Beth hadn’t touched her drink. She was far too caught up in the tale Lena was telling.
Lena continued, ‘Amos reckons Walter feels guilty because Otto had to give up his job in London to look after him, even though it has all worked out brilliantly in the end.’
Beth couldn’t disagree with that. Dulcie and Otto were perfect for each other, and the move from London hadn’t impacted Otto’s career. On the contrary, he now had a book deal he wouldn’t otherwise have had and owned his own restaurant.
‘Walter was devastated, of course,’ Lena was saying. ‘He’d lived on that farm all his life. It must have been awful to see it raffled off.’
Beth wished she’d known this earlier. It was her own fault for not being more interested, and she felt guilty and ashamed for judging him so harshly. His tale didn’t detract from the fact that he was grumpy and argumentative, but she could now understand why – to a certain extent.
Feeling better about returning to the cottage on Muddypuddle Lane and vowing (yet again) to be more sympathetic towards Walter, Beth drank her coffee, glad that Lena had explained. And when the conversation moved awayfrom Walter and onto their respective families and other things, Beth hoped that she had made her first real friend in Picklewick.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Walter hoped that an afternoon of retail therapy would have put Beth in a better mood. He wasn’t going to hold his breath, though. He was, however, desperate for a bath.
With Peg at his heels, Walter made his way to the bottom of the stairs and stared up. Feeling stronger than he had felt when he’d attempted the stairs in the farmhouse, and more confident with Beth out of the way, it seemed an ideal opportunity to give them a go. It was going to be a challenge getting up them whilst hanging onto his crutches, but he thought he could do it.
Parking his backside on the second step, he used his good leg and one arm to ease himself onto the next, then repeated the performance. So far, so good. Feeling pleased with himself, he carried on this way until he eventually reached the top. He’d even managed to keep hold of his crutches. Result!
Making sure he was well away from the yawning stairwell, Walter clambered to his feet, using the banister for leverage. It was hard work, and he was hot and out of breath by the time he was fully upright. But the novelty of being upstairs in his ownhome was worth it, as it meant he could have the bath he so desperately wanted, and he would be able to sleep in his own bed tonight. Ha! That’ll show ’em! A couple of days of this, and he would be able to send Beth packing.
Aware that she might return any minute, he gathered some fresh clothes from his bedroom and limped to the bathroom but couldn’t resist a quick look in the spare room on his way.
Beth had laid out some things on the chest of drawers, make-up and whatnot, and her case had been placed neatly underneath the window. He refrained from looking inside the wardrobe, guessing that she had probably unpacked. It unnerved him to think that it washerclothes hanging in there and notOtto’s. It gave her presence an air of permanence that her short stay didn’t warrant.
Huffing to himself, he locked the bathroom door and lowered his backside onto the closed lid of the toilet, grunting with relief as he took the weight off his good leg. When he’d got his breath back, Walter turned on the hot water tap in the bath, steam gradually filling the room as he undressed.
It wasn’t easy trying to ease the jogging bottoms that Otto had lent him over the plaster cast, but he finally managed it. Thankful that when Otto had renovated the cottage, he’d had the foresight to put in a bath with handles (futureproofing, his son had called it), Walter sat on the edge. Then putting his good leg in the bath and keeping his broken one raised and stuck out at an awkward angle so it didn’t get wet, he eased himself down into the water.
The splash when his behind hit the bottom of the bath made him wince as a mini tsunami slopped over the side, but the watery mess was immediately forgotten as the lower half of his body was immersed in lovely hot water. It was a bituncomfortable with one leg stuck over the side, but Walter didn’t mind, as he happily soaped himself. This was so much better than trying to stand in the shower (Otto never did manage to find anything for him to sit on) and he even began to hum a little tune.
However, the humming stopped when, some time later and after several attempts, he realised he couldn’t get out. Walter was well and truly stuck. Bugger!
He sat there for a while, topping up the hot water when it started to cool and straining to listen to any sounds from downstairs.
When he finally heard the front door open and close he breathed a sigh of relief: rescue was at hand.
‘Walter?’ Beth called.
‘Up here!’ He heard her tread on the stairs and recognised the creak on the landing as she reached the top.
‘I see you managed the stairs,’ she said.
He heard her walk into the spare room, and the sound of the wardrobe door opening.
‘Beth?’
‘What?’
God, he hated this. ‘I’m stuck.’
‘Stuck?’ Footsteps hurried into his bedroom and hurried back out again. ‘Are you in the bathroom?’
‘Yes.’
‘What do you mean stuck? Please don’t tell me you can’t get off the toilet.’
‘I can’t get out of the bath.’ He thought he heard a snort of laughter but he couldn’t be certain. ‘You can’t come in,’ he added.
