FOURTEEN
FOR COMPLETELY PROFESSIONAL REASONS
Alex
Grainger was a terrible patient.
He complained about the painkillers, the food, and the log burner being too hot, and then, twenty minutes later, that it wasn’t hot enough.
He had opinions about how his ankle should be elevated and strong feelings about the precise angle of his pillow.
He called me Doc with a gruffness that was somehow both dismissive and fond at the same time.
I liked him enormously.
After three days, we had settled into something of a routine.
I made breakfast while he told me at length what I was doing wrong.
I checked his ankle, his shoulder, the wound on his head, and recorded my observations in the notebook Oliver had left.
I took myself off for an extended walk exploring the estate in the mornings while Grainger slept, the loch flat and grey and still in the weak winter light, the mountains beyond it swaddled in low cloud.
In the afternoons, I read or helped Grainger with whatever task he had decided he could manage.
He was actually more mobile on his crutches than I gave him credit for.
I loved being up at the loch. I couldn’t quite put it into words, but there was a kind of peace. There was also another emotion that I hadn’t been able to fully acknowledge before.
I’d expected to feel relieved when Oliver and Noah left.
Relieved that the intensity of those few days could now settle back down into something manageable.
And there was relief, of a kind. No more navigating the pull of him across a room.
No more careful management of where I looked and what I let my face do.
But the lodge felt different without them. Larger, somehow. And I missed them even though I had no right to do so.
‘You’re quiet today,’ said Grainger on the fourth morning.
He was sitting opposite me at the table, his gaze assessing me rather like I imagined he had assessed many a situation in his military career.
‘Yesterday you told me I was talking too much,’ I said. ‘You can’t have it both ways.’
‘You’re not just being quiet today.’ He pointed his fork at me. ‘You’re thinking. That’s different.’
I didn’t answer that. I topped his tea up and told him to drink before it got cold.
He let it go, but I felt his eyes on me as I moved around the room.
Oliver called every evening, ostensibly to check on Grainger’s progress, and tonight was no exception. I gave him the medical update first. Ankle improving, shoulder mobile, head wound healed. The kind of report I’d have given any employer. ‘So, all good,’ I concluded.
Then there was a pause.
‘How are you?’ he asked.
‘Fine.’
Another pause. Longer this time.
What I’d noticed, and maybe this was the thing I appreciated most, was that when Oliver asked if everything was all right, he wasn’t asking in general terms.
He was asking me specifically if I was okay.
He didn’t know what had brought me to Risk, and I liked the way he didn’t push.
I also liked the way he cared but wrapped it up as if he were dealing with any other employee.
And my replies were professional, in the way I would have responded during my army days.
We were keeping to boundaries, and yet we were both dipping our toes over the line.
Dancing around things neither of us wanted to say.
To be honest, I could just about say it to myself––in my head.
I liked Oliver. I liked him a lot. I liked Noah too, but I was fully aware that was a different kind of like.
I was also fully aware that liking Oliver in anything more than an employee/employer way would be complicated to say the least.
It was a path I had walked before and that had not ended well.
‘I’ll be up at the weekend with two new members of staff,’ he said, his tone shifting back to business mode as smoothly as flicking a switch.
‘Harry Compton. He’s worked with us before.
Logistics. Materials and equipment. And Louise Walker.
She’s the project manager for the lodges.
We’re going to initiate the final conversion stages once they’ve both assessed it.’
‘Are they staying overnight? Do you need me to get anything ready?’
‘No, Paddy will sort that out. So you might have another guest at the lodge this weekend.’
‘That’s fine. Paddy’s a good roomy. I just need to remember to get some earplugs if I want any sleep.’
‘I’m putting that on the supply list as we speak.’ I wanted to ask where Oliver was staying but forced myself to keep my mouth closed. ‘I’ll be up at the gatehouse with Harry and Louise,’ he said, as if he’d heard the question, anyway. ‘It will mostly be business talk.’
I understood what that meant. I also understood it was the right call. But I couldn’t pretend I wasn’t disappointed that Oliver wouldn’t be staying in the lodge, and that irritated me almost as much as the disappointment itself.
I passed the gatehouse each morning on my walks. It was at the rear entrance of the estate, tucked away enough to be private to the rest of the estate and the staff and client lodges, but close enough to be on hand. I could see why Oliver would want to live there.
They arrived later on Friday evening. Too late for any socialising. Paddy had come over to the lodge and explained they’d had supper in Risk as he hadn’t expected me to have anything ready for them, which was just as well.
‘Boss said he will catch up with you tomorrow,’ said Paddy, taking his bag through to the small room that Noah had slept in last time. He paused in the doorway and looked back at me. ‘It’s all business this weekend. Pretty full on.’
I nodded. ‘Yeah. Of course.’
All business. I told myself that was fine, that it was exactly what it should be, and I almost believed it.
‘Oh, and the boss told me to give you this.’ He pulled out a small paper bag from his pocket and tossed it in my direction.
I caught it and looked inside, grinning when I realised what was inside. A pair of earplugs. ‘Perfect.’
‘You don’t have to hide them,’ said Paddy. ‘Bloody cheek.’ He winked and disappeared into his room.
Oliver came over first thing in the morning, though he had no hope of catching any of us off guard. Paddy, Grainger and I were already sitting at the table when he walked in. Three pairs of eyes turned towards the door.
‘Morning,’ he said, taking in the scene.
‘We were wondering when you’d show up,’ said Grainger.
‘Wonder no more,’ said Oliver. ‘Just wanted to check everyone was okay and see for myself how you are recovering.’
‘I’m getting this thing off next week,’ said Grainger.
‘If the hospital says so,’ I reminded him.
‘They’d better,’ grumbled Grainger.
‘After that, I think, Alex can move out into her own lodge,’ said Oliver.
‘She can move out now, if she wants,’ replied Grainger.
‘He loves me really,’ I said. ‘I’ll go when you’re not in the cast anymore.’
Grainger made a huffing noise but, for once, didn’t give me a comeback.
Oliver continued in his businesslike manner. ‘Alex, if you can spare ten minutes now to go over to the lodge and see if there’s anything you need. I can get that sorted while I’m here.’
‘Sure.’
I pulled on my coat and boots and was just about to say bye to Oliver when I realised he was coming with me.
‘I’ve got the keys,’ he said.
‘Take your time,’ called out Grainger as I followed Oliver out the door.
It was still dark outside, and Oliver used his torch to shine the way.
‘Maybe we should wait for daylight,’ I said.
‘Probably,’ agreed Oliver. ‘But I’m going to be tied up most of the day with Harry and Louise. Here, watch your step.’ He put out a hand to steady me as we navigated a sudden dip in the ground.
I caught his hand, more out of instinct than anything else.
I let go almost immediately. Not because I wanted to.
Because if I hadn’t, I think I would have held on all the way to the lodge and not had a convincing explanation for it.
That one second of contact was both pain and pleasure at the same time.
I needed to be careful. I was very aware of how much I had missed Oliver now that he was here. I absolutely should not have those sorts of feelings.
And yet.
We arrived at the lodge, and Oliver unlocked the door. I had a sudden image of being carried across the threshold and the door swinging shut behind us. I gave myself a sharp internal talking-to.
‘For you,’ said Oliver, holding up the set of keys to the lodge. He pushed the door open and stepped to one side. ‘After you.’
‘Thank you.’ My response was so controlled that even I noticed the tension. I stepped inside, followed by Oliver, who flicked on the light.
‘It’s just a one-bedroom place,’ said Oliver. ‘I thought you would like your own space.’
‘Thank you,’ I said again.
I sounded like a robot. I took a moment to look around. It was open plan, not unlike Grainger’s lodge. Sitting area, dining area, and kitchen area. A small hallway led to a bedroom and a bathroom.
‘There is a two-bedroom lodge you could have if you wanted more space, but you might have to share with someone else,’ said Oliver.
‘No. This is perfect.’ I turned to look at him. ‘More than enough space. You should have seen the postage-stamp sized bedsit I lived in before.’
‘I’m glad you like it.’
‘I love it.’ I wandered over to the window that overlooked the side of the lodge and pulled up the blind. A few metres away was the track that exited the estate, and on the other side of that, the gatehouse. ‘Oh. That’s where you…’ I suddenly felt awkward.
‘Where I’ll be living, yes,’ said Oliver, coming to stand beside me.
His hands were in his pockets as he looked casually out of the window. His shoulder was close enough to mine that I was conscious of the exact distance between us.
The smell of him didn’t help. Aftershave, fabric softener, the faint clean mint of toothpaste. Ordinary things that were all unreasonably distracting.
‘It’s nice and private for you and Noah up here,’ I said. ‘No bumping into guests all the time. In fact, no bumping into anyone, if you don’t want to. You can come and go through the rear gates. Totally private.’
I needed to shut up. I was rambling. Talking for the sake of talking because if I didn’t, I wasn’t sure how I’d deal with the silence. And Oliver’s silences were never really silent.