When You Walked Back Into My Life (12 page)

For a moment she resisted the pleading, almost childlike expression in his keen grey eyes. But as she returned his look she found herself weakening, his eyes a magnet drawing her in, triggering a moment of pure desire, long suppressed, which coursed through her body making it hard to breathe. Fin must have seen it. He quickly reached over to take her hand.

‘Oh, Flo. I’m so, so sorry. I hurt you, I know. What can I do to make amends?’

‘Get me a large glass of red,’ she said, the tart reply a cover while she got herself under control. But her hand remained, tentatively, beneath his.

He laughed with relief. ‘Coming up,’ he said, waving at the pretty, black-clad Frenchman who had shown them to the table and ordering a bottle of house red.

They talked about normal things: friends, work, family, the summer of sport, the wine gradually taking the edge off Flora’s nerves. And her struggle to hold herself separate from the man sitting opposite, who was promising her the world if she would just forgive him, was weakening by the moment.

‘How long will you stay with your friend?’ she asked, as she picked at some olives and salami laid elegantly on a wooden board between them.

‘Not a whole lot longer, looks like. It was fine till Paul hooked up with this girl. But Jenna doesn’t like me being around, she’s made that clear, and I understand. I wouldn’t want me around if I was her.’

Flora waited for him to go on. She didn’t want him to think she was asking for her own sake.

‘The bugger is, my leg’s not right yet. I don’t have the grisly disease they thought I had – the necro-whatsits thing – which
I suppose is good. But that doesn’t solve the problem. It’s bloody painful still and no one knows why. So I suppose I have to wait around until that’s sorted. I’d be daft to change doctors at this stage, have to start explaining the whole sorry state of my bones to someone else …’

‘So what’ll you do?’

Fin shrugged. ‘In the long term I reckon I’ll go and live in Dad’s house in Inverness. He left it all to me, and it’s a great place. It’d suit me.’

Inverness. Flora jumped ahead in her mind. Angus McCrea’s house, which she’d only visited once, was in a comfortable Victorian terrace right beside the River Ness. Could she live there? She loved Scotland, but Inverness was so far from everything and everyone she knew.

‘I need to know if I can climb again first, of course,’ Fin was saying. ‘And if not – which heaven forbid – then perhaps I can open a climbing shop up there, or mountain bikes, run walking tours … stuff like that.’ He grinned at her. ‘Not sure how good a businessman I’d be, but I’ll have to earn my living somehow if the worst happens. I know I’ve got the small income from my flat in Fort William … Richie’s still there. But it’s not enough to live on.’

He’s making light of it, she thought, but she wasn’t fooled.‘So you’re going back for more tests?’

Fin nodded gloomily. ‘Bloody endless.’

‘You only had the accident this year. It takes much longer than you think for your body to get back to normal.’

‘So they say. And I have to believe them, Flo, because it terrifies me, the thought of never being able to climb again.’

‘Of course it does. But you used to tell me all the time about people who’d been much more badly injured than you, who went up mountains regardless. People with one leg. Or no legs even.’

Fin laughed. ‘True.’

‘So? If they can do it …’

‘OK, OK, take your point.’ He sighed. ‘I just miss it so much. That freedom thing, the physical and mental strength, the exhilaration I get on a mountain … you know what I mean. I feel I’ve gone soft.’ He held his hand to his right bicep and flexed his arm experimentally.

‘I’m just saying you have to give it time.’

Fin’s head sank lower, his broad shoulders slumped over the table.

‘Sorry to whinge, Flo,’ he said after a moment, raising his head again. ‘That’s not what I intended for tonight.’

She smiled at him. ‘What did you intend?’

‘Oh, you know …’ He grinned back. ‘Just hanging out, having fun like we used to. Getting to know each other again.’

There was another silence. Flora wanted that too. But
more than anything she wanted certainty, maybe a sign from the universe – a bolt of lightning would do – something that would make it clear to her whether or not she should commit to Fin again. And she wanted that sign before they made love. Because she knew that afterwards she would be lost.

Fin was gazing at her again, his eyes soulful and penetrating.

‘I wish you wouldn’t do that,’ she said, without much force.

‘Do what?’ he asked, all innocence.

She didn’t respond immediately, just looked away.

‘Fin,’ she said quietly, ‘please. Can we not rush this?’

He immediately looked contrite and sat up straight, his hands folded demurely on the table in front of him, his face determinedly composed, but failing to hide his obvious delight that she still found him so attractive.

‘Flora Bancroft, I will do whatever you ask.’

Flora couldn’t help laughing. ‘That’d be a first.’

*

Fin saw her home, despite her protests. It was a warm early-autumn night, and they didn’t say much, just walked side by side along the broad avenue which led over the hill to her street. She was acutely aware of his presence and tempted at times to move closer to him, to take his large hand, permanently
callused from climbing ropes, in hers. But she didn’t. Have some pride girl, she told herself. Don’t just go running at the first click of his fingers. Give yourself time to think this out. But her heart still beat out the rhythm of her excitement.

When they reached the crescent, her sister’s house loomed large, all lit up, three doors along on the right. Fin stopped.

‘Better not risk it,’ he whispered, nodding his head towards her home.

Flora was reluctant to let him go, but she said, ‘Yes, better not.’ She didn’t want the evening ruined by some hostile interchange with Prue.

They stood face to face on the corner for a moment.

‘Thanks, tonight was …’

Fin didn’t let her finish. He laid his hands gently either side of her face, lifting it to his, and kissed her. The kiss was so brief that Flora had no chance to respond before Fin had dropped his hands and moved back.

‘Sorry, sorry … didn’t mean to do that, just couldn’t help myself,’ he said, making no effort to suppress a mischievous smile.

When Flora didn’t say anything, he added, obviously fearful he had offended her. ‘Just to say goodnight.’

‘Goodnight, Fin.’ Flora turned away before she had a chance to change her mind and ask him in.

‘Ring me tomorrow,’ she heard Fin’s voice behind her, and she waved a hand in acknowledgement before hurrying down the area steps to her flat.

Her mobile rang as she was unlocking the door. She smiled, sure it was Fin, and answered it.

‘Flora?’ She heard Jake’s voice with surprise, then remembered she hadn’t replied to his last text. ‘Just checking in. Wondered what you were up to next week.’

She hesitated. ‘Umm …’

‘Thought we might take in a film or something?’

‘That would have been fun … but the thing is,’ she spoke carefully, not wanting to offend him. ‘You know the man I told you about? The one I had a relationship with before? Well, he’s turned up suddenly.’

‘O-kaaay … This is the one who let you down? Made you ill.’

‘Yes …’ she sighed. ‘I know, it’s daft.’

Jake gave a short laugh. ‘Not judging, Flora. Shame though. We had fun. Let me know if it doesn’t work out.’

‘I will.’

She put her phone down on the table. She liked Jake a lot, but Fin blotted out any possible alternative. They had been together for nearly six hours this evening, and it had passed in a flash. As always. Think this out, she told herself, as she sat on the sofa, wide awake. But each time she began
to make a mental list of the pros and cons of trusting Fin McCrea again, her mind wandered back to his eyes, his big square hands, his sheer – albeit wounded at present – physicality. And thoughts of their past lovemaking played over in her brain, setting her on fire again, making it difficult for her to concentrate on anything but memories of his naked body pressed hard against her own.

1 October

‘Morning Dorothea.’ Flora put her head round her patient’s door, making the old lady jump.

She was sitting up in bed, the cornflakes in front of her on the bed table, a spoon clasped in her hand. But she was making no attempt at eating.

‘Sorry, I startled you.’

The old lady stared at her. ‘Are you … here now?’

Flora nodded. ‘All week. Do you want some help with your breakfast?’

Dorothea looked down at the bowl and back up to Flora. ‘I … don’t think so.’

‘OK, well I’ll just have a word with Mary. I’ll be back in a minute.’

‘She wet herself last night.’ Mary held out a cup of coffee to Flora. ‘She’s never done that before.’

‘God. She must have been really upset.’

‘I’d have thought so too. But she didn’t seem to realise what had happened.’

‘Maybe she was too deeply asleep?’

‘Yeah, that’s what I thought. She was quiet when I came on, and did seem really tired. Didn’t want to talk about the day. Pia said they’d been busy, going to church again, and Rene’d dropped by for tea. So she was asleep early. Then I didn’t hear a squeak from her until about one o’clock. That’s when I found she’d wet herself.’

The two nurses pondered the news.

‘She seems a bit dazed this morning. Did she sleep after that?’

‘She didn’t call until six, so I suppose so.’

‘And Pia? How did she seem?’

Mary shrugged, cradling her pot-bellied blue mug in her large hands. ‘Same as usual, butter wouldn’t melt.’

Flora frowned. ‘You suspect her, don’t you?’

‘Do I? I don’t know, I change my mind every few minutes. It’s a terrible thing to think about someone. But it’s just so strange that Dorothea’s always upset – different, you know – when Pia’s been on. I mean, when I got here Saturday, Dorothea was definitely twitchy. She held my hand when I
went in to say goodnight, which she’s never done before. As if she didn’t want me to leave. And she woke four times in the night.’

‘Maybe that’s why she slept so heavily last night?’

‘Probably. But she’s never like this in the week, when you’re here.’

‘Perhaps she is, it’s just we don’t notice … now we’re looking for stuff to condemn Pia.’

‘I’m not, though. I don’t want Pia to be abusing the old lady. But something’s up, Flora.’

*

Flora undid the buttons of Dorothea’s pyjama top and peeled it off her frail body. The bowl of hot water sat on the bed table, and she began to wash her patient’s breasts, her arms, her stomach. The bedroom was very hot, but Flora laid a towel over the old lady to keep her warm until she was ready to be dressed.

‘We had nurses for my father when he got too much for me and Mother. One of them was responsible for killing him, my mother always said.’

‘Killing him?’

‘The silly girl left the bar fire too close to the bedroom curtains. It was only a tiny fire, but Mother said the shock killed him.’

‘How awful. Did he die immediately after?’

Dorothea chuckled. ‘No, about eleven months later. But Mother liked to apportion blame!’

Flora grinned at the old lady. ‘Roll over.’ She helped Dorothea turn towards the wall so she could wash her back. As the old lady did so, Flora saw her wince.

‘Are you alright?’ she asked.

‘I … I’m fine,’ came the muffled reply.

But Flora saw immediately the cause of Dorothea’s pain. Across her lower ribs on the left side was a large bruise. It looked recent, a reddish purple spread beneath the old, thin skin, not yet yellowing. And it hadn’t been there on Friday.

‘God, Dorothea, how did you get that?’

‘What?’

‘The bruise on your back. It’s huge.’

Dorothea tried to turn her head, then gave up. ‘I … didn’t know I had one.’

‘You didn’t know? But it must be so painful.’

The old lady didn’t reply, and Flora gently washed and dried her back around the bruise, dusted her with talcum powder, then rolled her back against the pillows.

‘Maybe you knocked yourself, getting in and out of the wheelchair?’ Flora thought about this as she spoke, but couldn’t actually see how it was possible, doing any of the things that the old lady did in a day.

‘I expect I did,’ Dorothea said, not looking at Flora.

‘You didn’t have a fall, did you?’

Her patient shook her head slowly. ‘I … don’t think so.’

As soon as Flora had dressed Dorothea and settled her in her armchair in the sitting room, she called Rene.

‘What sort of a bruise?’ Rene asked, the pitch of her voice immediately rising.

‘Well, a bruise. Large, about the size of the palm of my hand, just below her ribs.’

‘And Mary didn’t mention it?’

‘She wouldn’t have seen it. And another thing. She wet herself last night. First time.’

There was silence at the other end of the phone.

‘Always a Sunday night.’

‘But surely … surely Pia isn’t hitting her? I just can’t believe it,’ Flora said.

‘I’ll call her now and ask her about the bruise. If it’s recent, it must have been on her watch. Dorothea couldn’t injure herself without the nurse knowing, could she? At night, perhaps? Trying to get out of bed? Old people do bruise very easily, especially when they’re on anticoagulants.’

‘Well, I suppose she could. But Mary didn’t hear anything.’

‘Will you call Dr Kent, please. Better be safe. Not because he’ll do anything, but if there
is
something going on, we’ll need a witness.’

Flora brought Dorothea a cup of tea. She sat with her, searching her face for signs of distress, but the old lady seemed calm, a faraway look on her face.

‘Did you have a good weekend? Pia says you went to church again. You must have enjoyed seeing the reverend.’

‘I … didn’t.’

Flora laughed. ‘Didn’t enjoy it? Why not? You love Reverend Jackson. Or wasn’t it him this time?’

‘I … haven’t been to my church in a long time.’