by Clare Revell
Elliott reached for the plates. “Well, that is going to change.”
“Oh, really?” She wrapped her arms around her middle, mildly amused at the firm tone of voice he’d adopted.
“Yes, really. You need to stop and smell the roses.”
She shook her head, fighting to keep a straight face. “That is either a really bad joke or a busman’s holiday. I’m not sure which.”
He rolled his eyes as he dished up. “You know what I mean.”
“I guess so.”
Joel picked up his plate and took a fork from the drawer. “I’ll see you later.”
“Aren’t you going to eat with us?” Grace asked.
He shook his head. “I really need to get on with this book.”
“What are you reading?”
“I write. Usually crime fiction, but I’m working on a kid’s book right now.”
“You’re an author?” Joel...Wallac...No... “Oh, wow—you’re the Joel Wallac. I hadn’t made the connection. You write the Dirk Shepherd books.”
Joel’s smile grew. “Guilty as charged. You’ve read them?”
“All of them.”
“Well, I shan’t ask what you thought. Anyway, the computer is calling, and I have to finish this one, so I can read it down the phone to Brad tomorrow.”
Elliott handed Grace a plate as Joel left the room. “We won’t see him again tonight. Once he gets in the writing zone, the earth could quake around him, the sky fall, and he’d be none the wiser. I set the table in the lounge.”
“OK.” She followed him.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
She didn’t answer.
“I didn’t think so. What’s up?”
Grace set her plate on the table, noting the candles and bottle of juice. It was laid for three. “It’s just this place is so like Aunt Tilja’s, but not. It’s—”
Elliott sat and rubbed the back of his neck. “I know what you mean. The layout is the same, but it’s the personal touches, trappings, and décor that make it a home, rather than a house.”
“Yeah.”
“You still don’t see this as a new start?”
“No.” She looked at the plate. “Thank you for this.”
“Welcome. I’ll say grace and we can start.” He reached out and took her hand as he prayed.
As they began to eat, she glanced up at him. “Hope used to cheat when asked to say grace. She’d literally say grace and then start eating. Or just point at me.”
He chuckled. “Sounds like the sort of thing Joel would do. How do you want the house done?”
“Same as before, I guess.”
“You don’t want it changed around or anything? We could add a conservatory without extra planning permission. You’d lose part of the garden, but the extra space would be worth it.”
She ate slowly for a moment, trying to work out which spices he’d used in the curry. She could pick out turmeric and cumin, but there was something else as well. “Actually a conservatory would be nice. With doors that can be flung open when it’s warm and a radiator for when it’s cold. Maybe a real fire too, rather than a gas one in the lounge.”
“As well as radiators?”
She moped up the sauce with the na’an bread. “Like you have. I won’t always use it, just would be nice sometimes. Christmas tree, roaring fire, carols…”
“Woman after my own heart,” he grinned. “Sure, I can do that.”
Once they’d finished eating, he cleared the table and pulled across a huge sheet of paper. “Did you want an attic room?”
“Won’t that change the front of the house?” she asked. “Thought it had to be the same?”
“We can put skylights into the roof,” he said. “That will give you ample light without changing the look of the bungalow.”
“OK.”
Elliott drew a square on the paper and rapidly marked off the rooms. “The architect will do this properly with measurements and what have you. This is just a rough plan of what you want. So we’ll add on a conservatory and doors from the lounge into it.” He drew a rectangle and paused. “You know if we extended the kitchen slightly, like this,” he sketched another rectangle next to the conservatory, “we could put in a breakfast bar, along with all the fitted units including a built-in oven and dishwasher. What about the bathroom?”
“What about it?”
“Would you want a shower as well as a bath?”
“If there’s room.”
Elliot narrowed his eyes. “Sure there is. Tell you what, come and look at mine.”
Grace tilted her head slightly. “Is this the builder’s version of come and look at my etchings?”
Elliott snorted as he stood. “It could be.”
Grace followed as he led her across the hall to the bathroom. “Wow.”
“All it needs is a little imagination. And a lot of love.”
“You’ve certainly given it that.”
“Come see what we’ve done in the bedrooms.”
Raising an eyebrow, she nonetheless followed him. Built-in wardrobes, drawers, and fitted cupboards going around and above the bed, quadrupled the amount of storage space. There was even a dressing table with drawers underneath. Amazement filled her. “This in incredible. It looks so much bigger than Aunt Til—mine.”
“It isn’t though. I simply made the best use of the available space. Joel’s is the same, only he uses the dressing table as a desk. So I adapted it for laptop, monitor, and tower.” He pointed. “I can give you as many sockets as you need, along with radiators in place of the gas fires if you want. It’d make sense to upgrade to modern central heating while we’re at it.”
“Yeah, that would be easier to manage. And safer.” Her enthusiasm grew as he showed her the kitchen in more detail.
“Safer?” he scoffed. “Is this the same person who wants a real fire in the lounge?”
She rubbed her temples. “Yeah, well, with a fire guard obviously. Do you really think you can do this?”
He looked at her, concern filling his eyes. “Yeah. This time with a solid foundation. Are you all right?”
She rubbed her temples. “I’m tired, I haven’t been sleeping very well.”
“Seems to me you’re more than simply tired. “
The headache which had been plaguing her since the weekend, was turning into a migraine, blurring what little vision she still had. The pharmacy hadn’t been able to fill her prescription. “Just a bit of a headache.” She sucked in a deep breath. “I should go. I need to work on the website before I turn in.”
“OK. I’ll drop these in tomorrow for you to see, before I hand them to the architect.”
“It’s fine. I trust you. Thank you for dinner.”
~*~
Elliott arrived at the florist the following morning with coffee, to find Shana and Mandy standing outside. “Slacking off?” he teased.
“I wish. It’s locked up. We can’t get in. Had to send customers away already,” Shana complained. “And it’s cold.”
“Is Grace not there?”
“She isn’t answering the door or her phone.”
Elliott peered through the window. There was no sign of life. Concern gnawed at him and the hair prickled on the back of his neck. Grace had seemed a bit off just before she’d left last night. He glanced at Shana and held out the cup. “Hold this for me. I’m going to break in.”
“What about the alarm?”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out his penknife. “I know the code. Once I’ve picked the lock, we’re set.” He pulled a small nail file from the knife and slid it into the lock. “Keep an eye out for the cops,” he joked.
Shana giggled. “Why would you want to break into a florist?”
“It’s pick your own bunch and run.” Mandy added.
Elliott groaned. “That is terrible.”
“I aim to please.”
The lock clicked. “There.” He pushed the door open, took three long strides over to the c
ontrol panel and tapped in the code. The beeping stopped. “OK, ladies. You want to open up while I go and find Grace?”
“Sure.”
The phone rang and Mandy answered it. “Carnation Street Florist. How may I help you?”
He headed out the back. “Grace? Grace, are you here?” The rooms were empty. He opened the door to the upstairs apartment and flicked on the light. “Grace?”
Not getting a reply, Elliott charged up the stairs two at a time, his heart pounding. Reaching the landing, he pushed open doors, calling her name as he ran.
The kitchen was a disaster. The laptop sat open, with a tea towel over the keyboard, an overturned cup next to it. An empty wine bottle stood on the draining board, a broken glass beside it. His worry grew.
“Grace!”
The bedrooms were empty. He ran over to the bathroom and tried the door. Locked. He banged on it. “Grace? Are you OK?”
No answer.
He grew more desperate. “Grace, speak to me or I’m going to break down the door.”
Still no answer came.
He shouldered the door. The wood splintered but didn’t give. He shouldered the door again, harder, and it gave. Shoving it open wide, his gaze fell on the woman lying on the bathroom floor. Pills lay scattered around her, something clutched tightly in her hand.
Memories rushed at him like a tidal wave. For a moment, the woman lying there was blonde and wore an orange sweater. His world ended as he looked at her. He blinked hard and the image changed.
“Grace?”
Elliott dropped to his knees. There was no obvious sign of injury, but the pills caused rivers of concern to surge through him. He turned her over and checked for a pulse. Relieved to find one, he shook her hard. “Grace, open your eyes for me. How many of these have you taken?”
He freed the bottle from her hand and read the label; diazepam and not hers. The prescription was Tilja’s.
Elliott sighed. “Grace, what have you done?”
8
Elliott glanced over his shoulder. “Shana!” he yelled. He shook Grace again, in a desperate attempt to rouse her, fighting the memories of the last time he’d found someone in this state. Then he’d been twelve. Fear knotted his stomach. Panic flooded his veins. No one else was going to die like this. Not if he had anything to do with it. “Hey, come on, I need you to open your eyes for me, Grace.”
Grace moaned and her eyelids fluttered.
Elliott shook her harder. At least she’d responded. “Come on, time to wake up.”
Her eyes opened and struggled to focus. “Elliott?”
“Yes, it’s me. How many did you take?”
“Huh?”
“The pills,” he repeated. “How many did you take?”
“I don’t have any pills. I need something for my head, but...don’t think I took…” Her words slurred and he struggled to hear what she said. She pushed up, color draining from her face. “How’d you get in?”
“I broke in. It’s almost ten. Shana and Mandy were on the doorstep when I came over with coffee.” He frowned as her pale skin turned pasty. “You OK?”
She shook her head, twisting as she threw up.
“I’m calling an ambulance.”
“Don’t…” she gasped.
“No choice. Pills that aren’t yours, an empty wine bottle and throwing up.”
“My bed…” She clasped her head. Her eyes closed.
Elliott caught her and laid her on the floor. He checked for a pulse, whispering a prayer of thanks as he found a strong one.
Shana appeared. “Did you find—what happened? Is she OK?”
“No, she isn’t. I’m calling an ambulance. Can you and Mandy manage here today?”
“Sure. I’ll send the paramedics up when they get here.”
“Thanks.” Elliott picked up his phone and dialed.
~*~
Grace pushed the doctor’s hand away. Her head still pounded and the light shining in her eyes just made it worse. Her throat hurt from where she’d thrown up. At least they weren’t going to keep her in, or refer her to the psych tank.
“Please don’t,” she managed. Speaking caused ripples of agony to shoot down her throat. “It’s just a migraine. I lost my meds. Otherwise, I’d have taken the wretched pills days ago. And I don’t have a GP here, yet.”
“What do you normally take? I’ll get some and write you a script.”
She named the medicine, adding, “Nothing else works.”
The doctor wrote on the chart. “I’ll send the nurse in with some.”
“Thank you.” She leaned back on the pillows as the doctor left. She could hear the sounds of the busy emergency department. All she wanted was sleep and someplace very dark and very quiet. Neither of which she’d get here.
Elliott poked his head around the curtain. “May I come in?”
Grace pushed down her irritation. “You’re still here?”
“I’m worried about you.”
“Well, don’t,” she snapped. “According to you I’m a homeless, alcoholic, junkie loser.”
Elliott crossed over to the bed. “Now, stop that. I know you didn’t drink anything last night because you didn’t smell of it. The doc said you didn’t take any of the pills either. I was wrong to think you had and I’m sorry. I found you surrounded by pills, the empty bottle in your hand and assumed…” He paused. “I’m really sorry.”
She rubbed her temples. A man who apologized couldn’t be all bad. Even if he had inadvertently caused her the worst few hours she’d had in several years. She swallowed gingerly. “I found the wine, threw it away. I lost my balance when I was looking for pain killers. I found those pills in the bathroom. But I didn’t take any. However I guess the loser, homeless bit still stands…”
He dropped into the chair next to her. “Why do you have such a low opinion of yourself?”
“I left my job because I couldn’t hack it, OK? This was just a convenient excuse to go on leave. They’d probably have fired me otherwise. Now, I’ve put every penny I have into that house and the shop. If that shop doesn’t break even, I can’t afford to keep it running next month. As it is, I’m not paying myself a proper wage. I just pay myself enough to cover expenses.” Her voice squeaked and grated and she grasped her neck, trying to ease the pain from the outside. “The uniforms, signage and so on are just a waste. I can’t afford a new house, too.”
Elliott shook his head. “Just take a deep breath for me and stop a second.”
Grace did so, looking at him.
“OK. The rebuild isn’t going to cost you a penny. The insurance will cover everything. Including the fixtures and fittings. So right now, the only outgoing you have is the shop, right?”
“Yeah,” she whispered.
“OK. Now, which distributor do you use to supply the shop?”
“Can’t remember.”
The nurse came in. “Here you go.” She held out a cup with two pills in and a sealed bag. “The doctor says you can go once you’ve taken these. You need to see your GP in two days for a follow up.”
Grace took the meds. “OK.”
Elliott frowned. “She can go?”
The nurse checked the chart. “Yes. Take care, Miss Chadwick.”
“It’s a migraine,” Grace whispered as the nurse left. “Started Sunday. I get them occasionally, but this one is stress related. Thing is I lost the meds with the house and everything else. And I don’t have a GP yet.”
“I’ll give you the number of mine. Once you’re dressed you’re coming back to my house,” he said firmly.
“I can’t. I’ve taken up enough of your time. Why did you ask about my supplier?”
“A couple from church runs a flower distribution center a few miles outside of town. I’m sure they’d be more than happy to supply your shop at a reasonable rate. I’ll get you their number.”
“OK, thank you.” She rubbed her head. “I need to sleep.”
“You can do that when we get to my place.�
��
“I can’t do that.”
“It’s not up for debate. You need rest and quiet and you won’t get that over the shop. You’ll be down every few minutes to see what they’re doing. Joel’s working, so you won’t be alone, but you won’t know he’s there. You can have the couch. I’ll let you dress.”
Grace sighed as he left. Why was he being so caring?
She had to admit he was right about one thing. If she were in the flat, she wouldn’t rest. And while it was only his couch, nothing more, Joel would be there, too. Perhaps it’d be safe. Trust had to start somewhere, right?
~*~
Elliott let himself in just after seven. He’d finished work a lot later than usual, but wanted to make up some of the time he’d lost today. No point being the boss if he didn’t set a good example, was there? He hung up his jacket and toed off his shoes. The house smelled of fish. At least he didn’t have to cook.
He slid his feet into slippers and padded down the hallway to the kitchen.
Joel smiled as he opened the door. “Hey, El. How was your day?”
“Had better. How’s Grace?”
“Still sleeping. She hasn’t stirred since she laid down. Whatever the doc gave her did the trick.”
“Just her normal meds, I think.” He took the plate from Joel and shoved it into the microwave. “Thanks for cooking and watching her.”
“Least I can do.” He leaned against the dresser. “Are you really all right?”
Elliott closed his eyes, seeing Grace lying on the floor, then the other image replacing it. He wouldn’t lie anyway, but there would be no point lying to Joel. His twin knew him almost better than he knew himself. “I saw her lying there and it brought it all flooding back. I thought…” His voice cracked, before he pulled his emotions back under control. “Sorry.”
Joel hugged him. “Don’t apologize, El. You were only twelve when you found Mum. There was nothing you could have done. No one blamed you. Not then and not now.”
