‘Fine with me – you’re the one who’ll have to do everything,’ she said, with a wry smile and arched eyebrows. Jessica didn’t question why Tiffany had rung Steve as well as her; her friend probably just wanted to double-check with him to see if there was anything she could do, just like Jessica would have done with Todd if the situations were reversed. She swallowed down the sadness. She missed him and their happy little foursome.
‘Who else called?’
‘Someone from the organising committee, and Bob Oakley.’
Jessica shuddered. Bob Oakley had had a crush on her for years and had planted a long, passionate kiss on her lips while offering his congratulations at a comp a little while ago.
‘Oh, and Vanessa and Andrew Birch stopped by. You didn’t hear them?’
‘No. What did they want?’
‘Wanted to know if Prince was for sale. God, the nerve! Vultures! You’ll only be out a few months.’
‘What did you say?’
‘Thanked them for visiting, said he wasn’t for sale and that you were resting. Hope that was okay.’
Jessica stayed silent. Was this a sign she should be thinking about selling? No, that would break her heart.
‘Well, I’d better get cracking if I’m to have something to feed you two lovely ladies. You can come over and settle yourself at the table and keep me company. We’re having shepherd’s pie, and you’re in charge of peeling the potatoes and then mashing them.’
Jessica raised her hand to her head in mock salute before retrieving her crutches and pushing herself up from the couch and onto them. Steve waited and picked up the cushion she’d had her cast resting on, and her almost empty water bottle. Over at the table he dragged the chair out from the end and laid the pillow on it.
‘Come on, you need to keep that leg elevated,’ he said, patting the pillow.
Jessica felt strangely childlike as Steve placed the refilled bottle of water, a chopping board and knife, two bowls – one with potatoes in it and the other water – a peeler, a bottle of hand sanitiser and a roll of paper towel in front of her. She half expected him to wash her hands and clean her face for her and then put a tissue to her nose and tell her to blow. She almost laughed out loud at the thought, but stifled it. She was very lucky he was being so good – plenty of husbands might not have been.
She enjoyed watching Steve expertly making his way around the kitchen. Not that it was a rare sight – he often cooked. The shepherd’s pie, complete with copious amounts of grated cheese on top, was soon in the oven and now Steve leaned against the bench enjoying a long sip of wine and taking a break before tackling the garlic bread while Jessica set the table – well, if that’s what you could call sliding a knife, fork and spoon on a napkin across the table in the general direction of three places.
Jessica had rejected his offer of a glass of the red wine he’d opened. Tiffany was right, it wasn’t wise to mix alcohol with the pain medication, confirmed by the label on the box. She didn’t think her stomach would cope with the acidity anyway; she was already feeling the churning that might lead to diarrhoea. It was hard enough getting to the loo to pee without the added inconvenience of the urgency of that side of things as well. No, she’d be careful to eat plenty and keep her stomach lined. Too bad if she put on a few kilos; she’d soon lose them when she got back in the saddle.
Jessica had always been lean, but well covered. Her long legs looked good in jodhpurs and distracted from the bit of a pot belly that had always been her nemesis, but which she’d learnt to live with thanks to Steve’s regular assurances that he loved her just the way she was. It had become an on-going joke between them since they’d watched Bridget Jones’s Diary together. Steve had never meant to make her laugh the first time he said it, and was confused when she did. She’d had to explain the Bridget Jones reference, but he didn’t fully get it until she made him watch the movie soon after. Now whenever he said the words, he did a fine Colin Firth impression. While it was a joke between them, Jessica had no doubts that Steve meant every word of what he said. That was another of the things she loved about him – he was real.
‘What?’ Steve said, catching her smiling over at him.
‘Nothing, just thinking how cute you look in that pinny and how sexy your command of the kitchen is.’ He’d grabbed the first apron in the top of the drawer, which happened to be a frilly, flowery one Jessica had been given by her mother as a gift at her bridal shower. He grabbed the bottom of his apron and held it between his thumbs and forefingers, and curtsied. Jessica chuckled and was looking around for something safe to throw at him when there was a friendly double toot of a car horn and headlights flashed across the window.
‘Here, you can do the garlic bread for being so cheeky,’ Steve said, bringing over everything she’d need. He kissed her on the top of her head before continuing to the door, wiping his hands on his apron.
Jessica paused in her chopping of garlic and grinned, hearing Tiffany tease Steve about his apron. She pictured him doing another curtsy. She turned to see Tiffany slap playfully at his arm as she let out a hearty laugh.
‘Very good,’ Tiffany said. ‘And what’s this – dogs in the house? Steve, you’re turning soft in your old age.’ She paused to ruffle the ears of the dogs now standing beside her.
‘Guilty as charged,’ Steve said cheerfully.
They’d always got on well and, like Steve had commented only a few days ago, Tiffany hadn’t lost her sense of humour despite losing Todd. Jessica thought that was more about her friend faking it until she made it, though; there was a tightness behind the smile that didn’t totally include her eyes. Men didn’t tend to be as observant as women with these things, she thought, but Steve was often the exception. Sometimes Jessica wondered if he’d seen Tiffany’s pain too, and was playing along.
‘Some prescription drugs and books and magazines for you, oh injured one,’ Tiffany said, dumping her armful and handbag at the end of the table. ‘Nothing like a bit of A-list gossip to keep you going.’ She wrapped Jessica in her arms from behind and leant around to kiss her on the cheek. ‘Looks like someone’s got a slave,’ she said, nodding at the makings of garlic bread.
‘Tiffany, let me introduce my sous chef,’ Steve said, sweeping his arm in Jessica’s direction after placing a round pie plate with plastic tub of cream on top onto the bench.
‘Thanks so much for coming,’ Jessica said, holding onto her friend’s arms. ‘And for all the goodies.’ Jessica tried not to drool at the thought of more Panadeine Forte. She liked the snuggly feeling it gave her – aside from the pain relief – and was probably getting a little too attached already.
‘Are you kidding? As if I’m going to pass up free food – not to mention seeing Steve in his frilly pinny,’ Tiffany said with another laugh. But Jessica could read the subtext: anything was better than sitting around in her tiny, drab rental on her own.
‘You’re always welcome when you bring apple pie and double cream,’ Steve said.
‘You shouldn’t have,’ Jessica said in a serious, scolding tone. She knew how tight Tiffany was doing it financially and how desperately she didn’t want to have to call on her parents. They had insisted on loaning her a few thousand for the deposit on the rental, and to help with removal costs. Jessica had urged her friend to accept it – pointing out that the offer was as much about them as it was about her; helping was what parents did. Tiffany had compromised by accepting the money as a loan, rather than the originally offered gift.
‘So how was the trial run?’ Jessica asked as Tiffany pulled a chair out and sat down.
‘Great. I know it’s nothing flash but, you know, I think I’m really going to like it there – and not just because of the staff discount. The people seem really nice and it’s a lot more interesting than I thought it would be.’
‘That’s great.’
‘What’s this about a new job?’ Steve asked, taking the finished, foil-wrapped garlic bread to the oven. ‘Why didn’t I know about it?
’
‘I’ve got a few days at Millers’ Fodder.’
‘That’s great. Well done, you,’ he said, giving her a hug.
‘Well, it’s just three days for now, and the money’s nothing to crow about, but it’s a start,’ she said with a shrug.
‘I’ll drink to that,’ Steve said, pouring Tiffany a glass of wine and handing it to her.
‘Thanks,’ she said.
Tiffany and Steve raised their wine glasses and Jessica her water tumbler, and they clinked glasses as Steve gave a toast in his lovely, deep, velvety voice.
‘To good friends,’ he declared.
‘Yes, to good friends,’ Tiffany and Jessica responded. And absent ones, Jessica silently added.
‘So what’s the story with the dogs being inside?’ Tiffany had taken a few sips of wine, put her glass down, and was now looking at the dogs snoozing on the floor.
‘No idea,’ Steve and Jessica said at once, and then broke into laughter.
‘They took pity on Jess,’ Steve said.
‘And advantage of Steve while he was looking after me.’
‘Well, aren’t you just full of surprises?’ Tiffany smiled warmly at Steve and then Jessica. Jessica winced, recognising the pain behind the smile. She really hoped it wouldn’t be too long before a nice man would arrive and sweep their kind and generous friend off her feet.
They enjoyed a meal filled with light small talk and compliments to Steve for the lovely food, and then Tiffany for the scrumptious apple pie. And after Tiffany and Steve had cleared the table and stacked the dishwasher, Tiffany announced she had better go home and get an early night. When Jessica’s eyes glanced at the kitchen clock she was both surprised and pleased to see it was only eight thirty – it felt more like ten thirty. She was relieved – she was fading fast and still had to have a shower and deal with keeping the cast dry while doing so.
Jessica loved showering at night to unwind, and then climbing into bed feeling fresh, relaxed and warm. But not tonight, thanks to having to wrap her leg with a garbage bag sealed with gaffer tape and sit on a cold plastic chair under the water. Peeling off the wet tape and plastic bag afterwards and carefully getting back to bed on her crutches was a struggle and she got into bed feeling clean, but certainly not relaxed.
She snuggled up to Steve for a moment, feeling the urge to take it further. They kissed passionately, adopted a closer position so the lengths of their bodies were touching. She felt him harden against her, but, as he tried to pull her on top of him, the weight and rigidity of her cast reminded her that things were far from normal. She did not feel sexy with the foreign object that was her purple fibreglass cast between them.
And now the moment was lost. Steve seemed to sense it too, because he stopped manhandling her, held her tightly for a moment, and then kissed her on the nose.
‘Sorry,’ she murmured into his chest.
‘Don’t be. It’s not your fault.’
‘It’s not exactly sexy,’ she said, rolling off of him.
‘No, it’s not, but you are. Anyway, I am pretty knackered. Not sure what I did all day, but I’m exhausted.’
‘Hmm. Thanks for everything.’
‘My pleasure, sweetie. I’ll be doing it all again tomorrow and the day after that,’ he said, rolling over to face her and smiling warmly.
The thought that she could be possibly the luckiest woman in the world brought on a rush of emotion.
‘Well, goodnight then,’ she said, giving him a quick kiss and rolling over to turn off her bedside lamp.
‘Goodnight, you two,’ she said, peering over at Laurel and Hardy, who were on the floor at the end of the bed where Steve had laid out a few old but clean saddle cloths for them. Softy, she thought, smiling to herself. The dogs looked up at her with hearty grins and flapped their tails a few times before settling back down again. She clicked off the light and lay down. They had plugged a nightlight into the power point by the bathroom door so there was a soft glow lighting Jessica’s side of the room.
It seemed to take an age for her to get comfortable. She was normally a side sleeper, but with the cast neither side was comfortable. She lay on her back for a while so as not to disturb Steve. He’d never grumble about her keeping him awake with her thrashing about, but she knew if she didn’t lie still he would be disturbed. She felt bad enough about all he had to do now she was incapacitated, without ruining his sleep as well.
She was exhausted and desperate for sleep, but didn’t at all feel actually sleepy. The little snooze that afternoon had probably ruined her sleep pattern, though that should have made up for the sleepless night before in the hospital. It was so nice to smell her gardenia room scent, rather than the chemical clean scent of the hospital room.
Try to sleep on your back, she silently told herself. It did feel more comfortable than either side had felt, but she’d never fallen asleep on her back before, even after too much wine. She realised she still had her eyes open and closed them.
The sound of the dogs and Steve breathing and the far off swoosh of trees suddenly all sounded much too loud. She tried to put everything out of her mind by starting to count back from three hundred in lots of three. It was what Oprah’s sleep guru recommended; she remembered reading it in one of the magazines she’d flicked through ages ago at the hairdresser. It took quite a bit of concentration – that, apparently, was the point: it stilled the busy brain from churning through the distractions and worries of life. Jessica wondered if it would work. She’d never really been troubled by poor sleep – just the odd night here and there tossing and turning before competitions.
As she counted down, got lost, found her spot again, and carried on, she could feel herself relaxing and gradually becoming sleepy. Every time she thought about the following day and the next six weeks, and how she could occupy herself, she’d stop and go back to the counting. What she needed was a good night’s sleep, things would be better in the morning. It was something her dear mother used to say often, before she lost her fight with leukaemia. Theresa Collins had managed to stay positive to the end and, while that had been better than seeing her mope about and sitting in floods of tears, it meant that when the end actually came, Jessica had been stunned.
She hadn’t believed for a second that her mum would actually die, despite hearing the doctors’ increasingly poor prognoses, and watching her mother’s gradual decline. She was utterly convinced that those in the know had it all wrong and her mum would prove it.
Afterwards, Jessica spent months in a shocked daze. Not even writing the eulogy and giving it, or watching the expensive polished box being lowered into the ground made her fully accept her mother wasn’t going to be there to plait up her horses for the next event. That had always been Theresa’s part in what was a true family activity. She’d never ridden, but was there with the hose and shampoo, comb and scissors, needle and thread, the hoof black. The reputation Jessica had gained for always turning out her horses impeccably had been solely down to her mum. She did okay herself, but there was a distinct difference in the quality of her horses’ presentation during Theresa Collins’ reign and after her death.
It was getting ready for the first event after her mother’s death that had really brought her loss home to Jessica. She wasn’t sure why, when she’d been doing the horses herself for the last twelve months because Theresa hadn’t had the energy and was more often in hospital than not. But that evening, about two weeks after her mother’s funeral, Jessica had stood on the bucket with Prince’s mane divided ready to plait and, instead of continuing, laid her head on his neck and sobbed for ages. She’d briefly considered scratching from the event, but the thought of disappointing her father made her carry on as if on autopilot. Afterwards, the whole day was a blur.
Jessica felt a wave of loneliness engulf her. It was so strong that it took her breath away and caused her to gulp a couple of times. Tears filled her eyes. Oh, she missed her parents.
God, she needed to pull herself together –
she was just overtired and emotional. They were gone, end of story. Blubbering about it wouldn’t bring them back. Her father would be the first one to say that – in fact had, on more than one occasion since losing his wife.
She forced her mind back to her counting, feeling her forehead pucker into a frown as she concentrated on trying to remember the last number.
Chapter Six
Jessica fought against the weight on her shoulders pinning her down. She tried to get up, but something was stopping her. Someone was calling her name and the sound was fuzzy, muffled. Her eyes flew open of their own accord. She blinked, trying to take in the scene. Steve was practically on top of her. He had a hand on each of her shoulders. She looked up at him, fear and confusion furrowing her brow.
‘You had a nightmare. You were thrashing all over the place. For a moment I thought you were having some kind of seizure,’ he said, letting go of her, moving back to his side of the bed and sitting up. ‘You scared the shit out of me.’ He rubbed his face. In the glow from the nightlight and clock radio she could see the creases of worry.
She took a few deep breaths in an effort to ease her racing heart. Remnants of the dream started seeping into her consciousness. She’d been drowning, pinned underneath Prince in the water jump. She was wet with sweat and sitting up now with the covers away from her chest she felt a chill sweep through her. She shuddered.
‘Are you okay?’
‘Yeah,’ she said, nodding. ‘Like you said, just a bit of a nightmare. Probably the painkillers messing with me.’
‘Do you want to talk about it?’
‘Not much to tell; I don’t even remember what it was about,’ she lied. She didn’t want Steve to worry. No point causing him extra worry for no reason. Her whole world had been shaken up, there was bound to be a few sleepless nights and weird dreams. Though she felt a niggle inside her that suggested this was a lot more serious than a weird dream brought on by medication. She forced it down, telling herself firmly that she would stop the painkillers and then worry about it if that didn’t work. She looked around the room to try to fully shake the dream and the panic still coursing through her in the hope she might go back to sleep, and noticed the dogs sitting to attention beside the bed, looking up at her full of concern.
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