Fix You (20 page)

How could she ever tell Richard she was having his baby when
he was needed so much? If she told him now, would he desert his fiancée and
come to help her? Could she ever look him in the eye and respect him if he did?
Was she able to put him in that position, where he had to choose between his
fiancée’s health and being with his child?

She knew she couldn’t.

He would grow to hate her—and maybe their baby—for making
him choose. He was a good man, almost too kind, and she knew his instincts
would be telling him to stay with Meredith. All she had to do was remember how
he had given up his dreams to take over Maxwell Enterprises after Leon died.

She hung up without saying a word, putting her hand over her
heart, and feeling it clatter against her palm. Her whole body shook as she
pressed more buttons on her phone and lifted it again, immediately calming upon
hearing Tom’s voice.

“I need to leave London until the baby is born.”

This time she wasn’t running. She was stepping down, putting
others before herself. Though it broke her heart to know she would have to cut
herself off from her surrogate family, she knew was she wouldn’t be able to see
the Larsens. If they were to tell Richard the truth about the baby, she knew
his heart would be torn in two.

Twenty One

April 25
^th
2012

“
P
at-a-cake, pat-a-cake, baker’s
man.”
Hanna touched Matty’s tiny palm to hers, the
slapping sound of skin on skin making his little eyes light up with delight.
She repeated the song, and he squealed happily, nodding his head to encourage
her to do it again.

He’d been awake for ten minutes, after a long afternoon nap,
and it looked like he was going to make it through until Tom arrived. He’d made
Hanna promise to keep his godson up until he got to his Villa in Nice,
desperate to see how Matthew had changed in the few months since he’d last seen
him.

“Row.” Matty’s vocabulary still consisted of single-word
sentences, but each day he understood more. His face became so animated when
Hanna asked him to find his shoes and he toddled back with them in his hand,
standing proudly on his chubby legs.

Hanna took his hands in hers and began to sing
Row your
Boat
. As always, he held his breath until she got to the bit about
crocodiles, and then he would let out an almighty shriek, doubling over with
giggles when she put her hands over her ears in an exaggerated fashion,
pretending he had deafened her.

Christ, how she loved him. From the moment he was born and
placed in her arms, it was like the sun had come out after hiding behind clouds
for months. The adoration she felt for him bubbled up inside her, squeezing her
heart until it physically hurt. She would move mountains for this boy, slay
dragons, battle through the mines of Moria if she had to. Nothing was too good
for him.

Hanna had given birth in a hospital just outside Nice. An
easy, uncomplicated birth, it was like a herald, welcoming the easiest,
happiest child she’d ever had the luck to come across. Not that he didn’t
cry—she was used to waking up in the night, finding his pacifier, offering him
an extra feed. But even then, she was so conditioned to his needs, that it didn’t
seem like a drag to have to pull herself out of bed. She counted herself way
too lucky for that.

She’d tried to push the memory of Richard out of her mind,
but he was never far away, always floating on the edge of her thoughts. She’d
done the right thing; she really believed that. While Meredith was paralyzed
and consigned to a wheelchair, at least Hanna had a beautiful future planned
out with her little man, even if he’d never be able to know his father.

Now Matty was nearly eighteen months, no longer a baby.
Matthew Richard Vincent was her little man, light brown hair curling over his
head, big brown eyes following her whenever she walked around the room. Hanna
counted herself lucky that she’d spent nearly every day of the past year and a
half with him, working from Tom’s villa, writing Fatal Limits’ biography, as
well as writing for Buzz.

She’d adapted Tom’s orangery into an office. Her laptop
rested on a vintage, white wooden desk. In the corner—piled high in a garish,
plastic cornucopia—stood Matty’s toys. Every half-hour or so, she would take a
break, sit with him and build bricks until he pushed them back down. She loved
to hear his gurgling guffaws.

“Do you remember Uncle Tom, Matty?” She lifted him onto her
lap, burying her face in his soft, downy hair. “He likes to sing to you.”

Matty babbled something unintelligible, and Hanna played
their usual game. She pretended to understand what he was saying, talking back
to him as if he was just another adult.

“That’s right; he recorded that song for you.”

Dear Matty,
released in February 2011, had gone
platinum. Everybody thought it was a love song dedicated to a new girlfriend.
Only the group and Hanna knew that it was really declaring Tom’s love for his newborn
godson. Every time she heard it, the song sent chills down Hanna’s spine.

Matty climbed onto Hanna’s lap, pushing himself up to
standing, lacing his fleshy arms around her neck. His wrists still had little
rolls that looked like somebody had put elastic bands over his skin. Every day
he was getting stronger, slimmer, more like a child. Only the delight of
getting to know him better was enough to quell the sadness that her baby was
growing up.

A loud three-tone beep from her phone alerted her to an
incoming text. Lifting Matty from her lap, she balanced him on her knee,
walking over to the corner of the glass room. Her iPhone was still lit up, and
she picked it up, scraping her finger across the screen.

Landed in Monte Carlo. Should be there in a couple of
hours
.

The final leg of Fatal Limits’ world tour had been in
Australia, and Tom had taken a couple of weeks off to relax and do some
surfing. He’d flown home to London a week earlier, and was planning to join
Hanna in Nice for a while. They needed to go through the final proofs of the
biography, and hoped to spend some time together since Tom had been away so
much after Matty was born.

Hanna had only been back to London a couple of times
herself. She still kept her flat there, knowing one day she might want to move
home. But at the moment, she was settled in France. Matty loved the gardens of
Tom’s villa, and going to the beach. It was an altogether more peaceful way of
life.

Plus, she didn’t have to worry about bumping into the
Larsens.

Will put the champagne on ice. Fish fingers for tea.

She smiled as she sent him the text. One of his favorite
parts of being a godfather was trying Matty’s food. During his whirlwind visits
to France between tour dates, he’d enthusiastically feed Matty the frozen,
pureed food that Hanna had made. Often he’d eat more than half himself, in his “one
for Matty, one for Tom,” routine.

Best make an extra portion. I’m bringing someone with
me.

Now, that was intriguing. To the best of her knowledge, Tom
was single, although Hanna suspected he had his regular hook-ups in some of the
towns he toured. Her hope that he would get together with Ruby seemed to go
nowhere, and part of her suspected it was Hanna’s fault. In the carefully drawn
lines between herself and the Larsens, Tom had placed himself firmly in Hanna’s
camp.

Not that she expected him to choose. She still kept in touch
with Ruby and Claire, almost surprised that they accepted her lame-ass excuse
for not being able to see them. She’d invented an agreement between herself and
the “reclusive singer” she was writing about, saying she couldn’t reveal her
whereabouts to family and friends. Perhaps it was Claire’s experience with New
York eccentrics that led her to believe anything was possible, or Ruby’s
preoccupation with her PhD in Molecular Physics. Either way, it had been
embarrassingly easy to cover up Matty’s existence.

THE FRONT DOOR banged, and Matty
started babbling, splashing his hands in the bathwater.

 
“You here?” Tom called out at her
from the hallway.

“In the bathroom,” Hanna shouted back, her face covered with
a grin. “It’s a bit of a disaster in here.”

Within moments, the bathroom door had flung open and Tom was
standing in front of her, an absurd smile molding his lips.

“Matty boy!” He leaned over the bath and squeezed Matthew,
who smashed his fists in the water in protest. Tom’s expensive black t-shirt
was soaked.

Hanna drew her lips together tightly in an attempt to quell
her laughter. Matty looked a little perturbed, both by the break in routine and
Tom’s over-enthusiastic hug. He was getting weird about people he didn’t see
very often. Hanna hoped it was a phase.

She stood and hugged Tom, feeling the wetness of his t-shirt
soak through to her blouse. “How was your flight?”

“Long. I spent most of it asleep.” He rubbed at his eyes
with the heel of his palm, as if to confirm his exhaustion.

“I bet your friend loved that.”

“My friend?”

“Whoever it is you brought with you? The one I’ve prepared
dinner for.”

“You mean Ruby.” Tom laughed, and the words made Hanna’s
blood run cold.

“Ruby, as in Larsen?” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “You’ve
brought Ruby here?”

Tom put out a hand and rubbed the top of her arm. “It’s a
long story; there are a few things you need to talk about.”

“I’d say there is.”

Hanna looked up to see Ruby standing in the doorway.

“You said you’d wait until I’d spoken to her.” Tom walked
over to Ruby and curled his arm around her waist. “This isn’t going to be any
easier if you’re at each other’s necks.”

Hanna felt her throat constrict. Panic made it hard to
breathe. She felt betrayed by Tom and afraid that now the dam had been opened,
the cozy little life she had built for Matty and herself was being threatened
by those she missed the most.

“Ruby, I’m so—”

Matty splashed the water again, this time enough to get
water on Ruby’s top. Hanna watched as a smile broke out over Ruby’s face, her
features softening as she looked at Matty.

“He’s beautiful.”

Hanna just nodded, unsure what to say.

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me about him, Hanna. I can’t
understand why you didn’t trust me. We’re supposed to be friends, Jesus you’re
my best friend, and all this time you’ve been emailing me with stories of
reclusive artists and hard-to-write stories.”

“I am kind of reclusive.” Tom pointed out, earning a slap in
the arm from Ruby.

“Don’t think I’m done with you, either,” Ruby shook her head
at him.

“It’s not Tom’s fault. I asked him not to tell anybody.”

“He told the fucking world, Hanna. He wrote a song about
your son, for God’s sake.” Ruby’s face fell again, “Yours and Richard’s son.”

Hanna didn’t bother to deny it. The resemblance was growing
along with Matty. His newborn dark hair had fallen out, to be replaced by
Richard’s light brown tones. Only his eyes resembled Hanna’s.

“Can I just get Matty ready for bed?” Hanna pulled her wet,
wriggling son out of the bath, wrapping him snugly in a white, fluffy towel. “We
can talk when he’s asleep.”

Ruby’s gaze remained on her nephew, her eyes gentle as she
watched him chew at the towel. “Sure. I’m going to go unpack. You’ve got half
an hour.”

MATTY WAS ALMOST asleep when she sat
with him on the chair, finishing the cup of warm milk she had given him. His
whole body was relaxed against her, and she could feel his breathing slow until
it reached the cadence of sleep. Only then did she lift him up and place him in
his cot, switching on the nightlight and monitor, before padding out of the
nursery and gently pulling the door closed behind her.

She was dreading this. Part of her was so angry with Tom for
putting her in this position without any warning. Mostly, she was furious with
herself. The situation she’d put Tom in was untenable, particularly if he’d
been reconnecting with Ruby. To ask him to lie was completely unfair.

Hanna walked into the open-plan living room. The evening sun
was orange, slowly creeping toward the horizon. It lit the room with an amber
glow, reflecting from Tom and Ruby’s skin until they looked almost otherworldly.
She watched them for a moment, as they sat close together, heads bent toward
each other as they talked. How long had this been going on? They looked way too
close for two people who had hooked up in the past few days in London.

“Would you like a glass of wine?” Tom stood up and
approached her, wearing a conciliatory smile. She attempted a wan smile back,
trying to convey that they were okay.

“I’d love a glass of Sancerre.” She’d actually love the
bottle, but she wasn’t going to win any mum of the year awards with that
attitude.

Tom left the room and Ruby stood up, her face youthful in
the dull evening light. Hanna felt the pull before Ruby even moved, and within
moments they were in each other’s arms, a mess of tears and recriminations,
hugs and anger.

They were sisters. The underlying love pinned them together
no matter what.

“I’m so mad at you.” Ruby sobbed into Hanna’s shoulder. “I
need you to tell me why.” Hanna lifted Ruby’s face, kissing her cheek, feeling
their tears intermingle. The lump in her throat grew so big she was finding it
hard to speak.

“I—” Hanna stopped herself, trying to think how to explain
her actions. “When I found out I was pregnant, I called Richard to tell him.
Caroline picked up his phone and told me about Meredith.”

“About Meredith?” Ruby clarified.

“About her not being able to walk, after the accident.” They
were both breathing a little easier, and Hanna took Ruby’s hand and led her to
the sofa. They sat down, knees touching, and continued to talk.

“Meredith can walk.” Ruby was perplexed. “She couldn’t at
first, after the accident, but she was soon up and okay.”