The Midwife's One-Night Fling

Alison was a different matter. And she was there waiting when Freya got out at Cromayr Bay.

The clouds had parted and the sky was high and blue, and Alison was smiling widely as she waved to her.

‘Look at you!’ Freya smiled, because in the weeks that Freya had been away Alison had changed and was now sporting a lovely little bump.

‘I know!’ Her friend smiled back. ‘Betty said that you can sometimes show a lot more quickly the second time around.’

Betty had clearly said easily what Freya hadn’t been able to. And still Freya did not know why.

She had been dwelling on it for months now, and had even discussed it with Richard, but still she had a huge block when it came to speaking about the loss with her friend.

‘I booked us a table at the Tavern for tonight,’ Alison said as she drove her home.

‘In the restaurant?’ Freya checked, because usually they went for a curry, or just to the Tavern’s bar. The restaurant was pricey, and rather grand, but she had heard right.

‘Yes, it’s closing for renovations next week. They’re going to put a function room in at the top, and they’re refurbishing the restaurant.’

Freya didn’t like the sound of that—she loved it as it was.

‘The bar’s staying open, as well as the hotel, but I thought you might want to see the restaurant as it is one more time.’

Oh, she really did.

They took the hilly street approach and, rarely for summer, there was a parking spot close to Freya’s cottage. They pulled in behind her little purple car.

‘Do you want to come in?’ Freya offered, but Alison shook her head.

‘I’ve got to go and do a shop—I’ll meet you in the Tavern bar at seven.’

‘I’ll see you there, then.’

‘It’s good to have you home, Freya.’

It was good to be here, Freya thought as she pushed open the door.

The drapes had been closed by Mrs Hunt after the last tenants, and Freya went around opening them up and letting in the late-afternoon sun. Then she turned on the hot water and caught up on her mail while she waited for it to warm.

And she did all she could not to think too much of Richard and what had happened last night.

She wouldn’t be telling Alison. At least she didn’t know whether or not to tell her.

Alison and Callum had been childhood sweethearts. And Freya wasn’t sure her friend would understand.

Freya herself didn’t understand.

She liked it that there was no risk of getting overly involved with Richard.

The break-up with Malcolm had been tricky. He’d kept messaging and coming round, turning up wherever she went, wanting to talk, to see if they could give it another go.

Well, she wouldn’t be having that problem with Richard!

It was rather freeing.

* * *

It was nice to dress up and go out. She hadn’t brought much with her, but she had a nice copper-coloured dress, and with heels it was dressy enough. Her hair was still rather wild from going to bed with it damp last night, so Freya wore it up and then added a dash of lipstick.

She glanced at her phone as she put the lipstick back in her bag, and then decided she’d do well to leave the phone at home, to prevent herself from replying to Richard.

She had no idea what she would say anyway.

Freya headed to the Tavern bar, and she felt herself tense a little as she walked inside. It was Friday night in Cromayr Bay, and that meant there was a fair chance Malcolm would be there. But thankfully there was no sign of him, and a moment or two later Alison arrived.

The Tavern really was gorgeous—a boutique hotel just off the main street, it was set high on a hill and offered a stunning version of Freya’s favourite view of the Firth.

They climbed the steps to the restaurant and were shown to their seats by a waitress. Then Gordon, the owner, came over.

‘Are you two here for a last trip down memory lane?’

‘Something like that.’ Freya smiled.

‘I remember you coming here when you passed your midwifery exams—och, and for your eighteenth too...’

‘I’m going to miss the old place.’ Alison sighed.

‘Well, hopefully you’ll love the new one just as much,’ Gordon said, and then he talked them through the menu.

They made their choices—which was tough, because there was lobster brought in from the pots just that afternoon, and there was Dornoch lamb, as well as Freya’s favourite, game pie. But she’d had that the last time she was here...

‘I’m going to have the lamb, please,’ Freya said.

‘And I’ll have the spelt and mushroom risotto,’ Alison said.

Freya had wine, and Alison a mocktail, and they chatted about Freya’s move to London.

‘So, have you made any friends there yet?’ Alison asked.

‘Not really,’ Freya admitted. ‘They’re very cliquey...’ she started. Only that wasn’t quite right. They were all very nice. ‘I don’t know what it is. I try, I just don’t seem to fit in. Richard says I’m too subtle.’

‘Richard?’

‘A friend,’ Freya said.

‘So you have made one.’

‘A temporary one.’ Freya said. ‘He’s being interviewed for a plum new job in a private hospital.’

‘In London?’ Alison checked.

Freya nodded. ‘And he’ll get it—he’s brilliant.’

‘Well, if it’s in London that doesn’t have to stop you from being friends. So you do have one.’

‘I guess...’

Alison smirked, because she knew Freya well, and from the little flush on her cheeks it was clear to her he was more than just a friend.

‘It’s just a temporary thing,’ said Freya.

‘Why?’

‘Because temporary is all he does.’

‘But that’s not like you.’ Alison frowned.

‘Well, maybe it is. Look, we’ve been out a couple of times, and both of us know that it won’t be going any further, and that actually suits me just fine.’

‘Why?’ Alison asked again.

‘It just does,’ Freya said, and gave an uncomfortable shrug.

She wasn’t ready to tell Alison she was thinking of coming home for good once her contract was up, but thankfully then their meals arrived.

The lamb was delectable and the conversation became easier. Alison chatted about her and Callum’s tenth wedding anniversary, which was soon coming up.

‘Can you believe it?’

‘Not really.’ Freya laughed. ‘It feels like just a couple of years ago that I was your bridesmaid.’

‘Are you coming home for your thirtieth?’ Alison asked.

‘I think so,’ Freya said. ‘Though I’m doing all I can not to think about that.’

They had a wonderful night catching up. Although not about the things that hurt.

As Freya walked down the hill for home the air was salty, and despite the late hour the sky was still dusky. It was so much lighter here than in London. But autumn would soon close in.

It was one of the reasons she’d come home.

Tomorrow she had to speak to the estate agent about house prices and things, as soon the families renting for summer breaks would fade away and her little slice of potential heaven would be going on the market.

It would be a relief, Freya told herself. The rentals covered the mortgage, but there was a lot of work to be done on her home.

A lot.

She let herself in and smiled at the pretty flowers she’d set by the window. Then she made herself a hot chocolate, frothing the milk in her coffee machine, and took herself to bed.

Freya rarely closed the curtains. There was nothing between her little cottage and the water, and the sight of the bridges always had her in awe. They were miles away, of course, but it looked as if fairy lights had been expertly strung in the sky, and the new Queensferry Crossing was magnificent.

Tomorrow she was catching up with a few friends, and then there was a huge Sunday dinner at her parents’ house to look forward to.

And then she thought about Alison and what she’d said about ‘temporary’ not usually suiting her. Perhaps now it did.

She took out her phone and read again the text he had sent.

Freya liked Richard.

A lot.

From the moment she had first seen him he had captivated her.

Yet she wanted to keep things breezy and light.

Or rather, she had to.

And not just because Richard Lewis had told her that it was the only way they could be. It was also because this place was home. Not London.

Freya had made up her mind now—she would not be selling her home.

* * *

He’d noticed her lack of response to his text.

Of course he had.

Richard had been moving through Security at Heathrow when he’d fired it off, and had regretted the simple message the second after he’d hit ‘send’.

He did not report in to anyone—certainly not about things like interviews—and, furthermore, he loathed the cascade of texts that all too often came when he was seeing someone.

When he’d collected his phone on the other side of Security he’d seen that she hadn’t responded.

Good, he’d told himself. A mistake had been made, but a lesson had been learnt, he’d decided as he had boarded the plane.

‘Phones to be turned off now, please,’ the steward said, but Richard had checked his again before he did so.

Four hours later, as he stood at Moscow airport, even though the very reason for his trip was to get away from the constant buzz of pagers and phones, he found himself turning it on.

No, she had not replied.

Freya could not have known the effect on him.

It made him want her more.

And that did not sit well with Richard.

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