The helicopter that she loved so much had snuffed her out.
He missed her. He’d known her for such a short time, but she was in the compartment in his heart markedFamily, just like Ivan and Melvyn.
He felt in his pocket for his mobile. In his phone book he hesitated overIvan, then scrolled past.Melvyn. He hesitated longer. He thought of his brothers, each living in a nice little semi full of family. He tried to envisage himself moving in for a while, just until he was well. Being looked after by a sister-in-law.
Being stuck in the house all day with a sister-in-law.
His sisters-in-law were OK, as brothers’ wives go. But not bright, not snappy, not interesting company.
He scrolled down once more.STM. His thumb hovered over the green button. He missed Stella. He let himself think for several moments about Stella’s soft little hands stroking his clunky, painful limbs. He really missed her.
He pressed the button. ‘Oh God, Stella! I miss you.’
And her voice, breathy and sexy, surprised, incredulous. ‘Gareth.’
Two hours later he was swinging himself down his garden path with Stella wobbling beside him in shoes that sank into the grass. ‘Can you cope with getting into the car? I can’t believe this. I can’t believe you’re really leaving home. I had to pretend to my boss I felt ill, to get away.’
The car journey – in another titchy girly vehicle – was a bit teeth-gritting, even worse than getting back downstairs had been. But he’d taken his Tramadol and they were making the pain fuzzy at the edges.
Stella was taking him to her flat for now. He’d arrange the move into the cottage from there. Stella’s apartment block had a lift, there were no stairs at all. Bliss.
He couldn’t perform in bed, of course. Not perform as such. But it was a treat to let Stella take him out of his clothes and swing his legs into the bed. She shucked off her own kit so that he could admire her generous little body for the first time in months, then lay down beside him, running deliciously smooth hands over his hurts. ‘Poor you!’ she exclaimed. ‘Poor, poor, Gareth. You’re still bruised. And I don’t think your face is entirely right yet, is it? Oh myGod, is that where that thing went into your hip? Eeouw! You’ve had so much pain, darling.’
They spent the rest of the day in bed. Dear Stella, she realised he wasn’t up to sexual acrobatics, not yet. But she did one or two very nice things for him. Including making him egg, bacon and chips.
Finally, he was ready for her to switch off the bedroom television and the light and give him a bit of space so that he could sleep.
‘When I’m a bit better,’ he said, drowsily, deciding that the settling-down-together glow was a good time to broach a fresh start. ‘I’ll move back into the cottage. Will you come, too, darling? Live with me full time?’
Stella stopped stroking his bad leg. ‘Live with you at the cottage?’
‘We could be happy there. It would be fantastic if every day was like this one.’
Stella removed her hand. She inched away. ‘Fantastic for you, maybe. I don’t need a job. And certainly not as a housekeeper.’
He laughed, without opening his eyes. Stella had a great sense of humour. ‘I’m not offering you a job as my housekeeper. I think a little more of you than that.’
Still, she kept her distance. ‘So we’re going to get married.’ Her voice was flat.
In the darkness, his eyes flew open. He tried to answer as though she hadn’t just frightened him to death. ‘Not unless you’ve completely changed your tune about all that “marriage is a prison for women” stuff. We’ll live together in the cottage. It’s what everyone does these days. Marriage – who needs it?’
Stella rolled further over to her side of the bed. It was a big bed, king size, plenty of space. ‘But prisoners always know where they are and what’s what, don’t they? I have changed my tune because I need that kind of security. I’m suddenly in the mood for commitment. I’m not going to live with you, Gareth, so that I can look after you for free and you can chuck me next time it’s expedient.’
‘That’s not what I mean,’ he began, alarmed.
‘No? Not bloody much. I’m up to your caper, Gareth Jenner.Thisis my home and this is where I’m going to live, no-one to look after me and no-one to look after. And I’ve got to go to work tomorrow so you’ll have to watch the telly.’
Watching the telly while Stella went out into the world as usual? Gareth had envisaged something altogether cosier. That she’d help him wash and they’d laugh over the warm sudsy water. Stella had always liked doing things for him; she’d help him with his physio and fire up her laptop to begin all his change of address letters. She was sweet about things like that.
Across the dark divide of the bed, he reached out to run his fingers coaxingly down her ribs to her hip. ‘But if you come live with me you won’t have to work, I’ve left Diane for you –’
‘You’ve left Diane but I doubt that it was for me.’ She sighed gustily, but her voice was hard. ‘You can stay here for a few days, but tomorrow we’ll discuss how we’re going to organise things. I suppose I’d better get up early to catch the supermarket while it’s quiet before work, because you eat like a horse. We can split the bill when I get home. And then you can either marry me and treat me properly or fuck off to your own place.’
In the following icy silence, Gareth stared up into the darkness in astonishment.Stellawas givinghimthe flick! Astonishment gave way to dismay. He pictured his new life in his nice cottage – but alone. A pretty chilly prospect. One by one the women in his life had deserted him. Valerie had gone for all time and Diane was almost as unreachable, bloody woman. Bryony, his Bryony, was hurt and wary. Well, buggered if he was going to let Stella push him away, too.
Him and Stella could be good together. Stella would bring warmth and affection to his life, a life that, suddenly, was in danger of becoming a bit bloody bleak.
Awkwardly, painfully, he dragged himself over to where she clung frigidly to the mattress edge and eased her reluctant body against his. ‘Marrying you is going to be a lot of fun, Stella. A woman who tells me to fuck off when I’m out of order has got to be good for me.’
