Nine Months to Change His Life. Marion Lennox

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      The question took him back to the dust and grit of an Afghan roadside.

      They hadn’t even been on duty. They’d been in different battalions and the two groups had met as Ben’s battalion had been redeployed. Ben hadn’t seen his brother for six months.

      ‘I know a place with fine dining,’ Jake had joked. ‘Practically five-star.’

      Yeah, right. Jake always knew the weird and wonderful; he was always pushing the rules. Eating in the army mess didn’t fit with his vision of life.

      The army didn’t fit with Jake’s vision of life. It was a good fit for neither of them. They’d joined to get away from their father and their family notoriety, as far as they could.

      Fail. ‘Logan Brothers Blasted by Roadside Bomb. Heirs to Logan Fortune Airlifted Out.’ They couldn’t get much more notorious than that.

      ‘Earth to Ben?’ Mary said. ‘You were saying? How did you feel when Jake was injured?’

      ‘How do you think I felt?’ He didn’t talk about it, he never had, but suddenly it was all around him and the need to talk was just there. ‘One minute we were walking back to base on an almost deserted road, catching up on home talk. The next moment a bus full of locals pulled up. And then an explosion.’

      ‘Oh, Ben...’

      ‘Schoolkids,’ he said, and he was there again, surrounded by terror, death, chaos. ‘They targeted kids for maximum impact. Twelve kids were killed and Jake was collateral damage.’

      ‘No wonder he has nightmares.’

      ‘Yeah.’

      ‘Did he lose consciousness?’

      What sort of question was that? What difference did it make?

      But it did make a difference. He’d thought, among all that carnage, at least Jake was unaware.

      ‘Until we reached the field hospital, yes.’

      ‘You were uninjured?’

      ‘Minor stuff. Jake was between me and the bus.’

      ‘Then I’m guessing,’ she said gently, ‘that your nightmares will be worse than his.’

      ‘I’m fine.’

      ‘He’s your younger brother.’

      ‘By twenty minutes.’

      ‘You’ll still feel responsible.’

      ‘He’s okay.’ He flinched at the thought of where he might be now. Put it away, fast. ‘He has to be okay. But tell me about you. Why are you here?’

      And the question was neatly turned. She had nowhere to go, he thought as he watched her face. He’d answered her questions. He’d let down his guard. Now he was demanding entry to places he instinctively knew she kept protected.

      They were two of a kind, he thought, and how he knew it he couldn’t guess. But they kept their secrets well.

      He was asking for hers.

      ‘I’m escaping from my family,’ she said, and she was silent for a while. ‘I’m escaping from my community as well.’

      ‘As bad as that?’

      ‘Worse,’ she said. ‘Baby killer, that’s me.’

      It was said lightly. It was said with all the pain in the world.

      ‘You want to tell me about it?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘You expect me to stay in the same bed as a baby killer?’

      She turned and stared and he met her gaze. Straight and true. If this woman was a baby killer he was King Kong.

      He smiled and she tried to smile back. It didn’t come off.

      ‘I’ve exonerated you,’ he told her. ‘Found you innocent. Evidence? If you really were a baby killer you’d be on a more secure island. Alcatraz, for instance. Want to tell me about it?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘I told you mine.’ He lifted the quilt so it reached her shoulders. ‘If you lie back, there are cushions. Very comfy cushions. You can stare into the dark and pretend I’m your therapist.’

      ‘I don’t need a therapist.’

      ‘Neither do I.’

      ‘You have nightmares.’

      ‘And you don’t?’ He put gentle pressure on her shoulder. She resisted for a moment. Heinz snuffled beside her. The wind raised its howl a notch.

      She slumped back on the pillows and felt the fight go out of her.

      ‘Tell Dr Ben,’ Ben said.

      ‘Doctor?’

      ‘I’m playing psychoanalyst. I’ve failed the army. I’m a long way from the New York Stock Exchange. My yacht’s a hundred fathoms deep. A man has to have some sort of career. Shoot.’

      ‘Shoot?’

      ‘What would an analyst say? So, Ms Smash ’em Mary, you’re confessing to baby killing.’

      And she smiled. He heard it and he almost whooped.

      What was it about this woman that made it so important to make her smile?

      Shoot, he’d said, and she did.

      CHAPTER FOUR

      SHE GAVE IN.

      She told him.

      ‘Okay,’ she said, and he heard weariness now, the weariness of a long, long battle. ‘I’ve told you that I’m a district nurse?’

      ‘Hence the drugs,’ he said. ‘Nice nurse.’

      She smiled again, but briefly. ‘I’m currently suspended from work and a bit...on the outer with my family,’ she told him. She took a deep breath. ‘Okay, potted history. My mum died when I was eight. She’d been ill for a year and at the end Dad was empty. It was like most of him had died, too.

      ‘Then he met Barbie. Barbie’s some kind of faith-healer and self-declared clairvoyant. She offered to channel Mum, using Ouija boards, that kind of thing, and Dad was so desperate he fell for it. But Barbie has three daughters of her own and was in a financial mess. She was blatantly after Dad’s money. Dad’s well off. He has financial interests in most of the businesses in Taikohe where we live, and Barbie simply moved in and took control. She got rid of every trace of my mother. She still wants to get rid of me.’

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