No. 14 Own a claw-foot bath
twenty-one
Bea
Panic attacks can do one. Seriously. I was looking forward to today for a long time.
It was meant to be a big day for the café and for cementing my place in Port Doone.
But I’d been working myself up for it so much that when it all came together, my body needed to expel the anxiety it had been storing.
I told August I wanted to be alone out of instinct, I like to hide away after I embarrass myself, lick my wounds in peace, and sleep it off.
Cas is usually the only one I want to see.
I slept when I got home, an hour or two with Heathcliff purring against my chest. He only ever sleeps there after an attack, like he can feel the bad energy flowing through me and knows he can make it sluice away by vibrating his happy sound right over my heart.
When I woke up, I video called Cas and we chatted for a bit.
But now I’m restless, pacing my living room with Pedro tucked tightly under one arm and Heathcliff watching me from the couch.
I can’t relax, the panic still an unwanted presence curling around me like smoke, fogging up my focus and stopping me from doing anything I would normally do to ease my mind. The TV is just white noise; my kindle seems to be written in hieroglyphics. So, I pace.
It’s still light out, the summer sun reluctant to fall below the horizon, but my cottage sits a little lower than the road, the kitchen window bringing me at eye level to the knees of passersby, and the sun doesn’t reach the far side of my living room.
I haven’t turned the lights on, feeling more comfortable in the dark, but across the road, I can see the warm glow of light from August’s window.
I’m not sure I’m really thinking about what I’m doing as I scoop Heathcliff up in my arms—much to his ire, meowing at me in protest,—grab my kindle too, and I’m out the door.
My fluffy yellow slippers with pompoms scrape on the road as I cross and Heathcliff looks outraged to be dragged from his home, but I march on purposefully until I’m at August’s door and knock.
It’s only a few moments before it swings open and August stands in front of me.
He’s changed from this afternoon, just as I have.
Where I tugged on some leggings and an oversized sweatshirt, August is in navy sweats and a light grey t-shirt, his feet are bare and he’s wearing a headset, a gaming controller in his hand.
His face lights up when he sees me, a smile stretching over his lips.
When he sucks in a breath like he’s about to say something, I interrupt him.
“I still want to be alone,” I blurt, still feeling that bubble of anxiety in the deep recesses on my tummy and knowing I’m not up for talking or socialising.
August’s face falls and, ridiculous as it sounds, it lights me up to know he so genuinely wants to spend time with me.
“I just don’t want to be on my own.” His disappointment turns to confusion as he tries to work out what that means, so I explain.
“Could I maybe just sit with you for a while? No chatting, no interaction, just be in the same room. You could keep playing.” I gesture to his controller.
“I’ll read or nap, I just don’t want to be on my own. ”
He pauses for a beat with a blank expression before he moves to the side and lets me through.
As we pass, Heathcliff holds out a paw as if begging for help, but I keep him with me.
I’ve never been in August’s home before, it’s beautiful.
It’s dark wood everywhere; the staircase, the built-in shelving that lines the walls of the large wrap around staircase, and the beams slashing across the ceiling.
The building is as old as my cottage, but somehow, despite being much larger, it feels cosier.
To the right is a step down into the living room where I can see his game paused on a giant TV screen pushed into one corner.
Next to the TV is a frankly ginormous fireplace, I could step into it.
There’s no fire on because it’s a warm summer’s evening, but I can imagine on a cold night, finding comfort from the crackling embers of a fire.
August gestures to the leather couch and I sit, curling my legs under me.
Finally, I give Heathcliff his freedom and he grumbles at me for this inconvenient journey but doesn’t leave, coming to my shoulder to wrap around the back of my neck.
August tugs the crocheted throw from the back on the sofa and wordlessly wraps it over me.
He then clicks his fingers and the merry jingle of Darcy’s collar tings as he rises from his bed on the opposite side of the room.
With a big stretch, he trots over to August who clicks his fingers again over the couch I’m on and Darcy jumps up, immediately snuggling into my side, looking up at Heathcliff on my shoulder with what I’d swear was a smile.
I worry when August leaves the room, thinking he means to leave me in here on my own, but I hear him in another room moving around until he comes back with a steaming mug.
I don’t know how he knew I needed tea right now rather than coffee, but I have a cup of the perfectly coloured tea on a small side table in front of me.
He stands up and surveys the scene, nodding once like he’s happy I have all I need, his gaze lingering a moment on Pedro still tucked in my arm and a slight flicker of a smile graces his mouth.
With a wink that has my tummy fluttering in a way that has nothing to do with anxiety, he heads back to his chair and sits, pressing something on his head set before he speaks.
“Okay, I’m back.”
I hear the voice on the other end and smile when I can tell it’s Connor straight away. “You alright, old man? Was that a particularly big shit or something?”
Someone else laughs in August’s headphone before he adjusts it and I can no longer hear. “Why do you always have to be a little dick?” August huffs. “Right, just concentrate on this mission, then I’m leaving you dipshits to it.” A beat of silence. “Fuck off.”
I smile, imagining the teasing he’s getting and watch the screen as the character navigates jungle terrain with weapons strapped to their back.
August is mostly silent after that, just the occasional click of the controller and the sound from the TV, which he’s turned down so it’s barely a whisper.
With every intention of reading, my kindle lies on my lap, but when I stretch my legs along the length of the couch, disrupting Darcy—unlike my curmudgeonly cat, he just repositions himself without protest—I find myself watching the game, not really taking anything in but enjoying the peace as my eyes drift closed.
“Sunshine,” the hushed voice, smooth and gentle, lulls me from a warm and cosy sleep. “Bea?”
My eyes flutter open to find August crouched next to the sofa, where I’m still lying cocooned in body warmth from Darcy, still lying on top of me but somehow shifted to his back, his tongue lolling from the side of his mouth.
Heathcliff is nestled in the crook of my neck asleep and purring.
“Hi,” I say, smiling sleepily to the handsome face smiling back at me.
“Hi, beautiful.” He strokes my hair away from my face. “How you feeling?”
I take a moment to review. I’m tired, hungry, and there’s a delicious smell wafting from somewhere else in the house.
My head is fuzzy but not so painful, and I’m groggy for sure but nowhere near as bad as I was feeling earlier.
“Okay, I think. How long have I been out? Do you need me to leave?” I frown, starting to push myself up.
“No, sunshine, you don’t need to go anywhere, I’d like you to stay if you’re happy to?” He speaks gently, warm brown eyes tracing over my brow, my eyes, my cheeks.
“Yes, please,” I answer easily.
His smile grows wide. “Good. Now, I’ve run you a bath and dinner will be ready in forty-five minutes. You’ve been asleep for an hour and a half. I left you as long as I could, but I really think you should eat.”
I didn’t hear anything after bath. “You have a bath?”
He grins. “Yeah, come on.”
I sit up properly, but instead of grumbling as usual, Heathcliff just climbs up August’s arm and settles on his shoulder.
Darcy gives a little shake to wake himself up and follows us as August takes my hand and leads me up the grand wooden staircase, which creaks underfoot.
The upstairs hallway is long and narrow, dark with no lights on and no windows to shine in the late evening light.
At the very end of the hall, August opens an old wooden door that whines in protest, and we’re greeted by a bedroom I instantly know is his.
The walls are the same white as the rest of the house, the dark beams cutting through the solid colour on the ceilings and eaves on either side.
The smell of lavender and the humid warmth of the bath I’m guessing is waiting for me beyond the lit-up door across the room hits me as August leads me through his darkened bedroom.
I see the enormous size of his bed with its white and blue striped bedding but not much else before we’re into the bathroom and my knees almost give way.
It’s a claw foot tub. A beautiful, old, claw foot tub in white with gold fixtures and bubbles billowing above the lip.
The bathroom feels newer than the rest of the house, the tile a fresh white and black, the modern shower cubicle opposite the bath.
There are his and hers sinks and a heated towel rail stacked with fluffy black towels.
“Oh my god,” I breathe.
“This okay?” he asks, genuinely nervous for my answer, like he hasn’t just presented me with my dream bath.
“It’s amazing,” I say, honestly feeling teary. He’s left the main light off and there are small battery powered tea lights dotted around the room, flickering and casting shadows like a fantasy realm from one of my books. “I’m totally ready to dive in.”