Ghosts of Winter

by Rebecca S. Buck

  “Why are you here?” I asked her, still suspicious this might be a deceptively good hallucination.

  “I came to see you. You called me twice today, do you remember?”

  “I think so.”

  “I didn’t answer.”

  I remembered all too well then. She’d ignored my calls and left me pondering just how much I’d hurt her, frightened I’d lost my chance. But she was here now. And she was still talking.

  “Then, after I didn’t answer the second time, I wished I had.”

  “You did?” I asked hopefully.

  “Yes. I was being childish not answering the phone when we had to talk about things. It didn’t help anything to keep us both hanging in that way.” Her tone was slightly awkward, and I knew she was struggling to articulate her emotions. But that there were emotions to articulate I took as a positive sign. “Anyway, I decided I had to come here and see you. Good job I did, I would say, since I found you like this.”

  I smiled at her tone, and felt a pleasant, pain-soothing flood of warmth at her words. “You wanted to see me?” I pressed the point, hoping desperately she wasn’t going to say she’d only wanted to see me to explain more clearly why there would never be anything between us.

  “That’s what I said.”

  “In a good way?”

  “I don’t know if it was in a good way, Ros. I knew I would have no idea until I got here and we talked.” Her reply was not as warm as I’d hoped for, but I knew the honesty was necessary. Emotion welled inside me.

  “I’m sorry, Anna. I wanted to tell you I’m sorry.” I couldn’t keep my words from wavering. I inhaled deeply and pain shot through my side. Anna’s fingers were warm on mine still. She’d not let go.

  “I’ve already accepted your apology, Ros,” she said. “I don’t resent the way you reacted like I did at first—”

  “At first?” I echoed.

  “Yes.”

  “I’m so sorry I seemed like I didn’t trust you.” I drew another deep breath and gasped with the pain.

  “I said I’ve accepted the apology, Ros.” She’d accepted my apology so easily, I felt oddly cheated out of the resolution I wanted. I needed to talk about it more. Happily, so did she. “I realised I was stupid feeling hurt and angry over something you really couldn’t do anything about at that moment. Over something you needed. And now I think you should stop talking and rest until the ambulance gets here.” Her tone left no room for argument. The subject was closed, and as pain jolted through my body once more, I knew I didn’t have the strength to discuss these issues now. I had it from her own mouth I had hurt her. I bitterly regretted her pain. I still needed her to let me apologise properly, needed her to tell me more about how she felt. But however much she’d been hurting, she was here now, still holding my hand.

  “But what happens now?” I asked.

  “We wait for the ambulance.” I was sure she knew what I really meant.

  “Anna, I— ”

  “We’ll see what happens, Ros. I came here tonight because I wanted to see you. You need to recover from this before anything else happens at all.” Her words were wonderfully soothing because they contained hope. That she wasn’t overly enthusiastic only lifted my spirits more, since I knew that she was being genuine and not merely speaking platitudes because I was lying injured on the floor. Then a horrible recollection came to me. There was one thing I needed to know at once.

  “What about Sam?”

  “Forget about Sam.”

  “What do you mean?” I wondered if my dazed mind was playing tricks, and I’d imagined Sam’s interest in Anna. Or maybe even invented Sam. I hoped so.

  “I was never interested in Sam. Does she seem like my type?”

  “Well...not really. I mean she didn’t seem like your type to me, but I don’t know you well enough—”

  “You know me well enough to know she’s not my type. Sam’s great and all, but I’m not into her like that.” My positive feeling grew stronger again.

  “So, what about—”

  “Shush, Ros. Sam’s a good friend of mine, if you must know. I asked her to come with me for your benefit.”

  “You mean you were trying to—” I was interrupted by a loud knocking at the front door.

  “That’ll be the ambulance,” Anna said, hurriedly getting to her feet. Despite my giddy headache, I couldn’t stop thinking about what she’d just said. She wanted to see me. She’d wanted me all along, even enough to try to make me jealous. She’d admitted I’d caused her pain, but she was still here. Even lying in the dark, in a heap of rubble and wood, my leg throbbing agonisingly, I felt wonderful. More talking was needed, but the door was still open, not slammed in my face as I had feared.

  The paramedics, wearing head-torches, came into the room and bent to examine me. I knew Anna was close by.

  “Where does it hurt, darling?” said the first paramedic, a middle-aged man who introduced himself as Gerry. I tried to explain to him as best as I could, and Gerry moved around me to examine my leg, while his colleague, a younger woman who told me her name was Fiona, informed me I would feel a sharp scratch as she inserted a needle into the back of my hand.

  “Have you blacked out?” she asked me.

  “Yes,” I told her. “I don’t know how long for.”

  “Does your head hurt, or your neck?”

  “No, but I feel a bit dizzy.”

  “Okay, my love.” She shone a bright light into each of my eyes, and I felt dazzled. “I’m going to put a neck brace on you, just as a precaution.”

  I was about to protest when my attention was drawn elsewhere. “Ouch!” I exclaimed in protest, as Gerry pressed my leg.

  “I think you’ve broken it, darling,” he said. He had a wonderfully calming, deep voice, but his words alarmed me nevertheless.

  “It’s not that bad, surely?”

  “Afraid so.” He adjusted his position to palpate my abdomen. I couldn’t help but cry out sharply as he pressed a particularly painful spot. “And I would say you’ve got a broken rib or two as well.” He lifted my torn T-shirt and held a cold stethoscope to each side of my chest. Apparently satisfied with my breath sounds, he turned his attention to my elbow. “I think you’ve just bruised it,” he said, much to my relief, “but you’ll have to have an X-ray to be sure. Anywhere else particularly sore?”

  “No, I don’t think so.” Their attentions to me were bewildering, as Gerry did something to my leg, and Fiona adjusted the neck brace. It made me feel my whole body was injured, as if the thought of a broken leg wasn’t frightening enough. “Anna?” I called.

  “I’m here, Ros.” She came closer and reached for my right hand, despite the IV line embedded in it. Her firm grip soothed me like I knew nothing else could.

  “Don’t leave me.”

  “I have no intention of doing so.”

  “I’m so glad you came to see me,” I told her. “Sorry about this.”

  “I don’t think you need to apologise for falling through a ceiling,” she replied. “Though if it was a bid to win my sympathy, I think it was going a bit far.”

  “You think?” I smiled, even as Gerry adjusted the splint on my leg, and pain shot through my body.

  “Just a little.” Her tone was as coolly beautiful as it was every time she expressed her humour. I loved to hear that tone back again.

  “Worked though, didn’t it?”

  “Absolutely.”

  *

  Anna was good to her word. She travelled in the ambulance with me, and I was very glad of her company as we bumped along the road. Kindly and efficient though Gerry was, with Fiona driving, it was blindingly bright in the back of the vehicle and overwhelmingly clinical. I couldn’t help being a little frightened. Though I was strapped down flat on my back, I looked around me and observed all the trappings of the paramedics’ work. The defibrillator and oxygen mask were chilling reminders of the much more seriously injured and sick people who were carried in the ambulance. A broken leg a
nd rib and a bruised arm really weren’t so bad. It struck me just how lucky I’d been. Already holding Anna’s hand, I gripped it more firmly, and she returned the pressure, reaching over to stroke my forehead, as if she sensed I needed the reassurance. Anna’s touch made me feel I was the luckiest woman alive, even with the broken leg and rib.

  At the hospital, I was examined, I waited for X-rays, and then I was examined again. The verdict was I had indeed broken my leg, but only a simple fracture. I had actually cracked two ribs, and my elbow was bruised and swollen, but otherwise intact. There was more medical concern about my having lost consciousness for a short time, and the doctor ordered that I stay in hospital overnight for observation, because of the danger of a possible concussion.

  Anna waited patiently with me through all the examinations and delays. My leg was plastered, my arm put into a sling, and a bed finally found for me on a ward. I told Anna at that point she should go home, but to my secret pleasure, she steadfastly refused. I was given pain medication which made me drowsy, and I managed to talk to her very little that evening, before I fell asleep. I was awoken regularly by a nurse throughout the night—to check for concussion and make me wiggle my toes—and every time, Anna was still in the chair next to the bed. I am sure I slept more soundly, in between the nurse’s visits, and was far less frightened than I would otherwise have been, because I knew Anna was with me. Whatever was going to happen between us, her presence now was comforting.

  When morning came and I was up for the day, Anna rose from her chair and came to stand beside the bed, taking hold of my hand once again. Though I still had a vague headache and the pain in my ribs was actually overpowering the ache in both my elbow and leg, the world was clearer in the light of day. I was no longer confused by the events of the night before. And Anna became more than a hazy, reassuring presence. I saw her in all of her striking detail, and felt even luckier she was with me this morning.

  “Good morning,” I said to her, smiling and trying to pretend I wasn’t in pain

  “Good morning, how are you feeling?”

  “Not so bad. Thank you so much, Anna.”

  “You don’t need to thank me.” She pressed my fingers more firmly. I gazed sleepily at her, luxuriating in her standing so close, holding my hand, with tenderness in her expression. Though she’d spent the night in a hospital chair, her hair, tied back in its ponytail, was mostly in place. A stray few strands had escaped and fell down the left side of her face, softening her appearance and bringing back some of that girlish quality I’d seen before when she removed her glasses. She was dressed more casually than I’d ever seen her, in a V-necked red pullover over a white T-shirt, with blue jeans. If I’d thought before much of her magnificence came from her immaculately tailored clothes, I’d been wrong. She was just as strikingly beautiful in such casual attire. “I’m just so glad you’re here,” I told her.

  “I’m very glad I found you.”

  “Me too. I guess I owe you one.”

  “Most definitely. I’ll keep you to it.” She smiled and her eyes filled with warmth.

  “Anna?” I felt inspired to boldness.

  “Yes, Ros?”

  “I think you’re beautiful.”

  Her eyes registered the compliment and its implications, but all she said was, “Well it’s a good job the feeling’s mutual.” My heart filled with so much happiness I thought it might actually burst out of my chest.

  “It is?” I asked, just to be sure.

  “It is Ros. And it’s more than just that I find you beautiful. You make me feel...well...” She hesitated. “I’ve never felt this way before Ros.” Anna sounded almost frightened. The words were more of a confession than an endearment. I was moved by her sudden emotion, by the evidence that some change had taken place in her since that cold day in Durham when she’d seemed so cynical about relationships. But what did it mean? Emotions pulsed through me, and I wanted her to go on, to explain her feelings, acknowledge such a change if there was one. But her words faltered as she spoke them. “There are things I need to talk to you about...I mean...I think...I don’t just accost every woman I meet with huge bunches of mistletoe, you know.” Though her concluding words made me smile, what actually passed between us was a kind of frustrated understanding. There was more to say, but now was not the time.

  “You don’t?” I let her off the hook, focused on the happiness engendered by her acknowledgement of her feelings for me. I was still in too much physical pain to pursue this now.

  “No. Flowers are usually more appropriate, I find.” The corners of her mouth twitched in the way I found so adorable, as she maintained her deadpan expression while trying not to laugh. The humour could eclipse the questions for now. But not for long.

  *

  Later that day, I was relieved when the doctor, having examined me once more, allowed me to go home, albeit with strict instructions to call my GP if I felt at all sick, or had any other problems. I was given an outpatient appointment for a month’s time and wheeled out of the hospital by a nurse.

  Anna took the handles of the wheelchair after we left the foyer of the hospital. I was at once embarrassed by my helplessness and pleased to have her aiding me. She’d taken a taxi to Winter and found me a change of clothes, and returned in her car. I was a little doubtful the crutches and wheelchair would fit into her Audi, but having assisted me into the passenger seat, she folded the chair, fitted it deftly into the back, and managed to find room for the crutches too.

  “I have no idea how I’d have managed any of this without you,” I said as she slid behind the steering wheel and turned the key in the ignition, making the engine purr.

  “Well, you’d most likely still be on the floor, so I doubt you’d have had to think about it,” she replied. “You know, you frightened me to death when I came in and found you there.”

  “Sorry. How did you know to come in?”

  “I knocked for ages. I even tried your phone. You’re such a recluse I knew you had to be home, and you’d left the door open. So I just went in. I couldn’t find you anywhere and you didn’t answer when I called. Then I saw this strange dark shadow in the middle of the floor, surrounded by the remains of the ceiling. I checked you were breathing, and I called the ambulance.”

  “I might have died without you,” I said, the realisation making me nauseous.

  “I doubt it.”

  “Thanks anyway.”

  “I’ve told you, you don’t need to be grateful. Just owe me one.” Anna put the car in gear and pulled out of the parking space.

  “Okay.” I wanted to say more, but decided to spare her the discomfort of any more heartfelt sentiments for now. I could see we were going to have to take things a small step at a time. “Wait, did you just call me a recluse?”

  “Is there another term for it?”

  “Eccentric?”

  “Don’t tell me I’m involved with a true old-fashioned eccentric?”

  “Doesn’t it suit your designer image?”

  “Hardly. I might have to change my mind about you.”

  “What, I’m not good enough for you? Now just because I don’t know Bollinger from lemonade…” I grinned across at her.

  “That is something we can definitely work on.” Anna smiled as she checked her rear-view mirror. “When you’re off the painkillers anyway.” We drove out of the hospital grounds, and Anna accelerated in the direction of Winter.

  *

  When we arrived at Winter, Anna helped me—with remarkable ease—to my chair in the Blue Drawing Room, and made sure I had everything I could want within reach.

  “You’ll spoil me,” I told her.

  “You’re an invalid, make the most of it. If I ever fall through a ceiling, I’ll expect the same.” Her tone was withering but her eyes danced.

  “I don’t recommend falling through ceilings.” I adjusted my position awkwardly. “Especially if it involves broken ribs. They hurt every time I breathe.”

  “Do they hurt too muc
h to eat?”

  “I think I could manage something. But I haven’t got all that much in.”

  “I noticed. That’s why I went shopping too.” She pointed at a cluster of shopping bags I hadn’t spotted before.

  “Oh. Were you born this capable, or is it something you’ve developed?”

  “I think it’s a natural talent I have. Maybe it’s genetic. My brother’s pretty organised too. My parents used to joke they’d never known two tidier teenagers.”

  “So neither of you is actually quite normal then?”

  “Exactly. And proud of it.” Anna reached into one of the shopping bags and brought out a packet of mushrooms. “I’ve got gnocchi. How does that and a mushroom sauce with fresh grated parmesan sound? Good comfort food, I thought.”

  “Your idea of comfort food sounds more sophisticated than most people’s fine dining, I hope you realise. But it also sounds delicious. I suppose you’re a wonderful cook too?”

  “No. Those genes definitely went to my brother. I’m average really.”

  “There had to be a weakness somewhere!” I exclaimed triumphantly. “What’s your brother’s name?”

  “Richard. He’s two years younger than me.”

  “You said he lives in Cambridge?”

  “Studies and teaches there actually. He’s reading for his PhD in philosophy.”

  “So you’re the family underachiever?”

  “That’s me,” she replied, gathering her ingredients and regarding my camping cooker with curiosity. “I have no idea how this contraption works, you better tell me.” I smiled and pointed out how she should turn on the gas. Anna was fun to talk with, her quick wits igniting all kinds of sparks in my mind. I wanted to keep chatting and joking—flirting—with her all night. But as she focused on the cooker in front of her, I knew she was still holding something back. Part of her was uncertain still. About me, or herself and what she wanted, it was hard to tell. She wasn’t at all cold, in fact this was the most casual our interaction had been, but there was still a barrier between us, the remains of the one I had erected so solidly that fateful morning. I knew it wouldn’t collapse all at once, but I hoped it would at least begin to erode now, little by little.