The Summer We Loved

by Wendy Lou Jones

  Heather knocked gently and Jenny blushed at being caught harbouring lustful thoughts. She met her at the door. Heather peered in and looked mischievously shocked by the half-naked man in her housemate’s bed. “Your mattress,” she whispered and passed through the inflatable for Jenny to make her bed on. Heather’s eyebrows jiggled in fun at the thought of what Jenny might get up to overnight, but she was instantly subdued with a reproachful look and so she just smiled and scuttled away.

  It was bizarre, Jenny thought, to feel uncomfortable getting changed and sleeping in your own bedroom. Pete was fast asleep, she could hear him gently snoring. He wouldn’t notice if he remained like that, but he could wake up at any minute. She slipped outside to the bathroom to change into her nightshirt and brush her teeth and then, ever so quietly, crept back inside her room, shut the door and climbed into her makeshift bed.

  Jenny thought about the thrill of knowing he had been naked only a few feet away from her when he had changed to get ready for bed. She had covered her eyes, at least mostly, but her gaze had fallen across his feet. They had captured her imagination, and when the towel had dropped to the floor around them she was convinced she must have blushed.

  Jenny was awoken in the early hours of the morning by someone moving around her room. She flicked on the nightlight and caught Pete, hanging out of the bed, head down in his backpack.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, as her eyes adjusted to the light.

  “Sorry. Go back to sleep. I just needed some more painkillers.”

  She wriggled out of her sleeping bag and leant past him to reach them off a shelf. “Here.”

  “Thanks.” He swallowed a couple and they shuffled back into their beds.

  “You might as well take two of these while you’re at it.” She handed him the antibiotics. “Did the pain wake you up?” she asked and he grunted that it had. “Should I get you some ice?” She reached over and felt his forehead, but he pulled away.

  “No, go back to sleep.”

  Jenny felt uneasy letting herself rest while leaving him in pain, so she propped herself up on one elbow and looked at him. “How did you get the scar on your side? It’s pretty impressive,” she asked.

  “Direct, aren’t you?”

  “Will it get me anywhere?”

  He seemed to think about that. “I’ve had it for ages. Since I was a kid.”

  “What from?”

  “From not minding my own business.”

  That would be a ‘no’, then. Maybe she should try to distract him while the painkillers kicked in. She might learn something, she thought. “Tell me about the place you used to live, Pete,” she said, undeterred.

  “Why?”

  “It looked like a nice place to grow up.”

  Pete was studying the side of his finger.

  “Just you and your brother, was it?”

  Still nothing from him.

  “I hear your mum’s a bit of a brainbox. Oxford, eh?”

  “What are you fishing for, Jen?” he asked.

  “Nothing,” she lied. “It’s just that I met your brother and saw your old house… I guess I’m just trying to piece it all together. You must have had two very clever parents to produce you two: a doctor and an engineer. What did your dad do?”

  “There’s more to being clever than letters after your name,” he snapped.

  She had hit a nerve. Determined to keep calm, she tried to veer away from his father. “I was really just thinking what a confident and sensible mother you must have had.”

  He turned away to face the wall. “The only sensible thing my mother ever did was learn when to keep her mouth shut. Something you’d do well to grasp before you saddle some poor sod, becoming a mother too.”

  Jenny’s heart tore wide open; she was bleeding inside. She rolled over away from him and clicked off the light.

  Pete awoke with the day and Jenny was gone. A note sat beside him on a breakfast tray. ‘On an early. Back later. Try and get some rest.’ Two white tablets lay on the tray next to a glass of water, along with the bottle of antibiotics. There was a jug of milk and some Weetabix and a feeling of emptiness.

  He knew she had been crying in the night. He had recognised the change in her breathing. He’d upset her. What had the poor girl done to deserve this? To deserve him? She was only trying to help, he knew that, but did he actually want to be helped? Nobody had thought to ask him that.

  Pete wolfed down his breakfast, took his pills and looked around the room. His clothes were in a pile on the side, clean and folded and waiting for him. There was nothing to do, so he lay there and wallowed in self-loathing.

  After a while there was a gentle knock at the door. A girl’s face peeped around. “Hi, I’m Chloe. Can I get you anything? Jenny asked me to make sure you were okay.”

  “Could you pass me my clothes, please,” he asked. The girl handed them over. “Are you my guard, to make sure I don’t wander off?”

  “Something like that,” she giggled.

  “I’ll be fine, thanks.”

  Chloe smiled. “Give me a holler if you need anything,” and she disappeared again.

  Pete managed to wiggle into his jeans and pulled on his t-shirt. His ankle was still swollen, so he left off his socks, but he was feeling a bit better in himself. He picked up the pillows and rested back against the bedhead. He looked around the room.

  A small voice inside his head dared him to peek inside a drawer. He fought it, though his curiosity almost got the better of him. Jenny Wren’s bedroom. She was an odd one, with her sensual figure and those seductive grey eyes. He had never seen eyes like those before. Like silver paper on faded denim. He was going to have to concentrate hard to behave around her. He needed to keep his head. He couldn’t risk falling under the spell that she cast. She was dangerous and he knew it.

  But last night. When she had leaned over him in just a nightshirt, her legs quite bare next to his skin. His blood had pumped harder being within a breath of that. But then she had opened her mouth and started probing with questions. Answers he was not willing to give. Damn, the woman hadn’t let it drop. She had driven him to snap at her and left him brooding on guilt. He would be better off away from there. For her sake as well as for his.

  He looked down at the books beside her bed and picked up the one on the top to flick through. Lorna Doone. It looked like a girls’ book, but it was a classic. It might not be too bad. He pulled it up onto his lap and it fell open about halfway through and in it was a picture with a number written on the back. He turned it over and it was… him. At first his mind drew a blank. Jenny had a picture of him in her book? She hadn’t seemed attracted to him. Quite the opposite, in fact. Then, as his mind searched for some way to rationalise it, he realised it was a picture taken in his brother’s back garden. Jim must have given it to her… But why? Maybe she did fancy him? But then whose was the number?

  Pete wiggled his foot. It wasn’t quite as swollen as before, but it still hurt to move. His throat was a little better, not half so painful now, but to his disgust, he still felt incredibly weak. One more night, he thought. Tomorrow he would get himself off home and face the music, alone.

  Jenny returned after lunch and came straight up to see him. “How is the wounded warrior, then?” she asked.

  “Bored,” he said.

  “Obviously getting better, then. How about the ankle?”

  “Hurting.”

  “Your throat?”

  He felt his neck and screwed up his face. “So-so.”

  “Am I going to get anything more than one-word answers today?” she asked and his body responded. He let his gaze travel down the length of her and then slowly back up. His forbidden fruit he had lusted after for so long. She was stronger now. Could he dare to try it? Maybe, if he could shut her up for long enough. He beckoned her in closer with his hand. And she sat down on the side of the bed. Should he be doing this? His brain wasn’t happy, so he turned it to mute. He took hold of her hand and started stro
king the back with the pad of his thumb. She looked into his eyes, a world of uncertainty watching him.

  “Thank you… for finding me,” he murmured and he let his fingertips play gently with the soft delicate skin of her forearm and hand. He could see fire in her eyes, as they widened before him. Her breathing quickened and her cheeks flushed. He hadn’t lost it. He leaned in, pulling her gently to him and-

  “I talked to Anna from occy health today,” she blurted out, pulling back out of his reach and standing up, away.

  Damn! Disappointment and sudden relief swept over him. Then it dawned on him. Wait a minute. What had she said? Pete couldn’t believe it. Bloody meddling woman! “What did you go and do that for?” he snapped. “I’ll ring the hospital when I’m God-damn good and ready! I don’t need you apologising for me.” He tried to stand up, but his weakened response was not having the dominating effect he had reached for and he crumpled back down, swearing. He let out a loud huff of discontent. The tension eased, but he wasn’t happy. “Go on, then. What did you tell them?”

  “I just asked if ‘hypothetically’ I had a person in my care who had been missing for a while from work, how I should go about helping them back? ‘Hypothetically’.” She was looking straight at him now, cautious, but daring him to disapprove.

  He sighed. “Just that?”

  “No. We discussed things, but it was all ‘hypothetical’. I didn’t mention your name once.”

  Like she’d actually have to. Pete doubted there were many other people who worked at St Steven’s who had gone AWOL from work in the past few weeks.

  So the game was up. Half the hospital would know by morning. He rested back against the pillows. “So… What did they say?”

  “You have to ring them, Pete. And you have to be back in work on Monday. It’s been more than two weeks. Any longer and you’ll be out on your ear.”

  He considered this. “Might not be such a bad thing.”

  Jenny’s brow creased. “You are kidding me? After all the work and years you’ve put in? You have to get back in there and finish it, Pete. You have to get this exam done and complete the course. For heaven’s sake, you’re nearly there. You can’t throw it all away over… What the hell is this over, Pete? Because, for the life of me, I still don’t know. You won’t speak to me. You won’t share. You won’t tell me anything. You’ve been given so much in this life. Why do you have to be so ungrateful?”

  Been given so much? What had he been given? He had had to fight for everything he had. Fight and work, and damn hard too. “You may have had a wonderful childhood and cruised on through till now, Jen, but I’m damn sure I didn’t. What do you want from me? Do you want me to spill my guts to you so you can feel like you’ve done your bit? So you can tick me off your list of lost causes? I’ve got nothing and no one and that’s all there’s ever been!” He took a deep breath and stared at the wall, wishing to God she’d just walk away. Just walk off and complain to her friends about the miserable excuse for a man taking root in her bedroom. But she didn’t. She just stood there and looked at him.

  He could see her frame was tense. It might even be shaking. Her eyes were so unreadable; he never knew what was going on inside her head. As for having a crack at her? Hadn’t that just been a peach of an idea? He swore again, under his breath, and looked back at her.

  His gaze sunk to the bed. She should run away, far, far away from him. He didn’t deserve her care, or affection. She should kick him out on his ear for being inexcusably ungrateful, but instead, she quietly walked over and sat down next to him and took hold of his hand. It was a simple, innocent connection, but in that moment, Pete held his breath and felt her warm, loving touch mending him. And all at once he was crying. Tears were flooding down his face and his walls were caving in. He was so tired, so empty and so terribly alone. And she pulled his body against her and held him.

  Chapter 7

  Jenny knew it had been a breakthrough for Pete to sob on her shoulder like that. They hadn’t spoken much more that afternoon, but Jenny stayed with him, trying to cheer him up and waiting till he seemed more comfortable and then she helped him down the stairs for the evening meal. They had watched TV with Heather in the evening and it had all felt very easy. Pete had been a different man: genial and relaxed. She liked it. Too much, in fact. She had to remind herself to be careful. It was important for her to keep her head when she was around him. If he had the slightest idea of the way she wanted him, he’d have her weak, in his power and ticked off his list in a heartbeat. She needed to stay focused. She needed to remember why she was doing this. She was there to help him get back on his feet, to get through his exams and become a consultant. Being knocked off hers was not part of the plan. If she ended up just another notch on his bedpost, she wouldn’t be any use to either of them.

  All thoughts of how good he had felt in her arms, how good he had smelled, had to be put to the back of her mind now. Only her diary would know about those sorts of things. It could be her escape. In the real world, she was going to have to be the bossy, disapproving nurse friend she had to be, because that was who he needed right now. She had a few precious minutes while he got through the bathroom to unburden her soul, so she grabbed them.

  He’s still here, with me, sleeping in my bed, only inches away from me, she wrote. I can sense him next to me in the darkness and am resisting the urge to touch.

  He tried to make a pass at me today, when I got back from work. It was far too close. All I could see were his soft, golden eyes and his mischievous lips. His pale pink, tender lips. Yes, this is going to be hard, but I won’t give in. I can’t.

  Pete walked back in and she let her eyes slip from her hastily opened book to glance at his bare feet. The same feet she’d seen stepping into his brother’s pyjama bottoms last night after his towel had dropped to the floor around them. She felt her cheeks flush and slipped her diary back under her pillow. She looked up.

  Pete sat down on the bed. “What am I doing here?” he asked. His voice was soft and his face looked weary.

  Jenny got up from where she was sitting, on the inflatable bed, and sat down next to him. She put her hand over his. “You're letting someone take care of you, just for a while.”

  He looked at her, his eyes searching hers for answers. “Why?”

  “Because you need to.”

  His gaze fixed firmly on their hands, held together. “But why you, Jen?”

  What did he want her to say? Was he unhappy it was she who’d come to find him? She could hardly tell him the truth, that nobody else cared enough and that she had needed this almost as much as he had. So she told him half of it. “Because I thought you probably needed someone and I was the only one who seemed to have the time to find you. I wanted to. Besides, it’s about time I returned the favour.” She looked at him then and watched as his eyes slowly understood.

  He nodded.

  “How’s your ankle?”

  He wiggled it. “Getting better.”

  “And how are you?” she asked. Her heart was beating quicker now, the familiar nature of their conversation and his proximity both taking their toll.

  He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Don’t get too close to me, Jen. I’m bad news.” Then he tried half-heartedly to lighten the mood. “Look, I’ve already stolen your bed and you have to work in the morning.”

  “You haven’t stolen anything,” she said. “I put you there.”

  “But I’ll take the sleeping bag tonight, anyway. And I’ll get out of your hair in the morning.”

  Jenny looked into his eyes, those warm whirls of golden hay shining in the sun, and fought the urge to kiss him. He was crushed and defeated, but had still spared a thought for her. “If that’s what you want.” Tomorrow she would try and get him to return to his studies, but tonight she would let him just be.

  Snuggling up inside her bed, Jenny was conscious of the scent of him lingering around her. Pete had been lying there; his body had touched those sheets. She turned
her face to the wall and quietly breathed him in. In the black of the night, she rolled her eyes and wondered how she was ever going to get to sleep. But after a while she could hear Pete’s breathing drop to a steady rhythm on the floor and she let herself relax and fade away.

  She was awoken a few hours later by something thrashing and moaning below her. Her heart raced in panic. It was dark; she couldn’t see. Then she remembered: Pete! With a tweak of the curtains, moonlight drifted in and she made out his restless shape on the bed on the floor. He was thrashing about and groaning, still asleep, but obviously distressed. Jenny called to him, softly. “Pete. Pete. Wake up, Pete,” but it did nothing to penetrate his desperate world. He calmed a little and she waited, propped up, to see if he would settle. Suddenly he jumped and started to shake, moaning louder and more terrified. She pulled back a curtain to let in some light, slipped quickly out of bed and crouched down beside him.

  “Pete.” She shook him gently. “Peter. Wake up. Wake up.” And then he opened his eyes and for a long moment they both held their breath while he stared at her, first tortured and then confused. His body was glistening in the light of the moon and she could feel him shaking under her touch. “It’s me, Jenny. You were having a nightmare.” She let go of his arms and, almost afraid, sat back on the bed. But Pete launched himself forward, grabbing onto her, his fingers digging in to her lower back, his face buried in her lap as ragged breathing tore through his chest.

  At first Jenny was startled by the power of his despair; she found herself hesitantly soothing her hand down his back to try and calm him. But with her own senses heightened, she felt the hot caress of his breath seeping through her nightshirt and coiling around her thighs. The feel of his warm, muscular body clinging to her own in such an intimate way was intoxicating. But it was not her body he needed, it was support and comfort, and never had this been harder for her to remember.