After Beth had stacked the dishwasher (she’d never had one of those and had needed to pick Walter’s brains on how to work it, the same as she’d had to ask him about the stove), the two of them settled down in front of the telly with a cup of tea and a custard cream or two.
Despite being on her own with Walter and not having Dulcie or Otto as a buffer, Beth felt more relaxed in the cottage than she had in the farmhouse. Probably because Walter wasn’t being so tetchy, she surmised. By unspoken mutual agreement neither of them had mentioned the bathroom incident when Dulcie had phoned to check that they hadn’t killed each other yet, nor when Otto had popped in on his way to the restaurant to see how they were getting on (i.e. no fatalities) and ask whether they needed anything.
Having a secret seemed to have broken a barrier between them, and even though Beth didn’t want to be here and Walter didn’t want her here, there appeared to be a ceasefire for the moment. How long it would last was anyone’s guess, but Beth wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth.
As she got ready for her first night under Walter’s roof, she wondered how much her new-found reluctance to wind him up was due to what Lena had told her, and she could feel herself softening towards him.
If this evening was anything to go by, maybe looking after him for a few days wouldn’t be such a strain after all.
Walter didn’t know what the technical word was for the gadget that enabled him to pick things up off the floor (he called it the ‘grabby thing’), but it didn’t half come in handy this morning to retrieve his dropped sock.
He was currently sitting on his bed, getting dressed for his hospital appointment and feeling rather nervous. He hoped everything was okay under the cast.
Eventually dressed (everything took three times as long with a broken leg, he had discovered), he lowered himself cautiously down the stairs and limped into the kitchen. The delicious aroma of bacon had made his tummy rumble in anticipation whilst he was upstairs, and he was eager to tuck into his breakfast.
Beth was standing by the stove, wielding a frying pan. ‘Pancakes, and bacon with syrup for breakfast,’ she announced. ‘Go sit down, it’s almost ready.’
She joined him at the table, her own plate piled just as high as his, and he reckoned that both of them needed to keep their strength up for the ordeal ahead. Him, because he hated hospitals and wasn’t relishing having his leg poked and prodded, and Beth because she had confessed to him that she was fearful of driving on strange roads.
Her admission had surprised him: he’d been under the impression that nothing fazed her. Over the past couple of days, sinceBathgate, he had begun to notice chinks in her armour. Beth Fairfax wasn’t as indomitable as she appeared. She was still grouchy though, and they’d had a couple of spats, but nothing like it had been.
Walter was quietly hopeful that things were settling down.
He was also quietly hopeful that he might have his house to himself again shortly. Maybe this hospital visit would help move things on. If he had a good report from the fracture clinic, it might give him more leverage in persuading Otto that he could manage without Beth’s help.
Although, Walter had to admit, having Beth around did make life easier. She cooked a mean breakfast, for one, and she took Peg out for her daily constitutional for another. Maybe he should keep her around for a while longer.
He was still mulling it over on the drive to Thornbury and the hospital, and he continued to think about it after the doctor had announced that she was pleased with his progress and would see him again in four weeks.
Realistically, he knew that he still needed help with many things and having Beth here was the easiest option. Besides, he was getting rather used to her.
‘Do you fancy stopping off somewhere for a spot of lunch?’ Beth asked, as she drove out of the hospital’s congested car park.
‘What about my leg?’
‘You can bring it with you,’ she replied, deadpan.
Walter rolled his eyes. ‘I meant, should I be out and about with it?’
‘I don’t see why not. It’s not as though you’re ill, or contagious. You see people with broken legs all the time.’
Walter didn’t like to admit that he was worried someone might bump it, or that he wouldn’t be able to make it from the car to wherever it was they were going. It had been difficult enough walking from the patient drop-off area to the fracture clinic’s waiting room.
‘Breakfast filled me up,’ he said by way of an excuse, even though he didn’t want to go home just yet. He was quite enjoying being out of the house.
Beth was staring straight ahead, her attention on the road as she negotiated the traffic through the busy town. But Walter could have sworn that there was a disappointed set to her shoulders.
Relenting, he said, ‘There’s a pub called The Dancing Pheasant halfway between here and Picklewick. It used to have a good reputation, but I don’t know what it’s like now. We could give it a go, if you want.’ Then he decided to be honest with her; after all, she had shared her concern about driving on unfamiliar roads with him. ‘I’m worried about knocking my leg, or not being able to walk far,’ he confessed. ‘The pub has got its own car park.’
Beth shot him a glance before hurriedly looking at the road again. ‘Sorry, Walter, I didn’t think.’
Wow! Beth had apologised?! That didn’t happen very often.
‘I’m surprised I’m hungry at all after bacon and pancakes,’ he said. ‘But I am.’
‘Me, too. Shall we give it a go?’
So they did. And very pleasant it was.
