Chapter 19
Bill felt awful. Fiona’s bewildered face hovered at the forefront of his mind as he closed the door, and he feared he had upset her. He hadn’t meant to come across as gruff and unfriendly (he had been aiming for polite and friendly, yet slightly distant), but he’d taken it too far. And now he was worried that she was upset.
And he shouldn’t have lied about having an appointment. He should simply have turned up at the cafe as planned this afternoon, helped her put the delivery away, and then gone home. He could easily have acted as though nothing untoward had happened last night – as long as Fiona hadn’t brought the subject up. But even if she had, he could have brushed it aside with a brief apology and an excuse that the lovely day out had addled his brains. He would have assured her that nothing like that would ever happen again, and that would have been the end of it.
But, oh no, he’d made up a daft excuse and had then been offish with her.
Serve him right if he felt bad. He never should have allowed himself to develop feelings for her. If they hadn’t sneaked up on him, maybe he would have been better able to deal with them, but he had been unprepared for the emotions that had overtaken him yesterday.
He’d not slept a wink, and had tossed and turned all night, much to Patch’s disgust as the dog slept on his bed. Patch had eventually curled up on his blanket near the window, leaving Bill to suffer alone.
And suffer he had. His thoughts had bounced from Tracey to Fiona and back again, and he had spent hours analysing how he felt about the two very different women, and how he had managed to stir up emotions that he’d been convinced he would never experience again.
As he’d boarded the ship that was to take him away from the woman he loved, but who hadn’t loved him enough to marry him, he had vowed he would never put himself in that position again. He’d had his heart broken once and he simply would not allow it to happen a second time.
Unfortunately, he suspected it was already too late. He was in love with Fiona, and there was nothing he could do about it.
***
If I’m not careful I’m going to turn into an owl , Bill thought as he ushered Patch out of the door. God, what a day! He would be glad when it was over, but there were still another two and a half hours of it to go, and no doubt he wouldn’t get much sleep again tonight, either. Which was why he was taking Patch for another walk. It would be the dog’s third, but the terrier wasn’t complaining. The pooch seemed positively happy at the prospect of a stroll after dark, and appeared to be much more up for it than he had been last night.
At least one of us had got a good night’s kip , Bill grumbled to himself, and he was hoping that another walk might be just enough to send him into the land of Nod when his head hit the pillow, rather than lying wide awake until dawn. He was exhausted. He hadn’t fully recovered from the long walk along Porthcawl’s front yesterday, or the journey, so when he added the emotional upheaval that he had been subjected to into the equation, it was no wonder he was utterly drained. However, his mind was churning faster than a washing machine on spin, and he suspected tonight might be as bad as last night.
For no other reason than to ring the changes, Bill decided to walk around the park in the opposite direction to the one he usually took. It led him over the field and through the meadow with its summer blooms.
A moth fluttered past his face, and he gently wafted it away as Patch scampered through the long grass, disturbing more of the delicate creatures. Aside from the occasional vehicle in the distance, the only sounds were Patch’s enthusiastic snuffling and the tweet of a sleepy bird who had yet to realise it was nighttime.
Bill paused, drinking in air that was still pleasantly warm from the day.
The moon was gibbous, hanging above the horizon, with a gold tinge that Bill knew would fade to silver as it rose higher in the sky. A few stars twinkled, and he tilted his head back to squint at the familiar dots of light. Once, a long time ago, he had set himself the challenge of learning to navigate by their position in the sky, but he’d never dared put it into practice, not with so much at stake, the ships he had commanded having been huge and phenomenally expensive.
A watery plop caught his attention, and he dropped his gaze to the pool. Its surface rippled briefly with expanding concentric circles before fading away. A frog, he presumed. Or a fish leaping for insects.
It was so peaceful here, and he lingered for a while. A bench to sit on would have been nice, though. Maybe he would suggest it to Molly as something to buy with the profit from the cafe, or maybe he would make another donation…
Bill had been trying to keep his mind away from Fiona, but thoughts of the cafe brought her sharply back into focus. What was he going to do about her? Or, to phrase it another way, what was he going to do about the way he felt about her? It was no good pretending that he didn’t love her, because he did. The fact that he didn’t want to be in love with anyone, was neither here nor there.
But could he honestly work with her in the cafe, seeing her day after day, and knowing they would never be more than friends? He didn’t think he could. Neither could he avoid her, unless he was to forgo his walks in the park, and even then he would probably bump into her at some point because Sweet Meadow was too small a town to avoid anyone for long.
His morose musing was interrupted by another splash, a much larger one this time, caused by Patch pawing at the water.
‘Stop it, you daft dog,’ Bill grumbled. ‘Making your own waves won’t work—’
Waves… sea… hmm… He recalled something Fiona said yesterday, and he let out a grunt. That was it! He could move, get a little retirement flat near the coast. It would solve the problem of Fiona.
A tune from The Sound of Music flitted into his head, and he hummed it sadly, substituting the name Maria for Fiona. How to solve a problem like Fiona… La, la, la…
The sea had healed him once, it would do so again. Long walks along the shore, the smell of the ocean in his nose, the sound of the waves… It would help fill the void that Fiona had unwittingly created in his heart, even though it would be a wrench to leave Sweet Meadow . But it couldn’t be worse than the way he would feel knowing that Fiona was nearby but so far out of reach. Putting distance between himself and the woman he loved had worked once. He hoped it would work a second time.
Decision made (although he didn’t feel any lighter for it) Bill called Patch to him and retraced his steps. It was time to go home; the walk had achieved its purpose.
As he strolled back through the meadow, he mulled over what needed to be done and how soon he could start the ball rolling. Ideally, he would like to put the house on the market tomorrow, but he dreaded telling Molly. She worked for the only estate agent in town, so it was inevitable she would find out. He would leave it until Monday. Get the cafe’s opening ceremony over and done with first. Five days wasn’t long to wait, but it might prove to be a long time indeed, since he would be spending a considerable amount of it in Fiona’s company. He didn’t see how he could get out of it honourably; he had promised he would help, so he had to keep that promise. Today had been bad enough; he had hated lying to Fiona about why he’d failed to help with the delivery, and he didn’t intend to do it again.
He had almost reached the path when he heard a very annoying noise – the sound of glass breaking.
‘For Pete’s sake,’ he growled under his breath. Those damned kids were going to be the death of him! He didn’t mind them being in the park, as long as they behaved themselves. But smashing their bottles of beer and cheap vodka wasn’t the way to go. They knew people walked their dogs here. Sliced-open paws weren’t a laughing matter. How would they like it if they cut their feet on broken glass? If he had his way, he would make them take their shoes and socks off and walk over their damned broken bottles barefoot.
Gah! There goes another , and he flinched as more glass was smashed.
Eyes narrowed and jaw clenched, Bill put Patch back on the lead so the dog wouldn’t run ahead and risk getting his paws cut, then he stomped towards the sound. He would give those yobs a piece of his mind, and if he recognised any of them he would have a word with their parents. It probably wouldn’t do any good, but at least he’d have tried.
As he marched past Molly’s cottage, he debated whether to give her and Jack a knock, but decided against it. He could hear Jet’s muffled barks and guessed they’d be along soon to see what was going on, and besides, Bill didn’t want to waste any time detouring from the path. He wanted to catch the little blighters in the act!
With gritted teeth, he rounded the bend and the cafe came into view. The bandstand was just beyond it, but he couldn’t see anyone.
They must have realised they were making a racket and had scarpered before they got caught.
Damn.
Hang on! He could see a figure on the path hurrying out of the far gate.
‘Oi! You! Stop right there!’ he yelled, breaking into a shuffling run, Patch yipping excitedly as he scampered alongside him.
If he got his hands on the blighter, he’d—
His foot tangled in Patch’s lead, and Bill let out a yell as he tried to step over it so he didn’t tread on his dog, but his balance was all out of kilter and to his dismay he found himself falling sideways. Instinctively, he put his arm out to save himself, but as his hand connected with the ground, he heard a crack and felt an almighty pain in his shoulder.
Damn and blast, he thought – he’d only gone and broken his ruddy collarbone.
Bugger.
***
A black shape hurtled along the path, and Bill prepared for impact as Jet bounded towards him. Thankfully Patch intercepted him, and the dogs bounced around each other in a sniffy greeting.
Footsteps followed quickly behind, and Bill flinched as a bright light pierced his eyeballs. He would have put an arm up to shield his face, but the one was incapacitated and the other was trying to keep the injured one still because the slightest movement was absolute agony.
‘Get that bloody light out of my eyes.’
‘Bill? Is that you?’ Jack called.
‘Who do you think it is? Father Christmas?’
‘Why are you sitting on the ground?’
Molly came into view, pushing past Jack and the dogs. Jack grabbed Jet’s collar and Patch went to the man to be petted, which Bill was relieved about, because the thought of Patch clambering all over him made him feel sick.
He felt sick enough as it was. The pain was coming in waves, radiating from his shoulder and into his neck and his arm. Even breathing hurt.
Molly knelt beside him. ‘What happened?’
‘Kids, smashing bottles,’ he rasped, trying to breathe shallowly, as the slightest movement of his upper chest was agony. ‘Chased after them. Fell. Broken my collarbone.’
‘Oh, dear. Does anywhere else hurt?’
‘Don’t think so.’
‘Can you move your legs?’
Bill wriggled his toes. ‘It’s just my collarbone.’
‘There’s no jus t about it. Jack, take the dogs inside, and be careful, there might be broken glass around.’
‘You can say that again,’ Jack said. But he wasn’t looking at the ground. He was shining the torch at the cafe.
Bill followed his gaze, moving his head cautiously, and what he saw made him forget his collarbone for a moment.
Every pane of glass was broken.
***
Bill had never ridden in an ambulance before and he hadn’t wanted to do so this evening, but Molly had insisted on calling the emergency services, so he’d had no choice. To be honest, if she hadn’t, he might still be sitting on the path in front of the cafe, trying to summon the courage and the energy to get to his feet. Even with the help of two paramedics and some gas and air, he’d had difficulty getting up. He hadn’t realised how much he relied on his arms when getting to his feet. Not that he sat on the floor anymore, not with his knees. But even getting out of the wheelchair that they’d put him into to take him from the ambulance into A I’ve taken care of it.’
‘You have?’
Jack held up his mobile. ‘Gavin will board up the windows until we can get new glass put in.’
‘When will that be? Not in time for Saturday, surely?’
‘ Absolutely in time for Saturday, and Molly thinks it’s a good idea to get wooden shutters made for the outside. Not only will they look cute – her words, not mine – they’ll prevent anything like this happening again.’
‘I wish I knew who was responsible.’ Now that the shock was starting to wear off, Bill was getting angry again. He wished he could get his hands on them. Or him. After all, he’d only seen one person. He wished he could remember more, but all he had was a fuzzy image of a figure hurrying out of the gate.
A harried-looking chap in a white coat stopped at the foot of Bill’s bed and glanced at his notes. ‘Mr Greaves?’
Bill nodded with relief. Finally, he could go home.
The doctor said, ‘I’ve had a look at your X-ray. You’ve got a displaced fracture of your right clavicle.’
Bill tried not to sigh. He already knew that he’d broken his collarbone. He didn’t need a doctor to tell him.
The doctor, oblivious to Bill’s impatience, continued, ‘It will require an operation unfortunately, so as soon as we can find you a bed we’ll get you admitted.’
‘You what? ’ Bill’s eyes shot to Jack in disbelief. ‘I thought I’d be going home.’
‘Not for a couple of days, I’m afraid,’ the man said.
That had been the last thing Bill had expected to hear, and when Jack returned to Sweet Meadow to fetch what Bill would need for a stay in hospital, he could have cried with frustration.
The person who had smashed the cafe’s windows had a lot to answer for.