“Morning.” My voice comes out as a croak.
“Josh, you’re up. I was hoping you’d sleep a little longer. Ooh, don’t look, don’t look,” she squeaks, slamming the laptop shut and shuffling papers together, turning them over.
“Sleep a little longer? It’s half past ten. I need to get to work.” Everything hurts as I ease onto the plush linen sofa, and close my eyes against the pounding in my head.
“It’s okay. I’ve called your office and told them what happened. They’re not expecting you back in until Wednesday. Would you like something to eat or drink? I have some great herbal tea. It will help with your headache.”
“Yeah, thanks, Flo. That would be great. What about you? I’m sure you’ve got things to do. You can’t hang around here all day nursing me.”
“Sure I can. I have things to work on. It’s no problem.” Greer returns from the tiny kitchen with a glass of cool water and drops a couple of pills into my palm.
I want to argue, but being looked after sounds like bliss right now. I swallow the tablets and close my eyes again, willing them to work fast, as she disappears back into the kitchen to make the tea.
“What is it I’m not allowed to look at?” I ask, opening one eye and peering at the document-strewn table as curiosity gets the better of me.
“I’ve made a start on your plans. They’re preliminary ideas, so I don’t want you to look at them until they’re finished.”
“That was quick. I wasn’t expecting you to get onto it so soon.” I contemplate getting up to look at what she’s done but don’t quite trust my body to move fast enough not to get caught.
“I like to work when inspiration strikes, and inspiration struck. I called Manly Council this morning and had a chat with them about the tree situation, and they said if I can get plans submitted to them in the next couple of weeks, they’ll fast-track them for you, so you won’t have to repair the tree damage to the existing structure before you start work on the extension. As long as you’ve completed settlement.”
My stomach rumbles as Greer hands me a mug of fragrant tea and a plate of hot Vegemite toast dripping with slabs of melting butter.
“You must be psychic. You seem to know exactly what I need before I do, and now you manage to sweet-talk a council into fast-tracking building plans. The purchase should be through in the next week or so, according to Will.”
Yesterday she was all calm, practicality and thoughtfulness in the face of chaos, and I realise I don’t know the adult Greer. Only the little girl Greer, who was sweet and a little bit shy. Getting to know grown-up Greer is dangerous but oh-so enticing.
“Yes, well. Talk is cheap. Let’s see if they actuallydofast-track approval before we get too excited.” Greer pulls a sceptical face. “When you’ve finished your breakfast, feel free to have a shower. If you give me your keys, I can run over to your place and pick up whatever you need.”
“Really, I’m fine to go home. I’ve been taking care of myself for years.”
“Not with concussion you haven’t. Stay here tonight, and tomorrow if you’re feeling better, you can go home.” The look of determination on Greer’s face makes it clear arguing is not worth the effort. And if I’m honest, I really don’t have the energy. Or the will.
“Okay, but tomorrow I’m going to work,” I mutter like a five-year-old as I finish my tea. A snort of derision is her reply.
Greer collects some clothes and my wash kit from my apartment before helping me get organised for a shower. It’s not easy showering without getting your arm wet. But Greer wraps it up in a plastic bag and I feel marginally better once I’m clean and changed out of the grubby pants I was wearing when the tree came down.
Greer insists I take a nap. I want to argue, except I’m actually feeling too weary, so I give in, although with very little grace. Turns out I’m not a good patient.
“I’ll lie down for half an hour. Then I need to call the office.” I’m still arguing as I slide onto Greer’s obscenely comfortable spare bed.
It’s two hours before I surface again, groggy and starving, and with considerably less pain in both my arm and my head. Judging by the state of the table in the living room, Greer has spent the hours I slept working feverishly on the plans for the house. She doesn’t even register I’m there until I speak.
“That has to be the most comfortable bed I have ever slept in.”
Her head snaps up and she smiles. “You slept well? Good. You look a lot better.” Greer is out of the chair and taking my good arm to help me to the sofa before I can even think of protesting. “Would you like something to eat?”
“Yes, thanks. Point me in the right direction and I can get it.”
“No patients in the kitchen. You sit down there and watch the afternoon soaps. I made us a salad earlier. I was waiting for you to wake up.” Gently Greer pushes me down on the sofa and heads for the kitchen, tossing me the TV remote as she goes.
By the time she returns to the living room with two large bowls of salad loaded with chicken, I’ve found an afternoon movie. Handing me my bowl, she settles on the couch next to me and props her feet on the coffee table, looking prepared to relax for the afternoon.
“That was truly dreadful,” she huffs as the credits roll. “Not one of those characters were believable. She would never have gone to that house alone. She was too scared. Scary movie rules 101. Never go out alone.”
“Aw, come on, it was great. Had you glued to your seat.” I laugh at her review, even though she’s not wrong. I stack our bowls a bit awkwardly with one hand and head for the kitchen.
Greer’s reply is cut off by the ringing of my phone. It’s Sean from the office. They need my help.
