by Georgia Rose
“I know you can’t drink at the moment but I asked them to put in this bottle of non-alcoholic wine I thought you might like. Do you want to try some? We can pretend it’s the real thing.”
“Yes please, although I do have red wine if you want to help yourself. There’s no reason you shouldn’t have a drink.”
“I thought I’d join you…show support for the invalid,” he smiled. The wine tasted good and the food, delicious. As we ate we chatted and I asked Trent if he had any family locally.
“I don’t have any family left at all actually,” he replied. “I was a late surprise for my parents, an only child, and they both died a few years ago so now it’s just me.”
“That’s a shame.”
“Yes it is, but I had my parents’ love and support until I was more than grown up. Losing your parents at the age you lost yours is what’s really hard…Sorry…that was a bit tactless,” he finished, a little uncomfortably as he realised what he had said.
“It’s fine, it’s not something I think about that often.”
He was quiet, contemplating me for a moment before continuing. “As it’s my turn to ask the questions this evening, I’ll carry on with this line, if you don’t mind?”
“I don’t mind, ask whatever you like. I’ll soon tell you if you’ve gone too far.”
“Okay then…do you know how your parents died?” Nothing like getting right to the heart of a subject, I thought.
“Yes, I was told they died in a car accident. I’ve assumed as I’m still here and have no memory of the accident I wasn’t in the car with them.”
“Do you have many memories of your parents?” This was something I’d always found difficult.
“None actually,” I replied. “I can’t remember anything about them at all. Unfortunately, I don’t have any photos either. My first memories are of one of the foster families I lived with.”
“What was that like?”
“It was fine; it was all I knew so I had to get on with it. Mind you, I said foster families but I never actually lived in a family, I had a series of foster parents with no other children around.”
“Isn’t that a little odd? I’d thought of fostering as something people with families did.”
“Like I said, I knew nothing else, so it was the norm for me. It was only at my last school that I came across someone else in my position for the first time. One of the girls there was fostered with a family in a nearby town and I only realised then how different our experiences were. It sounded to me like she had a poorer upbringing but a more stable one with a proper family around her. I’d never had any other children to live with and never stayed anywhere long enough to feel settled anyway, moving on every two or three years.”
“Why was that?” He seemed genuinely interested, which made me want to give him the unvarnished version.
“I’m not sure, but I’d become very close to my first foster parents, as you can probably imagine. I found myself alone and I remember being frightened but I was moved on within a couple of years which I found very hard. I wasn’t expecting it and wasn’t prepared for it at all so from then on I didn’t get close to any of them, not wanting to feel like that again. I realised they only had me because they were paid to, so I became independent very young, and I was also quite stubborn so I’ve always assumed it was because I was a bit of a difficult child.”
His face lit up at this. “Surely not! You…difficult…I find that hard to believe.”
“Very funny.” I couldn’t help smiling back at his obvious delight in being able to latch onto this early description of my familiar behaviour. “I guess you’ll be pleased to know that you’re not the only person in my life I’ve been difficult with. As it turns out you’re nothing special.” Ouch…that was a bit harsh.
“Thanks for the reminder,” he replied soberly, his eyes never leaving mine, before continuing with his questions. “Did you ever look at being adopted? I don’t know how the system works but presumably someone has to instigate the process.”
“I do remember asking a couple of times and was told I was on the adoption register but nothing ever came of it. I assumed it was because I was an older child – most people want to adopt a baby so older children are harder to place and it never happened for me.”
“What did you do after the foster care ended?”
“Before I had to leave care I was already with Alex so we got married at eighteen and I went straight from one to the other. We were able to buy a house because I’d been left an inheritance from my parents’ estate.”
“That was very young to get married.”
“Yes, and as it turns out quite foolish,” I replied sadly, then smiling weakly at him, I thought I’d turn his question back onto him: “When did you and Zoe marry?”
“Early twenties, quite foolish too,” he replied, and hesitating he looked away for a moment before looking back at me, adding, “He hurt you badly, didn’t he?”
“Yes, he did,” I muttered, before adding in a falsely bright tone, “but now you have gone too far. I suggest we agree not to talk about our failed marriages or before long we’ll be wallowing in our mutual misery.”
“Okay, agreed.” He filled up our glasses and moved onto safer territory, teasing me about my rather singular film tastes.
“Actually, I have a confession to make – I do have a drawer full of other films, old black and whites, love stories and yes, romcoms, but as I haven’t been in the mood for watching anything like that for some considerable time I tend to stick to the ones you see on the shelf. However, if you do prefer something soppy, as you’re my guest, and as I’m always happy to oblige as you know, you can choose from the wider selection should you so desire.”
“Hmm…I’m not sure I want you thinking I’m soppy,” he teased. “Think we’ll finish the trilogy we started.” He got up to clear away dinner and I watched him wash up while I dried, enjoying being near him, able to observe him while he was otherwise occupied, and when he’d finished he went to set up the film for us.
Afterwards he ran a bath for me and we went through the same routine as the previous evening. Except the difference being that I was finding it harder and harder to be in his presence. I kept telling myself I didn’t want this but could almost feel the charge between us crackling, and while I felt all mixed up inside, he appeared completely unaware of it, and was his usual calm and composed self.
I decided when I eventually got to bed and he’d gone to his room that it would all be fine once he left the next day; things could go back to normal and I wouldn’t be so affected once his constant presence was removed from my home. However, I had that night to get through and although I was tired I couldn’t get to sleep for ages, and once sleep came it was restless, my dreams confused, vivid and overwhelming; dreams of him.
Chapter 15
I woke up already tired and feeling fractious the next morning. Trent appeared with breakfast, got me comfortable, put the tray down then sat on the bed again, so close.
“You look a little tired this morning,” he commented.
“I didn’t sleep well.”
“Perhaps you can have a nap later on to catch up.”
“Yeah, maybe,” I said, and I started on breakfast, though already horribly aware of his presence had difficulty managing even one piece of toast.
“Sorry, I don’t know what’s happened to my appetite,” and I handed him the other piece, which he dispatched without any problems. I shooed him out of my room so I could get showered and dressed and have some time to pull myself together.
Trent was watching the news when I went down and was going to shower so I walked over to the yard for a short while. Carlton also commented on my tired appearance, which didn’t help my mood. Everything was calm at the stables so I went back in and made coffee. When I walked into the sitting room, however, I was greeted by the sight of Trent lying prone on the floor in front of the wood burning stove with his chin resting on his hands. Immediately in front of
him was Susie, practically nose to nose with him, as she lay with her nose resting on her front paws.
“What’re you doing?” I asked.
“I’m trying to make friends with your dog. I have the feeling she doesn’t trust me because we got off to a bad start,” he replied, not taking his eyes off Susie. He started blowing gently at her, trying to get her to play, but she was having none of it – once she’d had enough she growled at him in warning, then got up and walked off, giving a couple of huffs as she made her way back to her bed before slumping down into it.
“That’s a work in progress,” he informed me, rolling onto his back and stretching before getting up and joining me for coffee.
“Will you be okay if I pop out for a bit? I’ve got an errand to run,” Trent asked a little later, having got me comfortable on the settee where I was reading a book.
“Of course, I’ll see you later.”
Grabbing his keys from the table he left.
After an hour or so I heard his truck pull into the yard and he came through the back door humming. Humming? Poking his head in through the doorway to say hello he asked if I wanted a cup of tea. I didn’t so he then entered the room and I could see he was carrying a large, sturdy brown bag, swinging it casually from his hand. He stopped in front of me and I closed my book, putting it to one side. I thought I’d bite as he clearly wanted me to.
“What’s that?” I asked, keeping my voice light.
“Ah, this is the errand I mentioned – it’s a little present for you.” There was something in the tone of his voice that made me look at him suspiciously, my eyes narrowing. He sat down, perching on the other end of the settee, and handed me the bag.
“Open it,” he said, raising both eyebrows at me and grinning.
I sat up a little and reaching into the bag, lifted out a large box. It was the sort of box you see in films, solidly made with a close-fitting lid. In the films the lady would lift the lid to reveal some gloriously luxurious dress interleaved with tissue paper. Somehow, I felt this was not going to be the same sort of thing. He sat back observing me, keenly, I thought. I took off the lid and inside was a bulky red and black object that, when I lifted it out, resembled something you would see the police wearing during a riot. I knew exactly what it was.
“What is it?” Sounding sweet, I inclined my head to one side and looked straight at him. He appeared highly delighted to be given the opportunity to launch into an explanation.
“Well now, Grayson, I’m glad you asked. This is the Point Two Pro Air Jacket, and it has transformed safety in the equestrian world. It offers protection to riders as the air jacket is inflated by a canister of CO₂ stored on the front of the jacket. You see, when a rider is unseated or thrown from a horse, the canister is activated by the release of a lanyard that is clipped from the jacket onto an attachment on the saddle. The jacket will then inflate within one-tenth of a second to absorb shock, distribute pressure and support a rider’s spinal column. It also protects the collar of the neck, ribs, coccyx and vital organs within the body. It will then hold the rider tight for fifteen to twenty seconds and slowly deflate over two to three minutes.” He stopped spouting the sales brochure and looked at me expectantly, trying to gauge what my reaction would be.
“I see,” I said. “And you’re expecting me to wear this?” The tone of my voice rose slightly; there was an edge to it and I could feel him stiffen next to me.
“Absolutely…in fact I insist on it,” he said, then added as if to challenge me, “You could almost say it’s an order.”
“I don’t have to accept orders, I’m not in the forces,” I snapped.
“No, they would never have you, you’re far too defiant,” he retorted, and I could feel my blood pressure rising as I took a deep breath.
“Whether you insist on this or not, I don’t want to wear it. I’ve never liked these body protectors, I find them too constricting. And I wouldn’t have fallen off in the first place if it hadn’t been for that wretched woman coming at me out of the undergrowth.” I saw him flinch at that.
“We’ve found no evidence that that is what happened,” he replied, looking a little moody. “Grayson, I’m tired of having this argument. I feel very protective of you…That’s just the way I am and I’m doing what I need to do.” I could see he was exasperated with me, yet again, and this was clearly important to him.
I thought for a moment. Strangely I could feel myself starting to relent, almost wanting to for him, because I knew it would make him happy. But, true to form, I couldn’t quite bring myself to do it – why make life easy for either of us?
“How would you feel about a compromise?”
“You want to negotiate?” He deliberated on this for a moment. “Hmm…what are you offering?” It was now his turn to look suspicious.
“How about…I agree to wear this whenever I ride out of the yard. So…I needn’t wear it when I’m schooling in the arena or the paddocks.”
He thought about this for a moment. “Okay, I think we can work with that, although…if you’re jumping anything in the arena or paddocks, say, over three feet in height, I want you to wear it.” Looking at me steadily he then smiled as I exhaled with frustration; clearly he wasn’t going to give up and I was going to lose this round.
“Okay,” I agreed, sighing wearily but reconciled to my fate. He smiled briefly, looking relieved until I continued, “And it’s red because…?” and I left the question hanging.
“I reined back on getting the hi-vis one as I didn’t think I’d get you to go for that, probably a step too far, so I got the next most violent colour available, to make you stand out.”
“Well, of course you did,” I replied in resignation.
At this he gave me his broadest smile which I couldn’t help but respond to, but he then announced he was going to go and pack up his things and my heart sank. Before he left the room I said, “Thank you, Trent, for staying here with me. It was kind of you to give up your time.”
“I know being helped is something you abhor but I’ve enjoyed looking after you.” And as I acknowledged how terribly formal and polite we both were he hesitated for a moment, gazing at me as if he were about to say something else, but then obviously he thought better of it because he left to go and pack.
I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want this – that I did know; that was what my head was telling me but my heart was no longer listening and there was nothing I could do about it. I still couldn’t be sure how he felt about me. I had such difficulty reading him. At times I thought there was something there, something between us; he’d been so attentive to me, it made me think he was interested but I also knew that it was part of his job to look after everyone on the estate so how was I to know how he really felt? He hadn’t said anything obvious, made any obvious move, and right now that was what I needed: something obvious, to be sure – to be sure I wasn’t going to look like a complete idiot. I wanted to say something, I wanted to tell him how I felt but I was too afraid of looking like a fool, too afraid he would reject me, and the thought of that alone made me feel sick. As he came down to leave I got up and met him in the kitchen.
“I hope you have a good trip,” I said as I started to busy myself as a distraction, looking in the fridge to see what to have for lunch.
“And I hope you continue to improve as the week progresses.” He glanced out of the window towards the yard, adding with a grimace, “No doubt once I’m gone you’ll have the oh-so-attentive Carlton hovering around you, attending to your every whim,” and with that he turned to the door.
“What is it, Trent, you don’t want me but you don’t want anyone else to want me either?” The words were out of my mouth before my brain had had a chance to vet what I was about to say. I stood there horrified; it was meant to be in jest but it didn’t come out that way.
These words caused Trent to stop and he took a deep breath before turning back to me, his tone soft but the words so definite: “Who said I didn’t want you, Emm
a? Just so there’s no misunderstanding, I want you very much, but not until you’re ready for me.”
My stomach clenched, and as he continued to look at me I knew I’d find no peace now, not after this declaration. The strong front of assurance I wore like a mask, the one that I presented to the world, and in particular to this man, was crumbling. I felt panic as the unpleasant sensation of losing my grip on things, on myself, washed over me and I was overwhelmed with anxiety as I had no ability to regain control of myself or my emotions. He must have sensed my discomposure but I watched him close his eyes and shake his head sadly as he started to turn once more to the door. Say something, anything! I could hear myself screaming from within.
Then as if from nowhere I heard myself say quietly, “I am ready for you.” It sounded pathetic to my ears but he stopped. My heart was beating so hard I could feel it physically pounding in my chest. My breathing was shallow, waiting for his response, even now anticipating his rejection, and I knew my anxiety was reflected in my face as he looked back at me, his eyes warm, his face lit with a hopeful smile. Before I’d even caught my breath in relief he’d turned, crossed the kitchen and I was wrapped in his arms. I closed my eyes as my arms went around him, feeling safer than I had felt in years.
“Oh God, I can’t tell you how long I’ve been waiting for some indication, any indication that you feel about me even a fraction of what I feel for you,” he murmured in my ear, loosening his arms slightly as he brought his face up to look at mine. I could feel joyful tears gathering as I gazed at him and as they overflowed he brought his hands up to each side of my face, wiping them away with his thumbs. Dropping one hand back to my waist he held me close as he continued to run his other thumb down my cheek and then gently across my lips, causing my breath to catch.