The Wishing Well

by Anna Jacobs

  “She’s not fat! And Deb . . . ”

  “What?”

  “ . . . you won’t bring him back by bad-mouthing Mum.”

  “I’m not. I’m just - ”

  “You are and I’m sick of it. Don’t ring me again until you can speak civilly about her.” He slammed the phone down and when it rang, he let it ring. Mum wasn’t fat, she just wasn’t scrawny like Deb. In fact, now he came to think of it, his sister had got a lot thinner lately. She couldn’t be anorexic, surely? No, not Deb, who enjoyed her food as much as anyone he’d ever met.

  But did she? Now he came to think of it, he hadn’t seen her finish a meal for a while. She just picked at the food then pushed the plate away. Oh, hell, he wasn’t his sister’s keeper. If she wanted to be scrawny, nothing he said or did would change her mind.

  He made himself a cup of hot chocolate and picked up his book, but couldn’t concentrate so put it down again. He hadn’t realised Gran was so bad. Should he apply for special leave from his employer to go to England? He knew the company didn’t like management trainees interrupting their scheduled work experience programme, but maybe this was something that couldn’t wait. How quickly did Alzheimer’s destroy people’s minds? He didn’t know, would have to look it up on the Web.

  Only - if he went to England that’d mean leaving Caitlin and he didn’t want to do that either, wanted to get to know her better before she had the baby and was too busy to go out with him.

  He froze on that thought. Hell, what was he thinking of? She’d been his dad’s girlfriend and had made it very plain she wasn’t looking for another involvement.

  Trouble was, he liked her a lot.

  It seemed suddenly that his father had left a mess behind him - in more ways than one. They were all struggling to come to terms with the new situation, himself, Deb and Mum.

  And Caitlin was involved as much as any of the family, because she’d been left holding the baby.

  Chapter 15

  At five o’clock the doorbell rang. Laura knew Kit was fiddling with his computer, so hurried through to answer it.

  “Is Kit in? I’m his brother.”

  “You must be Joe. Do come in.” She held the door open and then called down the hall. “Kit, it’s your brother.”

  “He knows the way,” Kit called back.

  She smiled at Joe, who didn’t return the smile. “Would you like a cup of coffee?”

  “No, thank you. I’m just popping in on my way home.”

  Kit looked up as his brother came in and gestured to a chair. “Come to check up on me?”

  Joe shrugged. “I’ll feel better if I know you’re OK.”

  “I’m fine, as you can see. Laura’s worked miracles of organisation. I even had an afternoon nap today.”

  “You said she was motherly.”

  Kit couldn’t hold back a chuckle. “Just teasing. Couldn’t resist it. Oh, lighten up, bro!”

  Joe stared down at the table, then said in a low voice, “I also wanted to apologise for leaving you to get your bags downstairs yourself this morning.”

  “I managed.”

  “I let you down.”

  “I’m a grown-up. I manage my own life - even now.”

  “Well, as long as you’re all right, I’d better get off home.”

  “Why don’t you stay for a coffee?”

  “No. Got a lot of lesson preparation to do tonight.” Joe stood up. “I can see myself out.”

  When the front door had shut, Laura came through to the dining room. “Everything OK?”

  “Damned if I know.”

  “Dinner at six or later?”

  “Six. I’m famished.”

  They sat down together in the kitchen to a dinner of chilli chicken stir fry. She had offered to serve him separately in the dining room and he’d made a rude noise.

  “What, me sit somewhere in state while you eat in the kitchen like a servant? Don’t be daft, woman. This is the twenty-first century, not the nineteenth.”

  “Perhaps you’d prefer us both to use the dining room, then? Only you’ve got your stuff spread out over the table.”

  He laughed again. “I like eating in the kitchen. We always did when we came to visit Uncle Alf and Auntie Maud. What’s more, if you could see some of the places I’ve eaten in, you’d know why I’m not bothered about fuss and fancy ways of serving. But I do enjoy my food and I love the smell of your cooking, so don’t be surprised if you find me hovering behind you as you cook. In fact, when I’m off these damned crutches, I’ll do some of the cooking. I really enjoy it and I do a mean curry.”

  He insisted on opening a bottle of Australian chardonnay to celebrate their first night and raised his glass. “To us!”

  She clinked glasses, though it seemed a strange thing for two near-strangers to drink to. After that he began to eat and she watched anxiously, unable to enjoy her own food until she was sure he was pleased with what she’d cooked.

  After a couple of mouthfuls, he closed his eyes with an expression of bliss. “Mmm. Wonderful stuff. I can do stir-fries, but not as well as you. This is a very authentic taste.”

  “Thank you.” She dug her fork in, feeling happier. “We should be using chopsticks, really.”

  “I have some in my stored belongings. They’ll be here in a day or two.”

  When he’d cleared his plate, he looked at the cooker then back at her. “There wouldn’t be any left in that wok, would there?”

  “Yes.” She tipped it all on his plate, delighted to have her efforts appreciated. “I love cooking. You should have seen my dinner parties.”

  “Elaborate, were they?”

  “Not enough to daunt people,” she smiled, “or to half-kill myself preparing them. But I like to have everything balanced and perfect, and to offer people a little treat - the first asparagus, choice sun-ripened tomatoes. It makes such a difference if you buy quality produce.”

  “Don’t change your habits at all, then. I love that sort of thing.” He consumed a couple more mouthfuls, eating in a leisurely fashion now, as if savouring each bite. “Did you ever go out to work?”

  “Oh, yes. Before I met Craig I was a typist, and a good one, too, though I was only nineteen when we married and already pregnant with Ryan, so that didn’t last long. Soon after he was born Craig said he’d had enough of working overseas and wanted to go home, so we moved to Australia.”

  “Did you want to emigrate?”

  She nodded. “It seemed an exciting thing to do. You know what teenagers are like. I looked down on Lancashire in those days and thought anyone with sense should leave it. It was ten years before I came back and that was only to see my parents.”

  “Do you still feel like that about Lancashire?”

  “No, of course not. I soon grew out of that because I was pretty homesick at first, though I tried not to let Craig see. But I couldn’t afford to come back then. This time I’m enjoying being here, or I would be if it weren’t for Mum. I spent a couple of days near Fleetwood and I intend to revisit quite a few places I went to as a child. Some of those villages on the edge of the moors are so pretty.” She realised she’d been going on about herself. “Sorry to bore you.”

  “You weren’t. Far from it.”

  “Oh, well. That’s all right then.” She felt flustered again. He did that to her sometimes. It was as if he could see more deeply into her mind and thoughts than other people. Heavens, she was getting too fanciful here. Lighten up, Laura!

  “I’m a bit the same, actually, want to revisit my past haunts.” He grimaced at his leg. “When I can.” Then he brightened and said, “Maybe you could drive me out to some of them?”

  “Yes, of course.” She decided the conversation was getting too personal. “I’d like to make some arrangement about phone calls. I’ll need to call my children in Australia occasionally.”

  He waved one hand. “Go ahead and phone them. You can pay me back for the foreign calls when we get the bills. And don’t worry about local calls. C
all them a perk of the job.”

  “All right. Thanks. Now, how about a little dessert - just fruit salad and ice cream. I haven’t had time to do any baking.”

  He beamed at her. “Please. How did you guess I love ice cream?”

  After the meal he finished his wine and set the glass down carefully. “That was absolutely delicious. I made a pig of myself. I can see I’m going to put on weight with your cooking.”

  “You don’t look as if you’d ever put on a kilo.”

  “I haven’t until now, but I’ve never been so inactive before.”

  It must be hard for him. She’d wondered, but hadn’t dared ask, how badly he would be disabled in the long run.

  He yawned and stretched. “I’m going to sit and read for a while, then I’ll go to bed.”

  “I’ll just clear up in here, then I’ll go and sort my bedroom out.”

  But although she hung up the rest of her clothes she didn’t re-arrange the room as she’d intended. On a sudden impulse she switched the light off, drew back the curtains and stood looking down the main road through the village. A solitary car went past, its headlights illuminating the footpath for a few moments, then all was still again. By the light of an almost full moon, she could see plants swaying in gardens and hear the wind rising. It rattled her window-panes slightly, setting the branches of a tree near the gate dipping in homage to its superior force. Out here in the village everything felt wonderfully peaceful. She’d only ever lived with urban streetscapes when she was growing up and this was a different Lancashire, although Wardle was only a few miles away from her old home.

  When she went down to make herself a cup of hot milk and honey, having a sudden fancy for that childhood favourite, the light was still on in what Kit insisted on calling his “parlour”. She wondered whether to ask if he wanted something to drink, then shook her head. No. He could manage cups of coffee or whatever on his own, and push them where he wanted on the trolley. She wasn’t on duty twenty-four hours of the day and she was exhausted after her busy day.

  But she dreamed of Kit that night, dreamed they were walking together along a beach. His stride was free and easy, and at one stage he set his hands on her waist, lifting her in the air and laughing exultantly. Then they kissed. When she remembered that kiss in the morning, she blushed. She’d had erotic dreams before - what normal woman hadn’t, especially one whose husband hadn’t touched her for a while? - but this was different, so real she could still taste his lips.

  Oh, you’re being utterly stupid, Laura Wells! she told herself and got up that very minute to start work in the kitchen

  Only Kit was there before her, sitting at the table with a weary, shadowed look to him, so unlike the exuberant man of her dreams that her heart went out to him.

  “Bad night?”

  He nodded.

  She spoke bracingly, sure he’d resent sympathy. “You’re bound to get them. We all do. And you probably did too much yesterday. Would you like a cup of coffee? And how about some orange juice first? Raise your blood sugar.”

  A smile slowly lifted the corners of his mouth. “Will that cure everything else? If so, I’ll live on the damned stuff.”

  She put her hand on his shoulder as she passed and gave it a quick squeeze, intending to move on. But he seized her hand and held it for a minute, looking up into her eyes, his expression very solemn.

  “Sometimes there’s nothing as welcome or comforting as a human touch after wrestling with the demons of the night,” he said softly. “Thanks, Laura.”

  * * * *

  Kit let Laura drive him to the physiotherapist’s, but insisted on coming home by taxi because it was an assessment session which would take longer. On the way back he decided to call on Joe and issue an invitation to visit properly. His brother would have finished school by now.

  Joe’s car was there, but no one answered the taxi driver’s knock on the door. Perhaps Joe had gone out? Kit decided to phone later after he’d had a rest.

  What must Laura think of him, unable even to look after himself, needing naps and rests, for heaven’s sake?

  Why did it matter so much what she thought of him?

  He smiled ruefully. Easy to answer that one. Because for the first time since his accident he fancied a woman. Only - it might complicate matters if he made a play for her. He might lose his housekeeper if things went wrong, and he couldn’t bear the thought of searching for another one. He had already realised that he’d found a domestic treasure.

  It would be better keep his feelings to himself. He wished he’d met her in other circumstances, though, he really did.

  When he got home she greeted him with that warm, open smile and said, “I had a quick look at chairs while I was out. If you’re up to coming with me tomorrow, I can show you one I think would suit you.”

  He couldn’t help it. He dropped the crutches and pulled her into his arms, kissing her on each cheek. “You’re wonderful, Laura Wells, a complete treasure.”

  Then he stared at her shocked face, almost on a level with his. “Oh. I’m sorry. I forgot - I mean, I’m used to being demonstrative and - well . . .” He gave her a wry smile. “I’m sorry, but I can’t let go of you till I’ve something else to hold on to. I’m not trying to sexually harass you, honest!”

  “I was just - surprised.” And shocked by how she’d reacted to his kisses, which had only been an exuberant expression of his delight. “Here, you lean on this chair back and I’ll - um, pick up your crutches.”

  She did so, settling them under his arms, then moving quickly away.

  “You still look upset,” he said bluntly.

  “I’m not used to people being so demonstrative. It’s been a while since . . . I didn’t mind, honestly, and I’d rather I changed my habits than you changed yours.”

  “You’re sure about that?”

  She nodded. “Very sure. It’s so refreshing to be open about things, not to have to second-guess someone and . . .”

  Her voice trailed away, but she’d said enough to give him another hint as to what her life must have been like in the past few years. He’d like to punch her bloody ex in the face. Only it was too late to bring the fellow to account now. He tried to keep the conversation light. “Phew! Thank goodness for that. I doubt I can change my personality.”

  He didn’t tell her that it had been a long time since his old self had resurfaced and months since he’d felt bubbles of happiness floating through his veins like today. And it wasn’t because of a damned chair but because of her. It seemed as if since he’d met her, life had suddenly started getting better again.

  Careful, Kit! he warned himself.

  Only he didn’t want to be careful, that was the trouble.

  Chapter 16

  Deb flew out of Perth on a sunny spring day. It wasn’t until the taxi dropped her at the airport and she walked up to the counter to check in her luggage alone that it really hit her what she had done: quit her job, given up her flat, put her possessions in storage, all without knowing what she was going to do with herself after this visit. She wasn’t used to doing things on her own, especially not arranging such a long trip. She’d always had friends and her father to support her before, above all her father.

  Last year she’d had Darren too, but that relationship had broken up and she didn’t miss him. Well, not much. But it’d been nice to be a couple and she did miss that.

  Her mother was coming to meet her at Manchester airport, which felt strange, but Deb had to admit it would be a relief not to have to cope on her own over there. She wasn’t sure how she’d get on with her mother now. Ryan said she’d been unfair to her and perhaps she had, just a little bit. But her mother was so . . . she tried to work out what irritated her so much about her . . . she was overweight and didn’t dress well, but that wasn’t a crime, was it?

  For the first time Deb wondered if she’d overreacted after her father’s death. After all, it wasn’t her mother’s fault he’d died - and he shouldn’t have left e
verything to Caitlin like that. It was definitely unfair. Perhaps he’d been in love with her, but even so . . .

  There seemed to be no easy answers, so Deb pushed these disturbing thoughts away and concentrated on finding her seat.

  Things got rapidly worse when she realised her seat was in the middle of the central block of four. It hadn’t even occurred to her to ask for an aisle seat. She turned to smile at the young man beside her. “I wonder if you’d mind changing places with me? I get a bit claustrophobic when I’m hemmed in, I’m afraid.”

  “Sorry. I asked specially for an aisle seat because of my height. My legs don’t fit into those middle seats.”

  She scowled at him.

  He shrugged.

  She’d make sure she asked for an aisle seat next time, she vowed, feeling uncomfortably trapped as she sat down.

  The first leg of the trip passed slowly. She decided she’d been a fool to bring only magazines. She’d see if she could buy a book in Singapore airport. In the meantime the old lady on one side of her had dozed off and the selfish sod next to her was immersed in his book.

  “Excuse me, but could I get out?” she asked him coldly.

  “Sure.” He slid out and let her through. Wow, he was tall, towering over her, but he didn’t have that look of admiration in his eyes she’d come to expect from guys her own age. He was probably gay, and if not, he was undersexed.

  When she got back he wasn’t there, so she sat in his seat, enjoying being able to stretch out her legs. She looked round to see the meals trolley heading slowly towards her.

  “I’m back now. Can you move over, please?”

  She looked up at him pleadingly.

  He looked right back and when she didn’t move, said, “I need to sit down so they can serve the meal.”

  Feeling aggrieved she slid across to her own place.

  “It’s no use sulking, you know,” he said suddenly.

  “I am not sulking!”