Sydney Harbour Hospital: Tom's Redemption (16 page)

He instantly remembered her stop-start feet the night he’d met her, her reaction when the rug had gone over her head, and how she’d been turning lights on all night. And now this. Her reaction went beyond fear and edged on being petrified.

‘Hayley, what’s going on?’

She couldn’t get her breath and she wanted to sink to
the floor, cuddle her knees and rock back and forth. Her recurring nightmare was getting out of control.

You know it’s been out of control for years
. But admitting that out loud was too scary. ‘Nothing’s wrong. Just a bad dream after a big day.’

His head turned slightly to her voice and his sightless eyes stared straight at her. ‘It’s a hell of a lot more than that. It’s connected with your fear of the dark, isn’t it?’

Her chest tightened. She’d hidden this from so many people over so many years because she never let anyone get close, and yet it was a blind man who’d just worked it out. She blew out a breath, replaying his words in her head, and she realised his matter-of-fact tone held no condemnation. The part of her that always tried to hide her fear let out a tired sigh.

Tell him
.

No
. Reliving that night over and over in a dream was one thing. Talking about it would do her in.

It might help
.

It won’t
.

‘Remember our pact of not having to answer questions? Well, I’m invoking it.’ She got back into bed and snuggled down. ‘Let’s go back to sleep.’

His arms gathered her close and she let herself be cocooned in his mantle of safety. Under the soothing yellow beam of the central light her eyelids fluttered downwards.

‘Most of us grow out of this particular childhood fear. What happened to you that prevented it?’

Her eyes shot open. Why did he have to be so damn intuitive?

Because he isn’t distracted by images
.

‘Nothing happened. I’m just an exception to the rule.’

He huffed out a breath. ‘Sleeping with a nightlight is one thing. Sleeping under the glare of three sixty-watt
bulbs is another thing entirely. I live in semi-darkness, Hayley, it’s not that scary.’

She instinctively shuddered at the thought and then regretted it.

His lips grazed her shoulder. ‘Who’s Amy?’

No way. No
. She threw back the covers as panic consumed her. ‘Go back to sleep, Tom.’

She grabbed her pyjamas and rushed towards the kitchen, flinging on lights wherever she saw a switch until the entire apartment was lit up like a Christmas tree. With trembling hands she filled the kettle and set it to boil and then she frantically opened cupboards, searching for some sort of soothing tea.

‘What are you looking for?’ Tom stood in a pair of boxers and a T-shirt that fitted his toned chest like a glove and made him look like an underwear model.

But it did nothing to dent her panic. ‘Chamomile tea, peppermint tea, any bloody tea!’

One corner of his mouth tweaked up. ‘I don’t have any.’

Ridiculous tears pricked the back of her eyes. ‘That’s not helpful at all.’

He put out his arm and caught hers, pulling her into him. ‘How about hot milk and brandy? The nurses swear by it for calming down crazy old ladies who try to climb over the cot sides.’

Her worst fear made her sharp. ‘I’m not crazy.’

His hand stroked her hair. ‘Not usually, but you are tonight and I’d hazard a guess you’ve been like this many times before. Isn’t it wearing you out?’

Yes
. The sympathy in his voice unlocked something inside her and tears started to fall. ‘I’m so tired, Tom. I’m so very, very tired.’

He held her, his arms circled tightly around her and he pressed kisses in her hair. She could have stayed there
for ever with his strength flowing through her. She felt protected, cared for and safe in a way she hadn’t felt in years. Eventually he dropped his arms and said, ‘You go sit on the couch and I’ll make you that milk.’

She almost said, ‘I’ll do it’, but the determination on his face stopped her. Instead, she did as she was told and cuddled up on the couch with a light polar fleece blanket draped around her shoulders, and she came to a decision.

Tom picked up the mug of hot milk. Heating it was the easy part. Getting the damn thing to Hayley without spilling it was another thing entirely, but if he could do it anywhere it was here. Once he was out of the kitchen it was twelve steps to the couch. He started walking, concentrating on making each step smooth. ‘Where are you?’

‘On the right-hand side of the couch.’

He turned and counted five more steps. At least her voice sounded stronger than it had a few minutes ago and no milk had scalded his hand. Miracles could happen. He held out the mug. ‘Here.’

‘Thanks.’ She accepted it, her fingers brushing his, and a moment later she started coughing. ‘How much brandy’s in this?’

Obviously too much
. He hated that he had no clue how much he’d put in, and that what was supposed to be a helpful act had her coughing like an asthmatic. He sat down next to her. ‘Tell me about Amy.’

She gave a long sigh. ‘Amy’s my …’ She gulped and then her words rushed out. ‘Amy was my twin sister. She died suddenly when we were eleven.’

A shock of guilt flared through him, making him regret his previous accusations that, unlike him, she’d had a perfect childhood. The guilt tumbled over empathy. Although he didn’t have siblings, he’d experienced enough loss to have a form of understanding. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Yeah.’ She sounded sad and resigned. ‘It was a long time ago. Too long ago.’

But time didn’t mean squat with grief. ‘Doesn’t make it any easier.’

‘No. I still miss her. I know that can’t be right but I do.’

She paused and he wished he could see her face, but he couldn’t make out anything but shadows. He heard her shudder out a breath.

‘For eleven years my life was happy and relatively carefree. Amy was my best friend, my conscience and my other half. Sometimes we didn’t even have to talk to find out what the other was thinking, we just knew. Once when Dad took Amy to buy me a birthday present she came home having chosen the exact same gift I had bought for her.’

He wondered what it was like to be that connected to another human being. He’d never got close. Never allowed himself to get that close.

Until now
.

He shook his head against the words. ‘Were you identical?’

‘Yes.’

He let her silence ride, knowing she had to tell her story in her own time.

‘I’m the eldest by twenty minutes and I took my job as the “big sister” very seriously.’

He smiled. ‘I can picture you doing that.’

‘Is that code for saying I’m bossy?’

He reached out, patting the couch until he felt her leg, which he gave a gentle squeeze. ‘You know what you want and there’s no crime in that.’

‘I guess I’ve been trying to live my life for Amy too.’ Her voice sounded small and she lifted his hand, folding it in hers and gripping it hard. ‘One night, Amy crawled
into bed with me, saying she felt weird. We’d been to a party and had eaten way too much junk food and we didn’t want to confess that to Mum because she was huge on eating healthy, so I cuddled her and we both fell asleep. I woke up and my clock said 3:03. Amy was still in bed with me, only …’

Her fingers crushed his but he didn’t move. He now understood exactly why she feared the dark so much and he wished he could turn back time and change what had happened to her. Change the fact she’d woken up with her sister dead in her arms. But, hell, he couldn’t change a thing. He kissed her hand.

‘She’d died of bacterial meningitis and I didn’t even get sick.’ Her voice rose on a wail and he waited, giving her a chance to compose herself.

‘I was a kid and I didn’t understand any of it.’ Her voice sounded stronger. ‘I thought it should have been me who died and for a long time I refused to accept she was dead. My parents were inconsolable and I spent a lot of years being the perfect child so as not to give them any more stress and maybe to honour Amy. I felt so guilty that she’d died and I lived. I went to school, I worked hard and achieved, but I was living in a fog. I didn’t do the normal teenage stuff like parties and boyfriends, and I couldn’t sleep at night. I took to napping in the day, which worked at university between lectures, and once I’d qualified, I always offered to do night shift. Over the years I’ve become the power-nap queen.’ Her laugh was hollow. ‘I worked out that if I sleep in the light the nightmares are less. As you’ve just found out, sleeping in the dark is an invitation for fear to invade.’

‘You’re chronically exhausted.’ He ran his fingers over the back of her hand. She was an intelligent woman and a brilliant doctor, but she couldn’t see that she also had post-traumatic
stress disorder. ‘You sleeping with the lights on isn’t going to bother me, but you know it isn’t helping you.’

The couch vibrated as she dropped his hand and shifted. ‘I think I know what works best for me.’

Her defensive tone told him to back off, but he wasn’t having a bar of it. ‘Hayley, not very long ago you told me that you’re exhausted. If you don’t deal with this you’re going to fall apart in a monumental breakdown and climbing back from that will be beyond hard.’

‘Suddenly you’re a psychiatrist?’

Her sarcasm whipped him but he let it wash over him. ‘Hell, no. I treated brains with surgery, but even if I could still operate, I wouldn’t be able to fix this.’ He closed his eyes for a moment, seeking the strength to share something he’d never told anyone.

You never share anything with anyone
.

But he knew he had to expose his own weakness to help her. ‘After the accident I thought death was preferable to being blind. I couldn’t see a damn thing, but when I shut my eyes I relived the accident in all its Technicolor glory. The shock of the car hitting me, the cool zip of the air as I flew through it still on my bike, and the terrifying crunching sound as my head slammed into the pavement. All of it was pushing me deep into a very black pit. Reluctantly, I agreed to hypnotherapy.’

‘I can’t imagine you doing that.’

He understood her surprise. ‘Neither could I, but it was better than talking about my damn feelings to someone who had no bloody clue and could only look at me and think, thank God, that’s not me.’

It was suddenly really important to him that she seek professional help. He wanted her to be well and get the most out of her life. He moved closer to her, smelling the
citrus of her hair and using it to find her face. He traced her cheek and with his finger. ‘Promise me you’ll try it.’

He felt her hesitation, smelt her scepticism, apprehension and doubt, and just when he thought she’d refuse, she leaned her forehead against his and whispered, ‘Thank you.’

He immediately shrugged off her heartfelt words. ‘There’s nothing to thank me for. I’m just doing what any friend would do.’

She sighed as if she didn’t quite believe him. ‘Well, thanks for caring.’

He opened his mouth to say ‘You’re welcome’ but the words stalled in his throat as his heart suddenly ached without reason. Something in her voice had skated too close to it for comfort.
Caring?
He tried to shrug it off, tried to rationalise his wanting to help her as a normal reaction to a patient or friend. It wouldn’t stick. Hayley wasn’t a patient and he’d never had a friend like her.

She’s special
.

A flutter of panic skittered through his veins.

Hayley’s fingers caressed the keys of Tom’s piano, revelling in the rich sounds, and she lost herself in one of Chopin’s nocturnes. As soon as her house was habitable again, she was going to buy a piano. She’d moved so much in the last ten years that she didn’t own one, but this last ten days she’d found the music was helping her.

She felt Tom’s hand settle on her shoulder and she leaned back into him, loving his strength and his ironclad determination that flowed into her. It inspired her every time. He’d arrived home a few minutes ago, but she’d learned he had a routine and it was best not to disturb it so she’d kept on playing. He looked as divine as
ever in a blue-and-white checked shirt, navy collared light jumper and the palest of grey chinos.

Before she’d started living at the penthouse, she’d wondered how he managed to coordinate his clothes so well, when his hair always looked slightly unkempt and rumpled. Now she knew. He bought an entire season of clothes from a particular men’s store and his cleaning lady hung them in colour groups.

She smiled up at him. ‘Before I forget, Carol rang to say she’s home and she suggested dinner soon.’

‘Let me know your roster and I’ll call her later.’

Delicious surprise flowed through her that he wanted her to meet the woman who’d been more of a mother to him than his own and she hugged it close. ‘Will do. You’re back early.’

He dropped a kiss onto her head. ‘And you’re not studying.’

‘Your powers of deduction amaze me, Watson.’

He smiled gently. ‘You’re rolling your eyes at me.’

How did he know that?
‘No, I’m not.’

His fingers played with her hair. ‘You’re also a hopeless liar, Hayley. I can hear it in your voice. Bad day?’

It had been an awful day, starting with a young motorcyclist who’d wrapped himself around a tree and almost bled to death on the table, and it had ended with what should have been a straightforward division of adhesions, but when she’d opened up the patient’s peritoneum it had been riddled with cancer. She’d immediately closed up, stitching each layer with great care, and two hours later had broken the bad news that the woman had only weeks to live. After all of that she’d had her second appointment with the hypnotherapist. She hadn’t wanted to go to the first appointment, but Tom had pushed and chivvied and walked her there to make sure she’d followed through on
her promise. It hadn’t been the ordeal she’d expected and today’s return visit had left her feeling oddly light inside. She kept rubbing her chest, expecting the familiar heavy weight to return.

While she’d been living with Tom, she’d got used to talking about her day with him, as well as chatting about all sorts of things from medicine to politics and books. Their taste in books was poles apart, but she didn’t care because the discussions that stemmed from their differences was invigorating. She hadn’t felt this alive or shared her thoughts like this with a friend in …