Saved Between the Sheets: An Anthology of Stories that Get to the Point

by R. M. Walker

It was dark down there, the space between the rocks narrow, and I judged it to be a drop of about six feet. We both knew these rocks, but one slip was all it took.

  “Parker!” I shouted, and my voice echoed around the gully.

  “Christ, Lo, my fucking head.”

  Relief washed over me, and I lost my breath, falling onto my butt as my vision wavered.

  “Parker, you arse. I thought you were dead. Have you hurt yourself?”

  “My head, Lo, I can’t…”

  He tried sitting, but collapsed, blood dripping from a wound above his ear.

  “Stay still,” I shouted. “I’m coming down. Mr Morgan is getting help.”

  “Don’t…”

  I heard vomiting as I searched for a way. It stomped my relief into dust. He’d hit his head and was vomiting. Two things, when put together, weren’t a good sign.

  I found a broader gap where the tide had reached, but the water wasn’t too deep. I inched my way down slipping several times and grazing my hands. My legs shook as I leapt the last few feet and landed awkwardly on seaweed covered rocks. I wobbled and went to my knees in the freezing water. Spluttering and coughing, I got to my feet and made my way to Parker, careful not to slip again.

  He was slumped against the rocks. His face was ashen, and he was smothered in blood. His breathing seemed normal, but his eyes were closed. I knelt next to him, kissing his cheek gently. He opened his eyes, and they were unfocused, sleepy looking.

  “Look at you.” I tried hard to keep my voice upbeat. “What a mess.” I gingerly felt along his arms and legs for signs of a break, but he gave no sign of pain.

  “Lowena Penhallow,” he croaked.

  “Yeah, baby, I’m here.” I clamped on the tears building in my eyes. He needed me to be strong. I needed me to be strong.

  “Will you marry me?” he slurred, turning his head towards me.

  “Yes, Parker, I would love to marry you.” Tears slid down my face as I saw where he’d hit his head. A wide, ragged gash above his ear was bleeding heavily. Pebbles and seaweed stuck to the wound and in his hair. A wave of dizziness washed over me, and I took deep breaths, looking anywhere but at the wound.

  “That’s… good,” he mumbled. “Mrs Lowena McGowen. Suits you.”

  “Well, you need to stay awake to marry me,” I said, ransacking my brain for something to say. My words were betraying me when I needed them the most. “June. We’ll get married in June. I read somewhere it’s good luck to be a June bride. Or was it May?”

  His breathing shallowed and there was no response.

  “Park? Parker? C’mon, babe, I’m not that boring. Wake up.”

  “Never boring,” he muttered. “You need to go...”

  “Hang on, babe, please. They’re coming to help us.”

  “Leave me...”

  “Okay, so a June bride.” I kept my voice light. “Where? The church in St Ives? Or a registry office? I don’t care where we get married as long as you stay with me.”

  I couldn’t stop the tears. Why was it taking so long to come and help?

  Panic and fear overwhelmed me, and I let out a scream for help.

  Parker didn’t move.

  I frantically checked for a pulse on his neck. It was there, steady and slow. “Thank god, thank god.” I kissed the top of his head, closing my eyes to the wound on the side. “You’ll be fine. I won’t let you be anything else.”

  The cloying stench of seaweed, salt, and damp rocks was rank. I was shivering as the wet sand seeped into the seat of my jeans, and the pebbles were hard under my butt. Struggling out of my coat, I shuffled him into my arms, leaning him against my chest. I draped my coat over him, keeping his torso as warm as I could. I knew little first aid, but I knew low body temperature was dangerous.

  “Buddy, you’re a young man.” My voice wobbled as I sang his favourite song, hoping he’d tell me to stop massacring it. But he didn’t and more tears flooded my eyes. I kept on singing, praying he’d tell me to shut up.

  The first wash of frigid seawater over my legs sent a new fear crashing through me. The tide was rising, and if we stayed here we’d drown. I wasn’t letting Parker die, and I, sure as hell, wasn’t going to die either.

  I didn’t realise my legs, and feet were numb until I tried to stand. We were still shivering, which was a good sign, but we’d get colder as time passed. I got to my knees, and shuffled backwards, hauling him under his arms. He was a dead weight, and I was exhausted. But adrenaline was on my side, and I was a stubborn bitch.

  The pebbles bit into my knees but the numbness was my asset, and I shuffled us as far as I could go before the gully narrowed. The slit of light from above did nothing to ease my worries or the gloomy atmosphere. The pungent odour was stronger with only a little air getting in, and I gagged. I brought my t-shirt over my mouth, but it was soaked in water and blood. I shifted so I could press my face into Parker’s neck, but his skin felt like cold meat. Dead, cold meat.

  “No!” I thumped his arm. “No. Don’t you dare!”

  There was no response and I fumbled for his pulse. It was still slow and steady, I sobbed, lifting my face to the gap in the rocks.

  Would they find us now I’d moved us?

  Noise. I had to make noise. How long would it take to deploy air-sea rescue? They were based on the other coast, in Helston, but for a helicopter, it wasn’t far.

  I tried shouting, but my throat closed at the effort. I tried singing. My voice croaked and my throat was raw, but it was easier than shouting. I sang through all the songs he liked and all the songs I’d sung in the primary school choir. I wished he could hear me, maybe he could. He’d once told me I only got into the school choir because they needed the numbers. He said I was tone deaf, and he was right, but he never told me to shut up when I’d sing. I worked through “Good King Wenceslas”, “Amazing Grace”, and “Silent Night”.

  When the first wave reached us, I was trying to remember Quinero’s Pearl. The second wash of water brought a scream from my raw throat. We’d drown if they didn’t find us soon, I wasn’t ready to die. I wanted to live my life with Parker first, have children with him, grow old with him.

  “Help, please, help!” My shout was little more than a rasp and I battled hysteria, hugging Parker, as I rocked back and forth.

  The swell of water washed over us and then ebbed. The pull of water almost took Parker from me and I grabbed his arm as I clung to the rocks with my other. It was so hard to hold on, the pull relentless until the water retreated down the gully.

  Every seventh wave was supposed to be the biggest. I didn’t know if it was an old wives tale or true, but the following swells weren’t so violent and I counted them, clinging to the rocks and Parker.

  “I can’t do this,” I sobbed, as another wave crashed. They were getting more frequent as the tide rose. “I can’t. I love you, Parker, but I can’t hold on.”

  The next swell would be my last. I let go of the rocks and wrapped my arms around him. I’d rather drown holding onto him than holding onto the rocks.

  The whirring noise of a helicopter overhead had me grabbing for the rocks, clinging to Parker. I saw a flash of orange through the narrow opening above us before the light was blocked out.

  “Can you hear me?”

  “Yes.” I tried shouting, but little more than a whisper came out.

  “Stay where you are. We’re coming down.”

  I closed my eyes, inhaling deeply as the rush of relief threatened to take me under. I had to make sure they saved Parker first. But as soon as we were safe, I was never letting him go again.

  ***--***--***

  One good thing came from working constantly, I was up to date on my commissions. Which meant I’d need to go into town and post them. I didn’t mind the trip on the bus. I’d learnt to drive when I was twenty-two, but in a small village like ours, there was no parking. The streets were cobbled and narrow, built for horse and cart, not four by fours. A few of the newer houses had driveways, but they w
ere at the top of the village. Tourists used the council car park on the outskirts of the village and walked down to the beach. In the summer they were like an invasion of ants, trundling up and down the streets in long lines. It was great business for the locals, though. So we greeted them with open arms and didn’t fight the council when it installed a public toilet close to the beach.

  Getting to town by car was a fifteen-minute journey tops. On the bus, it was just under an hour, by the time it bounced its way into all the small villages dotted about. I enjoyed the coast views, and on sunny days, like today, the sea was a sparkling blue gem. Beautiful, peaceful, and calm. But underneath the deceptive surface, currents, rocks, and danger lurked in wait for the unsuspecting.

  I’d seen that sea change in the blink of an eye. One moment gorgeous and alluring, the next violent and deadly, huge waves crashing onto the rocks. The sea gave, and it took from us. It had taken Parker from me, but I would never stop loving it.

  The bus stop was at the top of the street. It was a steep, long, hard slog, but it kept me fit. And if I remembered to take my inhalers before I started, I was okay. After we were rescued, Parker was in a coma for several weeks. They didn’t know if he’d have long-term brain injury until he woke up. If he woke up. I wanted to be beside him, but I contracted double pneumonia and it weakened my chest, leading to chronic asthma. My asthma was controlled if I kept up my steroid inhalers and used my normal inhaler before I did anything too exerting.

  Parker had woken from his coma, but he couldn’t remember anything about that day or me. My heart had broken when he’d asked who I was. He’d recognised his uncle. He remembered everyone at college. Remembered the locals, his way around the village, but he didn’t remember me.

  No matter how many photos I showed him, or how many of our places I’d taken him, it was all a blank. He didn’t remember our first kiss, nor our first time in the cove. He didn’t remember taking me apart piece by piece in our hut. I couldn’t cope with loving him so much while knowing he no longer loved me.

  He tried, he tried so hard. We both tried, but it led to arguments and frustration. He had awful nightmares and horrific migraines. We stopped trying to make him remember and tried to build a new relationship. But it didn’t work. There was too much between us and we were too young to know how to move past it. We left college and Parker went to university. He never came back, and I never heard from him. Until now.

  I stopped at the bus stop, thankful to sit on the bench and put my bags down. I took out my phone and opened the book I was reading. The noise of a car broke my concentration a few minutes later, and I looked up. Someone must have taken the wrong turn and would need to use the bus turning bay to go back the way they’d come.

  It was a lovely car, brand new judging by the licence plates. Black, long and lean, like a panther. I didn’t know what make, though; cars were cars. But even I appreciated the beauty of this car. When it stopped beside me and the passenger window lowered, I braced myself for someone to ask for directions. I was crap at directions. But I’d try.

  I leant to see inside, and my heart stopped.

  Of course. It had to be, didn’t it?

  Parker bloody McGowen sat behind the steering wheel, his long aristocratic nose pointed towards me.

  “Get in, I’ll give you a lift.”

  “You don’t know where I’m going.”

  “Lo, there is only one place to go from here. Town.

  “I could be headed to London.”

  “Fine. Get in, I’ll take you to London. I’ll take you to the bloody moon if I have to.”

  I arched an eyebrow at him. “No, thanks. The bus will be along soon.”

  “You can’t ignore me forever, Lowena. I’m not going anywhere.” He got out of the car, and my heart skipped a beat. He’d been good-looking as a teen, as an adult he was devastating.

  “Hey!” I stopped drooling long enough to realise he’d picked up my bags and set them on the backseat of his car. “Parker! You can’t just—”

  He opened the passenger door. “Your carriage awaits, m’lady.”

  It was there in his wicked smile, in the humour in his sparkling eyes. He was still Parker in many ways, just not my Parker.

  He caught my hand, and I went willingly to the slaughter. Or rather, the front seat of his car.

  “Where to?” he asked.

  “London.”

  “Okay.” He didn’t hesitate, just pulled out onto the road.

  “You’d really take me to London?” I didn’t understand what he was doing, but it hurt.

  “If that’s where you want to go.”

  I rubbed my forehead, the start of a headache brewing. If I’d been this bloody minded with him as teenagers, no wonder he had migraines.

  I closed my eyes, never considering it before. “I pushed you too hard, didn’t I? Nagged you too much.”

  “You were… confident,” he hedged. “You had enough confidence for both of us, unfortunately, you didn’t have a magic wand.”

  “You can say it. I nagged you.”

  “You were this beautiful girl claiming to be in love with me. Confident, vivacious, gorgeous, and I couldn’t remember a damn thing. All I remembered was being called Pongy Parker for so long you couldn’t possibly be mine. But I could see how much I was hurting you.”

  “Circumstance hurt us both,” I corrected him. “You didn’t choose to forget me, or at least not consciously.”

  “I forgot you because you’re an intrinsic part of what happened.” He didn’t appear frustrated or angry as he did in the past. “I’ve been trying to come home for years. It took a long time to recover physically, but I did well at uni, started my business, and time just seemed to slip by. I thought about this place, about you, every single day. I’d wonder what would have happened if I’d stayed here. Tried harder to make us work.”

  Why did he have to say that? Why did he have to break my heart all over again? I wanted my training wheels back on as I retreated behind humour.

  “Oh, I don’t know, Parker. Look on the bright side, this is a nifty car you’ve got. You wouldn’t get this catching crabs for Mr Wilkes.” I laughed, but it was false. “Can you drop me off at the Post Office, please?”

  “Of course, do you want anything else in town?” he asked.

  “No. Why?”

  “I’ll wait for you, take you home.”

  I caught his gaze and the denial on the tip of my tongue changed into a nod. Scrambling out of his car, I wondered what I was getting myself into.

  His window lowered. “Lo?”

  I turned to him.

  “Come back with me, see what they’ve done to the chapel,” he said. “I’ll even give you coffee.”

  Chuckling despite myself, I nodded, but I needed my head checked for playing with fire.

  ***—***—***

  The chapel was magnificently restored. Whoever had worked on it knew how to keep the original features in place and still make it a comfortable living area.

  I crossed to where the old font stood in the corner of the room. An enormous bouquet of artificial flowers sat in the basin. I touched the stone with my fingertips, remembering when I’d filled my water bottle from it to protect me against vampires.

  “They suggested I sell it, make some money.” Parker stood behind me. “It didn’t feel right. It’s yours.”

  “You remember that?”

  “When I saw it, I remembered and I knew the font was yours,” he replied.

  “Because I stole holy water from it to fight off vampires? I was a fruitcake.” I laughed at myself.

  “Because you were brave enough to go into the graveyard at night on your own.”

  “Come off it, Parker, I knew they weren’t real.”

  “Didn’t stop you from being frightened though, did it?”

  I looked at him, frowning. “You remember that too?”

  He was rubbing his neck. “Bits and pieces. Sometimes in my dreams, sometimes when I see something. Like t
he font. I saw you.”

  “Probably because I’d told you about it.” I dismissed it and moved across to his bookshelves.

  “If that was true, I’d see you as you are now, not as you were. You had train tracks on your teeth, and spots on your nose which you’d try to cover with foundation. And your hair—” He’d followed me and gripped a handful of my hair. Bending, he pushed his nose into it and sniffed.

  I squeaked, it was all I could manage. His mountain pine scent washed over me, and I groaned, flat out groaned. He caught my shoulders and whirled me, pushing me against the bookcase.

  “I can’t get you out of my head, Lowena. I want us try again. Things are coming back. If we tried again, I think I’d remember it all.”

  I wanted to badly, but I wasn’t naïve.

  “You want to use me to get your memories back? We tried that, remember?” I shook my head and pushed past him. “I can’t afford to take the risk.” I put my mug on the open-plan kitchen counter.

  “No, we tried it your way last time.” He gripped my arm and spun me.

  I lost my balance and fell into him, my hands on his chest. God, he was gorgeous and was that a smattering of hair on his chest? This deserved further investigation.

  No. I wasn’t doing this again. I tried pushing away, but he held me tight, and I struggled.

  “Goddammit, keep still,” he ordered.

  My brain demanded him to let me go, but my body remembered the way he’d tell me what to do. My body won out.

  “Listen, please,” he begged when I went limp in his hold. “One thing will never change between us, Lo, no matter how much I forget or how much I remember.”

  “What?” I was breathless as I stared up at him.

  “How much I want you.” His lips pressed against mine, and it was a floodgate opening. I kissed him, my hands going into his short hair as he clutched my hips. He pushed me against the bookcase; his hands gripped my arms as we kissed.

  “My body remembers you, Lowena. Remembers and wants you. Let’s try again, try to let my mind catch up,” he muttered against my lips.

  I wanted to, lord knew how much I wanted to. I was desperate to climb him and never let go, but I had to be the adult in this. One roll in the hay wouldn’t alter anything, no matter how much we wanted it to.