When You Walked Back Into My Life

by Hilary Boyd

  ‘Fin … I don’t know. It’s so soon. We only met up again a few weeks ago. And it’s a very small flat. Would we drive each other crazy? And with Prue upstairs?’

  He looked hurt. ‘You don’t have to make excuses, Flo. Just say if you don’t want to live with me.’

  ‘I didn’t say that. I do want to be with you, of course I do. But in my sister’s flat?’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Well, for a start, she lets me have it for less than half the market rent, so I feel sort of beholden. I don’t want her to think I’m taking the piss, moving you in.’

  Fin frowned. ‘We could offer to pay more.’

  ‘Could we? I’m stretched as it is.’

  ‘Yeah, me too.’

  There was a dispirited silence, then Fin brightened up.

  ‘Let’s just run away, Flo. We could go to Inverness, live in my dad’s house. It’s nice, you’ve seen it. And free, all paid for, just needs a bit of paint. I’ll get the Scottish docs to fix me up – I’m sure they’d be as capable as this lot – and I can teach kids climbing or something until my leg heals. You can find a job at Raigmore. Why not?’ He was in his stride now. ‘Bel could stay in the holidays. It’s perfect. What’s keeping us here?’

  ‘Just the small matter of Dorothea.’

  He looked surprised. ‘It’s just a job, Flo. Anyone can look after an old lady. Sure, she’d miss you for five minutes, but you say she’s going dotty anyway. Would she notice?’

  ‘Thanks a lot.’

  Fin looked puzzled at her expression. ‘What have I said?’

  ‘Oh, just that my job can be done by any moron, that I’m redundant.’

  ‘Hey … I didn’t mean that. I just meant that things happen, people change jobs. Dorothea will understand.’ He hesitated. ‘Won’t she?’

  ‘She might. But I’m not leaving her.’

  ‘OK, fair enough. But, realistically, she’ll probably die soon. And anyway, don’t you want to get back to some real nursing? You were so brilliant at it. You loved A&E. You used to say the wards were deadly dull. Surely looking after an old lady is worse than dull?’

  Flora suddenly felt close to tears. It seemed as if Fin was riding roughshod over her life, dismissing it as if it were totally irrelevant.

  He saw at once that she was upset, although she wasn’t sure he knew why. He held her hands tight across the table.

  ‘Flo, Flo don’t, please. I’m a clumsy arse sometimes. I was only thinking you were a bit wasted in that job, that you deserve better. But I totally understand that you really care about Dorothea. Of course you don’t want to walk out on her.’

  ‘I don’t feel wasted,’ she said.

  ‘No, I’m sure you don’t. I’m so sorry. I’m in a weird space at the moment. All this waiting around in town is doing my head in.’ He squeezed her hands. ‘Forgive me. I just want to be with you so badly, and suddenly the thought of living together, just us, in our own place was so tempting.’

  She smiled. ‘But I can’t go yet. You understand? The family, Dorothea. It wouldn’t feel right to just up and leave them.’

  Fin nodded. ‘But shall we try it out, Flo, living together in your place? If we know it’s not for ever, and if we can get Prue and the family on side, couldn’t it work?’

  He got up and came round, pulling a chair from the table next door and sitting close by her side, his arm round her shoulder. She resisted for only a second before relaxing into his shoulder. His body felt strong, his embrace so familiar, so protective. She inhaled the rough, masculine smell of him. How she’d missed being held like this, being loved. Suppressing all her misgivings, she replied, ‘Maybe. Yes. Why not?’

  She heard Fin let out a small sigh.

  ‘You won’t regret it.’ He dropped a kiss on the top of her head.

  ‘And how’ll we deal with my sister then?’

  ‘We don’t have to. She’s got no hold over you. You pay rent.’

  ‘I’ll have to tell her.’

  ‘Of course. But what’s she going to do about it? Chuck you out? Never speak to you again? I don’t think so.’ He laughed, his tone suddenly light and playful. ‘This is exciting, Flo.’

  But Flora didn’t share his excitement. She could already feel the icy waves of disapproval coming off her sister, and she dreaded the conversation.

  *

  Dominic arrived, brandishing a cheque for two hundred and fifty pounds, his round face alight with self-importance. He seemed to think selling the table was a superhuman achievement.

  ‘Not a good market for these things at the moment, Aunt Dot, as I said. But I really ferreted around until I found this specialist furniture sale … a mate of mine helped me out. And I said it was for you, and he waived the VAT. Marvellous, eh?’ He laid the cheque in his great-aunt’s lap.

  Dorothea picked it up and peered at the sum. ‘Thank you,’ she said, smiling up at him. ‘It’s very kind of you to go to all that bother.’

  Dominic puffed out his chest. ‘An absolute pleasure,’ he crooned, bending to kiss Dorothea on the cheek.

  Flora completed the tea ritual, without the ginger cake as she hadn’t had time to get one, offering instead some chocolate digestives normally reserved for the nurses.

  When she came in to collect the plates, Dominic was hovering over a wooden corner chair with a faded tapestry seat, which sat by the fireplace.

  ‘What about this, Aunty?’ he was saying as he squatted down on his plump haunches and ran his hand along the curved arms, turning the chair to examine the back. ‘Looks in pretty good condition, although the tapestry’s a bit faded. They’re immensely popular at the moment, as decorators’ pieces.’

  Dorothea was watching him. ‘Decorators’ pieces?’

  He stood up, dusting off his trousers where he’d knelt on the carpet. ‘Interior decorators,’ he explained.

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘People who do up rich people’s houses. They buy a lot at auctions.’

  The old lady nodded. ‘So you think you could sell it?’

  ‘Definitely. It’s George II, if I’m not mistaken, mahogany. Look at the delicate carving on the two splats. Beautiful thing. And corner chairs are much rarer.’

  ‘It is pretty,’ Dorothea agreed, ‘but you can take it. I don’t need it.’

  Dominic cocked his head, fixing her with a serious look. ‘Are you absolutely positive, Aunt Dot? I don’t want you turning round one day and wondering where all your furniture’s gone.’

  She shook her head. ‘I said, I don’t need things any more. I … don’t think I shall be around for much longer.’

  Dorothea spoke without any drama or pathos. It was just a fact, but Dominic jumped on her words.

  ‘Oh, Aunty, don’t say that! You’ve got years left in you. I wouldn’t be selling off your stuff if I thought you were about to … well, you know.’

  She gave him a wry smile. ‘I am ninety-three, Dominic.’

  ‘Don’t. Please. I can’t bear to think of you not being around any more. What would I do without our teas?’ He rushed over and gave her another hearty kiss on the cheek, then retreated to the sofa looking deliberately sad.

  Flora thought she might puke.

  ‘I’m sure you’ll manage,’ Dorothea said.

  ‘I most certainly won’t! Anyway, you mustn’t dwell on things like that, Aunt Dot. It isn’t good for you.’

  ‘It’s quite hard … not to,’ she said slowly. ‘But it doesn’t bother me any more,’ she added, giving one of her characteristic waves.

  Dominic didn’t stay much longer. He put the chair in the hall while he brought round the car.

  ‘I feel this sort of thing cheers her up,’ he said earnestly to Flora. ‘It’s not about the money, of course, more something she can look forward to.’

  Flora didn’t dent his fantasy. ‘What do you think you’ll sell it for?’

  He gave an airy shrug. ‘Oh, perhaps as much as four, perhaps five, hundred pounds? Depends on who’s in on the day
of course.’

  ‘Wow, that’s a lot.’

  ‘Worth it, don’t you think, if she doesn’t want the thing around any more.’

  ‘Don’t forget to tell Rene,’ Flora said, as he disappeared round the front door.

  *

  On her way home that evening, she caught Keith on the steps having a smoke.

  ‘It’ll kill you,’ she said.

  He looked hard at his cigarette. ‘No kidding! Sneaky little bastard. Can’t trust anyone these days.’ He dropped it on the step with a grin and ground it out with the toe of his shoe, then bent to pick it up, mindful of keeping the area clean.

  ‘All quiet on the Western Front?’ he asked. ‘No more church-outing dramas?’

  Flora wondered if Keith was taking the piss. It must seem a bit melodramatic to him, she thought, spying on a nurse taking an old lady to church.

  ‘No. At least that particular one’s sorted.’

  ‘My offer still stands, Florence. If you want me to nip up and check on how she’s doing at the weekend, I’m up for it. Just say the word.’

  *

  The first thing Flora did on Saturday morning was clean the small flat thoroughly. Like most nurses, she was good at making the place look surface-tidy, but housework wasn’t her forte. She had told Fin he couldn’t stay the previous night, which she knew was ridiculous, especially as no one would know. But now they had decided to be together, she wanted to get her sister’s sanction for him to be there before he moved in, almost like a bride before her wedding – so she’d invited the family down to dinner that evening.

  ‘I’ll cook,’ Fin had said, and she hadn’t argued. She was the sort of cook who had three staple recipes, all of which produced good enough results and could be prepared in advance, just heated up at the last minute – anything more complicated made her sweat. But Fin saw cooking as a performance art. He was instinctive and flamboyant, throwing together often bizarre combinations with abandon – sometimes successfully, sometimes less so. But he didn’t care. For him the process was the thing. How it tasted was secondary to his enjoyment.

  ‘So what are we having?’ she asked, as he came through the door with three large carrier bags.

  ‘Tibetan curry,’ he grinned, dumping the bags on the draining board. ‘Bet your family have never had that before.’

  ‘Bet they haven’t.’

  ‘It’s got seaweed in it. I had to go into town for it, to that Japanese store in Brewer Street. That’s why I took so long.’

  Flora looked at her watch. It was already nearly five and she remembered what an age it normally took Fin to prepare a meal. She was on edge at the prospect of the evening ahead.

  ‘Hadn’t you better hurry up?’ she asked.

  Fin grinned and took her by the shoulders, planting a lingering kiss on her mouth. ‘Hmm, nice,’ he pulled her closer, but she shook him off.

  ‘They’ll be here at seven-thirty.’

  ‘Relax, we’ve got plenty of time. Won’t take long once I get going. This is one-pot cooking, none of that fancy French stuff. Help me chop and it’ll be done in a flash.’

  As they stood side by side, she grating root ginger, Fin slicing a pile of onions, Flora looked up at him.

  ‘Aren’t you nervous?’

  Fleetwood Mac was playing in the background, Fin singing along, ‘Go your own way …’ ‘Yeah, sort of. You know me, not one for a fight. But hey, what’s the worst that can happen?’

  Flora didn’t answer.

  ‘She says I can’t live here,’ he went on, wiping an onion-induced tear from his cheek. ‘She says you can’t live here … She hates us both …’

  ‘None of that’s exactly brilliant.’

  Fin put his knife down and wiped his hands on the tea towel hanging from his jeans pocket. Turning to Flora he tipped her chin up and stared into her eyes. His expression was resolute.

  ‘Whatever happens, we’ve got each other,’ he said, and dropped a kiss on the end of her nose.

  She reached up, put her hand around his neck, feeling the warm skin and running her fingers up through his hair. What did it matter what her sister thought? She felt reckless and happy. No one could give her guarantees about what would happen, but suddenly she didn’t care.

  *

  Flora watched as Prue greeted Fin. Philip had already shaken his hand, given him his usual quiet smile, treating him as he might someone he had nothing against but didn’t know very well. Bel had been shy, hardly looking at Fin, just saying ‘Hi’ and moving quickly away, as if she were worried he might hug her – as he would have done in the past.

  Both Prue and Fin seemed to draw themselves up, tight and separate, creating a solid distance between each other. Yet their outward manner was worthy of an Oscar, each delivering smooth, polite fluency as if they were reading from a script.

  ‘How are you?’ This from Prue, but she didn’t offer her hand.

  ‘I’m well, thanks, apart from my stupid leg. You?’

  ‘Busy, as usual. But good busy.’

  ‘Not affected by the recession?’

  Prue shrugged. ‘I’m lucky. Most of my clients are so rich they’re recession-proof.’

  Polite laughter from Fin. ‘Lucky them.’

  ‘I wouldn’t think climbing was much affected,’ Prue went on. ‘Although I suppose sponsors are a bit challenged at the moment.’

  Flora winced and held her breath, the unsaid made more potent by this glossy cover-up.

  ‘Drink?’ She moved to open the fridge. ‘We’ve got Prosecco.’ She knew this was one of her sister’s favourites. Philip had already handed her a bottle of red for later – he didn’t trust her, quite reasonably, to buy high-quality wine.

  ‘So, Flora says you had a bad fall?’ Philip had led the conversation from early on, since Prue’s initial effort seemed to have taken its toll. She was largely silent as they sat down to supper at the cramped, drop-leaf IKEA table, which Fin had insisted on dragging into the middle of the room and covering with an ancient blue cloth he’d found in the airing cupboard.

  Fin related the details of his fall, and Flora could see Bel’s interest piqued. She was listening intently as he told of how he felt the rock suddenly give way beneath his feet, how the rope jerked violently, jolting him as he was swung hard against the rock face. How it took them nearly three hours to rescue him, by which time it was freezing cold and getting dark.

  ‘So you were hanging there all that time?’ Bel asked, her eyes round with horror. ‘With a broken leg?’

  ‘Well, I didn’t know it was broken at that stage. I was going in and out of consciousness, so most of it’s a blur. But I do remember the cold being intense, really painful. And the Italian I was guiding, the one who called the PGHM – that’s Chamonix mountain rescue – shouting at me in Italian all the time from above to stay awake and not give up.’

  Philip laughed. ‘Lucky you understood him.’

  ‘Yeah. I’ll never forget it … non mollare, non mollare mai. Even if I hadn’t spoken Italian I would have got the gist.’ Fin suddenly had a glimmer of tears in his eyes. ‘I reckon I owe him my life.’ There was silence around the table for a moment. ‘Because when you get really cold,’ he addressed Bel, ‘your body just shuts down, and you lose consciousness, like going to sleep. And once that happens, unless you’re rescued pretty fast, well … ’

  ‘You die, you mean?’

  Fin nodded slowly.

  ‘Awesome.’

  ‘But you clearly lived to tell the tale.’ Prue’s tone was sardonic.

  Fin raised an eyebrow. ‘Sorry to disappoint you,’ he replied.

  They had finished the Tibetan curry. It was a success – rich and spicy and delicious – even with Bel, who wasn’t the most adventurous of eaters. Flora rose to collect the plates, unable to sit still in the face of the sudden tension.

  ‘I wouldn’t wish that end on anyone, but I’m not going to pretend I’m thrilled you’re back in Flora’s life.’ The anger had gone from Prue’s tone
, to be replaced by a weary resignation, as if she’d been battling to keep Fin at bay for a lifetime.

  Flora carefully rinsed the plates off under the cold tap, stacking them to wash later.

  ‘Mum,’ she heard Bel plead.

  She took the ice cream out of the freezer and carried the tub and five bowls to the table. The others watched as she took off the lid and peeled back the paper seal, tapping the creamy vanilla surface with a tablespoon. It clinked like sheet ice.

  ‘Sorry,’ she muttered into the silence, ‘I should have taken it out earlier.’

  ‘No hurry,’ Philip said.

  ‘I got some chocolate fudge sauce too,’ Fin grinned at Bel. ‘Your favourite.’ As he got up to retrieve it from the cupboard, Flora realised the last time Fin had seen Bel she was still a child of twelve. Nonetheless, her niece nodded her approval, clearly awkward under her mother’s chilly eye.

  They sat round the table, eyes glued to the tub, as if their collective stare might somehow soften the ice cream. Flora shot a quick glance at her sister, but her face was closed and set. It was Fin who broke the silence.

  ‘We’re not asking for your approval, or expecting it, Prue. Your position’s entirely fair. I messed up. I’m just sorry I put you all through it.’

  Prue looked at him suspiciously. ‘Approval for what?’

  Fin smiled encouragingly at Flora and reached over to take her hand. It was a relief to have someone deal with her sister, not to be the brunt and focus of Prue’s annoyance for once.

  ‘We wanted you to know that we’ve decided to live together again. And it makes sense for us to be here, in your flat, until the hospital have finished with my leg.’

  Flora saw Prue give Philip an ‘I told you so’ look, but Philip kept his face completely neutral.

  When Fin and Flora had discussed this conversation, she had wanted him to ask Prue if it was OK for him to move in. But Fin had objected. ‘I won’t beg from your sister,’ he’d stated.

  ‘I’ve told Flora, it’s not up to me who she lives with.’

  ‘We just thought you should know,’ Flora said, matching her sister’s froideur.

  They ate the ice cream in silence, no one with much appetite. Flora wished they would just go, and she was sure it was only politeness that kept them there.