On the one hand, it was a relief to be in his own home. On the other, Walter was in it with Beth. He didn’t know whether to laugh or weep, and was hovering on the verge of hysteria despite having been home for only a couple of hours.
Walter had wanted to leave the farmhouse immediately after he’d finished his sausage and mash (he would say that for Beth, she was a decent cook), but Dulcie had refused. In the end, he’d stayed there another night, and Otto had brought him and Beth to the cottage this morning.
His son hadn’t been happy about it, but he’d not been able to put up much of an argument considering Beth was going to be staying here with him. How long, remained to be seen. If Walter had his way, she would be gone by the end of the week. All he had to do was to prove that he could make himself a sandwich and wasn’t in danger of falling over when he put his trousers on.
Beth would be sleeping in Otto’s old room, and he could hear her pottering around in there now. She had brought a casewith her, but he hoped she wasn’t bothering to unpack it, as she would only have to repack it in a day or so.
Anxious to prove that he didn’t need her help, Walter eased himself into the kitchen, Peg close behind.
The collie seemed equally as happy to be home, although the traitorous little madam seemed just as happy to have Beth here. He was sure that Peg would soon change her mind the first time Beth yelled at her – which was bound to happen. Beth didn’t strike him as much of a dog lover, and she had yet to experience the joys of picking up poop or bathing a dog who had rolled in something nasty.
Walter leant a crutch against the fridge door and used his free hand to remove the milk. A careful swivel and he was able to put the bottle on the counter. Pleased with his progress so far, he carried on with his tea-making, remembering to retrieve the crutch. So far, so good.
Then he realised he wouldn’t be able to carry his mug into the living room, because he hadn’t yet mastered being able to walk with just one crutch. Which meant that until he did, he would either have to eat and drink standing in the kitchen, or rely on someone (Beth) to carry it in for him.
Beth came downstairs at the exact moment he decided to give simultaneous tea-carrying and walking on one crutch a go, and managed to slop it everywhere. To his chagrin, she didn’t notice the wet floor and stepped in the little puddle. Her foot skidded, her leg went from under her, and she almost fell.
Righting herself, she glared at him, taking everything in with one scornful glance. ‘What are you doing?’ she demanded. ‘I could have broken my neck, you silly man.’
She snatched the mug out of his hand, spilling the rest of the tea, and put it down on the countertop with more force than was necessary.
Walter winced. ‘I was making tea.’
‘Making a mess, more like.’ She tore off a couple of sheets of kitchen roll and bent to mop up the spill.
Walter glared at the top of her head, feeling useless. He couldn’t even make a cup of tea without incident, so what hope did he have of preparing a meal?
Then he told himself off for being so negative. He could have drunk it standing in the kitchen, and if he had, he wouldn’t have spilt it. However, standing for more than a few minutes made his good leg ache, but the way around that was to ask Beth to bring one of the dining chairs into the kitchen. Problem solved!
Mostly.
Eating his dinner whilst balancing a plate on his knee wouldn’t be easy, (the chair wasn’t high enough to be able to eat at the worktop), but he was sure there must be a tray around here somewhere. And if not, Beth could pop into the village and buy him one.
Beth straightened up and put the sodden kitchen roll in the bin. ‘Go sit down, you daft old sod. I’ll fetch you a cup of tea.’
‘Can you bring a chair into the kitchen first?’
She didn’t move. ‘What’s the magic word?’
‘Eh?’
‘Haven’t you gotanymanners?’
‘Oh, I see.Please.’ His sarcastic emphasis didn’t go unnoticed, but he ignored her arched brow. A momentarystandoff ensued, but Beth gave in first and went to fetch the chair.
‘Where shall I put it?’
He pointed to a corner. ‘There will be good.’
Plonking it down, she said, ‘What do you want it for, anyway?’
When he explained and she nodded to show she understood, he knew they were on the same page: she wanted him to be self-sufficient as much as he.
It was lunchtime and Beth was hungry. Walter must be too, but she couldn’t work out how to use this blimmin’ oven. It had taken her long enough to realise that there wasn’t a kettle, and that the curved tap beside the sink dispensed boiling water as well as ice cold.
Otto’s doing, she surmised. He liked his gadgets, being a chef, but all she hoped was that she wasn’t expected to use any of them.
Giving up on the stove for the time being, she decided to make them both a sandwich, then she’d work out what they could have for their tea, and if she needed to go shopping she could pop into the village.
