feeling he wasn't going to like where this conversation was leading. ‘Why?'

‘Because there's a flight leaving from Heathrow tomorrow night. I could get a connection from Glasgow in the afternoon.'

‘You've booked tickets? But you're not supposed to be leaving before next week.'

‘I just made some enquiries. The tickets are on hold. I've got a few hours until I need to confirm whether I want them but I think I do, Mac. I think it's time to go home.'

She wanted this. She wanted to escape. Maybe it was for the best. How could he work with her now, knowing it was over? That he had no hope of winning the new future he'd begun to dream of? That perhaps she didn't even love him. Not the way he loved her, anyway.

Julia broke their eye contact. Made a movement with her hands that was a kind of plea.

‘We knew this had to end, didn't we? If we make a clean cut now, it'll be easier. We'll be able to look back and remember the good bits. The best bits.'

Mac swallowed. He didn't trust himself to speak. He needed to get out of here.

So he gave a single nod and turned for the door. Then he turned back, took two long steps and caught Julia in his arms again. Held her tightly.

‘Mac?'

‘What?' He didn't want to let her go. Not yet. Not ever.

‘Don't come to the airport with me tomorrow. This is goodbye, OK?'

No, it wasn't OK. It would never be OK. Mac tightened his grip but somehow Julia slipped free. What was it he'd said about her that day? That she was a cross between a contortionist and a weightlifter?

She had her back to him now.

‘Please go, Mac.' The words were so quiet they were almost a prayer. ‘Please go now.'

I
T WAS
the longest journey in the world.

Nearly thirty hours from Glasgow, Scotland to Christchurch, New Zealand with only brief interludes of airport time in London and Singapore.

The physical journey was easy enough. All Julia had to do was put herself in the right place at the right time and she was taken to where she needed to go.

The emotional journey was a very different story.

How unfair was it that it didn't seem to help to know that her head had been right in stopping her heart from trusting Mac? It had been a fight to the death in that tiny kitchen between her head and her heart and when she'd heard the desolation in his voice when he'd accused her of not trusting him, it had been all she could do not to fall into his arms and deny it.

To tell him that she loved him. That she would trust him with her life and with her heart. For ever.

Her head had pulled out the big guns then and they had located their target unerringly.

She'd been shocked, hearing him talk about Christine. Seeing the pain in his face when he'd told her
about the baby he'd tried and failed to save.
His
baby. One that he'd wanted so much it had been painful just seeing a pregnant woman who looked a bit like Christine
ten
years later.

If her head had needed any proof that she was courting disaster by allowing herself to take that leap of faith, she'd had it. In spades.

The only way to survive was to run and hide.

Thank goodness she'd made those phone calls to enquire about changing dates on the tickets she already had. Just in case.

And when she'd voiced her intention to leave, she had seen Mac have the kind of heart/mind struggle she was only too familiar with. She saw the moment his head got the strongest position. The moment when doubt had clouded his eyes.

Yes. It had been a fight to the death. The heads had won and the hearts—her heart, anyway—felt like they were dying.

Anne was there to meet her at the airport. She took one look at Julia's face and gathered her sister into her arms.

‘Oh, Jules. Poor baby. You're home now, I've got you. It'll be all right, you'll see.'

And it was, kind of. Anne did what she did so well, with unstinting love and support backed up by some stern advice. It helped being half a world away from Mac and back in a familiar place that he'd never entered.

By the time the jet-lag was over and she was back at work full time, Julia knew that while nothing would ever be the same again, she would survive. Somehow.

 

Nothing was the same.

Mac had been right on the money with that niggling fear that his work and his bed would feel empty when Julia had gone. His whole life seemed about as colourful as the relentlessly grey Scottish weather they were experiencing day after day.

He would get through it. He'd done it before.

Or had he?

Had he ever really got his head sorted after Christine? He had been so sure he had but now he was beginning to wonder if all he'd succeeded in doing had been to shove the whole emotional mess under a convenient mental rug. If it hadn't still been there, it couldn't have been uncovered so easily by that tragedy of the young woman on the train.

No hope of pushing things under any kind of cover this time. Julia seemed to be everywhere. Waiting to ambush him at every turn—just like she had when she'd waited for him in the car park that night.

When he'd kissed her.

The car park was bad enough with its associated memories. Arriving in the locker room for a night shift on the day she'd flown out was even more poignant. Julia had forgotten her boots and there they were. Half a dozen sizes smaller than any of the men's footwear, they looked childlike and forlorn. Abandoned.

He could hear an echo of Julia's laughter in here as well. Her voice with that determined lilt.

‘I might be smaller than you lot but I'm just as tough, you'll see.'

She hadn't looked tough when she'd held her arms out for that farewell hug.

Everybody was missing her.

‘I wonder what Jules is doing,' Angus took to musing at irritatingly frequent intervals. ‘Has she emailed yet to tell you why she had to go home in such a rush?'

No. She hadn't emailed. Hadn't phoned. Hadn't even sent for her boots.

A week passed. And another. Until Mac couldn't stand the sight of those small boots any longer. He parceled them up and made a call to the administrative offices to get Julia Bennett's home address. He posted them and then wondered if he would get any response to the cryptic note he had scrawled to go in the parcel.

Missing something?

If she'd missed the boots, she would have sent for them. If she missed him, she would have made contact. If Mac was going to get over this any time soon, he would stop thinking about her so often. The hurt at not being loved enough—
trusted
enough—would fade.

He went to visit his mother a week or so later. Jeannie MacCulloch took one look at her son's face and clicked her tongue.

‘You let her get away, didn't you, Alan?'

‘I couldn't stop her, Mum. She didn't want to stay.'

‘Oh?' The look on her face was mischievous enough to remind him of the woman he'd lost. ‘New Zealand is a bonny place, I've heard. I'm going there myself, you know. With Doreen.'

 

‘You need a change,' Anne decreed. ‘A fresh start.'

Julia sighed. ‘I'm trying.'

‘Did you go ahead with applying for that Urban Search and Rescue training?'

‘Yes. It doesn't start for a couple of months, though.'

‘Anything else interesting in the classifieds in that
Emergency Medicine
journal?'

‘There's a road-based position here in Christchurch. A shift supervisor one that comes with a car to back up ambulance crews.'

‘You don't sound overly enthusiastic.'

Julia suppressed another sigh. She wasn't. Not because it wouldn't be a great job but because it would be too similar to what she'd been doing with Mac when they hadn't been needed in the air, only she would be doing it by herself and the empty passenger seat in the front would contain his ghost.

‘It comes with a ton of administrative responsibilities.' Anne had done more than her share of listening to her heartache and providing support. It really was high time she pulled herself together. ‘There's a bit of teaching involved as well. I quite like the idea of that.'

‘Sounds good,' her sister agreed. ‘Would it mean giving up the helicopter work completely?'

‘Yeah.'

Anne was trying not to look relieved. ‘You'd miss it, though, wouldn't you? The thrill of dangling on a line that looks like a thread of a spider's web while you save someone's life?'

‘You know what? I think the thrill is fading. I'm almost over it.'

It was an ordeal, actually, climbing into a helicopter these days. Just the sound of the rotors was enough to make her look around to catch the echo of the kind of look Mac would have given her if he'd been there.

The kind that said she was safe. That he would look after her. That whatever they were going to face, they would be able to handle it because they were such a good team.

A parcel arrived the following week with Mac's handwriting on it. Her name and address blurred instantly as her eyes filled with tears.

He'd sent her boots back. She hadn't missed them because she had plenty of footwear for work here.

It was Mac she was missing. Every minute of every hour of every day.

There was a letter in the same mail delivery. An invitation to be part of a team that was going to review the training programme for the emergency services. With her recent experience overseas and the glowing report that had come back with her, she would be able to make a valuable contribution. It would take her away from front-line work but the contract would only be for six months to a year.

The boots lay in their shredded brown paper on the table in front of her. The letter was in her hand. Julia had to blink away a fresh burst of moisture making her eyes sting to read it again.

Annie was right. She needed a fresh start and here it was, being handed to her on a plate. A new challenge. A new life, hopefully.

 

An advertisement for a locum to cover Julia's position on the specialist emergency response team was put online within days and applications flooded in for the prestigious vacancy. From the wealth of applications, only six were shortlisted but the process would be thorough and each interview was expected to last at least an hour.

The selection committee consisted of the district manager of the ambulance service, a representative from the police and a clinical instructor who was one of the most experienced paramedics in the country. The reputation of the team was important to everyone and it would be better to be down a team member for a while than do damage by employing the wrong person.

At the last minute, Julia was asked to come in on one of her days off to sit in on the interviews.

‘But I haven't even seen the C.V.'s,' she protested.

‘I'd rather you didn't.' The district manager ushered her into the boardroom. ‘I thought it would be valuable to get an unbiased opinion based on what you see and hear here today. This is your job they'll be doing. You're in the best position to assess qualities that may be relevant but don't appear in qualifications or get covered by the interview process even.'

So Julia sat in what had to be an intimidating row of a selection committee, on one side of the huge boardroom table. Applicants came in one by one and sat on the other side of the expanse of polished mahogany.

The first was an Australian. A confident man in his early thirties with great postgraduate qualifications and an impressive history of service in a helicopter squad.

‘I've been on the choppers for years,' he told them. ‘I'm just looking for a bit more. I compete in target shooting as a hobby and I do combat obstacle courses as exercise training. Working with the cops is an edge that appeals to me.'

‘He seems well qualified,' the clinical instructor said to lead the discussion after the interview. ‘Young, fit and keen. Ideal.'

‘I think he should be looking to join the police force,' the district manager suggested. ‘Or the army.'

Two candidates were local. One had excelled in academic achievements and road-based work but would need full helicopter training.

‘Too expensive,' the district manager decreed. ‘Can't justify it for a locum position.'

One candidate was female. A thirty-four-year-old paramedic from the north island.

‘I want to challenge myself,' she admitted frankly during her interview. ‘I've just completed my helicopter training and I'm excited by the opportunities this job could provide. I think I'd learn a lot and it would help me gain a permanent position further down the track.'

‘She's got no idea how tough it can be,' was Julia's opinion, after asking searching questions during the interview. ‘I think she needs more experience in general helicopter work. She's not ready for something like this.'

‘We're getting through them,' the district manager reminded them. ‘And so far there hasn't been one who's impressed us unanimously. That Aussie seems like the best bet.' He sounded weary. ‘Guess we'd better see number five.'

The other members of this committee could empathise with the weary tone. Four hour-long interviews and a discussion after each one with only a short break for lunch. Julia's brain was beginning to feel fuzzy. The room was very warm so maybe she was getting dehydrated. She reached for the water jug to refill her glass, aware that the door was opening to admit the second to last applicant.

The jug was full and quite heavy so she had to watch what she was doing but that didn't prevent the hairs on the back of her neck lifting in an odd prickle of awareness. Maybe it was due to the sudden silence in the room as any shuffling or movement ceased. She had the sensation that everyone on her side of the table was sitting up and taking notice of the newcomer.

Already impressed.

And why wouldn't they be? Looking up as she gingerly set the water jug down, Julia was stunned to see the big, solid shape of Mac directly in front of her.

‘Please…sit down,' the district manager invited. ‘Alan MacCulloch, isn't it?'

‘Mac will do just fine.'

Mac. He was here. Really here. Only a few feet away from her, but Julia couldn't move. These men around her were all well respected, top-of-their-field professionals. Should she step out of this interview, perhaps, because she was unable to be unbiased?

No. No way was she moving any further away from Mac. She was too stunned to make her legs work in any case.

‘You have a very impressive C.V.,' the clinical instructor said, his tone slightly awed.

‘Thank you.'

‘And you've come from Glasgow, Scotland?' The police representative sounded amazed.

‘Aye. I have.'

‘That's a very long way to come for an interview for a position that's only temporary.'

‘It is indeed.'

Julia cleared her throat. It had to be her turn to ask a question.

‘Can…can I ask why you have?'

‘Of course.' Mac smiled at her and Julia was aware of a melting sensation she'd been sure she would never feel again. It was one of
those
smiles. For her.

‘I've been hearing what a bonny place New Zealand is,' Mac said. ‘And I've had a yen to come and see for myself.'

Goodness, he was laying it on a bit thick, wasn't he? Even his accent seemed stronger than Julia remembered. It curled around her and seeped into her cells and warmed her whole body. Everybody else on the committee seemed to be lapping it up as well. Everybody had a smile on their face.