Now they were both here, sitting in this waiting room, once again linked by family...only this time that family was gone for ever.

  ‘Lucy,’ he pressed. ‘You with me?’

  She had to look at the floor to get the answer out.

  ‘He has the will. He said he needed to get things rolling. Are your parents not coming?’

  Jackson shook his head. ‘No. I spoke to Mum this morning. She didn’t know about the meeting.’

  ‘That’s weird, isn’t it?’

  He shrugged. ‘This whole thing’s weird.’

  ‘Was Zoe okay?’

  His face brightened at the mention of their niece. ‘Yeah, she’s good. Mum said she’s been a bit fussy but she’s good.’ His expression sobered. ‘To be honest I think her being there is helping them hold it together.’

  Lucy managed a nod. Anything else was blocked by the lump in her throat.

  Jackson went to stand by the window, and she took him in for the first time. He looked dishevelled in the early afternoon light. She could make out minute wisps of grey in his longer than usual stubble and dark circles under his ever-seeing eyes.

  ‘What? I know you want to say something.’ He didn’t move an inch, aside from moving his lips. ‘Out with it, Trigger.’

  ‘Lucy,’ she corrected automatically, irritated that he’d caught her studying him. ‘You always say things like that. You don’t know me, Jackson. You think you do because we were forced to spend so much time together. The only good thing to come out of this will be getting rid of you, actually. We won’t have to pretend to get on any longer.’

  ‘Nice. “Forced” was right. You are the prickliest pear I have ever met.’

  ‘Prickly pear? What are you, five?’

  ‘Yep, that’s right.’ His tone changed. ‘I’ll be six soon. Gonna buy me a cake?’

  ‘You can shove your cake up your—What the hell are you doing?’

  He strode across the room and knelt at her feet in one angry motion. When she went to get up from her seat, he stopped her.

  ‘No, Lucy. What are you doing? Do you see anyone else helping you? We’re waiting to see Harriet and Ronnie’s solicitor. Harriet and Ronnie are dead!’ The flicker of pain across his taut features was hard to miss. ‘I know you’ve decided to just power through this in your usual way, but I’m a human! My little brother died. Your little sister died, and their little girl is here in this world all alone. Why do you not get that? Do you really not see anyone else? The whole hospital is devastated. We lost one of our own. My team is crying in the locker room between patients. Do you not see that?’

  His eyes were wide, even darker than normal. ‘Do you really not see me? I stood by your side at the funeral. Did you even realise I was there, Luce?’ He sprang up, pacing to the window and back. ‘I can’t take this!’

  There you go, you did it again—pushed too hard. He’s right, who else have you got? You’ve chased everyone away. He has his parents. You have no one.

  She took a steadying breath, willing her heart to stop racing. Her cheeks were flushed with shame and embarrassment.

  ‘I’m sorry. I forget you lost someone too. I do care. I care about the people at work, about Zoe. I care that Harriet and Ronnie are...gone. I just deal with things my way. Grief is different for everyone.’

  His sigh rattled the windowpane. ‘Your way is to bottle it up. It’s not healthy.’ Lucy’s eye-roll produced an irritated growl. ‘See? There you go again, being all snarky when I am trying to get through to you.’

  ‘I didn’t say a word!’

  ‘You don’t have to! Your poker face doesn’t work on everyone. It doesn’t work on me. I just want to help, to make sure you face this properly.’

  ‘I don’t need your help, Jackson. I never did.’ She jabbed a finger at her chest.

  ‘Fine,’ he snapped back, sitting at the farthest corner of the room. ‘But this is not over, Luce.’

  ‘Don’t call me Luce,’ was all she could spit back. No one called her Luce. It was Lucy or Dr Bakewell. Trigger was bad enough; he knew it wound her up. ‘I don’t need help. I’m fine. I just want to get this over with. Get back to normal. Get back to work.’ The fact her manager had insisted on her taking a leave of absence didn’t help. She needed to work. Rattling around her place, alone with her thoughts, was making her climb the walls.

  ‘Right,’ he scoffed. ‘Whatever you say, Dr Bakewell.’

  She busied herself with the contents of her handbag for a while, Jackson flicking through old magazines so hard she thought she heard some of the pages rip beneath his fingertips. After the longest twenty minutes in recorded history, a secretary came through a set of imposing double doors, inviting them in.

  The solicitor’s office was just as she remembered it from when her parents had died. A bookcase wall stuffed with weighty tomes provided the backdrop for Mr Cohen’s huge walnut desk. The air smelled the same—a mixture of old books, paper and peppermint.

  He greeted them at the door, his hair a little greyer, his stature a little shorter, but still the same comforting presence.

  ‘Miss Bakewell, you’re all grown up!’

  Lucy couldn’t help but laugh. ‘I am. How are you?’

  She could feel Jackson at her shoulder, hear his awkward cough.

  Mr Cohen didn’t miss a beat. ‘I’m well, thank you. This is Mr Denning, I presume?’

  ‘Jackson, please,’ he replied, the smile on his face as broad as it was genuine. Lucy had to look away. Behind that easy welcoming grin, she could see the taut expression as he exchanged pleasantries, see the hollows under his usually annoyingly sparkly eyes.

  Stop it. You can’t hold anyone else together. You are falling apart as it is.

  ‘Please, take a seat,’ Mr Cohen instructed.

  Jackson took the chair next to hers, flexing his hands on the plaid leather arms.

  ‘So,’ Mr Cohen started, tiny little glasses perched at the end of his nose. ‘As we discussed on the telephone, Harriet and Ronald left a will.’ He eyed them both above the rims, pausing at the delicate nature of the conversation. ‘It’s pretty simple.’ He eyed Jackson. ‘Your parents were well aware of the contents of the will when it was written, and I have their agreement.’

  Lucy sneaked a glance at Jackson, who looked as surprised as she felt. Harriet had never mentioned a will to her. Mr Cohen focused back on the papers in his grasp.

  ‘Now, as to the financial aspects... It is instructed that the house be sold and any monies made as a result of said sale are to be put into a trust for Zoe.’

  Lucy nodded along, barely listening as he spoke about jewellery and some other items of Ronnie’s that were left to Jackson. The wedding rings were to be kept for Zoe. The pieces of Harriet’s jewellery were to be shared between Lucy and Zoe. The ring from her mother was to go to Lucy, to be passed down to Zoe or any daughter Lucy had. Lucy sniffed at this, thinking of how Harriet had thought of her daughter and her, wanting things to be right and passed down to the future generations.

  She willed her tears to stay away, blinking hard to clear her field of vision. A movement at her side caught her eye. Jackson was gripping the chair arms so tightly, she could practically hear his nails scratch against the leather. Her own hands flexed, and she held them together on her lap to stop herself from reaching out to him.

  Stay strong.

  Mr Cohen’s professional tones pierced through her rampant thoughts a second later.

  ‘As for the care of Zoe, Lucy Bakewell and Jackson Denning are named as her guardians, and are to raise said child together in a home to be determined by the beneficiaries. This will be subject to an initial six-month review to ascertain that this arrangement is working for all parties and benefits all parties. Any monies left in the deceaseds’ accounts after all debts are paid are to be used for the purposes of raising said child, and the trust can be accessed through myself if further financial assistance is required.’

  The money stuff didn’t even enter Lucy’s head. She was still baulking at the first part. Jackson looked like a clenched-jawed waxwork.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she spluttered eventually when the sentence that had just rocked the very axis of her world had absorbed into her already addled brain. ‘What was that? Joint custody? Me?’ She jabbed a finger to her right. ‘With him? Not Ronnie’s parents—us?’

  Joint custody? Is this a joke?

  Zoe had been with the Dennings since the night of the crash. They were parents already. She’d just assumed... Well, she hadn’t thought about it. Ronnie’s parents had had Zoe that night, as they’d been babysitting. It had made sense for her to stay there until things were sorted. Until after the funerals were over and until Lucy was back at work. She’d just assumed that was what would happen and what they would want. She’d thought she and Jackson would just be there, Zoe’s aunt and uncle, like always.

  ‘Mr Cohen, I might be being dumb here, but I don’t get it. There must be a mistake.’

  Mr Cohen didn’t look surprised at her reaction. In fact, he almost looked as if he found it rather comical.

  ‘There’s no mistake, Miss Bakewell. The instructions are clear. They were made when Zoe was born.’

  Two years. Two years and no one had said a word.

  Rounding on Jackson, she poked him hard in the arm. ‘I’m supposed to raise Zoe? Me? With him?’ He didn’t even flinch. Her finger almost snapped as it hit a solid wall of tensed muscle.

  ‘Yes, Miss Bakewell.’

  ‘Lucy, please. This can’t be right.’ She looked at Jackson again. ‘Did you know about this?’

  He shook his head, leaning forward and putting it into his hands. ‘No, of course not. Mum was being weird, but—’

  ‘But what?’

  ‘But she’s just lost her son.’ His tone was sober, flat.

  ‘Right.’ Lucy nodded. ‘Right, okay. Sorry.’

  Mr Cohen shuffled some papers in his file. ‘I assure you, both Harriet and Ronald—’

  ‘Ronnie,’ Jackson corrected.

  Mr Cohen pressed his lips tightly together. ‘Of course. Harriet and Ronnie were very clear in their instructions. We discussed it at some length.’

  ‘Yeah, well, they didn’t tell me!’ She was spewing her thoughts out loud now. ‘I mean, I thought I might be named. It crossed my mind: I’m Harriet’s only family. But why Jackson?’

  ‘Why not?’ Jackson pressed back. ‘He was my brother. I know Zoe.’ His eyes were darting all over the room. Lucy realised he was processing the news too. She was watching his freak-out in real time, as he was hers. She was wringing her hands, still waiting for him to erupt when he let out a surprised little chuckle. ‘Ronnie, man.’ He kept laughing. ‘Well played, man.’

  Lucy was apoplectic. ‘This is funny to you? Are you freaking kidding me? Mr Cohen, why are the grandparents not named?’

  Mr Cohen steepled his fingers together. ‘Mr and Mrs Denning are well into their retirement. It was felt that the best chance of long-term stability for Zoe was for her to be raised by the pair of you.’

  Lucy took it in, remembering times she’d dealt with patients in situations like this, with injured children orphaned by catastrophe. She’d dealt with enough social workers to see the logic. She and Jackson were both young, financially secure. They owned property. It made sense, if one didn’t know their relationship. They bickered and taunted each other. HR had made them sign a waiver due to their legendary spats. They were so sick of hearing about complaints one made about the other they’d drafted a ‘friendship agreement’, as if Lucy and Jackson were toddlers fighting over the same toy at playgroup. Now they were supposed to sign up for a child together?

  No. Not happening.

  ‘Fine.’ She sighed, finding her shields and barracking herself behind them. She would do what she did when her parents had died. She’d be the mother figure. She’d raise Zoe. She’d helped raise her little sister; she could do this, but she wasn’t a team player. ‘I am Harriet’s only living relative. Zoe’s aunt by blood. I don’t need a co-parent in this.’

  ‘Oh, really?’ Jackson’s voice was a gravelly hum. ‘I didn’t even know you were thinking about taking Zoe on.’

  ‘Taking her on? She’s not some project, Jack!’

  ‘And you can’t do this alone, Luce!’

  Her fist slammed down on the desk before them and made a loud thump.

  ‘Don’t call me Luce! You know that drives me crazy!’

  Mr Cohen made a loud, ‘Ahem,’ silencing them both.

  ‘Sorry,’ they both mumbled in unison. They were toe to toe, in each other’s faces. Slowly, they sheepishly returned to their seats.

  Mr Cohen’s sigh ruffled the papers in front of him.

  ‘I know that this has been awful. For both of you. I did try to insist that the pair of you were informed beforehand, in case this event did occur, but Harriet was...reluctant.’ His lips thinned. ‘I suppose they never thought this day would come. I wish it hadn’t myself, but the instructions were clear. Ronnie and Harriet wanted the best for little Zoe, and they chose you—together.

  ‘Now...’ He turned over the paper, pushing his glasses back up his nose. ‘If one or both of you wish to object to this, or relinquish your guardianship, then there are contingencies in place.’

  Zoe went to open her mouth to yell, hell, yes. She couldn’t live and raise a child with her work nemesis, but Mr Cohen beat her to the chase.

  ‘Lucy,’ he addressed her. ‘I have seen you and your sister navigate hard times before, and make no mistake, Harriet was the driving force behind this. Ronnie was on board, of course, but your sister, as you know, was a very determined planner. Even in death, she wanted the best. To that end, she left you this.’ He opened the file and Lucy’s eyes took in her sister’s neat script across the surface of a crisp, cream envelope. ‘I’ll give you a moment. Jackson, would you like to follow me? We have refreshments waiting.’

  Lucy didn’t take her eyes from the envelope as the two men shuffled out of the room and didn’t take in their muted voices or their back and forth. As soon as the door clicked closed, she reached and tore open the thick paper, her eyes brimming as she saw her sister’s final words laid bare before her.

  Dear Big Sis,

  If you’re reading this, then the worst has happened. I’m gone, and my Ronnie too. I’m sorry I had to leave you, dear Lucy, but I want you to know that I love you. Fiercely. Always have, despite our differences. When we lost our parents, you barely into adulthood yourself, it bonded us for ever, but divided us too. I might have been the little sister, but you were always much more than an annoying older sibling to me. When Mum and Dad died, you became my parent too. My role model.

  When I fell apart, you were the one who told me to buck up. To get up and get on with it. To be strong, to face things head on. To never give up. To stop being stubborn.

  So that’s what I am asking...telling...you to do now. Buck up, big sister. Get up and get on with life. I mean this with the greatest affection, but you’re not doing the best job of that now. I know you love your career, but somewhere along the way—between holding me together and sticking families back together—you lost a piece of yourself. That little girl who danced with me to the radio in our mother’s kitchen knew that life was fun. I miss that girl, miss that part of you. I see it in Zoe already, in her tiny, joyful little face. I hope she keeps it.

  I know we didn’t always see things the same way, but I know you love us. Love Zoe. She’s a beautiful baby and, writing this, I just know that you will be there to watch her grow. To give her strength and gumption. You taught her mother the same things.

  I also realise that right about now, you’re feeling pretty mad too. The control freak in you will be fuming with me. Don’t be mad at Ronnie’s parents. We asked them not to say anything. They deserve to enjoy their retirement. To be grandparents and not parents again. It’s too much for them. This is the right thing and, one day, you’ll see it too.

  You’re probably giving poor Jackson hell. You two are more alike than you think. I’m laughing from heaven right now at the rage I know you’re feeling at me too. Our solicitor wigged out when I told him this was to be our little secret, but I knew, if I told you, you would have gone mad—not see the plan I have in my head. Be nice to Mr Cohen, he was always good to us. He steered us through our parents’ deaths, and he’ll see you all through mine too.

  Back to Jackson. While you are my ride or die, don’t forget that Jackson just lost his too. Try not to torture him so much. Ronnie was worried not telling you both would make it harder, like some cruel final trick played on the two of you, but I have never been more sure of anything since meeting Ronnie that this is the right thing. I had you, and only you. I don’t want that for Zoe, or you. Putting the burden of raising our child solely on your shoulders wouldn’t be right. Jackson and you will need each other, like it or not.

  Zoe will need people. She’s already lost too much. I know you can guide our daughter to be fierce and brave. Braver and fiercer than I ever was. Jackson can tell her stories about her dad, help his memory stay alive for Zoe, like your memory of me will. He can be the dad that we had for that short time. The man she’ll compare all those after against—someone to fix her bike, tell her to drive safely. Check the tyres on her car before she drives to college. And yes, you did that for me, but we missed Dad more than ever in those moments.

  Jackson will be the one to protect her, to look after you both. You deserve someone to take care of you, even though I know you’ll struggle to let him. Ronnie knows he won’t leave, but try not to break him or send him away. I don’t want you to struggle in this world alone, like we had to.

  So, darling sister, my rock, my heart, my best friend—for once in your life, listen to your little sister and do what I wish. Don’t shut people out, don’t lose the softer parts of you. Be kind to Jackson and, if he wants to help, let him. You can shout at me later. I hope it’s much later, dear sis. No more wishing life away, or letting it pass you by. Look after Zoe for us, and each other.