Looking across at Derry his head turned away from the window she wondered fleetingly what Henry was up to and indeed up to with whom. She’d had a couple of texts from him, which surprised her until she’d actually opened them. He’d decided to go away to Spain by himself – of course he had. He wouldn’t have wanted to waste all that money, not that he’d paid anything towards it. She’d lent him her hard earned cash for the flights, only too happy to help out her beloved Henry and his dream to ring one of those church bells in Grenada. Now she didn’t care where he was just as long as he wasn’t here. There’d also been one from her dad. Well not actually from her dad as he wouldn’t know one end of a mobile from another. No, it was from Annie checking she was alright and that they had enough money to be going on with. She had more than enough, thinking of the large overgenerous cheque even now being processed by her bank – she’d need every penny when she finally decided what she was going to do.
Leaping away from her chair was much easier than leaping away from her thoughts. ‘Right, it’s time for bed.’ She spoke in Derry’s direction her hands already busy at gathering together glasses and mugs. Looking down into the dregs of hot chocolate she felt a smattering of sympathy for Annie Friend, their redoubtable housekeeper and friend. The very first thing she was going to do when she got home was to install a dishwasher. ‘I’ll just wash this lot and then help you upstairs.’
‘Mabel, you could always keep me company. It’s going to be a cold one – no point in us both being cold now is there?’
Standing there mouth agape she could almost, but not quite see the sense in his words. Neither of them would get any sleep with the noise of the storm battering against the side of the house. Even now she could see the pristine white glimmer of snow just through the gap in the curtains wrapping itself around the cottage in its icy glamourous glow. For all they knew they’d be house bound for the next few days living off the contents of the freezer and, God forbid the remaining tins of beans.
She closed her mouth with a snap. She’d always loathed the slack jawed look; being as it was in stark contrast to the cool sophisticated look she’d always tried to muster. Audrey Hepburn was her hero with those skinny black trousers and flat pumps and, on a good day with poor lighting there was indeed a slight resemblance, or so her friends told her. She’d inherited large eyes and dark fanning eyebrows from her mother and high cheekbones and a heart shaped face from her granny. Her body was passable. She craved a couple of extra inches to her five foot four, not to mention a couple of feet to her 32 B’s but she had good legs and a shapely bum. It was only her frizzy hair, curtesy of her father that let the look down somewhat – that and her glasses, which were glued to her nose 24/7 unless she was asleep.
Her eyes roved over his body, so very different from Henry’s slight frame with the beginning of a paunch starting to creep over his waistband. Shifting her gaze to his thick springy hair in stark contrast to Henry’s thinning pate and then running over his face to pause, albeit briefly on his firm smooth lips.
Could she? Dare she? Her mouth suddenly dry with the weight of the decision he’d thrust upon her for, of course his idea of warmth wouldn’t be hers. He wouldn’t be content to just cuddle up. She could see it in his cheeky boy grin, just as she could see it in the arrogant stance of his jaw and the firm unwavering look from those sightless eyes, for once left unguarded by his glasses.
The most surprising thing of all was the fact she was tempted – she was tempted despite Henry, despite everything. Henry didn’t even come into it. She could no more sleep with Henry now than she could fly to the moon. She shook her head in bewilderment, her hands clutching the crockery to her chest. She’d always despised women who couldn’t stick to one man: Women who disabused their wedding vows and promises almost as soon as the ring was on their finger and now here she was thinking the very same improper thoughts.
Who’d have thought little Mabel Frederick was thinking of shacking up with some blind bloke without even a blush to stop her.
She started to take a step towards him, her foot poised in some exotic ballerina like pose only to pause mid execution an image of her father imprinted on her eyelids: the image of her father who, even now would be sitting on their pew saying goodnight to her mum.
She’d often joined him in his nightly ritual, sitting by his side watching silent thoughts shift across his face. Up until Saturday she’d solemnly believed in the institution of marriage and, confusingly just because she’d ended up marrying a tosser really didn’t change anything.
‘I’m a restless sleeper so I’ll just see if there’s a hot water bottle then.’ She said, almost dropping the dishes in her haste to get away from him and his accusatory stare.
Chapter Fourteen
She woke with a start, her heart jumping around her chest.
Resting back into the mattress she tried to force her muscles to relax even as she worked on slowing down her breathing. Something had woken her but what? She allowed herself to open her eyes and watch the shadows playing against the far wall from the dim light cast by the landing light, which she must have left on by mistake. Shifting her head she looked across at the window only to wish she hadn’t bothered. The snow was still falling and, even now deep fluffy white pockets were gathering at the corners reminiscent of an ‘Olde Worlde’ Christmas card; minus the robin that is.
Closing her eyes against the artificially bright window she curled on her side, tucking her knees under her chin desperate to reclaim that treasure just under her eyelids only to hear it again. Sitting bolt upright and now fully awake she strained her ears to isolate the sound from the swirling wind outside. Yes, there it was again, muffled but there.
Chapter Fifteen
He woke with a start, his heart jumping around his chest.
Something had woken him but what? Straining his ears he tried to work out what sound it was but all around was silent.
Stretching his full length he allowed his toes to curl around the antique walnut frame before letting out a long fart, a broad smirk on his face at the satisfying noise breaking the quiet. It appeared to him it was one of the only pleasures left to him now she’d refused to keep him company.
He allowed himself to open an eye even though there was no point. What was the point of trying to open something he knew wasn’t going to work. There was no point. It had already been five days – the longest five days of his life and all he could see was… Snow: snow gently falling against the glass in swaths of light. Squeezing his eyes tight shut he opened them again just to make sure he wasn’t asleep but the snow was still in the exact same spot doing the exact same thing it had being doing a couple of seconds ago.
Tilting back his head he laughed, for once a joyous sound. He hadn’t believed his surgeon when he’d told him it would be alright; especially not after the infection had set in. Instead he’d run off to Wales and tried to drink himself into oblivion. He dreaded to think the damage he’d done to his liver over the last few days. If truth be told he didn’t really like spirits. Give him a pint and an occasional decent glass of wine and he was a happy man.
Placing his hands above his head he allowed his eyes to roam freely about the room. His vision was still blurry around the edges, but that was to be expected. He’d always have to wear glasses - frankly he didn’t care. Just as long as he could see to operate it didn’t matter. His train of thought diverted suddenly from thinking about work to thinking about the girl sleeping only a couple of metres away. He’d now be able to see just what she looked like. He knew she had long hair, but not what colour. He knew she had the softest touch, so soft as to set his teeth on edge – so soft as to set his body on fire. Each time she’d come near him was a battle between desire and restraint, and restraint wasn’t winning. For someone he couldn’t see and, more to the point knew nothing about she was doing a pretty good job at turning him on that’s for sure. He had no idea how she did it but if he could bottle it for sale on EBay he’d make a killing.
It must be just sheer unbridled lust he felt. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had sex so it must have been a bloody long time ago. There’d been a couple of half-hearted relationships following the break-up of his marriage but after that… He stared into space, relishing the sight of the white ceiling overhead. With his rapidly failing eyesight he was hard pushed to keep a handle on his work commitments let alone have any time or energy left to chase girls. It was only when his eyesight stopped him from operating he finally sought medical intervention. Living with inoperable congenital cataracts from birth he’d gotten used to managing. As long as he could see to drive and see to work little else mattered and then he couldn’t even see to read. He was told in no uncertain circumstances if he didn’t get them operated on he’d be blind, but conversely if he did get them operated on there were no guarantees he’d be able to see. Talk about being stuck between a rock and a hard place!
Squinting, he could just about make out the fine glossy strands of a solitary cobweb in the corner and never felt happier. It was like getting a new lease of life all of a sudden and boy, this time round he wasn’t going to squander even one second of it beginning with now: beginning with her.
She could be some middle aged ogre with bottle blond hair and Brighton roots for all he knew, but that didn’t seem to be able to stop the sudden intense hunger he felt. The person who’d said beauty was in the eye of the beholder had it all wrong. There was no beauty to be seen. She could, and very well might look like the back end of an elephant, but for some strange reason he’d still find her sexy. He remembered the way she’d marshalled him around the kitchen earlier like a sergeant major, something no one else would have attempted. She’d pushed him out of the way, her hands lodged on his hips more times than was good for anyone in his position. He wasn’t exactly helpless, more like vulnerable and, as such susceptible to any possible overtures from what was the first woman he’d spent a serious amount of time with since his wife had left. He shook his head at the thought of his ex-wife, the last person on earth he was willing to waste head room on and instead rewound to earlier.
She’d had him stirring and mixing before rolling out and shaping God only knew what, but he had to hand it to her the smells coming from the oven were out of this world. For someone who’d said they couldn’t cook she was certainly making a bloody good attempt at it. The pie they’d had for supper was mouth-wateringly good, the potatoes smothered in what she called a cheats mayonnaise of left over still in date store cupboard essentials and the chocolate pudding… he was usually more of a cheese and biscuits man but he had to give it to her – she certainly knew how to make something out of nothing.
He rubbed his hand across his eyes in frustration, his thoughts no more comforting than a dose of Viagra – not that he was in need of sexual stimulants, more like a cold shower. He was lying there wasting precious seconds trying to pluck up the courage to walk next door and take a look at the face of the girl who’d been one breath away from his thoughts all day. Glancing at his watch he noted it was a little after midnight, surely that was long enough for her to be asleep? He really didn’t want to be caught spying on her like some cheap desperate voyeur, although wasn’t that exactly what he was?
He swung his legs out before grabbing his dressing gown off the end of the bed, a dressing gown that reminded him suddenly of her. Lifting the fabric up to his nose all he could smell was her intense fragrance – shampoo and soap mingling with some other scent he couldn’t quite put his finger on. What do you know; she must have been sharing his dressing gown without his knowledge! Shrugging his hands through the sleeves was next best to being wrapped around her bed warm body. Man alive, he hoped beyond hope there was nothing elephantine about her. He didn’t mind fat, he had no objection to thin and he wasn’t lucky enough to get pretty – In fact, average would do just fine: average and not in possession of a bus pass!
Her bed was empty and, running his hand across the rumpled sheets, cold. The puzzle of the missing girl continued as he walked past the empty bathroom and into the empty kitchen, his heart plummeting in his chest. He’d trawled through every room in the house and was starting to get worried. Standing by the back door he could only come up with three reasons for her sudden departure and he wasn’t happy with any of them. The most likely, but least palatable of course was she’d done a runner back to Dublin. She’d become fed up with looking after him and escaped while she’d had the chance. It was that, alien abduction or disappearing into thin air; neither of the latter ringing any bells with him.
He ran his hand through his hair in frustration. He didn’t want her to leave. He didn’t want her to leave tonight, tomorrow or indeed any of the tomorrows to come. In a blinding flash of self-realisation he finally grasped just what she meant to him and now it was too late. Just how he could have fallen for someone he’d never seen was utterly beyond him but there it was. He was in love with her; with her voice, with her laugh, with her scent. He’d managed to fall hook line and sinker for some bossy long haired faceless shrimp. He smiled. It could be worse but, just at the moment he couldn’t think how!
Turning back into the room his eyes caught on a scattering of raindrops radiating out from the door, drops that could very well be melted snow. His hand reached for the brass handle and, turning it was surprised to find it unlocked. The last thing he’d done was instil the importance of bolting both doors. She’d gone out, or more worrying someone had come in. Pulling the door open he looked out on to the bleached wasteland that only this afternoon was probably dull Welsh slate crazy paving and smiled. At least there was only one set of footsteps pressed into the thick snowy blanket – footsteps still clearly visible so clearly new. Lifting his head he scanned the area, his eyes lingering for a brief moment on the shed ahead before moving on and then swinging back with force.
Just why she was sitting on top of the shed in her nighty with one arm clutched around what must be the ugliest beast he’d ever seen was nobody’s business. Not that he spent any great time studying the mutt, all his attention focused on this the first time he’d been able to see her with his eyes. He’d been aware of her with every other sense he possessed and a few he didn’t but now his eyes drank her down in one gulp: his nurse, his companion, his tormenter. It didn’t matter one iota that yesterday she’d been a nuisance, an encumbrance even. Today she was as familiar as an old pair of socks chosen for comfort and familiarity over newer flashier versions. He knew her like he knew himself even as his eyes widened at the sight of her encased in what could only be described as a scrap of lace more suitable for a bridal chamber than the roof of his shed. Surprisingly he didn’t want to dwell on the way her nightdress plastered to places he wasn’t prepared to see yet. If he was another man; a different man he’d have left his eyes to gaze at her near nakedness, but he wasn’t and he didn’t. All he could think about was her safety, and the look of pleasure that flickered across her face. She obviously wasn’t worried about her state of dishevel in front of him because, of course she still thought him blind. He squeezed his eyes shut in frustration at the thought. Having to remain blind for a little while longer was going to prove problematic. Just how the hell was he meant to get her off the roof when, in truth he didn’t even know she was on it.
‘Thank God Derry; we thought we’d be stuck up here all night.’
‘Up where exactly and just who’ve you got with you?’ He swivelled around, his eyes closed against the glare of the snow. Closed eyes were easier; at least he wasn’t lying to anyone but himself.
‘Over here, on top of the shed.’
‘What the hell are you doing on the shed Mabel,’ his voice holding a question. Taking a couple of tentative steps, the snow squeaking and squelching under his weight, his arms extended in the best imitation of a blind man he could come up with.
‘I heard barking…’
‘So?’
‘So, don’t be so heartless Derry.’ He glanced out the corner of his eye to see her manoeuvre the dog
into a better position, one hand still holding on tight to the rim of the roof.
‘He must have climbed up on top of the water butt to get away from the snow and got stuck up here - he’s little more than a puppy.’
He pretended to follow the sound of her voice and was now standing just underneath where her bare legs dangled over the side. All he had to do was reach up and pull her into his arms, but he couldn’t do that.
‘If you reach out your hands can you pass the mutt down?’
‘Hey!’
‘Mabel, I don’t know about you but I’m bloody freezing myself to death out here, just lean forward and pass it to me – we can sort out a naming ceremony later.’
He watched her scrabble down nearer the edge before leaning forward arms outstretched with something brown and, before he knew it he was in possession of a squirming ball of fluff that funnily enough smelt like wet dog. He wiped off the top of the water butt and then settled it on top with a gentle pat, all his attention, if not his eyes now trained on the roof. ‘Right, your turn.’
Unhappy Ever After Girl (Irish Girl, Hospital Romance 3) Page 8