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“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.” Marty scooped me into his arms and carried
me up the stairs to my bedroom.
We’d set our boundaries and tonight they wouldn’t be broken.

Chapter 7

I was alone w
hen I woke up the next morning.
Panicked, I looked around the room and
saw a note left on my pillow.
I snatched it up, my heart thundering in my chest and a n
auseated feeling in my stomach.
What if he’d left me forever?

Dear Claudia,

I am so sorry I
won’t be there when you awake.
I have had to go to the hospice earlier than expected as Mr Hollins
has taken a turn for the worse.
I will make it up to you
when I see you.
I didn’t want to wake you up unnecessarily, as you l
ooked so peaceful and content.
I haven’t seen you look so serene i
n all the time I’ve known you.
I can’t wait to see you this evening.

Love,

Marty X

The relief flooded through me.
He hadn
’t left for good, just to work. He was so dedicated.
I looked at the time on my mobile phone and then realised I hadn’t been woken up by Marty’s phone ringin
g with a call from the hospice.
I must h
ave been in a very deep sleep.
I shrugged the duvet off of
me and headed for the shower.
I had lots I wanted to do today and m
ost of it was to do with Marty.
Now, more than ever, after the events of last night, I was determined to uncover th
e secret that came between us.
I was convincing myself that, if I knew the secret, I would also discover a way to overcome
any obstacles it represented.

After getting showered and dressed, I ate a quick bowl of cereal
and then got down to business.
My first objective was to call the hospice, pretending to be a relative of a patient, asking for m
ore information about Dr Glean.
I had further plans if that didn’t work, but I hoped I wouldn’t have to use them.

My heart flutt
ered as I picked up the phone.
I’d remembered to withhold my number before dialling and I had a pen and paper on standby, just in case I
did get told anything useful.
I quickly dialled in the number for the main switchboard at the hospice
before I could change my mind.
My call was answered on the third ring.

“Good morning, Pheasant Grove Hospice, how may I help you?” The receptionist sounded cheerful, considering where she worked.

“Hello, I, um, I wondered if you could give me some information?” I kicked myself for stumbling over the words I’d rehearsed, several times, in my head.

“That depends on who you are and why you are calling.”

“I’m a relative of Mr Hollins.
I think he said he was being treat
ed by a new doctor – Dr Glean?
I just wondered if you could tell me more about Dr Glean?”

“Dr Glean has only been on our staff for a short time, but he is proving incredibly popular with the patients.”

“That’s good, I understand he’s very young, which hospital did he come from?”

“He was at…let me just check
…do you know, I can’t remember.
Oh, but I do remember the name of a lady that was used as a reference – Mrs. Molly Brown – I remember thinking about the lady from th
e Titanic having the same name.
Except this lady lived in Sandy and she’s still alive.”

“And she gave him a good reference?”

“Oh, it was wonderful – she wrote a beautiful letter of recommendation and the
manager went to see Mrs. Brown.
She couldn’t be
more flattering about Dr Glean.
You really don’t need to worry, Mr Hollins seems to have been much happier since Dr Glean took over his care.”

“You wouldn’t happen to have a phone number for Mrs. Brown, would you?”

“I’m sorry, what did you say your name was?”

“I, um, I, I ha
ve to go.” I hung up the phone.
I was panicking, even though I kne
w they couldn’t trace the call.
I sat still for a few moments and then grabbed the telephone book out of the drawer where
my parents had always kept it.
My hands were shaking as I thumbe
d the pages to the ‘B’ section.
As I suspected, there were pages of Brown listed, but only a handful with the initial M and only one of those was based in
Sandy
.
I scribbled the address down, grabbed my hand
bag and locked the front door.
I checked I ha
d change for a bus and set off.
N
ow was not the time to give up.
I could afford to waste the day on a wild goose chase, but I couldn’t aff
ord to waste this opportunity.

The bus ride gave me a chance to work out what I
was going to say to Mrs. Brown.
I’d decided I would try to say as little as possible; from what the receptionist had said, Mrs. Brown wa
s happy to talk about Dr Glean.
I would simply knock on the door, tell her I was sorry to disturb her and I wondered if she coul
d tell me a bit about Dr Glean.
Hopefully, I would
n’t need to elaborate on that.

There were dark clouds gathering overhead and the wind was starting to whip up the fallen leaves swirling around my feet, as I walked away from the bus stop
.
I mentally kicked myself for forg
etting to bring my coat, again.
I hugged my arms around my body, trying to keep the warmth and the bravery within
myself that I had felt earlier.
Mrs. Brown’s house was only a two minute walk from the bus stop, but once I’d reached my destination, I wished for more tim
e to pull my feelings together.
It was now or never.

I knocked on the door.
I waited, not rea
lising I was holding my breath.
I heard a chain being put across the door
and hoped I wouldn’t scare her.
Th
e door opened a crack.
I could see one bespectacled eye and some grey hair.

“Hello, Mrs. Brown?” I tried to sound friendly and harmless.

“Yes, dear, but I’m not buying.  Can’t
afford much on our pensions.”
She sounded apologetic and polite, despite not o
pening the door further.

“I’m not selling anything, I just wanted to talk to you. About Dr Glean.”

“Oh,” I hear
d the chain getting pulled back.
“I didn’t know he’d decided to change jobs already, come on in, dear.”

“Thank you.” I followed her into a neat sitting room, filled with ornaments on lace doilies and phot
ographs of her family members.
“I’m sorry to come visiting unannounced.”

“Oh, that’s fine, dear, I’m always hap
py to talk about dear Dr Glean. Such a wonderful man.
I could talk about him all d
ay.
You look a little young to work at a hospital, dear.”

“I guess I am,”
I avoided telling her anything.
“What can you tell me about Dr Glean?”

“Well, dear, he looked after my poor, dear, departed husband when h
e was passing away from cancer.
Terrible
disease.
D
r Glean was so caring and kind.
We couldn’t
have asked for a better doctor.
He sat and talked with me for hours and hours, he looked after
me as well as my poor husband.
He even stayed in t
ouch after Robert passed away.
Such a good, kind man.”

I wasn’t sure if s
he meant Marty or her husband.
At that moment, the front door opened
and an elderly man walked in.
He looked slightly startled to see me there, but smiled kindly.

“Hello, Molly.” The old man smiled at Mrs. Brown and then glanced at me.

“Derek, this young lady came to talk about Dr Glean.”

“
Hello, it’s nice to meet you.”
I held my hand out to shake his, hoping my politeness would hide the fact I hadn’t
given either of them my name.
The old man took a newspaper out that was nestled under his arm and shook my hand.

“Derek Brown, Molly’s husband.
Did she tell you how wonderful Dr Glean is?”

“
She did, do you know him too?”
I wanted as much information as possible.

“Indeed, he also nur
sed my wife through her cancer.
She didn’t suffer half as much as I’d expect
ed once he took over her care.
In fact, it was Dr Glean who introduced us to each other.” He smiled fondly at his wife.

“H
ow long have you been married?”
I thought their story was so sweet, a second chance at love after such tragedy.

“Oh, it’s been 22 years now,” Molly smiled adoringly at her husband. “Can’t imagine life without him.”

My heart caught in my throat. Marty could not be Dr Glean.
He wouldn’t have bee
n a doctor that many years ago.
Before I started to panic, I needed to check.

“Perhaps I have the wrong address– I’m asking about Dr Marty Glean.”

“That’s right, dear, Dr Marty. He preferred to be called that.
I have a photo of him here somewhere, just after we got engaged. Let me find it.” Molly scurried over to the sideboard and searched in a drawer.

My head was spinning. Marty was an imposter.
He was working
under someone else’s identity. How could he lie this way?
What
did I do with this information?
Wou
ld I have to go to the police?
Even now, I wasn’t sure that my conscience would win
out over my attraction to him.
I couldn’t believ
e I’d been so wrong about him. I’d been so sure of him.
The sunshine that had been breaking through the dark clouds of my life was suddenly ripped away and only darkness remained.

“Are you alright, dear?” Derek’s voice sounded far away and muffled.

I sna
pped out of my downward spiral.
I didn’t want to upset this kind couple.

“Yes, yes, I’m fine. I have to go.”
I grabbed my bag and started to head for the door, knowing I was being incredibly rude, but kno
wing it would be worse to stay.

“Wait, dear, I have the photo.”
Molly sounded so pleased to have finally found it, I couldn’
t just leave without seeing it.
I turned back, trying to keep the panic from rising in my chest, tryi
ng to keep calm.
I joined Molly at the sideboard, where she pointed
out the people in the picture.
“That is me, wish I still coloured my hair looking at that!” She seemed to be enjo
ying her trip down memory lane.
“That’s Derek, handsome chap wasn’t he?” She paused and I nodded, unable to spe
ak. “And that’s Dr Marty Glean. Such a wonderful man.”
She handed the photograph to me, but it fluttered out of my hand.

“Are you alright, dear?” Molly had concern in her voice.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Derek’s voice floated across the room.

I swallowed hard and tried to focus on
not worrying the elderly pair.

“No, not a ghost,” I whispered. I
tried to pull myself together.
“I
’m sorry, I really have to go.
I’m
so sorry to have troubled you.”
I ran from the room, out of the front door and down the street, as
fast as my feet could carry me.
I did
n’t want them to see me crying.
I didn’t want them to follow me, as I didn’t want them to know what I now knew about Marty.

He wasn’t an imposter.
Their Dr M
arty was the same as my Marty.
And he ha
dn’t aged in over twenty years.

Chapter 8

I ran
until I thought I would vomit.
It had started to rain, but I didn’t care about my hair getting plastered to my face, or the cold damp seeping through my clothe
s.
The rain brought a slight relief – at least the streets were empty and nobody wou
ld see me crying hysterically.
I’d run aimless
ly, finally arriving at a park.
I sat on a damp swing and s
obbed until I ran out of tears.
The shock finally hit me and I
started to shiver.
I couldn’t process all the inform
ation hitting my brain at once.
The image in the p
hoto kept replaying in my mind.
Molly – her h
air darker and face less lined.
Derek – less carewor
n, his shoulders less hunched.
Marty – exactly the same – as stunningly beautiful and fresh faced as when h
e carried me to bed last night.
Recalling his face both excited and terrified me.