“It’s fine,” I said through gritted teeth. “Thank you for coming to get me. I know how shitty it must’ve been for you.”
“Actually, I enjoyed it.”
“Which part? The driving or seeing me lose my shit over a pothole?”
Emma grinned. “Both. Now stop your whining. We’re home.”
And we were. Emma edged the van as close to the house as possible and turned the engine off. She gave me a look, which I ignored, and then poked me in the side just hard enough to make my eyes water. “Mum’s mucking out the donkeys, but she said you’re to go straight upstairs and stay there. No funny business.”
“Funny business?”
“Don’t be a dick, basically. I know it’s hard, but try, eh? For her sake, if not your own. She’s been so worried about you. It’s only fussing over Harry that’s kept her sane.”
I couldn’t help a smile. If there was one fella who appreciated my mum almost as much as me, it was Harry, even if he didn’t roll over for her pie and mash. “I’ll try, Em. I swear.”
Emma snorted and got out of the van. She opened my door and jumped up to ruffle my hair. “Whatever. Are you going to be okay getting in? I was sweating all the way to Truro so I need a shower.”
“Thought your boiler was on the blink?”
“It was. Harry got a new thermocouple when we were in town and fixed it. Got all the hot water we need now. Shame we can’t afford to use it.”
Guilt squeezed my heart. In the rare moments I’d been with it enough to let my mind wander, I’d pictured Emma and Mum traipsing across the yard with wet hair and wellies, and it had driven me half mad. Add-in the sick ponies I was damn-well checking on before I went inside, and I’d been pretty much beside myself.
Emma pinched my cheek and disappeared, apparently deciding that if I needed her help, I’d have said so. But as I shifted in my seat and stared at the ground, the prospect of getting out of the van was overwhelming. I wrapped an arm around my battered torso and willed my legs to hold me up. White spots danced in front of my eyes, and the energy that had propelled me from my hospital bed ran out.
Strong hands gripped my shoulders. “Don’t go falling over on me. I’ve been looking forward to seeing you awake all day.”
Harry.A switch flipped inside me. I raised my head and met his gaze, and it seemed like the world had changed since I’d last seen him. Maybe it had. “Define awake.”
“Anything more conscious than I’ve seen you the last four days.”
Fourdays? Shit. Somewhere along the line, I’d lost twenty-four hours. “Thank you.”
“What for?”
I shrugged. “Everything? I’m too tired to list it all.”
Harry smiled. “No need—for the thanks or the list. Let’s get you inside.”
“I can manage,” I lied.
“I know,” Harry lied right back. “Let me help you anyway. It’s good for my soul.”
He didn’t need any help with his soul as far as I could see, but I let him slip an arm under my shoulders anyway and support me as I shuffled inside.
At the stairs, he followed behind me, his hand on my back, and seemed to sense when the sight of Grandpa’s bed made me pause. “New sheets,” he said. “The others were covered in dust.”
“They were new a week before you got here,” I said absently, because it wasn’t the sheets that got under my skin—it was everything else. The curtains, the window, the pictures on the walls. Perhaps I should’ve stripped it all when we’d cleared it out for Harry, but would that erase the memories? The good and the bad?
Probably not.
Harry nudged me towards the bed. “Sit down, mate. Sooner you rest, the sooner you can stop.”
“Right.” I loved that he knew how much I hated this. That I didn’t have to explain myself. Somehow I knew that it wasn’t because he didn’t care.
I followed Harry’s direction and sat gingerly on the edge of the bed. He handed me the stack of clothes Emma had promised. “Why are you giving me a pile of sweatpants?”
“To rest in,” he said. “I’ve only ever seen you wearing jeans, and you seem to sleep in your clothes.”
