Chapter 24
Peg had been watching the clock for almost an hour before Mim and Henry finally arrived back, much, much later than she’d thought they’d be. And Henry was exhausted.
‘I know, I know… I’ve overdone it,’ he said, in reaction to her expression. ‘But I didn’t realise how knackered I was until we got in the car to come home and my head started spinning.’
He rubbed at his chest and Peg wondered whether that was hurting as well.
For goodness’ sake, why were men all the same?
Determined not to listen. Well, she was damned if she’d let history repeat itself.
Mim was looking sheepish as well, and were it not for that fact, Peg would have said something far stronger than she was going to.
‘You’re both as bad as one another,’ she said. ‘But I shall have to have words with Blanche if she’s going to have you gallivanting about.’
‘No, don’t do that,’ said Henry. ‘It’s not her fault at all. And to be fair, she did ask repeatedly if I was okay.’
‘And you told her you were?’
‘I thought I was.’ Henry dropped his head. ‘I underestimated how much even conversation tires me.’
He looked so disgusted with himself that Peg immediately felt contrite, mentally pushing back the conversation she needed to have with him about Sofia and Adam.
It would keep for another day. She was, however, still keen to know what had happened while he and Mim had been with Blanche, but maybe it wasn’t the time for that either. She gave him a softer look.
‘Have you eaten?’ she asked.
‘A fat slab of Christmas cake this time,’ said Mim, replying on his behalf. It was clear she felt as bad as Peg did. ‘But she made it herself and it was very nice.’
‘Well, that’s something,’ said Peg. ‘Dinner won’t be for a while yet, so hopefully that will give you two time enough to have a rest.’
‘I’ll make some tea,’ said Mim, even though she would struggle to do so with only her left hand.
Henry wearily took off his coat, and even that seemed an effort.
‘Would you like a bath?’ offered Peg. ‘Perhaps a long soak will make you feel better. Then I would have a nap, if I were you.’
Henry looked like a small boy who’d just admitted to scrumping apples. It tugged at Peg’s heart more than ever.
‘Actually, that would be heavenly. Would you mind?’
‘Of course not. I wouldn’t have offered if I did. Sit down a minute and I’ll go and run one for you.’
By the time Peg returned, Mim had joined Henry at the table, and a pot of tea stood between them.
If Mim had managed it by herself, then it only lent weight to the argument that she would soon want to be home, and Peg wasn’t sure she was ready to think about that yet.
All the talk of Henry moving had been unsettling enough; she didn’t want to contemplate her own relocation.
Then again, taking Mim home would make the logistics of looking after Henry very difficult, and Mim must know that.
So perhaps the longer he stayed, the longer Mim would stay too…
Time was fast slipping through Peg’s fingers, but if she couldn’t stop the flow entirely, then she at least might be able to slow it down.
‘He’s not like Julian, you know,’ said Mim as Peg returned to the kitchen again after checking that Henry had a clean towel.
‘I should hope not,’ she said. ‘They’re different people.’
‘You know what I mean,’ Mim replied, patting the chair beside her so that Peg would sit down. ‘He’s very conscious of what you think, and the last thing he wants is to be difficult.’
‘Julian wasn’t difficult. He was frustrated by his illness, Mim. I understood that.’
‘But he still took it out on you when he shouldn’t have. And he was a belligerent so-and-so before he got ill. Don’t pretend he wasn’t.’
‘And we all have our faults,’ Peg replied. ‘You’re a stubborn mule at times, Mim, and you know it.’
Mim gave her a stern look. ‘We weren’t talking about me.’
‘No, and we’re not talking about Julian either.’
‘All I’m saying is that you turned your life inside out caring for Julian, at times.
And did he thank you for it? Did he change his ways?
No, he didn’t, and even though you never stopped doing everything you could, he still went and died on you.
But this is not going to happen with Henry. He’s doing okay, honestly.’
‘Mim…’ For heaven’s sake, was she a mind-reader now? ‘I’m well aware of that. It’s a completely different set of circumstances.’
‘Perhaps… Some of it is, anyway.’
Peg looked at her aunt, exasperated. What was that supposed to mean? Sometimes she was next to impossible.
‘I can see how anxious you are about Henry,’ Mim added. ‘But he’s a really nice man. Not that Julian wasn’t,’ she added quickly.
‘I’m glad you think so because otherwise you and I might have a falling-out.’
Mim patted her hand. ‘That came out wrong, you know what I’m like. What I mean is that I understand how strange it must feel having Henry here, but that you’re not to worry. I think it’s a good thing.’ She gave Peg a bright smile.
Peg gave her a sideways glance. ‘Good, I’m glad we’ve cleared that up.’ She returned the smile though, just to show Mim there were no hard feelings. Peg found it very difficult to stay cross with her aunt for long.
‘Tell you what, I quite fancy a bath myself after Henry’s finished. Do you think we could rig up that cover we used last time so I don’t get my cast wet?’
Peg almost laughed. ‘I’ll go and find a carrier bag,’ she said.
Henry really ought to get up. He’d slept for far longer than he had intended, but his body was warm and relaxed; another five minutes wouldn’t hurt.
He traced the series of fine lines on the ceiling, letting his eyes move from one to the other. He hated lying to Peg, but he wasn’t sure what else to do. Explaining about Mim would only complicate things, and he was having enough of a problem getting his feelings straight in his head as it was.
He wasn’t well yet, he knew that. It was a constant source of frustration that tasks which had come so easily to him before now felt utterly beyond his reach.
And the truth was that he might never recover the good health he had enjoyed before; the doctors had warned him about that.
But he’d been lucky. His lung seemed fine, and although his chest was still painful, if he moved slowly and breathed shallowly, it was tolerable.
His ribs would heal in time, as would all the other cuts and bruises, and even the bleed in his brain hadn’t left him with the kind of damage it might have.
But something was different, it must be.
It was the only way he could explain how he was feeling.
He should be longing for everything to be as it was before his accident – missing his home, his belongings, his work, and yet, even though he felt as if he’d been lifted bodily from his old life and set down somewhere else entirely, he was far happier with this new situation than he should have been.
His house and everything which made up the day-to-day living of his previous life seemed further and further away each day.
And he didn’t miss them at all. He should feel uprooted.
And restless. But he didn’t. He felt comfortable and at peace.
And there were things he wanted to talk to Peg about.
Because he wanted to know how she was feeling.
She was endlessly kind, and compassionate, and seemingly quite happy having him in her midst, but he still couldn’t work out how she truly felt.
About him. Every time he mentioned the way they had met, or how lovely Christmas Day had been, even if he hadn’t actually spent it with her, she turned his comments gently away and held herself back from him.
They could sit for hours of an evening, listening to the comforting tick of the clock, with a glass of mulled wine in their hands, watching the logs on the fire settle, the lamplight low, and barely speak.
It felt… right… he could think of no other word for it.
The silences were peaceful, companionable, just as he had remembered. Just as he thought he remembered.
With an audible groan, not of pain, but regret at having to move at all, Henry swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat up. He didn’t want to be considered lazy, or even rude. He picked up the book he’d been reading before sleep claimed him, and carried it downstairs to the kitchen.
There was no sign of Mim, but Peg was still there, and now hard at work, scrubbing furiously at a metal shelf which looked as if it had come from the oven. The Essie door was open so his assumption was probably right.
‘You look as if you’re doing penance for something,’ he remarked, putting the book down on the table.
Peg startled on hearing his voice, but swung around with a smile on her face. ‘I am,’ she said. ‘I’m doing penance for not having cleaned the oven sooner. It’s a mess.’ She swiped at a stray hair which had fallen across her face.
‘Can I help?’
‘Not with this,’ she replied. ‘I think you’ve done enough today.’ She visibly checked herself. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to tick you off like a small child. You look better for having had a sleep though.’
Henry passed a hand over his face, rubbing away the last of his tiredness. ‘I feel better. And thank you… for looking after me.’
Peg smiled, and turned back for a moment, rubbing at the tray. ‘You could peel some potatoes for dinner if you really want to do something. Or just sit and keep me company. There’s probably something I should tell you.’
‘Oh?’ said Henry, taking a seat.
‘Yes, I’ve been thinking. About quite a few things. And I also keep meaning to ask you whether you need to get anything from home. You haven’t got very much with you.’
Henry shrugged. ‘I probably should, but for the life of me I don’t know what.’
‘Well, clothes, or… maybe check for post? Or water your plants, that kind of thing?’