As he looks at me his eyes are dark with pain. ‘It’s more than just the horse, Berts. Day to day, at the surgery, I can fool myself. But when I’m out in the field like we were tonight, that’s when itreallyhits home – I’m a million miles from better.’
I’m kicking myself for reading the situation so wrongly. ‘Maybe nights like this are part of you adjusting?’
As he swallows he looks so bereft my heart is breaking for him. I’ve got this urgent human need to throw my arms around him but it’s the last thing I can allow myself to do. I fold my hands really tightly into my armpits but a second later, with no apparent input from me, I’m perching next to him on the sofa’s edge.
When he looks up again he’s close enough for me to see the individual stubble hairs on his chin. The lines at the corners of his eyes. ‘I’ve got more tests the week after next. I’ll know better after those.’
There’s a small patch of fuchsia-pink velvet between his leg and mine. I tug the purple ruffles of my dress to cover my thigh, and as I put my hand down in the gap he’s so near we’re breathing the same air.
I also know I care about him on a whole different level from the way I’ve felt before. I’d do anything to make him feel less crap. ‘You know we’re all here for you if we can help in any way.’ Here’s me, with one all-encompassing wave of my arm, offering him the help of people he’s known all his life. And then there’s a more immediate suggestion. ‘If you need a quick chocolate fix, I could make you a microwave mug cake?’
He cocks his head towards me. ‘Which is…?’
‘Steaming cocoa sponge in two minutes flat, topped off with a scoop of vanilla ice cream?’
There’s a pause, then his face relaxes. ‘You always know how to cheer me up.’
I need to put this in context. ‘It’s not a long-term answer, but it might give you a lift for the next ten minutes.’
He gives a grunt. ‘It still deserves a high five.’
He turns and as he raises his hand mine rises too. Then, as my palm meets his, our fingers align and touch. I ignore the tingles zipping up and down my arm and for a few moments our hands hang in the air as if they’re welded together. As they finally pull apart I gently grasp his wrist. Pull it until I’m cradling his hand across my leg. Tracing my fingers over the knotted scars on the folds of his fingers, willing them to heal again so hard my chest aches.
We stay like that, our eyes locked on the lights across the bay, snatches of Abba songs floating along the beach on the breeze. And as the seconds slide into minutes I shift my gaze to the hollows of his cheeks. The corner of his mouth. Imagine rubbing my hand across his jaw, the pricks of the stubble on my palm. How his face would turn, how my stomach would dissolve as his lips brushed my wrist. How it would only take one movement for me to slide, twist and be astride him, and everything would be hidden under the gauzy purple ruffles.
I pull myself up sharply. Me thinking of jumping him when he’s hit the shots is well out of line. And that’s before we get to the bit about him being the last person in the world I’d ever do that with.Or is he the only person in the world I’d ever feel comfortable doing that to?Either way, it’s not healthy.
I allow myself one moment more to touch him, but his low voice is penetrating the shadows. ‘Maybe you could come with me – to the appointment.’
I gulp back my surprise. ‘Of course.’
‘It’s a week on Tuesday.’ This is so unexpected it has to be the alcohol talking. Which is fine. By morning it will be forgotten.
But it’s broken the spell and pushed me into action. ‘If you’ve got an early start, I need to make that cake.’
He stirs beside me. ‘Really? Great. Fine. That sounds perfect. Exactly what the vet ordered.’
I’m already over by the kitchen door. ‘You stay there, I’ll call you when it’s ready.’
It’s an order not a suggestion and it must have worked, because Diesel’s the only one who moves, and he settles in his usual place on the threshold between the rooms. I throw the dry ingredients into a mug, whisk in an egg, pop it in the microwave, and skid back into the living room.
‘You’ll hear the ping, it’ll be ready one minute fifty-nine seconds from now. There’s soft scoop vanilla in the freezer. Enjoy!’ As I turn for the hall I don’t know about Ross and his drinking, but whatever has sent my head to the places it just went, I’m better off well out of the way.
28
In Cressy’s bedroom
Close shaves
Very late Saturday
Diesel follows me to the bedroom, then I close the door softly but firmly and pull on pyjama shorts and a T-shirt. I push Pancake over so I can sit cross-legged by the pillows to let Ross get clear of the bathroom. And while I wait I’m tussling in my head. I don’t mind that I care so much about Ross, even though it’s a shock to find it cuts me so deeply to see him suffer. But I’m cross with myself for feeling attraction when he’s proved himself unsuitable. For not getting that outrageous sizzle under control. For having those fantasies. But worst of all, for remembering how much I’d like a child of my own at the very same time he’s rampaging around in my head.
I hear Ross’s footsteps on the landing. The thundering crash of the toilet flushing. The click of his bedroom door. Then I pull on my headphones for a quick blast of ‘Mamma Mia! Here We Go Again’ to give him time to settle down. But even after silently lip-syncing the words, I’m still left with a strange sense of not being satisfied and an emptiness in the pit of my stomach that won’t go away.
I give Pancake’s head a tickle, and tiptoe across to the bedroom door. ‘Stay there, Diesel, I’m off to find cake.’
A large calorie intake should solve the problem. Except as I slip out into the landing shadows I crash head on into a naked chest.
