Written in the Scars (The Estate Series Book 4) (11 page)

Megan bristled. She wanted to say how shallow she thought he was. Did he think people only saw his hand?

‘It won’t be like that forever,’ she said instead.

‘You want to bet? I know it won’t ever be right again.’

‘But it will get better and stronger.’

‘I’ll still be scarred for life.’ He tried to fold his arms and then, when the splint on his hand got in the way, he pouted.

 ‘Will you ever stop feeling sorry for yourself?’ Megan sighed. ‘I’ve a good mind to get you out of your bed and wheel you along to the next ward. They’re dying in that one. Fancy being in there?’

‘Do you talk to every patient as much as you do to me?’

‘That depends. I can’t help being a chatterbox but I know some people don’t like it. I learn who I can chat to and who I can’t.’

‘And I fit in to the category of people that you can chat to?’ Sam scoffed.

‘I like to think so.’

‘You’re so irritating.’

Megan sensed his anger escalating. ‘I’m sorry, I was only—’

‘You’re a pushy cow, I’ll give you that.’ He lifted his hand. ‘Wouldn’t this bother you if you’d been left with this scar?’

‘I think scars define us.’ Megan continued mopping.

‘What would you know?’

‘What would I know indeed,’ she muttered, moving away. Despite her efforts to cheer him up, Sam was struggling to cope, and it was making him miserable. It was entirely natural for him to feel that way. This was all new to him. He hadn’t had to live with it all his life.

But he was wrong about one thing. Scars did define people. She knew only too well.

Chapter Fourteen

It was nearing lunchtime as Megan arrived back home. It had just been the two of them for the past seven years, since her dad had left them. In her early thirties, Patricia Cooper had found out she had severe osteoporosis in her knees and back and would have trouble walking for the rest of her life. Her father had taken care of Patricia for a while but then it had become too much. He’d obviously wanted a life of his own, without an imperfect daughter and a wife.

Megan had never forgiven him for that. She often wondered if he’d deliberately walked out on her too. She had heard that her father was living with another woman now and they had a young daughter. She hoped he looked after her better than he had his responsibilities with Megan and her mum – he’d shirked every one of them as soon as the going got tough.

‘Hi, Mum, it’s only me,’ she shouted through as she pulled out her key and closed the door behind her. Throwing her bag over the bannister, she went through to the living room. Although it hadn’t been decorated with fresh wallpaper in a long while, Megan had gone over the walls every year with cream paint, keeping it neutral and brightening up the room with artificial flowers and coloured candles.

‘Hello, love,’ Patricia smiled up at her from the armchair in the bay window. She had the same bright eyes as her daughter, almost the same hair colouring –minus the grey that was creeping in – although hers was cut short so as not to be too much bother. She hunched forward and tried to push herself up. Having put on a lot of weight due to her immobility, Patricia struggled to stand by herself.

Megan took hold of her hands and gently pulled her up. ‘Do you want to walk around a bit?’ she asked.

‘No, I’ll just stand.’ Patricia sighed. ‘It’s good to be out of that chair.’

‘How was your morning?’

‘Not too bad, love. Those tablets that Doctor Sanders gave me last week seem to be easing the pain a little.’

‘That’s good to hear. Do you need anything? It’s so hot that I’m going to take another shower before I go to Poplar Court. Would you like help to get changed?’

‘No, thanks. I’m fine.’ She pointed to an empty plate. ‘Those ham sandwiches were lovely, thanks.’

Megan scooped up the plate and two dirty mugs that were by the side of it. They’d got their routine down to a T now. If Patricia wasn’t feeling able to move around, Megan would make sandwiches, fill the kettle and leave mugs and a beaker of fresh milk on a small table by the side of the chair. Patricia would be able to make herself a couple of drinks and eat until Megan could next get her anything she needed. She wasn’t yet unable to make the downstairs loo but she did struggle with the stairs. The less she moved, the less pain she would be in.

Last year, they’d had help to move her bed downstairs into the room at the back of the house. Patricia’s old bedroom upstairs had been turned into a sitting room for Megan. The arrangement suited them both. Patricia could stay fairly independent and so could Megan.

Once she’d washed the few dishes and made her mum a fresh cup of tea, Megan went upstairs to her bedroom and began to remove her clothes. She flicked the venetian blind closed a little to take the glare of the midday sun away. Her uniform was sticking to her, and her make-up sliding off in this heat wasn’t good.

As she cleansed her face before heading to the bathroom, she thought about Sam. Megan enjoyed her job at the hospital because she didn’t really get to see many people on a regular basis, so she could stay fairly anonymous. Yet there were often patients that stood out for different reasons, people that she’d seen and spoken to. This week, from the moment she had seen Sam, she hadn’t been able to get him out of her mind. He was the best looking man she’d seen in a long time, which was hard to take as he wouldn’t look twice at her if he saw her bare face.

She glanced in the mirror, one lone tear falling over the port wine birthmark that had been revealed after she had removed her make-up. It started at the side of her face, just below her hairline, travelled across most of her cheek, part of her nose and eyelid and finished in her jawline. Sometimes Megan couldn’t even bear to look at herself when she wasn’t wearing any concealer and foundation. She wished she was brave enough to accept it as part of her but after nineteen years of putting up with her disfigurement, even though she hid it as best as she could, she’d had enough.

Megan hated being defined by a stain on her face, and envied the people who made YouTube videos about how they coped with their birthmarks – all the staring and the laughing and the gawping. People didn’t realise how hurtful it was. How hard it was to be different.

For the past eighteen months, she had been saving every penny she could towards treatment. Their family GP, Doctor Sanders, had told her on numerous occasions that laser surgery wouldn’t make a difference, that her scarring was too deep and that it might worsen the condition; that it would raise the surface of the skin so that it would look like acne underneath her make-up. But Megan didn’t believe him – wouldn’t believe him. There were new things coming on the market all the time.

If she couldn’t have the surgery, she hoped one day to be able to wake up with someone who would roll over and cuddle up to her, not at all bothered by the discolouration of her skin. Seeing beyond it. Seeing past the birthmark and seeing only her.

In all honesty, she didn’t think this would happen, but that’s why the surgery was so important to her, despite her knowing it was probably not going to be successful. If she did have the surgery, Megan would be the same as everyone else. Until she was rid of the birthmark, she wasn’t free to live her life as she wanted.

So even if Sam did fancy her, she was off-limits to him. She was off-limits to anyone until she’d had her surgery. Then she would give her heart gladly – no matter how much she was drawn to Sam Harvey and his smile.

Donna shielded her eyes from the sun as she walked across to Owen’s car. She slid into the leather seat of his BMW and buckled up the seatbelt.

‘I’m not sure there is anywhere you can take me for lunch around here,’ she said, ‘unless you want to suffer from food poisoning.’

‘Don’t worry about that.’ He smiled. ‘I have the perfect place.’

A few minutes later, they pulled up in a nearby country park, Raven’s Mount. It was one of the nicer places in Stockleigh, but somewhere she hardly ever came to, despite it being practically on her doorstep. Twenty-five acres of fields and hills, a haven for dog walkers and hikers.

Donna turned to Owen with a puzzled expression.

‘Come on,’ he said. ‘I’ll show you my favourite spot.’

‘Sounds good to me.’ Donna got out of the car and was pleasantly surprised to see Owen grab a large blue cooler box from out of the boot.

‘A picnic!’ she grinned with delight as he handed her a tartan blanket.

‘With the weather as it is, why not?’

He took her hand and they walked a few minutes to a spot under the shade of a large oak tree. It was far enough away from a group of children playing football, and the other couples looking for privacy, just like they were.

Donna shook out the blanket and sat down on it. Owen sat beside her and took out item after item from the box. Then he produced a bottle of wine.

‘I can’t have much because I’m driving and you can’t have much because you have to go back to work,’ he said. ‘But we can have a glass each and you can take the rest home with you.’

Donna grinned. It seemed like he’d thought of everything. She looked inside the box and spotted a tub of coleslaw.

‘You won’t find any,’ he said, removing the wrapping from a sandwich and popping it onto a paper plate.

‘Sorry?’

‘Cutlery. I didn’t bring any.’

‘Oh.’

‘I didn’t forget it. I just thought it wasn’t necessary. We can use our hands to feed each other.’

Donna couldn’t help but laugh. It all sounded a bit
50 Shades of Grey
to her but still, what would she know? She couldn’t remember ever being taken out for a picnic.

She relaxed back on her arms, legs out in front of her, and looked across at Owen. ‘Thanks, this is lovely.’

‘As are you,’ he whispered, passing her a glass.

She held it up and studied his face as he filled the glass with wine, wondering again why it was that Owen was with her. What did he see in her to treat her to a picnic in the middle of her working day?

He smiled at her again and, shutting the thoughts from her mind, she decided that she wasn’t really bothered in the whys any more. All she was concerned about was the here and now.

‘Do you have the day off work?’ she asked.

Owen wiped his mouth with a napkin before speaking. ‘I run my own company. I’m into IT and all that dull geeky stuff that is boring to talk about. So I kindof snuck off early.’

‘Do you work from home or do you have an office?’

‘I work from home.’ He stretched out a hand. ‘This could be my office if I had brought along my laptop.’ He patted his trouser pocket. ‘I have my phone, so all I need is on there too. Very portable. But switched off for the duration of our picnic.’

‘I wish I could do something exciting.’ Donna sighed, thinking of how she used to dream of doing more with her life when she was younger, before Joe left and the children were small. ‘All I do is go to work and visit my mum. How boring am I?’

‘And Sam – is he your only child?’

‘No, I have a daughter too; Keera. She’s nineteen and, thankfully, looks after herself.’

‘Is she as beautiful as her mum?’

Donna felt her skin redden. He couldn’t mean it, could he? He was being coy, surely.

‘She’s a lovely girl,’ she said, eventually. ‘She’s a hard worker, unlike her brother.’

‘So you get on quite well?’

Donna paused. ‘Well, we’re not the kind of mother and daughter who go shopping together, or even spend a night in watching a movie, but, yes, I suppose we do.’

‘But you worry about her?’

Donna wondered whether to confide in Owen about what had happened to Keera and her friend, Marley while they’d been in Ibiza, but decided against it. ‘I worry about them both. And my mum – family is very important to me.’

‘You seem to have so much to do.’

‘I don’t mind.’

‘You should certainly take more time for yourself.’

Donna dipped her eyes momentarily but met his stare eventually. ‘How about you? Do you have family?’

Owen shook his head. ‘No, my parents died years ago, and I was an only child.’

‘Have you ever been married?’

‘No.’

‘I’m divorced.’ Donna posed the question to get him to open up about his past, but Owen didn’t respond. They sat in silence as he took out two cream cakes from their packaging.

He handed one to her. ‘It’s a bit warm for this too, but we can share it.’ He bit into the other one, the cream spurting out all over the plate.

He looked at Donna with such innocence that she laughed. Another scene reminiscent of
50 Shades of Grey
buffered into her mind.

All too soon, it was time to head back to work. With a sigh, he dropped her off outside Shop&Save.

‘I’m so glad we finally got to spend some time together,’ he said, kissing her lightly on the cheek.

Donna could only nod her agreement. She was still sinking deep into his eyes, wanting to pull him into her arms. Should she lean forward and kiss him back, so she could feel his lips on hers?