Snowflakes Over Bay Tree Terrace (Willowbury)

by Fay Keenan

  This time, when they got to Florence’s bedroom, there was a lot left unspoken, unarticulated in the darkness of the night. The truth hung heavily in the air, and as Florence brought Sam down towards her in her bed, both of them shrugging out of their clothes, there was a tiredness and a tenderness that had sprung out of the traumas of the evening. Whereas the night of the play had been passionate and playful, this encounter was slow, tender, healing them both.

  Sam lay on his side and brought Florence closer to him until their bodies were joined, and their fingers and mouths touched until both of them reached a deep, infinitely relaxed peak. As Sam came, he buried his face in Florence’s shoulder, and once again she could feel him trembling from exhaustion and emotion.

  ‘It’s all right,’ she whispered. ‘I’m here. I always will be. I promise.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Sam whispered.

  And in the dark, lying together, Florence’s mind turned over and over, denying her of the sleep that she, too, so desperately needed. Her own emotions felt torturously close to the surface, not just because of what had happened with Aidan but because of the knowledge she now held about the grief of Aunt Elsie and Henry Braydon’s doomed relationship. There was just so much to think about, so much to process about the past and the present, and as she eventually fell into an uneasy sleep, images of Sam, Henry and Aidan all blurred into one in her dreams.

  37

  The next morning, Sam rolled over in Florence’s double bed. For a moment he was disoriented, but slowly the horror of the events of the day and the balm of the night before came back to him. Intermingled with the sense of relaxation that had come from being with Florence, lying next to her all night, came the increasing anxiety and fear about Aidan being in the hospital.

  ‘Shit…’ he murmured, as he realised that, on top of having to get back up to Bristol to collect Aidan later that morning, he’d also have to work out how the hell to get Aidan’s motorbike back from Cheddar Gorge, where, if Aidan was lucky, it wouldn’t have been clamped for staying in the car park overnight.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Florence murmured groggily as she came to.

  ‘Aidan’s bike’s still at the gorge,’ Sam replied. ‘I really should go and collect it, since he’s obviously not going to be in any state to get it himself for a few days.’

  ‘Can you ride a motorbike?’ Florence asked.

  Sam grinned, despite his worries. ‘Yup. We both learned together when we were on leave a few years ago. I haven’t ridden much since then though, so it’ll be an experience.’

  Florence smiled. ‘How are you going to get up there?’

  Sam looked a little sheepish. ‘I was hoping my next-door neighbour could give me a lift.’

  Laughing, Florence rolled over and pulled him on top of her. ‘I’m sure I can sort something out.’ Then, her expression grew more serious. ‘He had a lucky escape yesterday, didn’t he?’

  Sam nodded, not trusting himself to speak for a moment. ‘It’s getting clearer to me that I need to keep a much closer eye on him. The next time he decides to go AWOL, he might not be so lucky.’ He glanced down at Florence and couldn’t help noticing her expression was, for a moment, unreadable. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Have you ever considered that Aidan’s not really your total responsibility?’ she asked. Her tone was gentle, but the question was direct. ‘He is a grown man, after all. He made the choice to go to the gorge yesterday.’

  Sam felt a prickle of irritation, as if, whatever else Florence had actually intended, he was one of her students sat in a classroom. It was an odd feeling, he realised, as he was lying naked in her bed. He didn’t like it. ‘I know that,’ he said, a little more sharply than he’d intended. ‘But what choice do I have? If I don’t make sure he’s taking his medication, stuff like this happens. He’s a danger to himself.’ Sam shook his head. ‘He could have died of hypothermia up there. No matter how angry and frustrated I am about what happened, the bottom line is that he still needs keeping an eye on.’

  Florence said nothing, but her expression suggested she had more to add.

  ‘What?’ Sam asked.

  Rolling over onto her stomach, as if she was avoiding his direct stare, Florence took a deep breath.

  ‘Don’t get me wrong,’ she began carefully. ‘It’s just that the way you deal with the day-to-day business with Aidan… it’s almost as if you’re making him too reliant on you.’ She glanced back towards him before she continued. ‘There’s this theory in the classroom. Often, our first instinct, when we know a student is struggling, when we anticipate that they need help, we’ll explain something to the whole class, and then, the instant we’ve finished explaining, we’ll make a beeline for them. More likely than not they’ll be sat right next to our desks, right where we can keep an eye on them, and, without giving them the chance to digest or process what we’ve just told the class, we zoom in on them and give them the explanation again, in simpler language.’

  ‘Seems reasonable,’ Sam said, irritated but not quite following Florence’s line of argument. ‘After all, you don’t want them sitting there completely lost.’

  ‘Yes, and for years that was the mantra. Get in there with the support so that you knew the student could access the lesson.’ She paused again. ‘But the problem with that approach, the overwhelming flaw in that way of thinking is that, over time, the student becomes dependent on that second one-to-one explanation and often switches off for the more challenging, whole class one. After all, if your teacher’s going to give you your own personal explanation every single time, what’s the point in listening to the one that everyone else gets? So you’re setting them up to become dependent on you, when really, the aim is to get them to a point where they can work independently.’

  ‘And you think that’s what I’m doing with Aidan?’ Sam asked as the parallel Florence was trying to make became clear. ‘I’m basically setting him up to fail?’ He could feel his heart beating more forcefully in his chest, his own breathing starting to shorten a little. Was that really what Florence thought? That he was failing his brother?

  ‘Not intentionally,’ Florence said gently. ‘You’re doing what you think is best to protect Aidan. I get that, I really do. But perhaps you should loosen the reins a little; allow him to manage his own condition without checking up on him. If he knows you’re counting his tablets and organising his life, how is he going to learn to do that by himself?’

  Sam swung his legs over the side of Florence’s bed, slapping his bare feet down on the exposed floorboards a little too roughly. He tried not to wince. ‘Well, thank you for that bit of supreme wisdom,’ he snapped. ‘I had no idea you thought I was doing such a shit job of looking after my brother. At least I know now.’

  ‘Sam, that’s not what I meant,’ Florence said. She pulled the sheet off the bed and wrapped it around herself. ‘I just think that you’re taking on too much, and it’s going to, eventually, have an effect on your mental health, if it hasn’t already.’

  Sam pulled on his jeans, in his haste to be out of Florence’s room, once again neglecting his boxer shorts. He buckled up his belt and threw on his T-shirt before turning back to her. ‘This might come as a bit of a surprise to you, but not everything can be explained by some tinpot educational theory.’ He knew his voice was too loud, but he didn’t care. ‘I let go of the reins over Christmas, and all the time I ended up doing that fucking play, and look what happened; my brother nearly froze to death at the top of Cheddar Gorge. Mum and Kate are too far away to do anything and Dad’s dead, so what options do I have? Frankly, if it’s the choice between taking a step back and having to deal with what I dealt with last night, or holding on too tightly and keeping him safe and on an even keel, then I know which option I’d prefer.’

  ‘Sam, wait!’ He could hear the upset in her voice, but the fight or flight instinct had kicked in, and all he wanted to do was leave. ‘Don’t you think you’re being a bit black and white about all this?’ Florence pulled the sheet
more tightly around herself as it started to slip, and Sam tried not to be distracted by the thought of her warm, naked body.

  ‘Black and white? He’s my brother, Florence, not some random bloke I met on the street.’

  ‘I know that,’ Florence said, this time sounding a little more measured. ‘But it seems to me as though, at times, you’re just using his condition as a rather convenient excuse, too.’

  ‘How can you say that?’ Sam felt a spark of temper starting to rise. ‘If I step away, if I take my eyes off the ball even for a minute, then something like yesterday happens. I can’t cope with that possibility.’

  ‘You mean you’re not prepared to give up your role as martyr?’ Florence retorted, matching his tone. ‘You’d rather play the victim and be seen to shoulder all the responsibility on your own to the outside world because it gives you the perfect opportunity not to have to commit to anything, or anyone, else.’ She shook her head furiously. ‘Aidan is your out, isn’t he? If you keep making him the focus for everything, it’s easy for you to pretend you’re not missing the navy, too. He’s the perfect excuse for you to keep kidding yourself that you can’t settle, that you can’t put down roots. And actually, Sam, that’s what might just be the best thing for him, as well as you.’

  ‘That’s not true,’ Sam said, but even as he did, he could hear the lack of conviction in his voice. He shook his head, rapidly trying to take down the heat that was flushing his face. ‘Look, I think we both need some space.’

  Florence, deflated, nodded. ‘I’ll see you around.’

  Desperate for fresh air, he didn’t look back as he walked briskly across the landing and down the stairs, pulling open Florence’s front door without pause and shutting it, and the conversation, firmly behind him. He didn’t want to think about what she’d just accused him of; a small part of his mind was screaming that she’d read him more clearly than anyone ever had. Perhaps his sense of mourning for his naval days really was the root of it all? Perhaps Aidan was just a convenient excuse? But now was not the time to think about that. It was time to compartmentalise again, box away the tough home truths and focus on getting Aidan back home.

  Of course, he reflected, the question remained how the hell he was also going to get Aidan’s bike back from Cheddar, but he’d work something out. In the meantime, he’d better get showered and up to Bristol to see about the discharge of his brother. And when he got Aidan home, he was damned well going to make sure that everything that could be organised and controlled bloody well would be. There was no way he was going to leave anything to chance any more.

  38

  ‘You don’t have to keep checking up on me. I’m not a child!’ Aidan began to pace the small living room in agitation. Since he’d been discharged from Southmead Hospital several hours ago, Sam had been trying to keep his distance whilst still keeping an eye on Aidan. He’d settled him back in at home as best as he could, but there was obviously something still bugging his brother. Even before the horrendous events of Helmand, Sam had been able to read his brother’s moods clearly; there was something on his mind now, he knew it.

  ‘I know that,’ Sam said evenly. ‘But you’ve been through a lot in the past twenty-four hours. You can’t blame me for wanting to make sure you’re on the right track now.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ Aidan snapped. ‘What happened up there could have happened to anyone.’

  ‘True enough,’ Sam conceded reluctantly. Aidan wasn’t the first to get caught on high ground in bad weather, and he wouldn’t be the last. He’d flown to enough cases himself since he’d been working for the SAA to know that, in this part of the world, bad weather and high ground were a dangerous combination. But he also knew that Aidan would be feeling hugely frustrated and embarrassed about what had happened.

  ‘I don’t need you nursemaiding my every movement,’ Aidan continued. ‘I’m not your responsibility.’

  Sam remained seated. He knew the signs, and he knew that it was better to let Aidan have his moment of release now, rather than try to divert it. The counsellor advised acknowledging and dealing with negative emotions at the time, rather than allowing them to be built up and aggravated.

  ‘I know you’re not,’ Sam said patiently, palms upward in a placatory gesture. ‘But you can’t get away from the fact that you still need ongoing care. Not just from me but from the professionals. You need to go back to see the PTSD counsellor.’

  ‘What, that creepy old fossil? He hasn’t got a frigging clue what we went through in Afghanistan. How can he be any help?’

  ‘He’s a trained professional. And I’m not,’ Sam replied. ‘And, much as I hate to admit it, sometimes even I can’t mend what’s going on in your head. You need someone with the skills to talk you through it rationally. I’m too close.’

  ‘Then why don’t you just bugger off back to the frigging navy?’ Aidan’s voice was rising. Irrationally, Sam wondered if Florence could hear him through the party wall. ‘If you’re so fucking useless to me, you might as well get back on the next bloody ship.’

  Sam sighed. Enough was enough. He was tired from the trauma of the past couple of days and he wanted nothing more than to spend the next two days asleep in bed. Again, Florence popped into his mind, despite the way they’d parted that morning. He certainly wouldn’t mind sleeping next to her, either. But now was not the time to get distracted by thoughts of what he would or wouldn’t like to do with Florence. The chances of that happening any time soon after their conversation earlier were remote.

  ‘Aidan,’ he said softly. ‘You’re not forcing me to stick around. I could quite easily have stayed in the navy if I’d wanted to. Christ knows, they tried to talk me out of resigning my commission a thousand times. But you’re my brother and I love you, you thick-headed twat. Where you go, I go. That’s the deal. No matter what.’

  Aidan turned around from where he’d paused to stare out of the window that looked out onto the main road. There was a regular stream of cars trundling past the house, probably all on their way to or from other Christmas engagements. As he looked back at Sam, Sam could see the conflict in his brother’s eyes. ‘You don’t have to be so bloody noble about it. If it wasn’t for me getting blown up, you’d still be doing what you love, where you love.’ He covered his face with his hands.

  Instantly, Sam was up and out of his seat. He approached Aidan carefully, and when he was within touching distance, he reached out and pulled his brother close. He’d grown used to these lightning changes of emotional state since Aidan had been discharged from the army, and he knew that, sometimes, the best cure was physical contact. Of course, sometimes, he was wrong. He’d sustained more than a couple of bruises where he’d misjudged Aidan’s mood and his brother had lashed out at him. But after all this time, he was getting pretty good at gauging Aidan’s mood.

  As Aidan sagged against him, Sam realised that his brother had lost a little weight lately. He hoped it wasn’t the medication killing his appetite again. He made a mental note to check the documentation to make sure weight loss wasn’t a side effect.

  ‘Come on,’ Sam said gently. ‘I could do with getting my head down. Why don’t you go and have a kip, too? We’ll get a takeaway tonight, eh?’

  Aidan nodded into Sam’s shoulder. ‘I mean it, you know. You don’t have to keep micromanaging me.’

  ‘I know,’ Sam replied. But even as he said it, he felt the crushing weight of responsibility as tangibly on his shoulder as his brother’s head. He knew that, with the right medication, Aidan could live a normal life. But who else was going to make sure that Aidan took the pills that kept the demons at bay? Sooner or later, Sam was going to have to let go; but with their mother and sister so far away, all they really had day to day was each other. And that left no time for anyone, or anything, else.

  Sam’s thoughts flitted towards the party wall and the woman who lay behind it, the conversation they’d had that morning and the awful way they’d parted. Whatever his growing feelings towards Florence,
though, he couldn’t allow himself to act on them any further. It wasn’t fair to drag her into this situation with Aidan when they were both still finding their way around what the situation truly was.

  Then what can you commit to? A little voice in his head said, unbidden. With Aidan’s condition as it was, Sam figured, not a great deal. It broke his heart to admit it, but letting Florence in, letting her get past his guard, had been a mistake. He couldn’t offer her what he knew she would want.

  Much later, Sam lay in bed burning with a combination of resentment and frustration. He hadn’t had a serious relationship in years; and flings had never been his style. Knowing that Florence was only a few feet away was maddening. For years he’d shut off the part of him that yearned for a settled relationship. Being on a navy ship for nine months of the year wasn’t exactly the ideal context for long-term love; although several of his friends had managed it and were now settled with partners and even one or two children. Sam just wasn’t the settling-down type. All the time he was a commissioned officer, it had been easy to blame the job for his lack of love; easy to justify being single to his mother, especially, who desperately wanted to see both of her sons settled with, eventually, more grandchildren for her to spoil. The trouble was, Sam had been happy being single. And now he was living with Aidan, there were bigger concerns at play, no matter how much Aidan tried to suggest otherwise.

  But Florence… funny, happy, feisty Florence with the waterfall of blonde hair and a smile that could melt the heart of the most hardened sailor. And harden the loins of the most pragmatic one, he thought wryly, feeling his body respond to the memory of her touch. Much as he hated to admit it, she’d had a point about breeding a culture of dependence with Aidan. Sam realised as the night wore on that she had spoken plainly, but, he thought, truthfully.

  Rolling over uncomfortably, Sam prayed that sleep would come quickly, before untapped desire drove him up the wall, or even through it and back into Florence’s arms.