by Cathy Lake
‘There’s cranberry juice in the fridge and there’s a water jug.’
When the table was set, she looked around.
‘Where are the dogs?’
‘Probably in the lounge in front of the log burner.’ He pointed at the doorway. ‘Take a look.’
She walked along the short hallway to the door they’d passed on their way in. It was ajar, so she stepped into the room and sighed, because on the hearth in front of the log burner were Scout and Goliath, side by side, completely relaxed after their walk. Clare stood there for a moment gazing at Sam’s furniture – two sofas in a deep green leather, an oak coffee table with a shelf underneath that seemed to be piled with paperwork, a large flat screen TV and four heavy bookcases along the back walls that were stuffed with books, with some of the shelves two-deep with extra books on top. Sam clearly liked to read and her stomach fluttered as she realised that was something they had in common. She would be able to talk to him about books, possibly start a book club now that it seemed that she was staying in the village and perhaps Sam would join.
There was a free-standing lamp behind one sofa with a shade that looked like a stained-glass window in a variety of red tones, and there was another one on a side table next to the other sofa. The room smelt of woodsmoke and vanilla with a hint of dog. It was a warm and comfortable room and Clare wondered what it would be like to sit here on a winter’s evening, curled up on the sofa under the patchwork throw that was folded on one of the seats and to sip wine while watching a movie or reading. The dogs would lie on the rug, the fire would crackle, the wind would howl around outside and she could snuggle up to Sam, all six foot something of him and . . .
Whoa!
What was she thinking? She was definitely getting carried away.
But as she turned and went back to the kitchen, she couldn’t deny that the thought had left her smiling and made her warm right through.
Sam poured the soup into bowls, then carried them to the table. He set them down then paused, wondering if there was anything else he should get. Glancing at the clock on the wall, he suppressed a sigh. He only had about thirty-five minutes left of his break.
‘They’re so cute together.’ Clare was back in the kitchen.
‘Sorry?’
‘The dogs. You were right, they are snuggled in front of the log burner.’
He nodded. ‘Best place to be after a wintery walk.’
‘Your home is lovely.’
‘Thank you.’
‘And I love your bookshelves.’
He laughed. ‘Bit messy, aren’t they? I keep meaning to tidy them up, but then I buy more books and it just adds to the chaos on the shelves.’
‘I love reading too.’
‘Do you?’ He tilted his head. ‘What genre?’
‘Anything really. Romcoms. Thrillers. Historical fiction. I have a broad taste. Like you, by the look of your shelves.’
‘Guilty!’ He held up his hands and laughed.
‘I used to work in a library.’
‘Wow! That must have been fabulous. Did you have early access to all the new books?’
She nodded. ‘There were definite advantages. I didn’t want to leave but the funding was cut and they had to make some of the staff redundant.’
‘That’s a shame. Do you work now?’
‘No, but I’ve got something in the pipeline . . .’
‘That sounds exciting.’
‘It is, but it’s not public knowledge yet.’
He nodded, but he didn’t want her to feel pushed into sharing the details with him.
‘I was a keen horse rider growing up and used to go to Old Oak Stables. I was there the other day and Verity offered me a job.’
‘That’s incredible news. Verity has some beautiful horses there. Did you accept?’
‘I did. Please keep it quiet for now as I need to go and have a proper talk with her about it, but it means I’ll be staying in the village after Christmas.’
He grinned at her, unable to conceal his delight.
‘I’m glad to hear that. Really glad.’ He pulled out a chair at the table. ‘Would you like to sit down?’
‘Please.’ She placed a hand over her belly. ‘I’m quite hungry.’ Then she frowned. ‘I should text Kyle so he knows I won’t be back for lunch. He can let Mum know too.’
‘Of course. I should check in with work anyway.’
They sat opposite each other at the table, both typing on their phones, then when texts were sent, they set their phones down.
‘This smells delicious,’ Clare said as she picked up her spoon. ‘Do you come home for lunch every day?’
‘Most days. It means I can walk Scout at lunchtime in the winter months because it’s usually too dark by the time I finish for the day.’
‘That makes sense.’
They ate in silence for a bit, tearing chunks off the crusty bread, then dipping them in the soup, the only sounds the ticking of the clock and the clinking of spoons against bowls. Occasionally, Sam looked up to find Clare’s gaze on him. It was good to have company, to have another human being close by, even when they weren’t talking. He realised how much he’d missed having human company. Scout was wonderful and he knew he’d always want to have a dog around, but having Clare here was better than he’d imagined it could be.
‘Thank you so much, Sam. That was delicious. I’m afraid I ate it a bit quickly.’
He shook his head. ‘Not at all. I’m really glad you enjoyed it. And don’t forget, we have cakes!’
Her face lit up and he was struck again by her beauty. Her high cheekbones were emphasised when she smiled, and he found the smattering of freckles across her nose very sweet. He could see how she would have looked when she was younger, knew that she would have been stunning in her twenties and thirties. He suspected that she was in her forties now, certainly younger than him, but her beauty was that of a woman who has lived and experienced life, has matured like a fine wine. He smiled inwardly at the cliché, but it was the best way of summing up his thoughts. Clare would certainly have been attractive when she was younger, but he felt sure that she was at her most beautiful right now. She had a calm aura that he found comforting. And that came with maturity, with having been through tough times; it was soothing, far more so than the erratic chaos of youth. Clare was becoming who she was always meant to be and Sam hoped that the same could be said of him. There would always be uncertainties; those shifting beliefs and doubts were what helped a person to grow, and he wanted to have room to grow through the rest of his life. But how incredible would it be to have a woman like Clare by his side to grow old with?
‘I don’t know if Alyssa has told you, but she’s auditioning this evening for the show.’
‘She hasn’t, no, but I did tell her about it and hoped she would. She has a wonderful voice.’
Clare nodded. ‘I’m looking forward to hearing it.’
‘She was in all the school shows growing up.’
‘Your parents must have been so proud.’
He put his spoon down and stared into his bowl at the remaining portion of soup.
‘What is it?’
He met her gaze, saw the concern in her eyes.
‘My . . . our . . . mum passed away not long after Alyssa was born.’
‘I’m sorry. That’s so sad.’ Clare placed a hand on her chest.
‘It’s one of those things in life that I always feel is such a shame. Mum was a lovely woman. She was strict but fair – and always kind.’
‘How old were you when she passed?’
‘Twelve.’
‘That must have been so hard. You really need your mum at that age. Your dad too.’
He nodded. ‘It was a difficult time, but Alyssa was there, a tiny baby, needing me and my dad, so we had to get on with it for her.’
‘That’s what happens, isn’t it?’ Clare gazed out of the window. ‘You keep going, even when it hurts.’
‘I’m sad for A
lyssa that she missed out on having Mum around. Mum would have been a great help after the accident. Dad too.’
‘Alyssa was in an accident?’
He sighed. ‘About ten years ago. It’s how she ended up in a wheelchair. She came off her motorbike; she was overtaking a truck and the driver didn’t see her . . .’ He shifted in his seat. Rarely speaking about that day was one of the ways he coped with it; letting the memories in made him feel as if he was suffocating. And here, in his home, was this lovely woman and he didn’t want to tell her the full truth about that day. She was gazing at him with sympathy, with compassion. If he told her the full story, it might change how she saw him and he would hate to see the shift in her eyes as she realised that he was to blame. It would mean seeing the same emotions he saw in his own eyes every day in the mirror: the blame, the doubt, the shame.
‘I can only imagine.’ Clare sipped her water. ‘It must have been a difficult time.’
‘Very. She went through so much surgery, then years of physio and follow-up appointments.’
‘She certainly doesn’t seem to let her disability get in the way of living.’
‘No. Not now. But she struggled at first, as anyone would. She had to adjust to a different way of living.’
‘Does she have no feeling at all?’
‘Initially she didn’t, but now she has some sensation in her right leg and her waist. It’s what they call partial paraplegia.’
‘She’s lucky to have you.’
‘I don’t know about that.’ He gave a wan smile. ‘Mum and Dad would have been better, but we lost Dad too, sixteen years ago.’
He took a drink of water, wishing the conversation hadn’t gone down this path. The last thing he wanted was to bring Clare down or for her to think he was after sympathy. But he did appreciate how open she was with her questions; she wasn’t afraid to ask, wasn’t tiptoeing around Alyssa’s disability like some people did.
‘What happened to your dad?’
‘He had sickle cell anaemia. He always had it but lived with relatively few symptoms. However, after Mum died, he didn’t look after himself very well and as Alyssa got older and more independent, it was as if he felt that he could let go. He drank a fair bit and didn’t eat very well, and he developed an infection in his lungs and that just got progressively worse. It was a slow deterioration but one he didn’t seem to want to battle. It was as if the fight had all left him.’
‘I’m so sorry, Sam. You’ve had a hard life.’
‘No, I haven’t. It’s been much better than for a lot of people. I mean, when I was a child, we lived in Hackney in a two-bedroom council flat in a tower block. Dad used to sleep on the sofa after Alyssa came along so she could have a room to herself. It was small and there was damp and I doubt that helped with his health issues. Alyssa was eighteen when Dad passed away and by then I’d moved out, so she came to live with me. She was still at college, studying art, and I didn’t want her to quit.’
‘Were you working as a vet then?’
‘Yes. I didn’t go to university until I was twenty-three because I worked to save money to pay for it all, but I’d been qualified for a year when Dad died. I had a flat not far from theirs and it was much better, so it made sense for Alyssa to move in with me.’
‘Have you lived together ever since?’
‘No. Alyssa moved out after six months because she was in a relationship. He was twelve years older than her and . . .’ He gave a wry laugh. ‘I didn’t really approve, but she was legally an adult, so what could I do? They met at a music festival and she fell madly in love and . . . well, that was that. I carried on working, she got on with her life, then things changed when she turned twenty-four and she . . . was in the accident.’
‘Did she move back in with you then?’
‘Yes. I found a ground-floor flat in central London. It wasn’t cheap but we needed to be close to the hospitals and physios.’
‘Where was her partner?’
He shrugged. ‘He wasn’t as loyal as she thought he was.’
‘Goodness, that’s awful.’
‘Sadly, it happens.’
‘It seems to me that Alyssa has been very lucky to have you, Sam. You’re a good man.’
‘I’m not sure she sees it that way.’
‘So how did you come to move to Little Bramble?’
‘I saved and saved. Then a friend told me about the possibility of a partnership with Miranda and I went for it.’
‘Such a brilliant move.’
‘I think so. I bought the house and had the garage adapted and we’ve been here for just over three years. It was a good move to make because it’s such a lovely place to be and it’s been good for Alyssa. She suffered several bouts of depression over the years – to be expected, I guess – but since we’ve been here she’s come through it. She has a job and a new boyfriend so . . . It’s all good.’
‘It sounds like it’s all worked out.’
Sam met Clare’s eyes, saw the warmth and kindness there and it was all he could do not to slide his hand over the table and take hers, to press his lips to her palm and confess everything to her. Letting go of all his concerns, his guilt and his fears would be liberating. He was almost certain that she wouldn’t judge him; she seemed so compassionate and so caring. But it was too much of a risk to take and the thought of losing this new friendship, of overburdening their fledgling relationship with a confession of his darkest secret, would surely be foolish.
‘I guess you could say that.’ He smiled, then stood up and picked up their bowls. There was still some soup in his, but he’d lost his appetite for it. ‘I’ll make some tea, shall I, and we can have our cakes?’
‘Good plan!’
‘Shall we take these through to the lounge?’ Sam asked as he handed Clare a mug of tea.
‘That would be lovely.’ Sam’s kitchen was bright and pleasant but the idea of sitting in that cosy lounge in front of the log burner and next to those exciting bookshelves was very appealing. She was surprised at how much she’d found out about Sam and Alyssa over lunch. It was clear that Sam found it hard to open up about his life and his past, but he also seemed glad to have the chance to talk. Jason had been a closed book for much of their marriage, so knowing that Sam felt he could trust her and talk to her felt good. She sensed that he was holding something back about Alyssa’s accident, but if he wanted to share it, then she would listen. If not, that was fine too.
They sat on the same sofa in the lounge, their knees just a few inches apart. Clare cradled her mug between her palms, making the most of the warmth.
‘Are you OK?’ Sam asked, nodding at her hands.
‘Yes, thanks, but I have found that my fingers get cold easily as I’ve got older. I saw something on TV recently about Raynaud’s disease and wondered if I might have it.’
‘What’s that?’
‘It’s an issue with circulation in cold weather. When my hands get really cold, the tips of my fingers go white.’
He put his mug down on the side table.
‘May I?’ He held out a hand.
‘Of course.’ Clare placed her mug on the coffee table in front of the sofa, then gave him her hand.
When their skin touched, something shot through her and Sam met her gaze. Did he feel it too? He held her hand in his, where it looked small, then he ran his thumb over her palm slowly, gently, in a way that made her whole body tingle. He turned it over and ran his forefingers over the back of her hand, then raised it to examine her fingertips.
‘Your fingers are quite pale and cold, so if we warm them up a bit, it should help. Give me the other one too.’
His hands were warm and strong as they enveloped hers, his thumbs smooth as they ran over her fingers in turn, massaging, warming, bringing heat to Clare’s hands, but also to other parts that made her blush. How could holding hands be so sensual, so powerful?
When was the last time a man had held her hand? Jason certainly hadn’t held he
r hand as they walked, when they lay in bed side by side, or even when she was upset. It was a simple act of physical contact and yet it was so powerful.
When Sam stopped massaging, then held her hands up as if to present them to her, she almost groaned. She didn’t want him to stop; it was too good.
‘You have lovely hands, Clare.’
He pressed his lips to each one and she almost swooned.
‘I’m sorry.’ His eyes widened and he seemed to tense up. ‘I shouldn’t have done that.’
‘No . . . it’s fine. It was lovely.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘The massage and the kisses.’
‘Good. That’s good to know.’
He picked up his tea and the moment was over. Clare swallowed her disappointment, but then perhaps Sam felt awkward; maybe he was shy and it had been a long time since he’d touched or been touched. He’d told her about Alyssa and his past and not once had he mentioned having a partner there supporting him, not once had he referred to a significant other and surely he would have done, had someone been there for him. For all his strength, there was a vulnerability about Sam that made Clare want to hug him tight.
‘I should probably finish my tea then get back to work,’ he said, making her heart sink, even though she knew he was only on a lunch break.
‘Of course.’ She drained her mug, not wanting this moment to end, the thought of not seeing him again for a while leaving her with a dull ache in her chest.
‘Not that it wouldn’t be nice to sit here all afternoon.’ He smiled and she smiled back. He did like being with her.
‘Sam . . .’ Clare adjusted her position on the sofa. ‘Do you have plans this evening?’
‘I don’t.’
‘Would you . . . like to come and see the auditions?’
‘Would that be all right?’
‘I don’t see why not. You can help us decide which acts go through.’
‘I’d like that.’
‘The first audition is at six, so if you can get there for about quarter to?’
‘I’ll be there.’
They stood up and Clare nudged Goliath gently with her foot. He also looked as though he’d have stayed in front of the log burner all afternoon if he’d been allowed, then she put on her coat, hat and gloves.