“For what?”

“For loving Alexander enough to let him have his child. He’s a good man, Alexander. He’ll give you the moon for nigh a sixpence if you’re kind and loyal to him.”

“He is a good man,” She agreed.

“I want to be your friend, Melissa.”

“I want to be yours, too.”

“Good, now I want you to know something about me.”

“OK.”

“That man you married is a step away inside my heart from my own husband. He’s the only brother I’ve ever had and he’s my best friend. He’s very important to me.”

“I know that.”

“Good. And one more thing,” I looked her square in the face, “You’d better love him and treat him the way he deserves to be treated, because if you hurt him, I swear on my dead mother that I’ll murder you with my bare hands.” She flinched. “Do we have an understanding?”

Her eyes were bigger than I had ever seen human eyes become.

“Now go upstairs to your husband and be a good wife to him.”

She just stood there.

“Good night, Melissa.” I put the car in gear.

“Good night,” She finally managed to sputter.

I nodded and pulled away from the curb.

She was still standing on the garden path staring at the car when I drove away.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Nigel Jacob Dickinson was born at eleven eighteen in the morning on a fine and rainy autumn’s Tuesday in Newtown, Wales, United Kingdom. He was a right big baby, too, and he had a head full of dusty brown hair to boot. His mother came out of it no worse for the wear, making the statement, “That was nothing! I could do that again!” to which her mother in law quickly replied, “Mind your tongue!”

Alexander was beside himself. He’d take his son and hold him in his hands and just stare at him for hours. “He’s unbelievable,” Alex would say over and over again, “I can’t believe I had anything to do with this. He’s a miracle.”

And he was. Nigel was absolutely beautiful, the most beautiful little baby I had ever seen. He wasn’t red or splotchy or covered in tiny hairs like some of the babies who come into the world looking like they’ve just rode in the blender. He kept his eyes open for long periods of time, too, as if he was terrified he’d miss something important. He had this look about him like he knew more than anybody else, but he was just too tired to tell us about it. When he was one week old, I picked him up to change his poppy nappy and he looked right into my eyes and bestowed upon me the first smile he gave to anyone ever. He stole my heart completely that day. Oh, yes, I loved that little Nigel.

But Nigel Dickinson wasn’t the only good news we had that season. Oliver graduated from Cardiff with a doctor’s degree in paediatric medicine three weeks after our Nigel was born. Oliver and I celebrated by making love and then running nude around the wood, throwing clumps of dirt at each other. We should have been getting dressed considering we had a big fancy party to attend at the University, but we were far more interested in just having fun. We rounded the trees, swung from branches, chucked dirt and finally ended up in a tangle rolling down the slope. We stopped at the edge of the water, my naked body on top of his, and we laughed and kissed until we couldn’t breathe.

“I’m thinking,” He said when he could talk, “That we should just skip this whole do.”

“And why would we do that? There will be people to meet who’ll be looking to give you a job!” I was picking pieces of leaves and dirt out of his dark hair. “You didn’t become a doctor to miss getting a job, did you?”

“I can work around here. I’m sure that Doctor Caldwell would take me on staff. He’s older than creation, you know, and he might like to have me take on some of this patients. And then, God willing, he’ll die one day soon and I can take over the entire practice.”

I burst back into a fit of giggles. “You’re terrible!”

“Well, he is old! He remembers when God was baptised! He was the first man to ever meet grass!” He laid his head back, then lifted it, “Really, though, Sil, do you honestly want to get all dressed up and go to some boring, stuffy supper with a bunch of boring, stuffy know it alls and talk about boring, stuffy rubbish or stay here and make love beside the sea?”

“The sea?” I laughed out loud again, “It’s a ruddy little pond!”

“It can’t be a pond! It’s got a babbling brook that leads to it from the river! So it’s got to be at least a very small lake,” He paused and scratched his cheek. “I reckon, anyway. Hey! Stop laughing at me! It’s hard to proposition love making when your wife is snorting in your ear!”

“Ah, marry me, Oliver Dickinson!”

“Again? Sure, but you’ll have to buy me a ring this time. Circumstances have changed. I have standards now.”

“Oh, shite!” I looked up suddenly.

“What?”

“Is that your father’s car?” I was looking up the drive with mounting horror.

“Oh, shite! It is!”

“Oh, shite!” I leapt to my feet as Oliver scrambled to his, “Run, Oliver, run!”

“Run, Forrest, run!” He did his best Southern US accent and slapped my bum. We were both giggling uncontrollably as we dashed up the slope and around the back of the house.

We were too late. The car beat us to the go. By the time we made it to the house, his parents were heading through the garden.

Neither of us could stop laughing. We hid at the side of the house, holding our breath so they wouldn’t hear us and come looking.

“Where do you think they are?” Ana asked innocently, knocking on the door.

“The cars are here,” Edmond cleared his throat, “They can’t have gone far. Oliver?” He shouted, “Silvia?”

Oliver tapped me on the shoulder and pointed up to the window we had put on the toilet wall. He raised his eyebrows.

“What?” I mouthed, “Me? No way! I’ll get stuck!”

“No, you can make it,” He hissed, “Get in there and tell them you’re dressing and toss me out some jeans! I’ll come round the front!”

“You’re mad!”

“It’s brilliant!”

“You’re a loony!”

“Oh, stuff a sock in it and put your foot in my hand,” He crouched down, “Come on now! OK. One…two…three…ho! Up where only dragons eat eagles!”

He practically flung me into the air. I caught the open window frame with my elbows and hit the side of the house with a loud bang. The window swung shut and bounced off my head.

“Hang on! You can do it!” Oliver was laughing so hard and trying so desperately to keep quiet that his face was purplish red. “That’s it! Put some bottle behind it and hoist yourself in!”

“Screw you!” I growled as quietly as I could. I struggled to gain a foothold on the rough wood, “You’ll pay for this one, Oliver Dickinson! I swear it!” I was hanging halfway out kicking my legs to free myself from the window, which was now clamped against the small of my back, “Stop laughing so loudly! They’re going to come round and see my fanny sticking out!” I screamed as I plummeted to the floor and landed with a hollow thud.

“Way to go, Love!” I heard from the other side of the wall.

Realising I was not hurt in any way, I grabbed a pair of Oliver’s dirty jeans and tossed them out the window, “I’ll have you for this one!” I told him, catching the jeans as they didn’t quite make it and fell back down to me. I flung them again and they went straight out, then I wrapped myself in a bathrobe and hurried to the door. I yanked it open harder than I meant, slammed my hands on to my hips and nearly shouted, “Hullo!”

Edmond and Ana shrank back in what I think was fear. Ana gathered herself first, “Hello, Darling! We thought we’d missed you.”

“No, no, just taking a bath,” I pulled a cobweb off my forehead and slapped my hair thinking a curl was a spider, “Come on in!”

“We saw the dog up the way chasing the chicken…” Ana paused, “Sweetie, your legs are all scratched.”

“You’re filthy as the road.” Edmond added. “Are you all right?”