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‘What if’ she’d been overcome with guilt and handed Isla over? ‘What if’ she’d then had concerns and hadn’t been able to do anything to protect her daughter or her friend? ‘What if’ something had happened to either one of them? No wonder she’d spent the whole night tossing and turning.
And the only person she felt as if she could talk to about it all was the one person she’d taken her temper out on. Logan may have judged her, but he’d admitted he hadn’t understood the circumstances. He’d apologised. And he’d tried his best to support her that day.
He’d arranged transport for them all back to Arran. He’d practically carried Lesley from the hospital and into a waiting car to drive them back to Ardrossan. He’d arranged for some policemen to go to her home and pick up some of her things. All without saying a word to her.
But she’d pushed him away. She had been unable to deal with the pity in his eyes, or the way he’d looked as if he’d wanted to protect her. All she had been able to think about had been her own failings. How many things she could have done differently. Ways in which she could have done something to support the friend she’d more or less abandoned.
That first night, after she’d finally got home to Arran and she’d settled Lesley in, she’d brought Isla into her bed and just held her all night. It was something that rarely happened. Usually the only time Isla ended up in bed with her was if she was sick. But Gemma had just felt the need to hold her that night. To hold her and never let her go.
The last two nights she’d spent a few minutes watching her from the corridor as she’d slept. Her little chest rising and falling peacefully, without a care in the world. Logan had been right. Isla loved it here. And she was thriving.
Her relationship with Mrs Scott was priceless. They were like two identical personalities at opposite ends of the age spectrum. She’d had a few doubts about staying here on that day. She’d been scared. Scared that people might judge her like Logan had.
But she had to think positively. She was looking forward to starting her paediatric hours soon. Sam Allan would be returning to the practice, and Harry Burns would be well enough in a few weeks to decorate her house.
And the house? The house was perfect. She could spend a lazy evening looking out over the Firth of Clyde and drinking a glass of wine. It might be a little lonely at times, but she had no idea what would happen in the future.
She ran her hand along her arms. Her hairs were standing on end, and she knew exactly why. Logan. He’d just appeared in her brain and her body was having an instant reaction.
Logan Scott. The island bachelor. Would he ever look for something else?
The connection between them felt so real. So instant. So alive.
Isla talked about him all the time. They seemed to have made an easy connection. Could she hope for anything else?
She’d seen Claire again yesterday. She’d been at Mrs Scott’s house when Gemma had gone to pick Isla up. She’d told Gemma about being turned down by the adoption agency.
It had been heartbreaking. Gemma had seen the longing in her eyes as she’d watched Isla play with her mother. But when she’d asked a few questions about how she was feeling and her mood, Claire had been quite open to Gemma’s suggestion that they talk some time.
So maybe things would work out for Claire. And maybe Logan’s guilt would finally be appeased.
Gemma lifted her nose in the air. She could smell coffee. And scones. She’d need to be quick. These things never lasted in a busy practice like this.
She turned back to face the screen and clicked open the email. Her friend Lottie. She’d marked it urgent. Odd. She hadn’t spoken to Lottie in the last few weeks.
Gemma’s heart fell as soon as she saw what it contained.
No. Please, no. She put her hand over her mouth. She felt sick.
Not now. Not this. Just when she’d finally thought she could relax and draw breath.
It seemed as if life on Arran had just slipped out of her grasp.
* * *
Logan finished his run and headed towards the shop. He didn’t like to break his routine. After an on-call last night when he hadn’t got a wink of sleep, this was a precious morning off. He still hadn’t slept, though.
By the time he’d finished at the hospital the early morning sun had just been rising above the waves. It was a perfect time for a sail. Two hours out on the open sea followed by a run along the nearby beaches and main road.
It was supposed to be a chance for him to get his thoughts in order. To plan an approach to Gemma and what on earth he was going to say.
His feet slowed as he approached the newsagent’s. The morning paper and some fresh rolls and he’d be all set.
He noticed straight away that something was wrong. The local Scottish red-top was missing from the stack of papers lined up on the shelves. Sometimes there were problems with the deliveries to Arran, it wasn’t that unusual.
But what was unusual was that every other paper was up to date and on the shelf.
‘What’s wrong, Fred? Delivery not arrived yet?’ He picked up his usual paper and a bag with four rolls and set them down on the counter.
Fred looked as if he’d swallowed a rat. His face was twisted and fierce. He folded his arms across his chest. ‘Best not to sell it today.’
Logan looked up. He hadn’t really been paying much attention, but now his interest was definitely piqued. Fred, in protest about something? Seemed unusual.
‘Why not?’
Fred screwed up his face even further. His head gestured with a nod to the pile behind the counter at his feet. ‘Don’t want to upset the new doc.’
Logan’s eyes widened and he reached down behind the counter and grabbed the nearest paper.
Oh, no. He let out an expletive.
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Bad surrogate in emergency visit to her pregnant ex-best friend.
He couldn’t believe any journalist had actually got hold of the story. That had been a few days ago.
He scanned the rest of the article. No mention of Lynsey Black and her babies. They obviously hadn’t made the connection with the helicopter. Thank goodness. But someone had made the connection between Lesley, Patrick and Gemma.
There was even a picture—albeit a pretty fuzzy one that didn’t really capture Gemma’s true beauty. But it did list a lot of information about her. Like the fact she was Arran’s new paediatrician, and that she had moved to the island with her daughter Isla, and the fact she was working in the GP practice on the island. How on earth had they got all that information?
Logan could barely read the rest, and it was just as well as it made his blood boil. The tear-jerking story of Gemma stealing Patrick and Lesley’s baby—with no mention of the fact she was Isla’s biological mother.
Then a further huge story about Lesley’s ‘miracle’ pregnancy, and the minor ‘incident’ that had caused Lesley to end up in hospital and Patrick led away in handcuffs. Funnily enough, there was no picture of that.
Or of the damage to Lesley’s face and throat, or the potential damage to the unborn child. Worse than anything, it mentioned some vague remark about Lesley being ‘elsewhere’. Logan fumed. It wouldn’t take a genius to work out what that meant—especially when they’d given so much other information about Gemma.
If she’d been feeling unsure about staying on Arran before, how was she going to feel about this?
Logan’s stomach churned. He had to speak to her. He had to warn her. Fred had been kind enough to hide the papers, but not every newsagent on the island would do that, and word would spread quickly.
Logan threw some coins on the counter. ‘Thank you, Fred. Thanks for this. I’ll go and speak to Gemma now.’
He jogged along the seafront towards the surgery. There was no time to go and get changed. He couldn’t even think about that right now. All he could think about was getting to Gemma and warning her. Getting to her and letting her know that all the partners in the practice would support her—no matter what the press said.
