CHAPTER SEVEN
Walter hoped that an afternoon of retail therapy would have put Beth in a better mood. He wasn’t going to hold his breath, though. He was, however, desperate for a bath.
With Peg at his heels, Walter made his way to the bottom of the stairs and stared up. Feeling stronger than he had felt when he’d attempted the stairs in the farmhouse, and more confident with Beth out of the way, it seemed an ideal opportunity to give them a go. It was going to be a challenge getting up them whilst hanging onto his crutches, but he thought he could do it.
Parking his backside on the second step, he used his good leg and one arm to ease himself onto the next, then repeated the performance. So far, so good. Feeling pleased with himself, he carried on this way until he eventually reached the top. He’d even managed to keep hold of his crutches. Result!
Making sure he was well away from the yawning stairwell, Walter clambered to his feet, using the banister for leverage. It was hard work, and he was hot and out of breath by the time he was fully upright. But the novelty of being upstairs in his own home was worth it, as it meant he could have the bath he so desperately wanted, and he would be able to sleep in his own bed tonight. Ha! That’ll show ’em! A couple of days of this, and he would be able to send Beth packing.
Aware that she might return any minute, he gathered some fresh clothes from his bedroom and limped to the bathroom but couldn’t resist a quick look in the spare room on his way.
Beth had laid out some things on the chest of drawers, make-up and whatnot, and her case had been placed neatly underneath the window. He refrained from looking inside the wardrobe, guessing that she had probably unpacked. It unnerved him to think that it was her clothes hanging in there and not Otto’s. It gave her presence an air of permanence that her short stay didn’t warrant.
Huffing to himself, he locked the bathroom door and lowered his backside onto the closed lid of the toilet, grunting with relief as he took the weight off his good leg. When he’d got his breath back, Walter turned on the hot water tap in the bath, steam gradually filling the room as he undressed.
It wasn’t easy trying to ease the jogging bottoms that Otto had lent him over the plaster cast, but he finally managed it. Thankful that when Otto had renovated the cottage, he’d had the foresight to put in a bath with handles (futureproofing, his son had called it), Walter sat on the edge. Then putting his good leg in the bath and keeping his broken one raised and stuck out at an awkward angle so it didn’t get wet, he eased himself down into the water.
The splash when his behind hit the bottom of the bath made him wince as a mini tsunami slopped over the side, but the watery mess was immediately forgotten as the lower half of his body was immersed in lovely hot water. It was a bit uncomfortable with one leg stuck over the side, but Walter didn’t mind, as he happily soaped himself. This was so much better than trying to stand in the shower (Otto never did manage to find anything for him to sit on) and he even began to hum a little tune.
However, the humming stopped when, some time later and after several attempts, he realised he couldn’t get out. Walter was well and truly stuck. Bugger!
He sat there for a while, topping up the hot water when it started to cool and straining to listen to any sounds from downstairs.
When he finally heard the front door open and close he breathed a sigh of relief: rescue was at hand.
‘Walter?’ Beth called.
‘Up here!’ He heard her tread on the stairs and recognised the creak on the landing as she reached the top.
‘I see you managed the stairs,’ she said.
He heard her walk into the spare room, and the sound of the wardrobe door opening.
‘Beth?’
‘What?’
God, he hated this. ‘I’m stuck.’
‘Stuck?’ Footsteps hurried into his bedroom and hurried back out again. ‘Are you in the bathroom?’
‘Yes.’
‘What do you mean stuck? Please don’t tell me you can’t get off the toilet.’
‘I can’t get out of the bath.’ He thought he heard a snort of laughter but he couldn’t be certain. ‘You can’t come in,’ he added.
‘How do you suggest I get you out, if I can’t come in?’ She tried the handle. The door didn’t budge. ‘Did you lock it?’
‘Yes.’
‘Oh, Walter. What were you thinking?’
That he hadn’t wanted the worry of her walking in on him whilst he was naked in the tub – that was what he had been thinking. Now though, he would be perfectly happy for her to see him in the altogether if it meant he could get out of this blasted bath.
‘Are you any good at picking locks?’ he asked.
‘Yeah, I’m an expert. I’ll just go get my hat pin.’
‘No need to be sarcastic.’
‘I might be able to break the door down,’ she called.
Walter rolled his eyes. ‘You’re almost seventy; you’ll break your shoulder, not the door.’
‘I won’t if I use a sledgehammer. I bet Dulcie’s got one.’
Walter baulked. ‘You’re not using a sledgehammer on my door.’
‘How else do you suggest I get you out?’ Her tone became sly. ‘Perhaps I should phone Otto.’
‘Don’t you dare!’ If Otto knew about this, Walter would end up back at the farmhouse faster than Peg gobbled her dinner.
He thought frantically. They had to do something. He couldn’t stay here for much longer – he was starting to look even more prune-like than he was already.
The lock was an old-fashioned one with a key, because both Walter and Otto had wanted to keep as many of the cottage’s period features as possible. Apart from the kitchen. Otto had insisted on installing a state-of-the-art kitchen, and Walter didn’t have the heart to refuse him. His son had sacrificed so much already…
Walter didn’t know if his idea would work, but he wanted to give it a shot. ‘Can you go out to the shed?’ he called. ‘Find a thin screwdriver and bring my newspaper up.’
To be fair to Beth, she didn’t waste time asking why. He listened to her trot downstairs and waited impatiently for her to return.
‘Got ’em,’ she announced. ‘Now what?’
‘Slide the newspaper under the door, then see if you can poke the screwdriver into the lock and wiggle it until the key falls out.’
‘Nice.’ She sounded impressed and Walter puffed out his chest.
It was far too soon to give himself a pat on the back though, because his idea mightn’t work. He had seen it done in a film once, but what happened on screen probably wouldn’t work in real life.
Walter held his breath as he heard scraping noises coming from the direction of the lock, then he let it out in a whoosh as he saw the key begin to wiggle.
‘Newspaper!’ he yelled, realising that she had forgotten it, and his heart was in his mouth until Beth had shoved it underneath the door.
He hadn’t realised until now just how much of a gap there was between the door and the lino; no wonder he could feel a draft when he sat on the loo. It was something that needed to be fixed, but right now he was extremely grateful for it.
His attention was firmly on the door, as the barrel of the key was slowly pushed out of the lock. It hung there for a moment, and once again he held his breath. When it finally dropped directly onto the newspaper, Walter let out a whoop and slapped the water, sending it sloshing over the side.
‘The key is out!’ he cried. ‘Pull the newspaper towards you.’ Then he abruptly deflated with the fear that it mightn’t fit under the door, especially with there being carpet on the other side.
He couldn’t look. Screwing his eyes shut, Walter ground his teeth, praying that Beth would be able to retrieve the key.
When he heard it turn in the lock and the door click open, he could have wept for joy. Until he remembered he was starkers. His eyes flew open and he grabbed a towel off the rail to cover his embarrassment.
Beth was standing in the doorway. He fully expected her to smirk, but she wore an odd expression, one that he couldn’t decode.
Walter flushed under her gaze, even though his modesty was preserved by the towel. ‘Good job,’ he said.
Seeming to snap out of whatever had got hold of her, Beth snatched up another towel and stepped towards him. He appreciated that she kept her eyes averted, as she held out a hand. Grasping it, Walter got his good leg into what he hoped was the correct position to bear his weight.
‘One, two, three,’ Beth chanted, and on ‘three’ she leant back and heaved.
Walter emerged from the bath like Neptune rising from the waves, only with considerably less grandeur. Water cascaded over the floor, but he was upright and that was all he was concerned about.
Feeling more foolish than he had ever felt in his life, he perched his scrawny backside on the edge of the bath and swung his legs to the floor. Beth, he noticed, had her head turned away and was steadfastly gazing at the ceiling.
Without looking at him, she handed him the dry towel. ‘Can you take it from here, or do you need me to help you get dressed?’
‘I can manage.’ His voice was hoarse. ‘Thanks’
A smile teased the corners of her mouth. She looked so much nicer when she smiled. She should do it more often, he thought.
She said, ‘You’re welcome. I’ll be downstairs. Shout when you need me.’
When. Not if. It seemed that Beth was just as aware as Walter that he needed far more help than he cared to admit.
The last thing Beth had expected to see when she returned to the cottage was a naked man stuck in a bath. She had to admit that she had felt acutely embarrassed, but probably not as embarrassed as Walter! His face had been a picture, she thought, as she basted the pork chops she was cooking for their tea. But his face was the only thing she had looked at. The rest of him had been strictly out of bounds.
However, she had caught a glimpse of his chest and the smattering of grizzled grey hairs covering it. The sight had given her a bit of a pang. It was a long time – many years – since she had been within touching distance of a bare male chest
She had quickly looked away. Such pangs belonged in her past, when she had been young enough to have done something about them. These days she didn’t have the energy nor the inclination.
Companionship wouldn’t go amiss though. That was what she had missed when the kids were growing up: someone to share her worries with at the end of a difficult day, or to share the joys when good things happened. She even missed washing up whilst someone else dried. Not that her husband (God rest his soul) had wielded a tea towel very often. Or listened when she needed a good grizzle. He’d not been there for many of the good times either, now that she came to think of it. So what was it exactly, that she missed? How could you miss something that you’d never had?
Beth shook her head to clear it of such fanciful thoughts. It wasn’t surprising that she was out-of-sorts, considering the stressful few days she’d had. And there were likely to be more stressful days to come.
Beth suppressed a snort: her day hadn’t been half as stressful as Walter’s. He’d had a right old time of it. At one point she had honestly feared she wasn’t going to be able to get the door open by herself – unless she used the sledgehammer.
But try explaining a smashed door to Otto. He was bound to notice, although maybe they could have kept it from him long enough to convince him that Walter didn’t need looking after. Beth hadn’t wanted to take the risk though, and neither had Walter. He wanted her gone almost as much as she wanted to leave. Although he might change his mind when she plonked a nice pork chop with roast potatoes and veg in front of him. She bet he wouldn’t manage to cook a meal like that whilst balancing on one leg!
The evening meal wasn’t as uncomfortable as lunch had been, despite the events of earlier, and Beth began to relax.
When Walter asked, ‘Did you get what you needed in the village?’ she didn’t go looking for a hidden meaning or disguised sarcasm, and took the question at face value.
‘Yes and no. I called into the estate agent because I checked on the house and noticed they hadn’t started on the repairs. I didn’t get much joy.’ She spooned out a portion of apple sauce and popped it on her plate, before offering the bowl to Walter.
He tasted the sauce and his eyes widened. ‘Did you make this yourself?’
‘I did. And the stuffing and the Yorkshire puds.’
‘Very tasty.’ Beth inclined her head in acknowledgement.
She had always been a dab hand in the kitchen, and it was a pleasure to see someone enjoy her cooking again. These past couple of years, Maisie, although still living at home until recently, had been out more often than she’d been in, and Beth had stopped cooking tea for her because she’d hated wasting food. This meal definitely wasn’t going to waste, she was pleased to see, as Walter tucked in with enthusiasm.
‘That’s the no bit,’ he said. ‘What’s the yes?’
‘You’re eating it. I also bumped into Lena, and we had a coffee.’
‘Lovely woman, Lena. Amos has got a good ’un there. Mind you, she hasn’t done too badly herself; Amos is the salt of the earth. He’d do anything for you, would Amos. Gotta take it easy though – angina. We’re a couple of old crocs. Although at the moment I’d say I’m more croc than he is.’ He gestured to his broken leg with his fork. ‘Just you wait until I get this cast off – I’ll give him a run for his money. Talking about casts, I’ve got an appointment at the fracture clinic the day after tomorrow. Can you… Do you think…?’
‘Yes, I’ll drive you there.’
‘Thank you.’
Beth wondered if it had hurt him to ask. She knew how much he hated being reliant on her, but Dulcie and Otto were busy; she wasn’t. It felt rather good to be needed again, even if it was Walter who was the one needing it.
Surprisingly, he hadn’t needed help getting dressed after his bath, and neither had he needed her assistance in getting down the stairs. He’d inched down on his bottom, although Beth had held his crutches. It would be handy if he had a pair for upstairs use, she’d mused, and she’d made a mental note to ask Lena if she knew where she could get hold of a spare pair.
After Beth had stacked the dishwasher (she’d never had one of those and had needed to pick Walter’s brains on how to work it, the same as she’d had to ask him about the stove), the two of them settled down in front of the telly with a cup of tea and a custard cream or two.
Despite being on her own with Walter and not having Dulcie or Otto as a buffer, Beth felt more relaxed in the cottage than she had in the farmhouse. Probably because Walter wasn’t being so tetchy, she surmised. By unspoken mutual agreement neither of them had mentioned the bathroom incident when Dulcie had phoned to check that they hadn’t killed each other yet, nor when Otto had popped in on his way to the restaurant to see how they were getting on (i.e. no fatalities) and ask whether they needed anything.
Having a secret seemed to have broken a barrier between them, and even though Beth didn’t want to be here and Walter didn’t want her here, there appeared to be a ceasefire for the moment. How long it would last was anyone’s guess, but Beth wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth.
As she got ready for her first night under Walter’s roof, she wondered how much her new-found reluctance to wind him up was due to what Lena had told her, and she could feel herself softening towards him.
If this evening was anything to go by, maybe looking after him for a few days wouldn’t be such a strain after all.
Walter didn’t know what the technical word was for the gadget that enabled him to pick things up off the floor (he called it the ‘grabby thing’), but it didn’t half come in handy this morning to retrieve his dropped sock.
He was currently sitting on his bed, getting dressed for his hospital appointment and feeling rather nervous. He hoped everything was okay under the cast.
Eventually dressed (everything took three times as long with a broken leg, he had discovered), he lowered himself cautiously down the stairs and limped into the kitchen. The delicious aroma of bacon had made his tummy rumble in anticipation whilst he was upstairs, and he was eager to tuck into his breakfast.
Beth was standing by the stove, wielding a frying pan. ‘Pancakes, and bacon with syrup for breakfast,’ she announced. ‘Go sit down, it’s almost ready.’
She joined him at the table, her own plate piled just as high as his, and he reckoned that both of them needed to keep their strength up for the ordeal ahead. Him, because he hated hospitals and wasn’t relishing having his leg poked and prodded, and Beth because she had confessed to him that she was fearful of driving on strange roads.
Her admission had surprised him: he’d been under the impression that nothing fazed her. Over the past couple of days, since Bathgate, he had begun to notice chinks in her armour. Beth Fairfax wasn’t as indomitable as she appeared. She was still grouchy though, and they’d had a couple of spats, but nothing like it had been.
Walter was quietly hopeful that things were settling down.
He was also quietly hopeful that he might have his house to himself again shortly. Maybe this hospital visit would help move things on. If he had a good report from the fracture clinic, it might give him more leverage in persuading Otto that he could manage without Beth’s help.
Although, Walter had to admit, having Beth around did make life easier. She cooked a mean breakfast, for one, and she took Peg out for her daily constitutional for another. Maybe he should keep her around for a while longer.
He was still mulling it over on the drive to Thornbury and the hospital, and he continued to think about it after the doctor had announced that she was pleased with his progress and would see him again in four weeks.
Realistically, he knew that he still needed help with many things and having Beth here was the easiest option. Besides, he was getting rather used to her.
‘Do you fancy stopping off somewhere for a spot of lunch?’ Beth asked, as she drove out of the hospital’s congested car park.
‘What about my leg?’
‘You can bring it with you,’ she replied, deadpan.
Walter rolled his eyes. ‘I meant, should I be out and about with it?’
‘I don’t see why not. It’s not as though you’re ill, or contagious. You see people with broken legs all the time.’
Walter didn’t like to admit that he was worried someone might bump it, or that he wouldn’t be able to make it from the car to wherever it was they were going. It had been difficult enough walking from the patient drop-off area to the fracture clinic’s waiting room.
‘Breakfast filled me up,’ he said by way of an excuse, even though he didn’t want to go home just yet. He was quite enjoying being out of the house.
Beth was staring straight ahead, her attention on the road as she negotiated the traffic through the busy town. But Walter could have sworn that there was a disappointed set to her shoulders.
Relenting, he said, ‘There’s a pub called The Dancing Pheasant halfway between here and Picklewick. It used to have a good reputation, but I don’t know what it’s like now. We could give it a go, if you want.’ Then he decided to be honest with her; after all, she had shared her concern about driving on unfamiliar roads with him. ‘I’m worried about knocking my leg, or not being able to walk far,’ he confessed. ‘The pub has got its own car park.’
Beth shot him a glance before hurriedly looking at the road again. ‘Sorry, Walter, I didn’t think.’
Wow! Beth had apologised?! That didn’t happen very often.
‘I’m surprised I’m hungry at all after bacon and pancakes,’ he said. ‘But I am.’
‘Me, too. Shall we give it a go?’
So they did. And very pleasant it was.
To Walter’s surprise they had quite a lot to chat about, and he found himself enjoying her company. Lunch was bitter-sweet though, because the last time he’d been out for a meal with a woman it had been with his wife, when she was alive. Not that they’d gone out for meals much: that had been reserved for special occasions.
Still, this was very nice and as they waited for dessert and coffee, he sat back with a contented sigh.
‘This is a real treat,’ Beth said. ‘I don’t eat out very often – unless you call having a cuppa in a cafe and smuggling in a packet of Fig Rolls, eating out.’
‘I don’t eat out at all,’ Walter said. ‘Except for going to Dulcie’s.’
‘What about the pub? Do you ever go to the Black Horse?’
‘Now and again, but not for a meal. I used to play darts.’ He hadn’t played for a long time. Now that he came to think about it there were lots of things he hadn’t done for a long time, and he realised how insular he had become over the years.
‘Is there much to do in Picklewick?’ Beth asked.
Walter’s mind went blank. ‘I’ve no idea.’
‘I wondered what was on at the community centre.’ She got out her phone, the tip of her tongue poking out as she scrolled, and Walter could imagine her doing the same thing in school when she was a girl, as she worked on her sums or concentrated on her spellings. The image made him smile.
‘Yoga, mother and toddler group, photography club, bingo, knit and natter… And The Black Horse has a quiz night and karaoke. Can you sing?’ she asked.
‘Er, no.’
‘Me, neither. I sound like a scalded cat. Knit?’
Walter shook his head.
‘Do you like quizzes?’
‘I don’t mind Tipping Point on TV, and I quite like The Chase.’
‘Wanna give it a go?’
‘Oh, I don’t think so. I can’t see myself being on TV, can you?’
Beth chortled. ‘Not on the telly! Down the pub.’
Walter blinked. ‘Maybe.’
Beth carried on, ‘There’s a gardening club.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘Nah, if I feel the urge to get my hands dirty, I’ll ask Dulcie if I can grub about in her veggie patch.’ Beth fell silent for a moment, her eyes on the screen, then she yelled, ‘Kite flying!’ and Walter almost leapt out of his skin.
‘Where?’ His gaze shot to the window.
‘There’s a kite flying club,’ Beth explained. ‘I quite fancy flying a kite again. I haven’t done that since I was a kid. Pendine Sands in West Wales. We had a caravan for a week.’ She looked wistful.
Their desserts arrived, along with their coffee, but Beth didn’t begin to eat hers straight away; she was busily typing one-fingered into her phone.
Walter was tempted to tell her off, the way he’d heard her reprimand Maisie for playing with her phone at the table, but he held his tongue.
Then he wished he hadn’t when Beth made an announcement. ‘Righty-ho, I’ve just signed us up for Half Board on Thursday afternoon.’ And when Walter stared at her in confusion, she explained, ‘It’s an afternoon of board games. And on the following Monday we’re going to bingo.’
’I don’t like bingo.’
‘Have you ever been?’
‘No, but—’
‘Don’t knock it until you try it,’ she said, around a mouthful of apple crumble and custard. ‘If you give it a go and still don’t like it, we can try something else.’
‘What if I don’t want to?’
‘I’ll go on my own, and you can be Mr Boring all by yourself.’
‘I’m not boring,’ he protested.
‘Prove it!’
Walter pulled a face. He didn’t think he could. In fact, he was fairly certain that he was boring. Maybe playing board games and so on was the sort of thing that might help alleviate the loneliness he had been feeling…
It looked like he would be going to bingo after all!