The Blinding Light (26 page)

Oh, yes!

“I know it sounds a lot and it’s a big responsibility. You would have to give up any chance of having another job during the week. You’d be running after me at odd times during the day, plus the responsibility of the house. And living with a blind person is not a walk in the park. But it would give us time together, plus you’d have your own money to do what you want. You don’t have to give me your answer straight away, and you don’t have to worry about refusing if you want to. Just please tell me what you’re thinking so I know how to fix things before they become a problem. Because I love you, Jake. And I want us to be together forever. This is not a three-month contract. This is a long-term commitment. So what do you think?”

I looked at the guy who had stolen my heart and smiled. “So I’m allowed to talk now?”

Patrick’s mouth twisted in a self-deprecating smile. “Yes.”

“Let me get this straight—you want me to come and live with you, keep your house, drive you around, and look after you, and you’ll pay me a wage for it?”

“Yes.”

“And you also love me?”

“Yes.”

“So what you’re really looking for is a househusband?”

“Yes.”

He couldn’t see it but my smile was splitting my face. I put down my coffee mug and answered. “Yes.”

“Yes?” he spluttered. “Yes? Did you just agree to everything?”

“Yes.”

His eyes widened and he looked at me with shock. “Just ‘yes.’ No argument, no changing the terms, no insisting on your way, no rebuke for bad manners, no smart-aleck reply? Am I speaking to the right person, because I swear the man I love wouldn’t just say yes like that.”

I laughed with delight and plonked myself down on his lap where all the neighbors could see. “Yes. I love you too, Patrick. Yes, I will come and live with you and let you pay me to look after you. But be warned, I’ll still rebuke you for your bad manners. I’ll insist on doing things my way and I’ll make you go out and have fun, even if it kills you. There’s just one little thing I’d like to change.”

His hands encircled my waist and found their way under my sleep shirt. “Ahh, there’s the Jake I know and love. Well, go ahead, what’s your condition?”

I threaded my fingers through his hair and pressed kisses along his jawline. I could feel his excitement rising under me and hoped that no neighbors were actually watching too closely. “It’s not really a condition, just something you forgot to write in the contract. You’ll pay me and I’ll look after you, and in addition to that we’ll share—share love, share a life, and share a bed.” I kissed my way across his lips and shivered as he circled my nipple with his fingers. “Definitely the bed bit. Because I have a feeling we are going to need a lot of bed.”

Patrick gasped and thrust upward. “Yes, bed sounds good. How about we go and see about that part of the contract right now?”

We kissed passionately, not caring about the neighbors. Finally I pulled back and looked at him. “There’s just one more thing I need to ask.”

“What?”

“Who used the blue silicone butt plug I have hidden away in the laundry? I found it after your weekend party of debauchery.”

“The what?” Patrick was stunned and his eyebrows rose nearly to his hairline.

“The butt plug. It was tangled up in the sheets.”

“It was—Oh, my sweet Lord. You found that in my room?”

“Yes. Is it yours?”

Patrick laughed like mad. “Hell, no. It must be Mark’s. I wonder why he didn’t ring me?”

I cupped Patrick’s jaw and kissed him again. “Well, he’s never getting it back because you have deliberately lost his phone number, haven’t you?”

He laughed and agreed. “I’ll never need his number again. I have everything I could ever want in my arms at this very moment. I will never need more.”

I melted, but Patrick had other things on his mind. He whistled Gregor before leading me inside and locking the door behind us.

And we all know what that means.

P
ATRICK
MAY
’
VE
been blind, but he moved damn fast when he wanted something.

By Monday afternoon he had a brand new car delivered—a brand spanking new HSV, fresh from the car yard, which sent me into raptures—and he had terminated his contract with Housekeepers Inc. Mrs. Martha West rang me to express her astonishment, but then offered her congratulations on our “official” new status. She asked me to visit her offices to complete my resignation paperwork, but otherwise I was free from any obligations.

On Tuesday, after dropping Patrick at work, I cleared out my room at the apartment, then told the owner to tally up my final payment and send me the bill. At lunchtime I received a phone call from Wally Myers, who introduced himself as Patrick’s accountant. Wally needed me to fill in a couple of forms for taxation and wanted my e-mail address. I laughed and told him I didn’t have one, so he promised to e-mail them to Patrick.

“I usually have a weekly meeting with Patrick on Wednesday morning. I’m guessing you’ll be driving him tomorrow?” he asked. He was friendly and jovial and I liked him already.

“I don’t know. If he wants me to. I’ll bring the forms with me if he does.”

“I’ll see you then. I’m looking forward to meeting the man who has my boy in such a flap.” And he hung up.

I easily informed the official places of my change of address, but telling my family and friends was not as easy.

“You are joking! You’ve moved in with him? I thought he was straight?” Davo’s response was disbelief.

Lizzy was unfortunately not as kind. “What the hell are you thinking, Jake? Moving in with him already? He seems like a nice guy, I know, but he could be a drug dealer or an axe murderer or anything. How much do you really know about him? You’re setting yourself up for heartbreak.”

Thankfully, there were those who were happy for us.

Charlie shook my hand with a big grin and said, “Finally! I never took you for moving as slow as you did, Jake!”

My mother and Maria were glad—and pleased that I now had a car to visit them. Ellie broke down and cried, saying she was so happy that I had found someone for me. Luke clapped me on the shoulder and muttered, “As long as you don’t do that kissy-kissy stuff that all married couples do in front of me.”

I made lemon meringue and pavlova for Patrick to try and spent ages searching Op Shops and discount stores for presents for Christmas. When I realized Patrick didn’t own a single Christmas decoration, I threw a fit and dragged him to the shops and made him pick out some stuff. I found a plant nursery that sold us a real pine tree in a pot that Patrick could smell, then together we picked out decorative baubles that played music, wind chimes in festive colors, and enough tinsel to keep Skylah happy should she visit. Together we decorated our little tree. I made Patrick bring some essential oils home from the perfumery and I cut out candy cane shapes from cardboard and dipped them in peppermint oil so they gave off a lovely scent, then hung them all over the house. They looked pretty and Patrick liked the smell.

A couple of days before Christmas, Patrick asked, “Jake? Do you have any extra Christmas wrapping paper?”

I loaded the last plate in the dishwasher and pressed the button to turn it on. “Sure. What do you want me to wrap for you?”

He hesitated in the doorway. “No. I want to do it. If you could just get me the paper and some tape?”

I smiled to myself and guessed that he’d bought me a present. Well, I hoped that he’d bought me a present. His presents were already wrapped and stacked under the tree. I fetched him paper, sticky tape, scissors, and some ribbon, and he shut himself away in his study to do his own thing.

Suddenly it was Christmas Eve. I drove Patrick to work and then hit the shops to battle the crowds for the freshest ingredients. I had planned an elaborate breakfast for Christmas morning as well as a romantic dinner. Christmas was midweek, which thankfully meant I had no Tav shifts to work around, so I was focused on giving Patrick the best Christmas I knew how. I still remembered his confession that he usually spent the day alone. I baked all morning before cleaning the house from top to bottom. When I vacuumed the lounge room, I noticed a stack of presents at the back of the tree that I hadn’t placed there. They didn’t have tags on them, but I grinned at the sight and resisted the urge to finger and shake them.

That night we danced to music from the telecast of
Carols in the Domain
and sweetly kissed each other all over in the flickering candlelight.

I didn’t think anything could rock the boat.

I was wrong.

W
E
DROVE
to Mum’s house around 11 o’clock. Christmas morning had gone off fantastically. Patrick had gotten a bit emotional over his presents from me and admitted that it was the first Christmas present he’d opened on Christmas morning for over five years.

He was soon laughing over his gifts, though. I’d found him a pair of budgie-smugglers at the Op Shop that still had the tags attached, and had paid a whole dollar for them. I’d also bought him some socks with cartoon characters on them, a pair of reindeer ears, a box of expensive chocolates, and a CD of Jazz-Blues songs that he favored.

For Gregor I’d bought a new chew toy.

Patrick looked at me funny when I passed him Gregor’s toy to open. “Do dogs get Christmas presents?” he’d asked.

“Sure,” I blithely told him. “Why not?”

I figured that the present he bought me would be expensive and I told myself to accept it without protest. That was all well and good until I pulled the red-striped paper off the box and found he’d bought me an iPad.

“Holy shit, Patrick! You can’t spend that sort of money on me!” I protested.

He just smiled. “You deserve it. Besides, it’s not only for you. You need your own e-mail address so I can e-mail you during the day. Plus there are a lot of apps we can buy that help me. There’s an app that reads braille, in case there’s something you need to read, and tons more. Just use your manners, then shut up. I’ll give you a hint—it’s either please, thank you, or sorry.”

My thank-you took quite a few minutes and required tissues to clean up. Thankfully, Gregor had taken his new toy and had left the room. That dog was way too intelligent, and I didn’t want to confuse and terrify him with the things I did to his master.

Mysteriously, Patrick had also managed to buy my entire family presents without my knowledge, so together we packed up the car with more gifts than I could have ever imagined, loaded the desserts carefully in the boot, stashed Gregor in the backseat in his new doggie seatbelt, and departed.

Mum’s house was filled with smiles and good spirits—and not the alcoholic kind. None of us brought alcohol, so we all drank soft drinks and juice. Skylah was high on excitement, and as soon as Lizzy arrived, we all piled into Mum’s tiny lounge room to pass out presents. The eight of us could barely fit.

Skylah cleaned up in the presents department with a swag of Barbie and Bratz dolls, plus all their matching accessories. Maria received car seat covers in anticipation of her buying a car, clothes, bags, and new stationery she would need for university. Lizzy received vouchers for her favorite clothing stores, a new funky handbag, and a CD of her favorite band. Ellie received a bread maker that she raved over, a painting, a crochet-for-beginners pattern book, and a large bag of yarn to kick-start her new hobby. Mum received a new cookbook but got teary over the new clothes we all bought her.

Surprisingly, even Patrick received presents—a coffee mug, some satin boxer shorts with sexy sayings on them (and a wink in my direction), and a pack of braille playing cards.

The best Christmas present I received was sitting next to me on the lounge, but I still managed to exclaim over the two new shirts, the pack of underwear, the box claiming to contain the best of party and drinking games, and a coffee mug that matched Patrick’s.

Ellie left to find a garbage bag for all the wrapping and packaging while we all checked out our gadgets and toys. I didn’t even see the disaster looming. In the movies they at least give you music to cue you that the hero’s life is about to be irrevocably changed.

Instead what we got was a shriek.

A high-pitched, extremely loud shriek was followed by the rushing of feet before Lizzy burst back into the room—I’d never even noticed she’d gone—and shouted, “Holy fuck, Mother!”

I was on my feet in alarm, wondering what fiasco had befallen Lizzy, when I realized she was waving around a slip of paper. The paper was long, like a strip off the toilet roll, but was white on one side and mostly black on the other side. I tried to focus on the pictures as Lizzy waved them around in distress. They looked like tiny x-rays.

Lizzy was still yelling at Mum. “I can’t fucking believe the fucking things you do to us! What the fuck were you thinking? You can’t fucking help yourself, can you?”

“Hey!” I shouted, trying to get her attention. “Enough with the swearing in front of the child. Calm down and tell me what the hell is wrong!”