‘Hello, Lola, it’s Dr Will here,’ he says seriously. ‘I have your test results.’
It’s strange, hearing him call himself Dr Will, when I’ve been calling him that in my head. It’s even stranger that he has results for a test I didn’t know I’d had. My heart is in my mouth.
‘Oh?’
‘Yes, it turns out, you need to have dinner with me tonight,’ he says, in the same serious doctor tone.
My God, he’s smooth.
‘Oh do I now?’ I ask.
‘You do,’ he replies. ‘I have a very specific treatment plan for you. It’s going to take just the right prescription. So, if you’d like to come over to my house for dinner, I can pick you up, feed you, return you home safe …’
I hesitate for a moment.
‘Trust me, I’m a doctor,’ he adds playfully.
‘OK, sure,’ I reply. ‘That would be wonderful.’
Well, it will do me good to get out of the house, and hang out with an adult, and, come on, it’s Will. I can’t deny that I have a crush on him, a crush that is slowly but surely creeping in.
As soon as I’m off the phone I decide I can put off cancelling my trip until tomorrow, because now I need to get ready for tonight. I’ve got a hot date with a doctor, and I need to look my best.
Chapter 16
My mum has always had this thing about wearing clean knickers, in case she gets injured and someone needs to call an ambulance. She wouldn’t dream of popping out to the shop without clean pants on, just in case she’s hit by a car and taken to a hospital where a doctor refuses to save her life, just because it just so happened to be that day when she popped to the shops in her tracksuit without her knickers on. To be honest, I think it’s more the embarrassment factor she’s worried about, but I always tell her that, in an emergency like that, her knickers will be the last thing she’s thinking about. That said, I do remember once, when I was high school age, my dad threw his back out and it was so bad he couldn’t get out of his bed. My mum called an ambulance for him, before going on to vacuum the hallway and the bedroom as she waited for the medics to arrive.
Thankfully I had the foresight to know I would be seeing a doctor tonight, and while I highly doubt he’ll be seeing my knickers, I did do a lot of prep work. It wasn’t my usual prep for dinner with a handsome man – for starters, I don’t usually need my mum to give me a shower and wash my hair before helping me into my clothes. I still don’t have any smart clothes with me but I was unwilling to wear my mum’s impossibly Eighties skirt again. I did bring a T-shirt dress that is kind of smart, so I’m wearing that. Well, it’s only dinner at Will’s place and, given how much sympathy he has for my situation, I didn’t think he’d mind what I was wearing – anything other than the pair of black leggings my mum has cut one leg off is me making an effort under current circumstances.
Just like he said he would, and much to my mum’s delight, Will came to the B & B to pick me up. He promised my mum that I wouldn’t be back late, but I’ve taken a key, just in case, because I had a horrible feeling my dad would probably forget I was out, lock the door and the two of them would head up to bed in the lighthouse, where you can’t hear anything, and completely forget I was even staying with them.
Will doesn’t live on Hope Island; he lives on the mainland. After picking me up and driving me to his cute little Marram Bay cottage, he wheeled me into his living room where he had set the table at his coffee table, in front of the sofa, telling me that he just wanted me to be comfortable. He served me non-alcoholic wine, because unfortunately I can’t drink on my painkillers – although I am very, very grateful for them – and the most delicious homemade lasagne I have ever had in my life. It was packed full of salmon, green vegetables and a whole lot of cheese – all ingredients that he assured me were rich in calcium and good for broken bones. I think he was joking, although there is probably some truth in there, unlike my mum, trying to feed me carrots.
We’ve enjoyed a lovely dinner, an amazing cheesecake for dessert, and we’ve just been catching up and reminiscing about old times. Now I’m telling him all about my mum’s little stunt.
‘She must be so proud of you,’ Will says as he tops up my glass. ‘And she must be so proud of what you do too.’
‘I mean, I’m sure she’d much rather I were a doctor,’ I reply. ‘You save lives; I find boyfriends for girl bands.’
Will throws his head back as he laughs. He looks so good this evening. His dirty blond locks are neat as ever, his jeans are pristine and his black jumper looks so soft and inviting, I want to run my hands all over it … although that might just be because of the person who is wearing it.
‘Do you have a good class?’ he asks.
‘They are an interesting bunch, that’s for sure,’ I reply. ‘I’m not sure if I’m supposed to keep their information confidential – the rules aren’t as clear cut in the dating game as they are in medicine. Some are divorced; some are just plain single. Some are definitely complicated. We have one girl who has a boyfriend, sounds like he’s messing her around though. I can relate, so I feel so sorry for her. But, yes, it’s a very mixed group, ranging from their early twenties to their mid seventies – so if you’re after a younger or older woman …’
‘I don’t have much time for younger women,’ he says. ‘I like a woman who knows who she is, what she wants, how she’s going to get it … and as for mid seventies, I’m not sure she’d have much time for me.’
My jaw drops.
‘Oh, gosh, no, not like that,’ he insists. ‘What I mean to say is that … I get to meet a lot of elderly ladies at work, and they all have such hectic social lives.’
‘To be honest, I was kind of amazed that my lady was on the hunt for a man, but good on her. I hope I’m still hungry for love at her age. I think the only thing I’m hungry for now is more cheesecake,’ I joke.
‘Then I shall get you some,’ Will replies with a smile.
He hops to his feet and heads over the kitchen area of his open-plan living space. Will lives in a lovely little cottage on a quiet country lane, not too far from where we went to primary school together, but with the school cloaked by tall trees, the only thing you can see for miles is the ultra trendy Westwood Farm, up on the hill. That’s the one thing about Marram Bay I am still in the loop with, because the trendy fruity ciders they make are huge all over the country. Everyone is drinking them in London and I can never quite believe they came from my tiny hometown.
Will’s cottage might look traditional on the outside, but inside it’s a little more modern. It’s minimalist, in that way young, single men appreciate. Sort of pristine and simplistic, not too many soft furnishings, absolutely zero knick-knacks or ornaments. A house doesn’t quite look like a home without a woman’s touch, does it? It’s clean and clinical, like a doctor’s surgery, but instead of magazines he just has the one coffee table book. It’s called Anatomy – I think I’ll give it a miss.
‘Should a doctor be signing off on second dessert?’ I ask.
‘Probably not,’ he replies. ‘But I’m keeping a close eye on you.’
After I take down a second piece of cheesecake, pacing myself enough to make it look like this isn’t something I can do with ease, Will clears the table, makes us a couple of coffees and we continue to chat. I can’t believe my dorky little friend Will is this grown man sitting in front of me – a grown man who saves lives and makes lasagne. He’s an absolute dream.
‘Oh, crap,’ Will says suddenly, jumping to his feet. ‘The causeway, it closed over an hour ago.’
‘Oh,’ I reply.
It’s quite late in the evening now. The plan was to get me home in time for the final crossing, with enough time for Will to make it back over to his side again.
‘I just completely lost track of time,’ he says, sitting back down next to me. ‘It never ceases to amaze me, how people can live with the causeway all their lives, and still mess up crossing the road before the tide comes in. I’m so sorry.�
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‘I wasn’t even looking at the time,’ I insist. ‘It’s easy done.’
‘We’re looking at, what, maybe two to three hours before it opens up again? It will be the early hours of the morning then …’
‘Well, I have my key,’ I say. ‘No one is waiting up for me. Don’t worry about it.’
‘You could always sleep here,’ he suggests.
‘Sleep on your sofa instead of mine,’ I laugh.
‘Actually, I thought maybe you could sleep in my bed,’ he suggests. ‘With me.’
‘Oh,’ I reply, a little taken aback. ‘It’s been a while. Since I slept in a proper bed, I mean.’
Wow, if I were any less smooth right now, the hand Will is stroking my bare knee with would be bleeding.
Will leans towards me slowly and takes my chin between his thumb and index finger before kissing me. It has all the makings of a slow and gentle smooch, but the second Will’s lips touch mine it turns frantic, passionate, like he’s trying to eat me alive. I suppose this is what happens, when you have a crush on someone for years and they finally reciprocate.
When I was with Patrick I thought that things were great, but then it turned out to be a completely superficial relationship, which I was far more invested in than he was. I’m angry and upset with him but, as far as I’m concerned, good riddance to bad rubbish. Will, on the other hand, takes care of people. I’ve known him since I was a kid, back when he was chubby and dorky. Will isn’t superficial at all – exactly the kind of man a girl should be with. Still, this does feel a little bit fast.
We kiss for a few seconds. Perhaps it’s just a case of waiting for it to feel right – it’s always weird when you kiss someone for the first time, isn’t it?
‘Shall we go upstairs?’ Will asks after finally coming up for air.
I’ve never really been a one-night stand kind of girl. Perhaps it is because I’ve always gone for the wrong guys, but I’ve always been a romantic with a five-date (minimum) rule, which means I get to know a guy before he breaks my heart.
‘Oh …’
It’s not that I’m not a sexual person because, once I take that leap with someone, I know what I’m good at and I know what I like. It might have taken a few of my younger years filled with awkward encounters to figure it out, but now that I’m into my thirties, I feel like I have my sex life all figured out – when it’s active, at least. Perhaps I just feel so awkward because I’m worried it’s too soon, and I feel a little vulnerable because of my leg. Well, not only is it still so painful, but my cast is so heavy, it’s like having a weight strapped to it, stopping me from moving off the stop without assistance.
Will scoops me up in his arms, carefully but passionately.
The tug of gravity on my leg is excruciating.
‘Ow, ow, ow,’ I can’t help but cry out.
‘Oh, sorry,’ he says. ‘Do you want to lie down?’
‘Help me to the sofa,’ I say quickly.
Will places me down. I wiggle back a little, quickly trying to find a comfortable spot to ease the pressure building up in my leg.
I look over at Will, who is unbuttoning his shirt.
It isn’t just my leg that feels pressure.
‘Wait, stop, sorry,’ I insist. ‘This is just … I can’t do this, sorry. I think I just need more time, to get my head straight, and obviously I can’t get my leg straight. It’s really, really hurting me.’
‘Well, I could give you some stronger painkillers,’ he jokes. ‘But they would only make you drowsy, and then we’re into something completely different …’
I laugh. ‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘It’s not that I don’t like you …’
‘I know, I know,’ he assures me.
He seems understanding, but things feel really awkward now.
‘Perhaps I will go home,’ I say. ‘Soon as the causeway is open.’
‘Sure,’ he replies. ‘We’ll probably need to set off soon anyway, by the time we get sorted, get you outside, drive there …’
Oh, God, he wants to get rid of me. It takes a while to get me sorted and moved around, but it doesn’t take that long. He wants to get rid of me as much as I want to wheel out of here screaming.
‘OK, great, thanks,’ I say. ‘Thanks for dinner.’
‘Yeah, no, you’re welcome,’ he babbles.
We both sit in silence for a second.
‘Sorry, I’m going to need you to help back into my wheelchair,’ I say.
‘Yeah, of course,’ he replies.
Will picks me up, only this time it’s less like a sexy fireman carrying a damsel in distress out of a burning building, and more like a Mafioso dragging a dead body towards a deep, freshly dug hole.
Maybe I’ll be maintaining my five-date rule after all. That is, if Will ever wants to see me again.
Chapter 17
After an awkward goodbye peck with Will, I insist he abandon me outside the lighthouse, so that I can make my own way in. I highly doubt our voices would wake up my mum and dad, who I absolutely don’t want to hear me creeping in at nearly 3 a.m., but I also didn’t want to prolong the goodbye, which I knew would be awkward.
I wheel myself towards the lighthouse door, which is easy enough, put in my key, quietly open the door, and wheel myself inside. I’m getting a bit better in my chair now. My arms are maybe getting a little stronger, or maybe I just have more of an understanding of spatial awareness. After a little manoeuvring I close the door behind me and, smug in my execution of this mini mission impossible, I go to flick on the lights. Not only has it been a long time since I stayed out too late and needed to sneak back in, but I never had to do it in a wheelchair when I was younger. I feel so proud of myself.
I reverse a little, wheel myself towards the sofa, only to realise someone is sitting on it.
I scream.
‘Quiet, quiet, you’ll wake your dad,’ my mum insists.
‘Sorry,’ I say breathlessly. ‘You scared the sh … hell out of me.’
‘Sorry, I just, I thought you’d be back by now and I can’t sleep, so I thought I’d come for a chat, if you were awake.’
My mum helps me out of my chair and onto the sofa.
‘I’ll grab us some tea,’ she says, tightening her dressing down before dashing off to the kitchen.
While she’s in there I reach for the face wipes on my bedside table (it’s the coffee table) and begin to remove my make-up, and any traces of Will that might still be left on my face. I can still taste him and smell his aftershave on my face and I’m worried that, if my mum notices, she’ll be onto me in seconds. The last thing I need is an interrogation right now, and I absolutely don’t want to debrief with my mum, on my inability to have sex tonight. Anyway, what’s worrying me even more is why my mum can’t sleep. Something doesn’t seem quite right with her at the moment. She seems even more highly strung than usual, she’s interfering more, and now she’s not sleeping, which isn’t like her at all.
Mum returns with two cups of tea, which she places on the coffee table.
‘Shift up,’ she demands, squashing her bum onto the sofa with me. ‘Look at you, creeping home in the early hours, thinking you can sneak in because you’re sleeping down here.’ My mother clicks her tongue.
‘Mum, I thought you were asleep in your bed. I wasn’t going to call and wake you up,’ I say in my defence. ‘I didn’t intend to be this late, but we missed the causeway.’
‘Was it a good evening?’ she asks me.
‘The food was really nice,’ I say. ‘And we had a good catch-up.’
‘I’m sure you did,’ my mum says knowingly. ‘Will seems lovely, just, you know, don’t rush into anything.’
‘Oh, God, this is reminding my of my first week of uni when you sent me a Facebook message, asking me if I was on the pill.’
‘I care,’ my mum insists. ‘Is that a crime?’
‘It’s not criminal, it’s just awkward,’ I tell her.
‘Well, university is no time to w
ind up knocked up,’ she points out. ‘And I hope you’re on it now.’
I laugh as I reach for my tea.
‘Contraception is important. You’re currently jobless and living with your father and I – we couldn’t afford to keep you and a baby.’
I laugh in disbelief.
‘Mum, if I gave you the impression that I was going out with the intention of getting pregnant tonight – or ever – then I think we may have got our wires crossed. And I’m not living here, and I’m only temporarily off work. And I have lots to do anyway because you’ve roped me into enough freelance work …’
‘I wouldn’t be surprised if you focused so much on other people’s relationships, that you neglected your own,’ she muses.
‘Just worry about your own relationship,’ I insist. ‘Don’t worry about mine.’
‘Why do you say that?’ she asks quickly. ‘Do you think I have anything to worry about?’
‘What? No,’ I insist. ‘Of course not, I just mean don’t worry about me. Is everything OK? Why can’t you sleep?’
I might not be asking her if she’s on the pill, but suddenly it’s me interrogating my mum.
‘What are you two doing up?’ my dad interrupts us.
I glance towards the bottom of the stairs where Dad is standing in an impossibly tight pair of boxer shorts, the trendy kind usually only worn by young men.
‘Oh, God, Dad,’ I say as I bring my hand up in front of me to shield my eyes from his body – specifically his lower half.
‘What?’ he asks.
‘I don’t want to see my pensioner dad’s underpants,’ I say.
At this my dad looks truly offended. I was only teasing him.
‘I’m not a bloody pensioner yet,’ he insists. ‘I still look like a man in his fifties. I’m only fifty-nine.’
My dad points out his age to me, like I don’t know.
‘You look like my dad in his underpants,’ I reply uncomfortably. ‘Come on. Sorry, Dad. It’s just those pants.’
‘I’m in great shape, look,’ he insists, tugging on the waistband of his boxers, stretching them out like he’s the slimmer of the week at one of the various ‘fat clubs’ we’re hosting here at the moment (well, that’s what my mum calls them at least). ‘Massive on me. I’m in really good shape, for someone you consider an OAP.’
Make or Break at the Lighthouse B & B Page 10