Chapter 26 Becky
Becky
B ecky’s first encounter with Will was in the kitchen with the whole family gathered for breakfast.
He appeared in the doorway just as everyone was loading the table with food, so any possible awkwardness was lost in the general chaos.
His hair was damp from the shower and he wore jeans and a shirt that seemed to accentuate the blue of his eyes.
Meeting his gaze across the room, Becky felt her heart flip and wondered how it had taken her so long to realise she was in love with him.
How could she have missed something this big, that seemed to fill every part of her?
Will.
She was tempted to sprint across the room and hurl herself at him, the way Percy did when he saw someone he loved, but she managed to restrain herself.
People often told Percy to get down and she didn’t want that happening to her, particularly not in public.
She was allowed to do it of course because she was supposed to be in love with Will, but now she was actually in love with Will she was confused about how to behave.
She knew her face was red and hoped no one was watching too closely. What was he thinking? Was he regretting last night? Was he wondering if she was reading more into it?
She needed to show him that she was fine with it all. That nothing had changed.
She put down the bowls she’d been holding and crossed the room to greet him, lifting herself onto her toes to kiss his cheek.
It turned out to be a mistake because the moment her lips made contact with his freshly shaved jaw it triggered a memory of the night before when she’d done exactly the same, only they’d both been naked at the time.
His arm curved round her and he gave her an intense, questioning look but she simply smiled up at him, pretending that she was pretending.
Then they joined the others at the table, their small private exchange eclipsed by multiple simultaneous conversations.
“These buns are fresh from the oven so don’t burn yourselves,” her mother said, placing them on a large plate in the middle of the table.
Delicious Christmas scents of cinnamon and spice wafted through the kitchen.
“It was a modern interpretation,” her grandmother was saying to Rosie, “and I didn’t like the costumes.”
“One of my friends worked on that production.” Rosie helped herself to a bun, blowing on it to cool it. “The choreography was spectacular.”
Becky noticed that Rosie and Declan were sitting closer together than they had the day before. She suspected they were holding hands under the table.
On impulse she took Will’s hand, allowing herself to touch him while she was still allowed.
She wondered if he might pull away but instead he curled his fingers over hers, pressing her hand onto his thigh.
The same thigh she’d seen naked the night before.
The same thigh that had pressed up against hers.
“But they danced in sacks!” her grandmother said. “And the set was a single black wall. Ballet is supposed to be beautiful. What’s beautiful about a sack and a black wall?”
Rosie nibbled the edge of the bun. “It was edgy, Granny.”
Her grandmother made a disparaging sound. “It was ugly, wasn’t it, Brian?”
“The clue is ‘Not genuine.’ Anyone?” Her grandfather was absorbed with his crossword as usual and Phyllis poked him in the ribs.
“Brian?”
“What?” He looked up from the paper. “What did I miss? Oh, cinnamon buns. Now I know it’s Christmas. You’re wonderful cook, Jenny.”
“These came from the supermarket,” Jenny said, “but I was wonderful at heating them up.”
Becky felt Will’s thumb gently stroke her fingers. She didn’t dare take a cinnamon bun in case she choked.
“I was telling Rosie about the ballet we saw,” Phyllis said. “The one with everyone in sacks.”
“Oh. Yes, that was ugly.” Brian returned to his crossword. “The clue is ‘Not genuine,’” he said to no one in particular, tapping his pencil on the paper.
“Fictitious,” Martin said, adding a stack of sourdough toast to the table. “Jamie, are you ready with those eggs? Is there anything else anyone needs? If not, then tuck in.”
Her grandfather shook his head. “It’s only four letters.”
“Mock.” Jamie appeared at the table with a pan of freshly scrambled eggs and everyone served themselves. “Sham.”
“Phony,” Jenny said and then frowned. “No, that’s five letters.”
“Fake,” Will said, and Becky felt her heart stop. Was it her imagination or had he put emphasis on the word? Maybe he was reminding her that none of this was real. As if she needed reminding.
She pulled her hand away from his and helped herself to a cinnamon bun.
Was it her imagination or was her mother looking at her a little too closely?
“Fake! That’s it. Good lad.” Brian filled in the letters with a flourish, protesting when Phyllis tugged the paper away from him.
“Enough! We have this every day of the week. Do we need to have it at Christmas too?”
“It keeps my brain agile.”
“Your brain isn’t going to wither away over one meal. And if you really want to exercise your brain you could finish writing your book. You know—that book you’ve been talking about for the past fifteen years.”
“We are not talking about the book at breakfast.” Jenny sat down and took a slice of toast and a spoonful of scrambled eggs.
“We’ve done a plan,” her father said. “Haven’t we, Martin?”
“We have. It’s a good plan.”
Percy sat down by Rosie’s chair hopefully, tail wagging.
Rosie stroked his head. “Percy should have a Christmas treat.”
“He’s going for a long walk on the beach soon, with the entire family in attendance,” Martin said. “That’s a Christmas treat.”
Becky was grateful for the chaos, grateful for her family, who were loud and noisy enough to ensure that no one was paying any one individual too much attention.
After breakfast Rosie helped her mother prepare a few dishes for Christmas lunch the following day, while Becky followed tradition and played Scrabble with her father. Will had excused himself to answer a call from the hospital about a complicated patient.
“So how’s my girl?” Her dad studied his tiles and then played his first word. “How’s the new job working out?”
If her mother had asked the question she might have prevaricated because she didn’t want to worry her, but she was always honest with her dad. “It’s not. It was a mistake.”
“Oh?” He lifted his gaze to hers. “Anything you want to talk about? Not that I know anything about your line of work of course, so I’m probably not much use to you.”
Something in his tone caught her attention. “You’re a lot of use, Dad.”
He toyed with one of his letters, staring at the board. “It’s okay to make a mistake, Becky. Knowing you, you’re beating yourself up about it, but it’s okay to get something wrong. And it’s okay to change your mind. That’s all part of life.”
“I should have known.”
“We don’t always know how we’re going to feel about something until it happens.” He carefully placed his letters on the highest scoring option. “Life requires constant readjustment.”
“That’s true.” She looked at him closely, wondering if he was talking about himself or her. “How’s retirement? It must feel strange being able to put yourself first for once. Nice for us, though.”
“What do you mean?”
“This is the first Christmas I can remember where you’ve been here for every meal and not rushing out to see someone in trouble.
Also—” she placed her letters around his, her choice of word making him groan “—this is the first game of Scrabble that hasn’t been interrupted.
It’s nice. Although I still maintain that you were using patients as an excuse because you knew that if you stayed, I’d beat you. ”
He frowned at his letters, concentrating. “I have horrible letters. Horrible. You probably will beat me. And yes, it is nice, although I’m still getting used to the slower pace of things.”
She waited while he made his move, wincing at his high score. “So much for horrible letters. Are you and Mum going to travel? What are your plans?”
“We haven’t made any yet. I need to do that. It has taken me a while to adjust.”
“Well, as you’re always telling me, that’s okay. It’s exciting. Great opportunity to do something new, that isn’t medicine. You could do anything. Learn cross-country skiing. Go on a cookery course in Tuscany. Do a computer programming course.” She scanned her letters, determined to outdo him.
“I suppose I could. First, I’m going to help Grandad write his book.”
“That’s good. We could get you both on social media. Two Wise Doctors, or something.”
“Mm. Not sure I want to do that. You’d want me to dance or something.”
“Dancing is good exercise.” She put down her letters and he groaned.
“ Quixotic on a triple word score? Becky!”
“I know. I’m heartless.”
“I wouldn’t describe you that way.” He stared at his letters dolefully. “So—you and Will.”
Oh no. Her dad never asked about her love life but today it seemed he was breaking with tradition for some reason. “Yeah.”
“Audrey and your mother got a little overexcited at the party last night.”
“Just a little.”
“I expect that felt like pressure.” He glanced at her. “Ignore them, Becky. You do what feels right for you.”
She felt her throat swell with emotion. He wasn’t interfering. He was telling her not to let anyone else interfere. “Thanks, Dad.”
“I mean it. You don’t make a decision to keep other people happy, Becky. And whatever you decide is good with us. We’re always here for you, you know that.”
She felt a heavy pressure in her chest. Where would she be without her family? She loved them so much, but she never said so. She wasn’t like Rosie. Did they know?
“Dad—I—”
“I know.” He reached across and patted her hand. “No need to say anything.”
She wrestled with her emotions, watching as he made his move. “No! Please tell me you’re not putting wheeze on a triple letter score.”
“And that’s me finished.” He held up his hands. “What’s the total? I think you’ll find I’ve won. But if you want a rematch, that’s fine with me.”