by kendra Smith
And then he sat with her, side by side in the inky darkness, punctuated only by the small light on the table, and he fed her, spoonful by spoonful, the room restful apart from the clock marking out the passing minutes with its rhythmic ticking.
59
The next day she woke up and moved her hands gingerly. Sore. But not quite as sore as yesterday. She noticed the hummingbird scarf was draped over the end of her bed. Had she put it there? Oh, Greg. She looked up at the ceiling and sighed. Nudging her phone towards her, she used her thumb to make a call.
Slowly she made her way downstairs, trying to ignore the throb in her hands and the sharp pain in her foot. She was able to turn the kettle on using her thumb. Once it had boiled, she hooked the handle under her thumb and then poured it carefully into a mug that already had a teabag in it. She would forget about milk – that was too hard. She somehow managed to get some sugar into it and push a teaspoon backwards and forward just as her phone went. After jabbing the call receive button with her thumb she spoke on speakerphone:
‘Yes? Yes, I did – 11 a.m.?’ She looked round the cottage with a glance, ‘That’s fine.’ Then she pushed the call end button. Then she stood looking at her sugary tea and saw the straws. She managed to ease one out of the box and put it in the tea, which sat, mocking her on the counter, as she couldn’t take it anywhere.
‘Crap,’ she said out loud to herself, as Taffie sniffed around her ankles. She leant her head downwards toward the straw and took a tiny sip. Well, she’d just have to stand to have her tea.
About five minutes later, she gave up. It just wasn’t worth the hassle and she’d burnt her mouth.
‘Oh, Taffie, what have I done?’ She stared at her terrier in her kitchen and started to laugh; suddenly she was howling with laughter, proper belly laughing at the ridiculousness of her situation, but, then, after a minute, the laughter turned to great big sobs as tears rolled down her cheeks. How had she messed up so badly?
Just then there was a ping on her phone, a FaceTime request. It was Ed. Oh God, she looked a mess. She propped the phone up on a mug on the table and pressed the call.
‘Hi, Mum! How you doing?’
‘Oh, not too bad!’
‘Right.’ Ed squinted on the screen in front of her. ‘You look like shit.’
‘Well, you know, it’s kind of hard blow-drying your hair when you can’t use your hands!’
Ed’s face became serious. ‘Are you coping, Mum? Shall I come back?’
‘Don’t be daft. It’s OK. I’m managing.’
‘Where’s Lauren?
‘Around,’ she lied.
Ed frowned at her.
‘Listen, Ed, how’s things with you? I’m fine really,’ she added quickly before he could worry anymore and she put on her best smile until her mouth was sore from the effort. ‘How was the blessing? Any photos?’
‘Yeah, I’ve sent them to your WhatsApp – have a look. It was great. Amazing. So, er, Mum?’
‘Yes?’
‘Look, I was just checking how you are. I’m thinking of staying another week, maybe two… Adity’s mum, she wants us to stay.’
‘It’s fine. My hands are much better,’ she fibbed.
‘You mean it? It’s just she wants us to stay a bit because Granny G’s incredibly ill.’
‘Yes of course.’
‘And you’d tell me if you couldn’t manage?’
She nodded at the screen, not trusting herself to speak. She took a deep breath and then lied. ‘Oh, there’s the door. Text me your new dates.’
She pressed the button as quickly as she could so that Ed couldn’t see her slump her head forward and rest it on the table.
*
It was mid-morning, and Greg once again opened the door to a tear-stained Maddie.
He bent his head to the side. ‘What’s up?’
Oh you know, I have second-degree burns and can’t even pick up a coffee cup, my son’s now coming back a week later, and you hate me. It’s all fine.
‘Nothing.’
He narrowed his eyes at her and walked past her into the kitchen.
‘Heard from Ed?’ he shouted from the kitchen.
‘Yup.’
‘And?’ Greg put his head round the doorframe.
‘He’s staying another couple of weeks. But I’ll be fine. He doesn’t know that Lauren left.’
‘Did you tell him I was looking after you?’
She glanced at him. ‘No.’
‘Right,’ muttered Greg as he went back to tidying up the kitchen.
Maddie limped into the hall and slowly made her way upstairs. She painstakingly took off her pyjama bottoms, pulled on jogging trousers, and wriggled into a fresh top. She looked at herself in the mirror. Oh honestly. She really needed to wash her hair, but she couldn’t have a shower just now as her hands had to stay dry. So how would she do that?
She could hear the vacuum cleaner downstairs and Taffie barking. She smiled. She really was grateful to Greg.
The doorbell went and she glanced at her watch: eleven o’clock. They were on time. She limped down the stairs and stood by the front door.
‘Greg,’ she called, as she couldn’t manage the front door handle.
He came out of the kitchen, wearing one of her gingham aprons, looking mildly ridiculous. He marched past her and opened the door.
‘Oh, Mr and Mrs—’ The man on the doorstep held out his hand in offer of a handshake. He had a sheen on his upper lip and was wearing a creased grey suit and a purple tie. His shoes were brown brogues; a clipboard was resting on his hip, much like he was about to take a survey.
‘Just Mrs Brown, actually,’ Maddie cut in quickly, as she nodded at the small, sweaty man. ‘Sorry I can’t shake your hand,’ she said, glancing down at her bandages to make the point.
‘Oh dear. Right, well, shall I come in?’
Maddie was just stepping out of the way, to let him in, with her back to the wall, when Greg moved towards the middle of the front door, yanked it towards him and said. ‘Sorry, there must be some confusion, this place is not going on the market.’ And with that, he slammed the door shut in the estate agent’s face.
*
‘Greg, why did you do that? What’s it to you?’
He strode past her into the kitchen.
She limped through the hall and sat at the kitchen table. Greg placed a milky coffee and a straw plus some fresh croissants on one of her painted china plates. The buttery aroma filled the space between her and Greg.
‘You’re not selling this place.’
‘It’s my place, I’ll do what I want.’
He looked up at her from the rim of his coffee cup. ‘You shouldn’t make any decisions right now. Anyway, you like it here, Maddie.’ He was tapping the side of his cup with his nail.
‘Yes, but I don’t belong here anymore, do I? What’s to keep me here? The plan was always to renovate Maris Cottage, make some money and move on. Ed is about to go to university, he’s engaged to Adity, they have a new life.’ She fixed her gaze on a croissant, determined to stay calm. When she said it like that it all seemed so final. She pushed her chair back. ‘I’m going to move on, make some money and start again. My lawyer has already said that the divorce papers are drawn up for me and Tim, but the cottage is in my name and he won’t be able to touch a penny of it.’
‘Nor should he after what he’s done to you.’
Maddie was touched that he cared. She glanced up at him quickly, sitting across from her. He was wearing an open-necked purple polo shirt, tucked into dark navy jeans – and her apron. Maddie bit her lip. The ends of his hair were the colour of golden syrup, and she studied his large hands, grasping the coffee cup, the skin rough and dry from hours on the boats in the water, where the sea had washed over them and rough ropes had slid between his fingers. He chased some spilt sugar granules around with his finger – prodding them across the table. She wanted to reach out and touch his hands, to hold them between hers and stroke them. She al
so noticed the indent where a wedding ring had been for many, many years.
‘Well,’ he said, shrugging. ‘You know what I mean, you don’t owe him a thing.’
‘No,’ she replied quietly, ‘I absolutely don’t.’
60
Greg had been helping off and on around the cottage most days and she was getting used to his company again and missed him badly when he left in the afternoons with the light, lonely summery evenings stretching ahead of her. On a couple of afternoons, she’d woken from a nap to find he’d come back and was tidying up the garden – weeding the rockery or sweeping the patio.
She had persuaded Ed to stay on in Bali as long as he wanted, but he’d told her he was coming home next week. She’d been vague about ‘people’ helping her when he’d asked.
It was a Tuesday and the sun was high in the sky, a beautiful midsummer’s day. The bandages were due to come off today. Maddie glanced down at her hands as they pulled into the patient’s parking bay at the hospital and Greg yanked on the handbrake.
They’d had a silent trip in the car, weaving in and out of traffic at Brightwater Bay. It was getting busier with the day-trippers as it was now late June. Maddie was glad to be out of the cottage, but not ready to go back to work yet. Sue was holding the fort at the Shore Café, and was keen for Maddie to come back – but only when she was better. They’d hired a couple of university students as a temporary measure as it looked like Lauren was staying at home to look after her sick mother.
Maddie had been grateful when Greg had offered her a lift yesterday when he’d seen the hospital notice stuck to the fridge door. How will you get there? he’d asked.
Hitch?
He’d folded his arms across his chest and raised his eyebrows at her then and told her to be ready at ten o’clock the next day.
They wandered into the outpatients area and sat in the waiting area. After about fifteen minutes they were called through.
‘Would you like your husband to come with you?’ the nurse said as she stood in front of them.
Greg stood up abruptly. ‘I’m not her husband, just a friend. I’ll wait here.’
Maddie glanced at him and followed the nurse through.
The consultant gently removed the bandages from the right hand; the other was to be kept in a dressing for another week. But it meant she could do a lot more.
She followed Greg back to the car park and they walked side by side to the truck. The sky was a blue canopy stretching over their heads, broken only by tiny wisps of fluffy white clouds – rows of salmon-pink and white begonias marked the edge of the car park in neat little borders. Greg clicked the truck open with his key fob and then walked past Maddie to open her door.
‘Thank you.’ She smiled at him as she gingerly put out her right hand to steady herself on the seat before getting in. He smelt of lemons.
Once Greg was in the driving seat, she placed her hands in her lap. Greg shifted in his seat, reached over and carefully picked up her right hand and held it in his, turning it around. His touch was warm and strong; her hand looked tiny in his. ‘It looks raw.’ He frowned at her. ‘And you’ve still got some scarring. What did the consultant say?’ He stroked the top of her hand with his thumb as she stared straight ahead, noticed how dusty the windscreen was, aware only of the sensation of his thumb on her hand.
‘He said it’s healed well.’ Her voice caught in her throat; she coughed. ‘He told me to keep putting on Vitamin E cream, that there will always be some small scars, and to avoid any heavy housework for a few more weeks.’
She stole a look at him. He carefully placed her hand back in her lap.
‘Well, looks like I’ll be washing up the pots at yours for a bit longer then,’ he said, the hint of a smile playing on his lips.
When they got home Greg made them both a cup of tea and a couple of ham sandwiches as Maddie sat in the lounge. Being at the hospital again had tired her out. She somehow felt exhausted by a simple visit and it brought back all the memories of getting to A&E after the accident.
Greg approached her with two steaming mugs of tea, placed them on the table with the sandwiches and then sat down next to her. They ate their lunch in silence. She was able to pick up the sandwich easily as she sank back into the sofa and glanced at Greg’s profile, wondering, once she wasn’t such an invalid, what would happen. There would be no reason for him to be with her. As she took a bite of her sandwich she had an idea.
She sat up and put the sandwich down on the plate, then reached carefully for her phone in her bag. ‘Ed sent these the other day. The blessing.’
She moved her mug out of the way and placed the phone on the table, pressed it with her thumb and the screen flashed up with photos of Ed and Adity at the blessing.
They made a stunning couple. There was a close-up of them, both with dark hair, Adity’s scraped into an elegant bun. Her parting had been painted a fiery red and there was a bejewelled bindi between her eyes. Ed was grinning next to her, cheek to cheek. In another, he was wearing a smart white suit whilst Adity looked like a film star in a tangerine chiffon dress, bangles up her arm, ornate filigree earrings, and bright hibiscus-red lipstick. Ed was grinning madly and they both had thick frangipani garlands around their necks. Greg was looking at the photos intently with a curious expression. Was that pride?
‘They look amazing, don’t they?’
‘Yes, they really do,’ he said with a nod.
61
June slid into early July. Some days Greg would make lunch and stay, other days he’d leave it all cut up for her so she could eat using one hand. It all depended on his shifts at the centre. A few of the days he’d come in the morning, on others a couple of hours in the afternoon. She could use her right hand a bit better now, so holding a spoon or fork was easier and she could lift the kettle if it wasn’t filled too full.
Most evenings she’d sit on the bench in the garden, listen to the gulls, the laughter as beachgoers walked back on the coastal path. She’d catch snippets of conversation as they passed the cottage; sometimes the light rumble of the traffic on the other side slid in and out of her hearing as she read a book on her lap. She never asked where he was in the evenings; she was just glad of his help in the day.
It was a Thursday morning – one of Greg’s days off from the centre – and they’d finished their fresh chocolate croissants. Greg was checking something on his phone, so Maddie seized a lull in the conversation; it was something she’d been building up to. She didn’t know how he’d react.
‘I found some photos the other day – of uni, in one of the storage boxes,’ she said. Greg glanced at her quickly.
‘Oh yes?’
‘Hold on and I’ll get them.’ She got up and wandered into the lounge and reached for the little flip-file of photos on the mantelpiece and took it through to the kitchen.
And they sat, side by side, flicking through their shared history – a masked ball; Freshers’ Week with bowler hats (why?); arm in arm at a beer festival; one of Greg at Widemouth Bay; Maddie in a mint-green embroidered summer dress, the hummingbird scarf loosely round her neck, licking a vanilla ice cream.
‘I remember that dress,’ Greg said, touching the photo. Suddenly, he pushed his chair back and gathered up their plates and put them on the draining board with a clunk. He turned around. ‘Shall we get outside? Go for a walk?’
She looked out the kitchen window and could just see the bluey-green sea sparkling in the distance. It was a hot July day; she should be grateful to get some fresh air and take Taffie for a proper walk. The sky was cobalt-blue and cloudless. It looked lovely out there. But she realised how tired she was. Something was holding her back. It was as if the house was her cocoon. She felt safe inside, didn’t have to worry about anything else. Her world had shrunk significantly.
‘Sure, OK, but also—’ She felt embarrassed.
‘What?’
‘Well, I need to wash my hair.’ She screwed up her nose and put her bandaged hand up to her me
ssy bun. She’d been managing in the shower with just one hand to wash her hair, the other tied up in a protective plastic casing so it didn’t get wet – but the whole thing took forever and she could never rinse her hair properly. It was a state.
He walked over and stood in front of her. ‘I’ll help you – OK? But let’s go for a walk first. We can do it then when we get back.’
She was a heartbeat away from saying ‘like old times’ but stopped herself just in time.
*
Half an hour later, they had Taffie zigzagging along the beach, looking for new smells and tiny crabs, sniffing at rocks and digging up bits of sand, his little tail wagging madly. Maddie was carefully making her way across a few larger boulders as the tide was out.
‘Let’s walk down to the shore. It’s flatter there,’ Greg suggested.
They walked for about ten minutes and she took big lungfuls of the sea air, smelt the soft salty breeze and was glad of her scarf wrapped around her neck. Even though it was July, there was a brisk wind, but it felt good to be outside. Her head felt clearer and she enjoyed the easy silence of walking next to Greg.
They carried on to the end of the bay, their footsteps in time with one another, and she looked out to the water, at how it glistened in the sun like someone had thrown a fishing net sewn with diamonds over the top of it.
A gull soared overhead and she stopped to admire how it swooped and swerved down to the sparkling waves. Her scarf fluttered in the breeze and Greg glanced at it, as its chiffon arm snaked out in front of her, twisted, then curled behind her in the breeze.
She reached out and touched the soft silk, brought it back round her neck. ‘I love these hummingbirds,’ she said, twisting the fabric between her fingers, ‘their wings, a symbol of—’
‘Eternity,’ he replied, catching her eye.
‘Exactly,’ she said, looking to see where Taffie had got to.
*
An hour later, they were back at Maris Cottage. Greg was running some warm water into a basin in the kitchen sink and pulling up one of the chairs.
