by Soraya May
“Look, I need to get back to the bar. Andy is coming over for…a visit.”
Farrah looked sideways at her. “Oh? Tell him I said hi. He seems like a good guy, although his sister’s pretty scary. He comes up to get things from the winery now and again; he fixed May’s bike for her for free one day, and I think she’s fallen permanently in love with him as a result. She keeps asking when he’s coming back to visit.”
“Very cute. Yeah, your little daughter seems to be treated a hell of a lot better by men than you or I do. Maybe she knows something we don’t. Are you coming for the open mic night?”
Farrah put both hands up. “I’m not sure yet, sorry. If May’s having a sleepover that night, I’ll come for sure, although I might not be able to stay long.”
“Okay, honey. You know where to find me.” I pulled my car door shut, and started the engine. As I rattled carefully down the long driveway, I saw May playing in the herb garden. May looked up at the sound of the car, and waved happily to me; I waved back and made a face, making May giggle.
Farrah’s happy without a man. She doesn’t need anyone else except for her daughter; she belongs here. Why don’t I feel like I do?
18
Cat
“Cat? You there?” Andy’s face hovered at the window next to the door. It was still hours from the bar being open, and there wasn’t any need for him to be secretive. I padded over and opened the door. Andy, filling the door-frame, looked around furtively, and I suppressed a giggle. He really wasn’t built for covert operations, being at least six-four. He wasn’t exactly clumsy, but he moved with an earnestness that reminded me of a cartoon character trying to sneak up on someone. “Be vewwwy, vewwy quiet…”
“Come in, Andy. It’s okay, there’s no-one here. Honestly, it’s fine.”
Andy sidled in. I’d never seen a man that big sidle, but it was unquestionably the only word to describe what he was doing. I put my head on one side and looked at him.
“Andy, you do realize that’s about the most suspicious possible way for a human being to walk, don’t you?”
He looked at me sheepishly. “Yeah, I guess it’s a bit much. It’s just that…I had to make up a story to Bea about what I was doing this morning, and I couldn’t let her see me come down here. I told her I was out picking up rugby gear for training; if I’d told her I was coming down to see you, she would have started quizzing me.” He shook his head. “And once she starts, she’ll get the truth out of you one way or another.”
I looked at him. “Yeah. Yeah, that doesn’t surprise me. Okay,” I commanded, “up on the table there, Mr. Macfarlane. I don’t exactly have a reclining bed like I ought to, so the table is going to have to do.”
Andy sat on the edge of the table gingerly. “Is it going to take my weight? I mean, I’m not the thinnest guy in town.”
“No, you’re not, but it’ll be fine. It’s had people on it before.” I refrained from mentioning that the same table had supported Farrah’s weight while dancing on it one evening, an episode which still gave me nightmares, mostly since I didn’t have anything with which to set broken ankles. “Come on, up. Lie flat.”
Stretching out, Andy looked up at me worriedly as I bent over him, pushing my sleeves up. “What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to push on a few areas and get you to tell me if you can feel me pushing, and to describe what you’re feeling, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Good. First, I’d like you to pull up the leg of your shorts, and unbutton your shirt. Can you do that for me?”
“Sure.” He struggled a bit to do it prone, but soon he was bare-chested, laying back on the table. I worked my way around his neck and chest area, examining him.
Next, I moved to his thigh. “Can you feel this?” I pressed firmly with my fingers in specific places at the bottom of his quadricep.
“Mmm. Not really.”
“Okay, how about this?” I stopped pressing, but didn’t tell him.
“Still nothing.” Andy’s voice took on a worried tone. “Is that bad?”
“It’s fine, Andy,” I soothed. “It’s just part of the examination. Nothing to worry about.” As I worked my way up his thigh, I kept talking to him, distracting him, asking about rugby and how the garage was going. Andy responded cheerfully enough, but there was an undercurrent of tension in his voice that I could hear every time he spoke.
“Ow!” He jumped.
“What was that?” I hadn’t been touching him at the time.
Andy indicated his thigh. “Just…somewhere there, I got a sort of shooting pain. Hell, that was quite painful. That’s never happened before, not like that.”
I looked at him. “Has anything similar happened?”
“Yeah, I guess. Just not that bad. What does it mean?”
“I’m not sure yet. Let’s wait and see.” I fetched a fork from the bar. “Okay, now I’m going to press into your thigh with something pointed, and I want you to tell me if you can feel that.”
As I completed the examination, I stepped back from the table. “Okay, Andy, we’re all done. You can sit up now.”
The big man swung his legs to the side of the table and slid off it. “So, what’s the situation, Doc?”
I winced a little at the reminder I was—technically—practicing medicine without a license. “Well…you’re exhibiting some symptoms which indicate the potential for a neurological issue. It’s not anything you should be worried about immediately, but as we discussed, I would now like you to go and make an appointment with a qualified physician and get referred for a more in-depth set of tests.”
The blood drained from Andy’s face. “Hell. Do you really think it’s something to do with my brain?” For a moment, he looked like a frightened kid. “I mean…was it a head knock or something?”
I put my hand on his arm. “Andy, we really can’t tell, and there’s no reason to get worried yet, okay? Just go to the doctor, and get yourself checked out. We’ll just take it one day at a time.” From his expression, I could tell that this was the last thing he’d wanted to hear, but, having examined him, I couldn’t do anything except give him the best advice possible.
“Are you sure? I mean, okay, you’re the doctor.” Andy turned and slapped both hands down on the bar, his shoulders shaking. “Hell. Bea’s going to freak out about this. When she finds out…” He tailed off.
“Andy,” I said softly, “the last thing I want to do is worry you. There’s a good chance this is just an incidental bout of some kind of nerve damage; that kind of thing happens all the time, and it just goes away of its own accord. But if there’s even a chance it could be something more serious, then early detection and treatment is absolutely critical, okay?”
“Treatment? What kind of treatment?” Andy was looking away from me, staring at the bar.
I sighed. “I can’t tell you, until we find out what’s going on. Look, you need to get this sorted out for Bea, not just for yourself. You know how much she cares about you. How would she feel if you didn’t take care of yourself?”
“Yeah.” Andy let out a long breath he’d evidently been holding. “Yeah, you’re right.”
“Hell,” I laughed, “remember when she came to get you from here at the bar when you’d been celebrating after that game? That was some scary stuff.”
Andy grinned. “Yeah, that was pretty embarrassing. I thought I’d finished being dragged out of places by my big sister when I was about ten, but clearly not.”
“I thought she was going to grab you by the ear, honestly.” I laughed along with him, trying to get his mind off the worry about what was going on with his body.
“Well, she can’t hardly reach my ear these days. But back when we were little and about the same size, yeah, I did get a fair bit of direct physical intervention.” He turned around and leaned back against the bar. “Okay. I’ll ring up tomorrow and make an appointment.”
“Do it this afternoon.” I wasn’t giving up. “Do it for your sist
er. Get it sorted out.”
Andy rolled his eyes. “Okay, okay, you’re right.” He looked sideways at me. “Man, you’re as tough as my sister when you want to be.”
“I’m going to take that as a compliment, Andy Macfarlane. It’s a shame she doesn’t like me a bit more.”
“Like you?” He sounded genuinely surprised. “Bea likes you fine. She doesn’t compliment anyone very often, but she’s talked more than once about what a great job you’ve done to fix up this place and keep it going.”
“That’s kind of her.” I was pleased, although deep down I wondered if Andy was exaggerating slightly. “Although I have to say, she wasn’t the most friendly person I’ve ever encountered the other day, when I came to ask about the oven. If that’s how she talks to people she likes, I’d hate to see her with people she doesn’t like.”
Andy readjusted his shorts, and scratched his bare chest. “Yeah, I know. My sister sounds tough, but you have to understand.” He looked around the empty room. “We…didn’t have the easiest time growing up, see? We were foster kids, and we got put in a bunch of homes. Some of them were good. Some of them,” his face darkened, “weren’t so good.”
“Oh, Andy.” I put a hand on his arm. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea. I knew you’d had a bit of a time of it growing up, but I didn’t realize—”
He waved away my concerns. “No, no, honestly. Don’t feel sorry for us. Everything’s worked out fine, right? We’re good. It’s just,” he looked directly at me, “Bea had to take care of me when this was all happening. I was only about five, and she was about twelve. She won’t tell me about it, but from what I remember, she had to see and deal with some things that twelve-year-olds basically shouldn’t have to handle.” He gestured with one hand. “So, every time she perceives anything as a threat, to me, or to us, she sort of goes into that same mode. I genuinely think she can’t help it.”
I nodded slowly. “I see. I’m not a threat, Andy.”
“Of course, Cat. Of course, you aren’t. Hell,” he held out both hands, “I’d be screwed right now if it wasn’t for you. Thanks, man. I really appreciate what you’ve done. And Bea will too. One day.”
“No problem, Andy. I’m just glad I could help.” His smile was so broad and genuine that without thinking, I hugged him spontaneously.
There was a noise of the door creaking open behind them, and footsteps in the doorway. Andy stiffened, and I felt a chill of dread. If that’s Beatrice, I am in serious trouble, given that I have my arms around her brother, and he’s got his shirt off. She spun around.
“Whoops,” Ryan said, looking directly at us. “Didn’t mean to intrude.” He disappeared up the stairs just a little bit too quickly to be nonchalant.
19
Cat
“Oh, that’s no problem, Mister, uh..” “Sanders.” Ryan’s deep voice made me look up from the shelf of cleaning products. What was he doing here in the hardware store?
I’d come in to get furniture polish and floor cleaner for the bar, wanting to tidy the place up in preparation for the open mic night tomorrow. Ryan had been in his room or in the basement since the incident with Andy, and I hadn’t had an opportunity to explain it to him.
Not that it’s any of his damn business, I thought. It was just a hug, and the guy really needed one.
Picking up the floor cleaner, I glanced up at the sales counter where Ryan stood. Even if it isn’t his business, it wouldn’t hurt to clarify things. Just so he doesn’t get the wrong idea about Andy and I. Because…well, just because it’s not good. That’s all.
“Do you have a delivery address for the timber, Mr. Sanders?” Sarah, the sales clerk, looked attentively at Ryan as he stood in front of her. While I watched, she wrote down his name carefully in the big order book, and brushed a lock of hair from over her eyes.
“Sure, uh, Sarah, isn’t it?” Ryan reached in the pocket of his leather jacket. “Hold on, here it is.” He handed over a piece of paper. “It’s Daisy McNeish’s guest house, if you know where that is.”
Sarah brightened visibly. “Oh, sure! Are you…is that where you’re staying, Mr. Sanders?”
Ryan shook his head. Behind him, in one of the aisles, I stared at the label on the floor cleaner for a moment. “No, I’m just helping her fix up her roof. It sprang a leak yesterday, and we need something waterproof to stop it until a carpenter can get up here.”
“Oh, that’s so kind of you!” Sarah was quite young, I thought, and rather more impressed by Ryan’s—admittedly good—deeds than she needed to be. “I, uh, we, that is, can drop it off this afternoon. Would that be okay, Mr. Sanders?”
“That’s fantastic. Thanks, Sarah; I really appreciate it. And please, call me Ryan.” He pulled out his credit card. “Just put it all on here, and I’ll sort it out later.”
“Sure thing, Ryan. Do you have…do you have a contact phone number I could—we could—call you on, maybe later today?” From where I was standing, I could see the sales clerk flashing a smile at him. “Just to check the…service is everything you need.”
Hidden behind the rotating tool racks, I stared fixedly at the list of ingredients in the floor cleaner.
Polyethylene glycol, huh? What fascinating stuff that must be. I wonder how many ethylenes that is, exactly?
Ryan laughed. “I’m sure everything will be fine, but here’s my number just in case. Thanks again for all your help, Sarah.”
Yeah, I thought. Here’s my number ‘just in case’. Really subtle.
I was about to march up and tell him off for whatever it was he was doing, flirting with that poor young girl, and stopped myself, just in time. Ryan turned, and walked down the aisle of the hardware shop, and I ducked back behind the tool rack so he didn’t see me. Quietly, I berated myself.
What the hell are you doing, Milsom?
If Ryan wanted to flirt with every girl in town, it wasn’t any of my damn business.
I watched him leave the shop, shading his eyes in the doorway to adjust to the sunshine. If he wanted to kiss every girl in town—just like he kissed me, hot and hungry, as if I was the only thing he wanted in the whole place—I shook my head again, it wasn’t any of my damn business.
Marching up to the counter, I slammed the tin of floor cleaner down. “Just this.”
Sarah jumped. “Hi, uh, Cat.”
“Hi.” Get a grip, I chided myself, reaching for my wallet. This isn’t your business. You’ve got enough to worry about.
The sales assistant processed the sale and took my money. “Hey, is everything okay? You look a bit…bothered about something.” She blushed. “Sorry if I’m intruding.”
“Fine.” I snapped. “Just regretting a few poor decisions, that’s all.” Snatching up the tin, I turned on my heel and walked out, leaving Sarah with a mystified look in her eyes.
An afternoon of mopping the floor had improved my mood a little; whether it was the physical labor, or the satisfaction of standing back, leaning on the mop, and admiring the sparkling floor of the bar, I couldn’t say. There was something pleasing about looking out over the floor and seeing it clean, even if it was only going to get dirty again when people walked on it that evening.
There was a soft knock at the door, and I turned around. “Come in.”
The door creaked open, and Ryan stood in the doorway, a large canvas bag slung over his shoulder. “Hi. I didn’t want to interrupt anything.”
He looked around, and, evidently convinced there were no shirtless men in the bar, stepped inside. I wasn’t sure whether to be annoyed at him flirting with the hardware clerk, or embarrassed about him walking in on Andy and I. I decided to suppress both feelings, and try to go back to ‘friendly but professional’.
“No, nothing to interrupt. Come on in. Look, about that—”
He held up one hand, “Please, you don’t have to explain yourself to me. I’m just a guest.”
“But—”
“Honestly, it’s not my business. Also, I wanted to show you somet
hing.” He indicated the bag. “I borrowed some woodworking tools from the hardware store; they were really nice about it.”
I narrowed my eyes. Yeah, I bet she was. “Uh-huh.”
“So, I think I can make another handle for your wardrobe door. If you’ve still got the broken one, I’m pretty sure I can carve a replacement from some of the timber I found in the basement - you know it’s the same stuff? Same age, too.”
Despite my resistance, I was impressed. “I didn’t know you had woodworking skills.”
“Another stereotype of academics busted, huh?” Ryan smiled. “Actually I was a part-time carpenter through college, and heritage woodwork is a pretty important part of conservation. For the first two years after I finished my PhD, I wasn’t doing research; I was a conservator at a museum, so a lot of my job was working out how to repair things, or craft replacements for something which had been lost.” He sat down at one of the tables, dumping the bag on the floor and pulling out a couple of knives, along with a spokeshave and a small tabletop vise. “Hold on, I’ll get a piece of wood from the basement. Could you find the old handle for me, please?”
I inclined my head. “Done. And, since you’re doing this, the least I can do is get you a beer. Would you like one while you work?”
“I wouldn’t say no.” Ryan nodded gratefully, arranging his tools on the table, and rolling up his sleeves. While I pulled a pint, I tried not to look too obviously at his forearms.
Returning with the broken wardrobe handle, and sliding the beer across to him, I watched him set to work, studying the original handle, extracting the metal fittings from the splintered wood, and selecting a small piece of wood from the timber that had been stacked in the basement. As he worked, he talked to me, explaining what he was doing.
“This piece of wood is about the same color, so it’s a good choice as a replacement. It’s the same grain, too, which is important. Although the wardrobe itself is hardwood, this wood for the handle is actually soft enough to carve just with a knife. I can probably get away without needing a saw.”