Chapter 17
Seventeen
Corey
A few days after Christmas, right in the middle of the cheese days – those days between Christmas and New Year, where you predominantly survive on leftovers or cheese and crackers – I find myself alone in Nancy’s bedroom, painting.
It’s my first day off since I started working at the pub on Boxing Day.
I mean, I only work over the lunch rush for between three and four hours a day, but I have to admit the prospect of making a little money on my own, with no interference from anyone and without having to do anything I’m not comfortable with, has been incredibly satisfying.
Sam has been a bit subdued, and so he’s let Daniel, the other barman – a nineteen-year-old student from the university in Norwich, twenty minutes away – train me on how to change barrels and how the till system works.
He’s fun, if a little doe-eyed and naive about the world, but I was exactly the same when I was a student, and I’d never want to be the reason someone lost their shine.
So, when he asks about where I’m from, what I did before I moved here, and all the other banal ‘getting to know you’ questions that are completely normal, I surprise myself by telling him about my perfectly happy home life, my decision to leave teaching because of the admin and red tape, and my plans for the future to work with kids using art in some way.
It’s been fun pretending, even just for the eleven and a half hours I’ve been that person.
As I paint, I’m half-listening to the rest of the Fosters downstairs arguing over whether the instructions for the Helmsblüd chest of drawers should be followed to the letter or whether they’re more of a guiding hand.
Nash is downstairs in his element, handing out instructions with his signature blend of organisation and sarcasm. His brothers give it back just as much, and the peals of laughter that carry up the stairs every few minutes make my heart warm.
I haven’t had a chance to speak to Nash properly yet, but seeing how happy he was as he told all of us how his meeting with Nancy went the other day, I felt a lump in my throat of pure emotion.
His joy is infectious, and the whole family is practically giddy.
Wren is here too, and while she’s clearly happy for her brother, she’s keeping very much to herself.
A little like me, I suppose. As soon as I finished the cup of tea Bev made when we arrived, I slipped away, back upstairs to finish the painting I started shaping out on Boxing Day.
Rain asked Nash if I could paint her bedroom, and when he said I could, I’m sure he thought I would just pick a colour or something, but I wanted to do something special for her.
And for him. I know he wants to make this room beautiful for her, and I want to help him do that.
After a few hours in here with the wall paints Nash bought me when I texted him to request them, and my brushes, I’ve managed to render a pretty good base of it around all four walls.
Now I just need to tidy up the details until it’s how I envisioned it in my head.
Or at least as close to it as I can manage.
I wanted the mural to represent aspects of Nancy’s new family, so that when she was in her bedroom, she felt surrounded by their love and support.
So, it starts with a scene depicting a river surrounded by reeds and bulrushes with various birds and butterflies fluttering above them.
There’s a heron standing stock-still on the riverbank, to represent Rain, as he watches the three yachts sailing by, representing Aidan, Cole, and Archer, each of their initials emblazoned on the sails.
As the mural moves around the room, there’s a farm in the background for her grandparents and a tractor for Wren.
The river eventually flows into the sea, and the last section of the mural shows the seaside scenery that I’ve become so attached to.
Nash mentioned this morning that he gave her a stuffed seal toy the other day and how she fell in love with it, so I’ve just finished adding the colony of seals to the mural as well.
They’re there to represent her new daddy and to remind her of the day they met.
I asked Nash to stay out of this room while I’m still working on it, hence why the furniture is all being built downstairs, ready to be carried up later.
I wanted him to see it when it was finished, so when Rain calls upstairs that he and Aidan are ready to leave, I reply I’m not quite ready yet and that I’ll see them at home later.
A few minutes later, Rain comes into Nancy’s bedroom, presumably to check on me, and stops in his tracks in the doorway.
“Corey,” he gushes, surprise and admiration in his voice. “What the… how did you…” He walks into the room, his mouth wide open in surprise as he walks around the entire room, taking in every element of the mural. “Babe, this is unbelievable.”
“It’s nothing,” I hedge, but Rain soon makes his disagreement with that statement known.
“It most certainly is not nothing, babe. This is incredible. I can see everyone. Nash with the seals, and the rest with the boats. Wren with the tractor, even me! I’ll never forget that heron the first day Aidan took me sailing.” His voice trembles with emotion. “What about you, though?” he asks.
“Me? What do you mean? I’m not family, so…” I trail off, and Rain cups my cheeks.
“I wish you could see it,” he says, quietly.
“You are family to me if nobody else. But the way this family works? They’ve already taken you into the fold, babe.
There’s no escaping it now.” He chuckles softly before kissing me on the cheek.
“We’ll see you at home later.” He turns to leave the room before pausing to look at me over his shoulder.
“Put something of yourself in there, babe. I promise you, you’ll be glad you did.” And then he’s gone, and I’m alone with my paintbrush again.
I look at the mural covering most of the wall space. I don’t know what I could…
A thought occurs to me, and I smile. Yes. That would be perfect. And only I would know it was to represent me watching over her as well. I get to work, adding the basic outline of a sunrise in the background of the painting.
“Come downstairs, Corey. You must be starving. I’m making dinner.”
Nash’s voice shocks me out of the hyperfocus I’ve fallen into while painting. It happens a lot when I get lost in the brushstrokes, the act of painting a catharsis in and of itself. I look up at the mural, now almost finished save for a few final touches.
“Give me ten minutes?” I call downstairs.
“OK, little rabbit, but hurry up. Lasagna’s in the oven.
” I smile, relieved at hearing him use the stupid nickname, allowing me to relax fully for the first time since the fire, and I make quick work of the fine details to finish up the mural.
Just that silly name makes me think that maybe I didn’t completely fuck up this friendship when I tried to kiss him.
Maybe it can be salvaged, and he won’t hold it against me.
If I can’t be with him in that way, which…
obviously… at least we can be good friends. Like he said.
I swallow down the bitter taste of disappointment and start clearing up my things.
I’ve just finished cleaning the last brush and am washing my hands when Nash calls me again.
I dry my hands quickly and head downstairs.
Nash has two plates set out on the table, kitty-corner to each other, both laden with steaming lasagna, the smells of garlic and cheese rich in the air.
A side salad and a bottle of red wine stand in the middle of the table, and he’s just pulling a garlic baguette out of the oven.
“Hi,” he says, his glasses steamed up from the heat as he turns towards me and puts the hot tray down on the trivet. His cheeks are flushed, his hair slightly mussed like he’s been running his fingers through it all day, and… I’m sorry. Where precisely did those slutty little glasses come from?
“Excuse you, sir,” I exclaim. “You’re wearing glasses?” I say, my inflection making it sound like a question. “I didn’t know you wore glasses.” I’m gaping at him, I know, but Jiminy Cricket. Nash in gold wire-rimmed glasses is a sight to behold.
Nash chuckles at my surprise before adjusting the frames in an adorably self-conscious gesture. “I usually wear contacts, but I was tired after reading all those flat-pack instructions today, and my eyes were really dry,” he explains.
Girding my loins to behave at the sight of him, channeling Jonathan Bailey with his open collar, chest hair peeking out, his glowing skin, and those fucking glasses, I take a seat at the table where he gestures.
“I er,” he begins as he brings the garlic bread over to the table, “I was hoping we could talk?” He sits down at the head of the table, and I’m immediately caught in his gaze.
“I think that’s probably a good idea,” I say quietly, watching him intently as he serves the salad and offers me some bread. I decline, absolutely sure I don’t want to get garlic breath in front of this man, friends or not.
We eat in companionable silence for a while until the tension in my chest is too much, and I blurt out, far louder than intended, “I’m sorry about the other night.
I didn’t mean to try and kiss you. I was just, I dunno, caught up in the moment or something?
Can you forgive me? I’ll never be so inappropriate agai—”
“You have nothing to apologise for, Corey.” He takes my hand and lowers his head to try to catch my eye from where I’m now trying to burn a hole through the tabletop with my focused gaze. “Nothing whatsoever,” he reassures me when he finally manages to draw my eyes to him.
I give him a tight smile and swallow, frustrated with the conflicting emotions warring within me.
“I don’t know what I was thinking,” I whisper, a tell-tale burning behind my eyes.
“I wish I could say the same,” he says, and I jolt, eye contact suddenly not so difficult.