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‘Vicious rumour,’ he dismissed.
‘I don’t think so.’
The lift bumped gently as they reached the ground floor and when she swayed slightly, Sol instinctively reached out to steady her. The unexpected contact was a jolt as though she’d grabbed hold of an electrical power cable with no Faraday suit to protect her.
It coursed through her, zinging from the top of her head to the tips of her toes.
His darkening eyes and flared nostrils confirmed that she wasn’t the only one who felt it.
A little unsteadily, she made her way out of the lift with no choice but to walk together across the lobby or risk making things look all the more awkward.
The doors slid open and the cool night air hit her hard. In a matter of seconds he’d be gone, across the car park and into that low, muscled vehicle of his.
Any opportunity would have evaporated. For good.
She stopped abruptly at the kerbside.
‘Can I ask you something?’
‘Shoot,’ he invited.
She opened her mouth but her courage deserted her abruptly.
‘Those mince pies the other day...were you also the one who decorated the desk with tinsel?’
He grinned.
‘Sometimes in a place like this—’ he bobbed his head back to the hospital ‘—it can be easy to forget Christmas should be a celebration. Don’t underestimate how much a bit of tinsel and a few mince pies can lift the spirits.’
‘Blue and white tinsel hung like an ECG tracing,’ she clarified.
‘Festive and atmospheric all at once.’ He grinned again, and another moment of awareness rippled over her skin.
‘Right.’
‘Indeed.’
They watched each other a moment longer. Neither speaking. Finally, Sol took a step forward.
‘Well, goodnight, Anouk.’
‘Can I ask you something else?’
He stopped and turned back to her as she drew in a deep breath.
‘How is it you know this family so well? Well enough that you’ve saddled yourself with four of the worst shifts of the year just to get the night off to sit with those girls in there whilst your brother is helping their mum?’
A hundred witty comebacks danced on his tongue. She could practically feel them buzzing in the air around the two of them. But then he looked at her and seemed to bite them back.
‘Malachi and I work with a young carers’ group in town,’ he heard himself saying. ‘Katie and Isobel are two of about thirty kids who come to the centre.’
‘So many?’
It was the bleak look in his eyes that gouged her the most.
‘That’s not even the half of it.’ He shook his head. ‘You’ve read the reports, probably around a quarter of a million kids are carers for a parent or other family member. All under sixte
en, some as young as four or five. We want to reach them all but we’ve only just got the council on board. Sometimes the hardest bit is getting people to even acknowledge there’s an issue.’
