by A. L. Lester
She shook her head. “You’ve got that woman for that. I’ve been watching. She comes every day. Twice sometimes.” She slid toward the door. “And anyway. I don’t want to work in a house. I want to work on a farm. With the animals. Like the other men.” Then she edged out of the door with a quiet “Thank you for the food.”
“No-one ever uses that bit of the barn anymore,” he said, slightly desperately. “And there’s water plumbed to in the sink back there. Did you find it?” He had an odd feeling that he was responsible for her wellbeing.
She nodded. “The pipes were rusty,” she said. “But it ran clear after a while.” She was moving sideways toward the door as she spoke.
“Take the rest of the bread,” he said. He gestured toward it and then pushed it down the table toward her when she didn’t move. “There’s plenty here.”
She eventually reached out for it and pulled it toward her quickly. “Thank you,” she said. And then she disappeared in a twist of dirty clothes.
He stood still for a moment, mentally reviewing the last couple of hours and then decided he probably needed to sleep a bit before he could process any of it. He limped to the sitting room and lay down, pulling the blanket on the settee up over his legs and then to his shoulders. He hadn’t lit the fire and it was chilly in here after the warmth of the kitchen. Colder in the barn though, was his final thought before dozing off.
Chapter 8: Sally
He slept on the wide sofa in the sitting room that night, with the dogs guiltily pressed one each side. Sally found him there in the morning, huddled under the blanket that was usually thrown across its back.
“What are you doing?” she barked at him as he stared at her blearily. “You promised me you could get yourself up the stairs!”
He threw the blanket off and struggled to his feet. The dogs had already abandoned him in the face of her displeasure, the traitors.
“I dozed off in front of the fire—” His first lie, because he hadn’t felt up to lighting it last night. “—that’s all. This is the first time honestly.” Lie number two. He’d been home four weeks and this was becoming a regular occurrence. Not because he couldn’t, but because he couldn’t be bothered. There was a difference. But he wasn’t sure Sally would accept the difference and he was too scared of her expression to try and explain it to her.
She came over and helped him extract himself from the blanket and began to fold it.
“Laurie…” she said.
“No,” he replied. “Whatever it is you’re about to say, just don’t. I’m going to have a wash, then I’m going to put on some clean clothes, and then I’m going to have some breakfast. And then I’m going to walk to the Post Office to buy some stamps.” His face twisted in concentration as he felt for his stick and pushed himself to his feet. “If you want to help, you can get me some clean underwear and socks from upstairs. Otherwise…Please, Sal. Don’t say anything.”
She stared at him a moment longer and then said, “All right. I’ll make you some breakfast.”
“Thank you.” He shuffled with excruciating slowness toward the bathroom behind the kitchen.
* * * *
He satisfied his pride by having a shower sitting on the plastic chair they’d placed in the bath for him. It took a lot of effort, but he did feel better afterward. Sally had left his clothes on a stool outside the door where he could reach them without bending and he managed to get himself dressed without having to call for help.
By the time he made it to the kitchen again and sank in to his usual chair, he was exhausted, but the room was full of the good smells of frying pig products and there was a plate of buttered toast in the middle of the table.
“Thank you,” he said.
“It’s fine,” Sally replied.
Ah.
“I’m sorry,” he tried.
“No, really Laurie. It’s fine.” She turned toward him from the Rayburn and put her hands on her jean-clad hips, long loose hair whipping round behind her with the force of her irritation. “If you want to play the martyr and not ask for help when it’s offered, then that’s down to you. But you can’t expect me to stand here and watch you.”
She was really cross.
“You’re my friend. You’re like a brother to me these days and I won’t stand for it. I get that you want your independence. But you have to be practical. You’re still recovering. They said it would be months, yet. And if you push too hard, you’re not going to do yourself any favors.”
Her glare cut into him.
“I’m sorry,” he tried again. “I’ll try and remember to ask. It’s hard for me.”
Her expression softened. “I know. I know it is, sweetheart. But you can’t expect things to go back to normal just like that. You nearly died, Laurie!” She swiped at her eyes with both hands. Sally never cried. She prided herself on it. “You nearly died and I wasn’t here, I was getting Auntie’s stupid cottage ready for stupid Mr McManus and I wasn’t here!”
He was bewildered. “But you never help with the dipping anyway,” he said.
“Oh, don’t be ridiculous!” she spat, illogically, and turned back to the range. “Eat your bacon!” She plated up the contents of the frying pan on one of the blue and white chipped willow-pattern plates and banged it down on the table in front of him.
“Sally.” He caught her hand before she could move away. “I’m really sorry. I am. I’ll try harder.”
She squeezed his hand and then withdrew it and fumbled for a tissue in her jeans. “Okay. Okay. That’s fine. That’s all you can do. Now,” she gestured at his plate. “Eat that and you can see how you feel about going to the Post Office.”
Chapter 9: Meeting
He didn’t feel all that great about going to the Post Office.
It had seemed like a good idea when he started off. It was a brisk March day, sunny and chilly, but the ground was drying and the going under foot was good. He walked down the track from the house to the lane, avoiding the lingering puddles in the unpaved surface. The grass was going to need cutting in the middle soon, he noted. The dogs escorted him to the farm gate and then found something pressing to help with in the yard. From the gate, he had to get down the lane to the village. Then down through the village to the Post Office at the crossroads.
It was only half a mile, but it took him nearly an hour. By the time he got there and staggered in through the door propped open to the late March sunshine, he was exhausted. Patsy Walker came out from behind the counter and offered him a chair, which he took gratefully while she went to get him a cup of water. He was shaking with weakness.
“You’re an idiot,” she told him.
“Yes, Patsy,” he agreed.
She was a friend of Sally’s. Sally had probably phoned and told her he was on his way.
“Here, eat a biscuit.” She grabbed a packet of digestives off the shelf behind him, ripped it open, and shoved one at him.
“Feel a bit sick,” he muttered.
“I’m putting the kettle on. Don’t move,” she threatened, as disappeared through the door into her living room.
“Not sure I can,” he muttered again, to her retreating back.
“Not sure you can what?” a clipped voice came from behind him.
“Move,” he said, automatically, turning slightly on his chair to look at the new arrival.
Oh. Oh. That was nice. He dropped his stick on to the dusty wooden floor with a clatter.
The good-looking man in the cream woollen sweater stepped closer and bent to pick it up. Then Laurie’s tongue came back. “I can do it!” he snapped and bent at the same time. They banged heads, he lost his grip on the cup of water he’d swapped to his weak hand, and it flew all over the bloke’s head.
“Bollocks,” Laurie said unintelligently.
The man straightened up and passed Laurie’s stick to him. “Well quite,” he said, brushing water off his head and shoulders with his hands. “Don’t worry. It’s not too much.” He stuck out a hand. “Phil Mc
Manus. I’m renting Caster’s Cottage at the top of the hill.”
Laurie took the proffered hand. It was warm and smooth. Not the hand of a man who worked on the land.
“Laurie Henshaw,” he said. “From Webber’s Farm, up the road.”
Phil nodded. “Very pleased to finally meet you. I’m renting from Sally. But of course you know that.”
Laurie had known that, sort of, but in all the drama of the last few months he’d completely forgotten that Sally was letting out her Aunt Emily’s cottage until she shouted at him this morning. This was the eponymous stupid Mr McManus.
* * * *
By the time he’d pretended to be reluctant to drink the cup of tea Patsy forced upon him and bought his stamps, he felt a bit better. McManus had posted a handful of letters and picked up a parcel that had been waiting for him, chatting easily to Patsy while he did so. Laurie held his mug of tea in both hands and pondered the walk home, listening to their conversation with half an ear. He’d be damned if he was going to ask Patsy to phone the farm and ask Sally to bring the Land Rover down for him. It was going to take him a good while, but he could probably manage it if he took plenty of rests.
By the time McManus had finished his business, Laurie had put his empty mug down and unobtrusively edged out of the door, taking advantage of Patsy’s occupation with a phone call. He was standing in the weak sunlight, relishing it on his face after the long months indoors despite the sharp March wind that accompanied it, when the other man followed him out. What Laurie assumed was McManus’ car was parked along the lane. It was a smart sports car of a make Laurie had never seen before.
“Yours?” he asked, nodding at it as the other man came up beside him, just for something to say.
“Yes. TVR Vixen. A bit of a self-indulgence really, ‘specially out here.”
“She’s beautiful,” said Laurie. And she was. Painted an unobtrusive dark green, she gleamed sleekly in the spring sunlight.
McManus shot him a sideways look. “Do you want a lift up the hill in her?” he asked. “Not because you looked like you’re dreading the walk, obviously.” He spoke with a straight face. “Just to see how she drives.”
Laurie did want to see how she drove. So badly. Almost as badly as he didn’t want to face the walk home. “I’d love to see how she drives,” he replied, with a small sideways smile, not meeting McManus’ eye. “I bet you don’t get to open her up much around here, though.”
“No, not a great deal. But then I don’t in London, either.” He stepped forward and opened the passenger door and held out a hand to Laurie. “Here. Let me help you.”
Laurie froze. “I can manage, thanks,” he said, stiffly.
McManus pulled a face and stepped back half a step. “Sorry,” he said. “That was tactless. What can I do? Anything?”
Laurie forced himself to smile. “No, it’s fine. Thank you.” He eased himself carefully down into the low-slung seat of the vehicle. It was very near the ground. There was more leg-room than he expected and he laid his stick in the small gap between the seat and door sill, tacitly agreeing to let McManus shut the door for him.
The other man went round to the driver’s side of the vehicle and arranged himself behind the wheel. He pulled a pair of soft-looking natural leather driving gloves from the dashboard and slid them on over his pale, elegant fingers.
Pale…elegant. Laurie was losing it a bit. McManus was a very nice-looking man, though. Not the sort that Laurie usually went for, but nevertheless. He usually liked them a bit less smooth around the edges. Pickings were slim locally and he generally kept his personal life away from the village. Which at the moment meant no personal life, he reminded himself.
He was very tired, he could admit, now he wasn’t having to rev himself up for the climb back up the hill.
He tilted his head back against the seat and shut his eyes.
“Are you all right?” McManus asked, quietly, as he turned the ignition.
Laurie didn’t open his eyes. “Yes. Sort of. I’ve overdone it a touch. It’s the first time I’ve made the walk. It’s taken more out of me that I expected.” He opened his eyes and rolled his head to look at the driver. “I’m grateful for the lift. Thank you.”
“You’re most welcome. It’s not like I have anything else to do.”
His voice had a bitter undertone and it seemed rather like an invitation to ask the question.
“What prompted your move to our part of the world, if you don’t mind me asking? Sally said you’re from London?”
London might as well be a million miles away.
McManus coughed. “Just taking a few months away from it all,” he said. Time out and all that.”
He didn’t look at Laurie as he spoke, but that might have been because he was concentrating on the road. It was only a couple of minutes’ drive up the hill and they were almost at the farm gateway.
“Here we are,” he said. “Do I just turn in?”
“Yes. Go steady. The potholes need filling in again.”
The little sports car made it up the track without incident and McManus pulled to a halt in the yard. “Let me help you,” he said.
“No need,” Laurie insisted, opening the door and lifting his duff left leg up over the sill with both hands around the knee. When he got tired, it didn’t do what he wanted and he had to help it along. He turned himself jerkily in the seat and put his right foot on the ground beside it. McManus had got out and come round and was hovering over him uncertainly, hand on the car door. There was a small pause as the dogs arrived for a cheerful inspection and they both fended them off.
“Nell! Fly! Leave him!” McManus had his hand out to them for inspection and they decided he wasn’t a threat. They disappeared off again to whatever they were doing.
He sighed. It was a long way up. The car was very close to the ground.
Laurie looked up at McManus again, at his own hand on his stick, his other on the door frame, and then up again. McManus looked back.
McManus raised an eyebrow at him.
Laurie dropped his gaze and swore softly. “Bloody hell. All right then. Would you mind giving me a hand?”
McManus stifled a laugh. “Of course. How is best?”
His eyes were dancing a little, but his gaze was solemn. He wasn’t laughing at Laurie per se. But he was laughing at Laurie’s frustration, in a way that Laurie didn’t actually mind. The whole situation was so bloody ridiculous. He hated asking for help and he recognised that was stupid and irrational and that he needed help. But it didn’t make it any easier. That was what McManus was laughing at.
Laurie could laugh at that too.
Sometimes.
“Can you put a hand under my left shoulder?” he asked. “I can’t push up with the leg all that well on that side and my left hand won’t grip the stick properly. I can hold on to the door and pull myself up with the right hand. But the left leg is pretty ropey. I’ve overdone it a bit. And the car’s really low.”
“Of course.” McManus stepped closer and bent forward. He smelled as nice as he looked and his hair, slightly too long for the city gent Sally had told Laurie he was, fell forward over his brow as he stooped. His hand was solid and firm under Laurie’s armpit, palm curling against his chest.
“Ready?” he said.
“Yes. Count to three. One. Two. Three.”
They heaved together and Laurie came up out of the bucket seat like a pheasant put up by a gundog. He stepped forward with the continuing momentum and McManus’ arms went round him automatically to steady him. “Careful,” he said, maneuvering them so his hands were on Laurie’s upper arms. “All right?”
Laurie gripped the top of the car door and organised his stupid leg and his stupid stick and after a second or two said, “Yep. All right.”
McManus let go, stepping aside but holding the door open and sweeping his right arm out in invitation for Laurie to go past him. “Let me see you in,” he said.
“No, honestly, it’s fine,” L
aurie insisted. “I’m fine.”
McManus raised that eyebrow at him again.
“Oh, for goodness sake…” Laurie muttered. “Come in and have a cup of tea, anyway.”
“Delighted,” McManus said. “Thank you.”
Laurie could hear the smile behind his words. He really was a very attractive man. They made their way across the yard to the porch steadily, the other man pacing beside him unobtrusively, not giving out that anxious, hovering vibe that so many of his circle of friends now did.
The back door was unlocked as it usually was, but there was no sign of Sally in the kitchen. “Sally!” he shouted. “Sally? Are you here?”
The Land Rover was gone from the yard, he realised. Oh. She’d probably gone down to Taunton to the supermarket. He recognised the slight lift in his mood for what it was—he could have a cup of tea with McManus without her buzzing round him and treating him like an invalid. He was sick of it. Not that he minded their concern. He’d be just as concerned for his friends if the situation was reversed. But it was the buzzing and hovering and general harrying and the assumption that he wasn’t able to make his own decisions anymore.
It was his body that had been affected. Not his brain. Mostly.
He still had periods where he got very tired and a bit confused, where it felt like his head had suddenly filled up with cotton wool and he knew he wasn’t processing what was being said or happening around him. But those moments were becoming further and further apart as his recovery progressed and as he got to grips with being home and could rest when he wanted rather on the hospital’s schedule.
“Here.” McManus pulled out a chair at the table. “You sit. Tell me where everything is.”
Laurie glared at him, mentally revising his opinion of the other man’s likelihood to fuss.
“Please?” McManus said. “Sally will hit me with the coal shovel if she comes back and I’ve exhausted you. She does for me a couple of times a week and I always tidy up before she arrives.”