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Back Where The Story Starts
Chapters (65)
  1. TITLE PAGE
  2. COPYRIGHT PAGE
  3. CONTENTS
  4. PROLOGUE
  5. 1
  6. 2
  7. 3
  8. 4
  9. 5
  10. 6
  11. 7
  12. 8
  13. 9
  14. 10
  15. 11
  16. 12
  17. 13
  18. 14
  19. 15
  20. 16
  21. 17
  22. 18
  23. 19
  24. 20
  25. 21
  26. 22
  27. 23
  28. 24
  29. 25
  30. 26
  31. 27
  32. 28
  33. 29
  34. 30
  35. 31
  36. 32
  37. 33
  38. 34
  39. 35
  40. 36
  41. 37
  42. 38
  43. 39
  44. 40
  45. 41
  46. 42
  47. 43
  48. 44
  49. 45
  50. 46
  51. 47
  52. 48
  53. 49
  54. 50
  55. 51
  56. 52
  57. 53
  58. 54
  59. 55
  60. 56
  61. 57
  62. 58
  63. BOOK CLUB QUESTIONS
  64. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  65. ABOUT THE AUTHOR

He was kneeling on the floor at her feet, looking so contrite that it was all Grace could do not to just forgive him there and then and forget all about it. But how could she do that? He had missed the birth of their daughter. Whenever she thought she might be getting over it, the full enormity of what he had done rose back up to confront her.

‘And I had to go through the whole nightmare all by myself. The episiotomy and the forceps and the pain and all of it,’ she continued, repeating again the hideous truth of the birth. ‘And then, after all that, I thought our baby was dead. I really did. There was no sound. Nothing. And where were you? Not there.’

In her heart, Grace knew that she was doing no good by going over this ground again and again, but she couldn’t help herself. She fluctuated between hot, intense anger at Charles for not being where he said he would be, and deep, deep sadness at the lost and unrepeatable opportunity. And now, on top of everything else, the baby blues were starting to kick in, making her want to burst into tears for no reason. Taking everything into consideration, she thought that she was actually handling things remarkably well.

Charles reached over to take her hand. Her instinct was to snatch it away crossly, but she’d had enough of this fight. There was no point crying over spilt milk. She couldn’t put the clock back and miraculously place him in that labour room. She allowed him to hold her hand in his.

He ran his thumb over her knuckles. ‘I am so very sorry, Gracie. If I could make things different then you know I would.’

He did look sorry. Grace would give him that, but she still didn’t feel ready to forgive. ‘But why did you say you were going to be at work when you weren’t?’ she persisted. ‘If I’d just known where you were . . .’

‘It was just a mix-up. I got my weeks confused. I went in for a rehearsal as usual and when I found the place shut up I just went off for a drive instead. It was such a glorious day and I was just driving and thinking.’

‘That’s the part I don’t understand,’ said Grace. ‘You say you drove all the way to Scotland! I suppose I can see that. But then why didn’t you come home? You didn’t even ring.’