‘Debbie and Reg!’ chorused the room, and Elvis joined in with a howl.
Epilogue
Six Weeks Later
Regan was more than confused as she turned down the dirt track. Her little car bumped along until she reached a large barn and a farmhouse. She checked Charlie’s note. This was the right place. She got out of the car to be greeted by a bearded man in a body warmer and wellingtons.
‘Regan?’
‘Yes. I’m here to collect something for Charlie McGee.’
‘So pleased to meet you,’ he said, giving her a very physical handshake. ‘Charlie’s told me all about you. This way,’ he said, striding off down the side of the barn. They walked quite a way until they reached a lake. A sign told her it was for registered fishermen only. Why had Charlie sent her here?
‘I’m sorry, but do you know what I’m collecting?’ she asked, taking in the picturesque location, the water gently rippling on the surface and the smell of jasmine in the air.
‘Yep,’ he said with a huge grin, and he tapped his nose.Not helpful, thought Regan. He walked onto a woodenfishing platform and pulled on a rope that was tied there until a rowing boat appeared. ‘In you get,’ he said.
‘I think maybe I should call Charlie.’ The farmer type man seemed nice, but this was turning really odd really quickly.
‘No need. All will be revealed shortly,’ he said with a wink, and he held the boat steady. ‘Now, in you get.’
She’d probably regret it, but if the worst came to the worst she was a good swimmer. She got in and held on tight while the grinning chap joined her. He turned the small boat around and started rowing off across the lake. Behind him a small clump of trees in the middle of the lake was growing closer: she could see it was a small island … and there was a picnic rug laid out on a patch of grass … and there was Charlie. Her heart soared at the sight of him.
He was standing on the bank of the tiny island in smart black trousers and a crisp white shirt – he was a sight to behold. He’d left the house early with his dad saying he was off for a checkup. He had them regularly, so she hadn’t queried it; nor had she questioned it when he’d said she needed to collect something important from the farm. She couldn’t stop grinning. Just the sight of him up and about filled her with a happiness she’d never thought possible. The little boat pulled into another landing stage and Charlie helped Regan out.
‘This is a strange place for a brain checkup.’ She put her hands on her hips and gave him her best school ma’am look.
‘Imighthave lied about that,’ said Charlie, with a cheeky grin. His hair was still shorter than before, but it had grown back well and it was even starting to sprout a little around his scar. He looked so well. If it weren’t for theeight-inch scar across the back of his head you’d never know he’d had major surgery. He was a marvel.
‘Um … Where’s he going?’ asked Regan, when she noticed the farmer had rowed away.
‘It’s okay. He’ll be back later.’ Charlie opened his arms. She stepped into his embrace and felt the now-familiar senses of belonging and ecstasy. ‘What is all this about, Charlie McGee?’
‘Ah … patience, Reg.’ He sat down on the picnic rug and beckoned her to join him. He opened the picnic basket next to him, took out two cocktail glasses and a cocktail shaker and proceeded to shake it with relish.
‘Steady on. The doctor said no exertion.’ She knew she was being overprotective. He had come so far in the last few weeks, but she still feared something could happen that would set him back. It had all gone so well since the operation. He’d had some headaches and some sickness afterwards, but otherwise he had improved day by day with no side effects. Despite all the risks, the operation had gone well. The surgeon said you never really knew exactly what you were dealing with until you operated, and thankfully Charlie’s brain tumour had been easier to remove than expected.
‘I’m fine,’ said Charlie, giving her a long-suffering look. He gave a last flourish with the cocktail shaker before pouring the pinkish-red liquid into two conical glasses.
‘What sort of cocktail is it?’ she asked.
‘It’s a cosmopolitan.’ Regan licked her lips and reached for a glass. ‘Uh-uh. Not yet,’ he said, getting to his feet.
She watched with interest while he slowly unbuttoned his white shirt. ‘The doctor said—’ she began.
‘The doctor said I could resume sexual activity when I felt ready.’
‘Resume?’ Regan gave a chuckle. This was something they had not quite got around to, mainly because Regan was terrified of Charlie straining himself. It had taken all the will power she owned – and Elvis guarding the bed – to stop her from sleeping with Charlie, but it was somehow easier knowing that eventually the right time would come.
He pulled off his shirt and she whistled like she was watching a stripper. Oddly, he still had white cuffs in place. He reached into the picnic basket and pulled out a bow tie and a small silver tray. He put on the bow tie, checked it was right, placed the cocktails on the silver tray and stood up straight.
Regan was enjoying the show, but she still wasn’t sure what was going on. ‘What now?’
‘Here.’ He pulled a scrap of paper and a pen from his pocket and handed it to her. ‘You’ve a couple of things to tick off your list.’
She unfolded the crumpled paper. It was the lottery wish list she’d drawn up all those months ago. She scanned down to where it said, ‘Bask on a deserted island and drink cocktails served to me by bare-chested waiters’. She tapped the page. ‘It sayswaiters, plural,’ she said, chewing her lip. ‘I meantechnically…’
‘Tick it off now, or else,’ he said, threatening to pour her cocktail away.
