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Hallie…
Was Emma right when she talked about nature and nurture?
Hallie and Pop had certainly nurtured him, and taught him not only the skills he’d need to live a successful life but the values to lead a good life.
Which he had—in his own way, right up until Emma Crawford had walked into the picture and everything had become so convoluted in his mind he didn’t know where to start thinking about it.
And desperately wanting to make love to her again—to make love, not just have sex—was not the answer.
More a problem that he’d just have to ignore and hope it would go away.
Because, for all the nurturing he’d received, he knew that, in a flash, nature could take over. It hadn’t happened for years but it had happened, the first time when he’d been at high school and an older boy had been teasing Liane.
He hadn’t seen the red mist that he’d read about in books, hadn’t seen or heard anything, although he knew there’d been shouting. He’d simply charged in, fists flailing, more missing than connecting but throwing enough lucky ones for the boy to end up with a black eye and a broken nose.
During the weeks he’d been suspended from school, he’d gone to work with Pop, too young to drive the big rig then but keeping him company, and Pop had never once spoken of the incident, just chatted on as Pop did when he was driving, pointing out places of interest, taking Marty to towns he’d never visited before.
But Pop was basically a quiet man, so there had been plenty of silence for Marty’s head to think about what had happened, and about his reaction. To think about his father, and worry that he was like him…
And at the end of the two weeks’ banishment, Hallie had packed his lunch and put it in his backpack, kissed his cheek, and sent him off with the others as if nothing had ever happened.
Their attitude had confused him and it was only years later that he’d spoken to them about it.
‘What could we say that you weren’t learning for yourself? You were bright enough to work out you had to find other ways to react, and better ways to protect your family and friends.’
She’d looked at him across the table with its teapot full of endless cups of tea and smiled.
‘And you did, didn’t you?’
She’d been right. He’d learned to walk away, taking a sibling or friend with him—to turn his back on bullies instead of becoming a bully himself.
Which had been fine until girlfriends had entered his life—and one had left his life for another bloke and—
What had he been?
Eighteen?
And yet he hadn’t actually hurt the bloke for all he’d wanted to…
* * *
Emma woke at midday, surprised she’d slept at all, until she read the note Christine had left on the kitchen table.
‘We’ve all gone to Wetherby for the day. Hallie and Pop are cleaning out the attics and have found some toys the boys might like.’
And in a different hand, ‘Might make a day of it and bring you back fish and chips for dinner. Love Dad.’
Disappointment shafted through her, though maybe, her practical self told her, it was hunger. But as she made and ate some toast and drank a morning coffee, she did feel a little disappointed that she couldn’t talk to her father about the photo and the portrait on her wall.
She’d checked it again when she’d got up—holding the two close together—and she was sure they were images of the same woman.
But who?
The great-aunt she’d never met?
She phoned Carrie, but got an answering-machine and assumed she’d probably gone on the jaunt to Wetherby as well. The people carrier she and Dad had bought when she’d been expecting the twins would certainly hold everyone.
And leave room for toys.
Anyway, Carrie would be too young to know much. Someone’s grandmother, that’s who she’d need to find.
Joss?
Joss’s mother had produced Christine, and Emma still had the phone number.
But what to say?
Do you know the woman in this photo?
Surely that would be far too personal—and too intrusive because, dead or not, she’d still be meddling in Ken Irvine’s affairs.
She sighed, deciding to give up thinking about the photo at least until she’d talked to her father…
But not thinking about the photo created a vacuum in her mind and, naturally enough, into it rushed the other revelations of the night.
If she thought only about Marty’s story—about his mother’s death—and his determination not to risk hurting anyone he loved, maybe she’d forget what had happened later.
Hardly possible as her body tingled just not remembering it.
She’d go to work. That would stop her thinking about anything outside the job at hand. And although she had no idea just how her work roster stood at the moment, never having worked out how the rescue helicopter hours fitted into the general work timetable, there’d always be something she could do, even if it meant attacking the mountains of paperwork that multiplied on her desk in the small office she shared with the other ED doctors.
