The Sixth & Seventh
Works just about gets me through the waking hours, though I know I am starting to behave like a zombie through lack of sleep. My parents phone each evening to check if I am okay, and I try to force a cheerfulness into my demeanour that is clearly not natural. I decided not to go down to Brighton until the day of the funeral as I am still struggling to write my eulogy. Tonight I have to finish it, so I resist the urge to lose myself once again in the kitchen and force myself to sit down in front of my laptop.
Strangely enough, once I start, this time I can’t seem to stop. I fill page after page with funny, inconsequential stories about both her life and our life together. When I finally read the final draft and hit Print, I know I have produced something Nonna would like.
It is after midnight, and I know I have to be up early, so I decide to take a shower but am interrupted by a ringing on the intercom. Startled, as I never have visitors, let alone ones at this time of night, I lift the receiver and utter a cautious “Hello?”
“Why are you still up?” Taylor’s unmistakable voice comes through. I am so surprised I drop the receiver, fumbling for several seconds before I finally pick it back up.
“Taylor, what are you doing here?”
“Why are you still up?” he repeats.
“How did you know I was still up? Are you stalking me?” My voice is incredulous.
“I was passing and your light was on, okay?”
“Um, I am hardly on the main road, and anyway, how did you know which is my light?” I retort.
“Okay, so I wanted to make sure you were all right. Look, can I come up? Sorry, I know it’s late.”
I pause for a second, unsure, but curiosity gets the better of me, so I press the buzzer to let him in. A minute later I hear footsteps up the flight of stairs, and I open my door, not wanting the knocking to wake my neighbour, a lovely nurse who I know is on the early shift in the morning. I beckon Taylor in and stand back with my arms around my waist once I have shut the door.
I have not spoken to Taylor since our encounter in the office on Tuesday, but he has been around on our floor more than normal. I thought he was just in meetings, but now I am wondering if something else is going on.
“Why are you here, Taylor? I have a really early start tomorrow.”
Several expressions pass across Taylor’s eyes. He moves a couple of steps towards me, and I catch a hint of Taylor’s unique citrus scent. “I needed to know you were okay” is all he says before taking another step in my direction. I feel a bit like a cornered animal with nowhere to run.
I swallow and take a deep breath. “You could have called me.”
“You never replied to my last call.” Taylor is now only a couple of feet away from me.
“I didn’t realise I had a message until after you told me,” I whisper, my heart starting to beat rapidly. With one final step Taylor is right in front of me, forcing me to look up into his dark eyes. I feel myself melting under his molten gaze. His arms come round me, one snaking behind my waist, pulling me against his body, the other drawing my head up towards his. When his lips finally touch mine, the kiss is nothing like the ones we have had before.
The gentleness astounds me, bringing tears to my eyes. As he explores my lips, my mouth parts and he slips his tongue in, caressing mine. His hands mirror this action, gently exploring my cheeks, my hair, my back. While I start to feel aroused by his kiss, the overwhelming emotion I feel is comfort.
The kiss deepens, but I can feel his control as he maintains the lightness of his touch. My head is spinning. The emotion and lack of food over the last couple of days catch up with me, and I feel my legs buckle under me. Like some overwrought character from a historical novel, I feel my world go black and I faint.
I come to and find myself lying on my futon with Taylor hovering anxiously over me. He reaches over, smoothing my hair back off my face. “Are you okay, Abby?” Taylor’s face is calm, but underneath I can see anxiety in his eyes. I push myself up into a sitting a position. “Bloody hell, you seem to be starting to make a habit of passing out on me.” Taylor offers up a weak grin.
I am desperately trying to regain my composure but still feel dizzy. Whether it is from the kiss, lack of food or just the stress of the last week, I am not sure, but when the tears start running down my face, there is nothing I can do to stop them. Taylor draws me into his lap, and I find myself sobbing into his warm chest uncontrollably. When at last my tears start to abate, I push myself back and desperately start trying to smooth my wild hair and wipe my face.
“Oh god, I am such a mess!” I wail. I try to stand up off the futon, but Taylor takes my hand and tugs me back down. “Easy now, Abby.” Taylor’s voice soothes my frayed nerves. “Take a deep breath and just sit for a while.” I find myself complying, unsure about what is going on, but looking up into Taylor’s face, trying to get a clue. Taylor holds my hands in his lap and strokes them gently. Slowly he moves up to my arms, then around my back and slowly up into my hair, all the while gently moving his fingers in slow circles.
“Lie down, Abby.” I go to argue, but he pulls me down so that I am lying on my side. He spoons his body around me gently and carries on stroking up and down my body, interrupting only to switch the sidelamp off and pull the quilt over me. I feel my eyes growing heavy, and when Taylor whispers, “Go to sleep,” in my ear, I find myself drifting into a mercifully dreamless sleep.
The Eighth
The shrill of the alarm pierces my consciousness. The lack of Taylor’s presence in my bed when I wake feels like déjà vu. As the reality of the day that lies ahead hits, my heart sinks. With leaden limbs I get myself into the shower, trying to blot out the image of Nonna dead on her kitchen floor that keeps resurfacing from my subconscious. It’s not long before I am wrapped up in my heavy winter coat and scarf to ward off the autumn chill and pulling my case loaded up with a week’s worth of my baking out the door and onto the main road to call a taxi to the station. I am just not in the mood for the bus today.
I spend the journey attempting to analyse the situation with Taylor. I can’t figure out why he keeps turning up when he has categorically stated that being with me can’t happen. I can’t help the attraction I feel, and I get the feeling that neither can he, but there is this big issue of him being my boss. Which of course on a rational level I completely understand. However, the romantic, naïve part of me wants to shout “Sod it!” at the top of my lungs and leap into his bed, and not when I am drunk or emotionally fraught either. I just wish I could see how this would turn out; I am heading into the unknown and am terrified by the thought of what lies ahead.
My inner musings are interrupted by the train pulling into the station, and I make an effort to shelve my thoughts and focus on the day ahead. When I arrive at Nonna’s, my mum and dad are waiting for me. The dark circles under both their eyes remind me that it is not just me going through this nightmare. I think in all of this I have forgotten that my mum has lost her mother, and my dad has lost the closest thing he had to a mother as well, given that his died when he was very young. Grief has etched itself on all our hearts. My parents pull me into a tight hug and then in low voices remind me that the taxi will be arriving shortly. Hurriedly I pull out my cakes and desserts, arranging those that can be left out on Nonna’s table and putting the rest in the fridge for when everyone comes back later.
The day is bright but cold as Nonna’s friends and family file into the crematorium. I stand at the entrance, greeting familiar faces and those I don’t recognise but who obviously know who I am. It’s not long before the minister motions that it is time to begin, and my mum and I make our way to the front pew. Nonna’s favourite tune, ‘Clair de Lune’, fills the air, and I glance behind me to see my dad and the ushers bringing in Nonna’s coffin. I hug my arms around myself, feeling chilled, as we all take our seats.
I find myself tuning out most of the service as my thoughts swirl and I desperately try to calm my nerves about standing
up and delivering the eulogy. I have it printed out, so it is just a case of reading it out loud, but still I am worried that I am going to say something wrong. I am startled back to the present as the kindly minister says my name. My feet feel numb as I make my way up to the lectern at the front, and all I can think of is not tripping up. I feel like I have a lump the size of a tennis ball in my throat, and when I try to speak, nothing comes out. Nervously I try to clear my throat softly, all the while shuffling my notes to buy some time. I glance around the room, attempting a watery smile, and go to speak but falter as my eyes suddenly lock on to Taylor’s.
The world recedes, and all I can hear is my breathing as I take in his dark suit and tie, his spiked black hair and his dark eyes. He smiles reassuringly at me. I wonder why he is here, and then it hits me like a thunderbolt. He is here for me.
I am jerked back to the present by a loud cough, and I make a second attempt to start my speech. Tears start to course down my face. Whether it is from grief or nerves I am not sure, but my teeth start to chatter and my hands are shaking so hard I fear that I am going to drop the papers. I don’t see him move from his seat, but suddenly Taylor is at my side, gently removing the pages from my hands. He puts his arm around me, squeezing my shoulder gently, and then in a low but clear voice starts to read,
“Nonna was more than just a grandmother to me…” The tears keep falling, and I am grateful to Taylor for being there to speak my words for me. There is no way I would have got through it by myself.
When he is finished, I am gratified to see smiles on so many people; it was the note that I had hoped to strike with my speech. A happy end to a happy life. Taylor steers me back to my seat, and as I glance at my mum, I can see the question marks in her eyes. I know she will corner me later and grill me, but at least for the moment I am spared that torment. Taylor leaves to return to his seat, but before he drops my hand, he offers a reassuring squeeze. Just knowing he is here gives me strength to get through the next couple of hours.
“That was beautiful, sweetheart,” whispers my mum, giving my knee a squeeze. Anyone would think I am about to fall apart by the amount of ‘reassuring’ touches I seem to be receiving, but reluctantly I have to acknowledge that I am not far off it. The rest of the service passes in a blur, and it is not long before Nonna’s coffin is disappearing through the curtains and I am forced to admit to myself that this really is goodbye. No more comforting chats over cups of strong Italian coffee and biscotti in Nonna’s homely kitchen, or her unique pork meatballs and spaghetti on a Friday night, or baking up a storm on a rainy Sunday afternoon. I didn’t think I could possibly shed another tear, but it appears that I am wrong as yet another river slides down my face. At least I didn’t bother with mascara today.
We hurry back to Nonna’s to prepare for the wake. Most people are coming straight from the service, so I immediately start percolating the coffee, plating up sandwiches and putting cakes on the large trestle we have set up in the living room. Fortunately, most people have taken their time, so we have a few minutes to regroup, giving me the chance to give my parents an impromptu hug.
“What was that for, Abs?” asks my dad with a questioning smile.
“Do I need a reason to give you guys a hug?” I retort a little too tartly. We are not the family that does random hugs, with the exception of Nonna of course, so of course this is unusual. “Sorry, I just wanted to let you guys know that I love you,” I add in a conciliatory tone.
“We love you too, sweetheart,” Mum adds, trying to smooth over the situation. She tucks a stray lock of hair behind my ear and hurries to the door, the chimes of the bell interrupting our little family love-in.
Seconds turn into minutes, and before I know it several hours have passed and I am shattered, my face aching from the forced smile I have attached to my face. Every now and again, I would catch sight of Taylor, but as soon as I would go to intercept him, another of Nonna’s friends would grab my arm and would want to start reminiscing. Eventually, I manage to extricate myself and slip out the back door into the small courtyard garden. The light of the afternoon is fading, and the shadows offer a good place to hide for a few minutes.
“Thirsty?” Taylor’s voice startles me. I spin round to find him standing right next to me, holding up a glass of juice. I take it gratefully as I am feeling parched from all the talking. The juice is delicious and cool, soothing my vocal cords.
“Thanks, Taylor.” I smile up at him, feeling shy but curious. “Um, why are you here?” I suddenly feel like I have to get to the bottom of what is going on. “Why did you come today? Why did you come to my flat last night? I thought you didn’t want me…” I trail off, realising I have said far more than I should have.
Taylor suddenly looks serious, and I find myself taking a step back. “Oh, Abby. I can’t seem to stay away from you…You beguile me with your innocence, and seeing you so lost this week, well, it is all I could do to stay away.” He gives me a small smile. “I wasn’t very successful.” Taylor moves towards me, closing the gap between us, and I find my breath hitching as my heart starts to beat its rapid tattoo in my chest. Slowly he brings his hand up and cups my cheek. “You have been fading away this week, and I couldn’t stand to see you going through this alone.”
I have no idea how to respond, so I stare at my feet, trying to think of something to say. Instead, Taylor tilts my chin up so that I am looking up into his eyes. “Are you okay?” he asks quietly. His serious tone is my undoing, and it is all I can do to stop myself from crying again. I take a shaky breath, trying to still myself.
“Truthfully…not really,” I say in a quiet voice. I try to find the words to explain to him how I am feeling, but they just don’t seem to be ready to surface. I don’t know why I feel so comfortable with Taylor, but just being near him seems to calm me for the moment. My attraction to him has not gone away, but the events of the past week have pushed it to the side for a while. Taylor lowers his head and places his forehead on mine so our noses are touching. I am mesmerised by the dark, chocolaty pools of his eyes. Taylor gently strokes my cheek and murmurs, “Did you want to get out of here?”
Conflicting thoughts spill through my consciousness. I desperately want to be anywhere but here, but at the same time I don’t feel like I can just walk out on my parents, today of all days. Despite this, I find myself nodding slowly. “Let me go talk to my folks,” I whisper.
I am surprised when my parents simply nod and give me a kiss on my cheek. I can see the questions in their eyes as they appraise Taylor silently, but thankfully they don’t say anything to embarrass me. I collect up my overnight bag—I had been planning on staying the night—and follow Taylor out to the car. We sit in silence, and soon the warmth of the car, the gentle rumble of the engine and the soothing music send me into a deep slumber.
I am woken up by Taylor brushing a stray lock of hair out of my face. I try to assess whether I have completely embarrassed myself by dribbling down my chin by discreetly wiping my face. “We’re here,” Taylor says quietly. I glance out the window, taking in the sight of the chocolate box cottage in front of us, surrounded by a cute cottage garden.
“Where are we?” I ask, completely disorientated.
“My house. We’re in the New Forest. I guess you could call it a ‘country retreat’.” Taylor says this with a wriggle of his eyebrows, and I try not to giggle as the sight in front of me seems completely at odds with Taylor’s personality. Before I can say anything else, he comes round to my door, opening it like a proper gentleman and helping me to my feet. As he leads me down the garden path by the hand, it feels like I am coming home, which is completely weird as Taylor is pretty much a stranger and I am going to be completely alone with him in a remote spot.
I realise that the façade of the cottage is completely deceptive as we step through the front door. Polished wood floors extend through the open-plan ground floor, only interrupted by brightly coloured rugs. The cream walls are covered with muted abstracts mirroring the
colours of the rugs. Across the building, I notice that the entire side wall is made up of bifold glass doors, which let the light in through the glass and must be lovely in the summer for folding back to bring the garden in. In one corner of the living area stands a wood-burning stove surrounded by a large corner sofa, while the whole of the right-hand side is taken up by a Shaker-style kitchen, complete with another state-of-the-art range cooker, which is set into a central island.
“I think I have a serious case of kitchen envy,” I sigh.
“I had this put in a couple of years ago when I bought the cottage and had it renovated. The cottage was seriously dingy before I got it, but I love the light that comes in now.”
“This place is gorgeous. Just the kind of place I would choose for myself. It’s really homely.”
“I am glad you like it. I tend to come here most weekends to get out of London. Plus I have my boat not far from here.”
“You sail?”
“Yeah, I have a gaff rig that I like to potter about on when I have time.”
“I have no idea what that means.” My face must have shown my ignorance, and Taylor smiles.
“In simple terms it is a boat with two masts. I’ll show you sometime if you like.”
This is the first time Taylor has mentioned anything about the future. “That would be lovely.” Taylor moves across to the kitchen, and I follow behind, hopping up onto a stool at the island.
Book One: Thirty Days, Book 1 Page 5
