Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
ELENA
As soon as Elena saw the ‘adult content’ warning sticker on the colouring book, she knew she had to buy it for Luisa.
Her sister was bored out of her mind in hospital and complaining about the lack of creative outlets to occupy her time.
Complaining was a good sign, it meant Luisa’s health was improving, even if trying to keep her stimulated was exhausting work.
It wasn’t possible to set her up with oils and an easel, but a colouring book containing extremely rude words and some crayons would be perfect.
Thanking the stall-holder, Elena weaved her way through the crowd of shoppers filling Portobello Road as she headed for work.
She was tired this morning, struggling to shake off a restless night peppered with bad dreams about her mum dying and her break-up with Felix.
Both losses had occurred simultaneously, so they overlapped in her mind, one memory triggering another.
She knew she needed to recover from her losses and look to the future, but how could she do that when Luisa was in hospital, Sofia was unemployed, and Papi was showing no signs of returning home? Her own needs would have to wait.
When she spotted Daniel Jackson ahead of her, she paused by the iron gate, waiting until he’d disappeared inside the building before following him inside. She didn’t need another irritant adding to her unsettled state this morning.
Thankfully, she’d been spared any further bizarre encounters with the man she shared a building with.
His office door was either firmly shut, the lights were out, or he’d left work by the time she’d finished dealing with her list of patients.
Either way, she’d managed to avoid seeing him for a week, and that was something she was extremely grateful for.
So to find herself niggled with guilt was a puzzlement. She had nothing to feel guilty about. The man infuriated her. He clearly had issues, and her life was filled with enough drama without adding his into the mix.
Her plan to ignore him and focus on her own troubles was the sensible course of action. It was solid. Understandable. Logical, even. Guilt be damned, she would not be drawn into his issues, of which he appeared to have many.
This rationale was almost enough to sweep her past his closed office door towards the stairs and escape any unwanted encounters.
But then she remembered his kindness towards Sofia, and she found herself pausing by the stairwell, her hand hovering above the door handle as if controlled by an external force.
With a resigned sigh, she backtracked and walked over to his office door, rapping against the glass before she could sense-check her actions.
When the door swung open, she was hit by a waft of aftershave, which was almost enough to derail her, but she held her ground, refusing to be intimidated by his grouchy expression, or the way his pale lilac shirt fitted snuggly under his striped grey waistcoat.
‘Oh, it’s you,’ he said, his tension easing slightly. When she offered him a strained smile, he lifted a suspicious eyebrow. ‘Do you need something?’
‘No, but you do. Can I come in?’
There was a moment’s pause, almost as if he was weighing up his response. He looked tired, and there was a weariness hanging over him like a shroud, as if the effort of standing upright was too much for him.
She tilted her head in a questioning manner. ‘Is that a no?’
He stepped back and held the door open, his expression wary.
‘Thank you.’ She entered his office and dumped her bag on the visitor’s chair. ‘I’m here because you’re in pain.’
He looked confused. ‘Why d’you say that?’
‘It’s obvious.’ She folded her arms, showing she meant business. From their brief interactions so far she knew he’d be resistant to accepting help, so she was ready to play hardball. ‘Am I wrong?’
She took his silence as confirmation.
‘Good. Denying it would be pointless and a waste of my time. I’m taking time out of my day to help you, so I’m not going to take any crap. Are we clear?’ She wasn’t usually so abrupt with patients, but there was something about Daniel Jackson that brought out the combative side of her.
He ran his hands into his hair. ‘Has anyone ever told you your bedside manner needs work?’
‘No, and it’s your hip that needs work,’ she said, shrugging off her jacket. ‘Do you have a diagnosis?’
He shook his head. ‘No.’
‘Have you received any treatment for it?’
‘No.’
‘Have you consulted your GP?’
He hesitated, seemingly uncomfortable by her direct line of questioning.
Tough, she needed to know what she was dealing with. ‘Well, have you?’
‘No.’
‘Can I ask why not?’
‘No.’ He turned away, and then immediately turned back. ‘Where’s this coming from? I’ve never asked for your help. Why the sudden interest in my health?’
‘You’re right, you didn’t ask for my help. And if I’m being honest, I don’t relish the idea of helping you—’
‘Then why are you here?’ he snapped, dropping his hands. ‘Why bother?’
‘Because you were kind to my sister,’ she said, unfolding her arms in an attempt to soften her stance.
‘Your advice proved useful. She contacted ACAS and they’re helping her, and I’m grateful for that.
So I figured it was only fair to reciprocate and offer to help you in return.
’ One good deed deserved another, and all that.
He walked over to the window. ‘You don’t need to help me. I’m fine.’
‘Are you?’ She looked around his office, noticing the lack of unpacking and an open box of paracetamol lying on his desk. ‘You don’t seem fine.’
‘Well, I am.’ He stared out of the window, his shoulders like granite.
‘Are you really fine? Or are you just stubborn?’
He swung around to face her. ‘Is this how you usually talk to your patients?’
‘My patients aren’t usually resistant to getting help.
They’re smart enough to realise they need treatment.
’ Well, most of them. She’d lost count of the number of patients who’d failed to complete their treatment or continued with their exercises.
Not everyone valued their health as they should.
‘Call me crazy, but here I am, offering to help you despite your rudeness.’
His incredulous expression was almost laughable. ‘You think I’m rude?’
‘Yes, but I’m willing to overlook that.’ Her wide smile seemed to confuse him even more. She was a little confused herself, her mind was conflicted about her motivations for helping him. ‘Do you want my help, or not?’
He stepped away, banging into the window behind. ‘No, I don’t.’
‘Don’t say I didn’t offer.’ She headed over to collect her things, hoping he wasn’t so stubborn he’d actually let her leave.
‘Wait.’
He’d had her worried there for a moment. She kept her back to him, her hand resting on the door handle. ‘Is there something you wanted to say?’
‘I don’t want your help … but I accept I might need it.’
She could only imagine how much he’d hated admitting that.
Suppressing a smile, she turned to face him. ‘Drop your trousers.’
‘Excuse me?’ His expression was priceless.
‘You can’t use the lift or stairs to visit my clinic, so I need to examine you here.’ She locked the office door. ‘And I can’t do that with you fully dressed. I need to assess your hip joint.’
‘I’m not taking my trousers off.’
She knew better than to push it. ‘Will you at least take your waistcoat off?’
He looked like he wanted to refuse, but sulkily conceded. ‘If I must.’
She averted her eyes as he unbuttoned his waistcoat and slid it from his shoulders.
‘And untuck your shirt.’ Her mouth had become a little dry as he pulled his shirt from his trousers, revealing a flash of skin.
She wasn’t usually affected by men undressing, she’d seen enough bare bodies over the years to become immune to the sight of a naked man.
Strange that Daniel Jackson of all people should unsettle her. ‘Shoes off too, please.’
‘Why do I need to take my shoes off?’
‘So I can assess your gait.’
He stepped out of his shoes. ‘This is so weird.’
It was, but then she was used to being called weird—it was a word Felix had often used to describe her. He’d never meant it as an affectionate term, more a cruel judgement.
She moved the visitor’s chair to create more space. ‘Walk around the room for me.’
He did as she asked, pacing up and down the confined space.
‘Lift your shirt so I can see your hips moving.’ She wasn’t asking him to do anything unusual, but for some reason the situation felt far from medical. It must have been down to the setting. If they were in her clinic it would be different, more professional and less … distracting.
He turned and walked towards her. ‘Is this really necessary?’
‘Absolutely.’ She watched him turn, his balance slightly out. ‘Is this a long-term deterioration of the hip joint, or the result of an injury?’
‘An injury.’
She crouched down so she could see the line of his hips. ‘When did it happen?’
‘Nine months ago.’
Not ideal, it was easier to treat a fresh injury. ‘What happened?’
He stopped walking. ‘I don’t want to go into details.’
She glanced up, waiting for him to face her, but he stayed turned away. ‘Keep walking, please.’
It took a moment before he responded.
She studied his hip movement and the way his step was shorter one side. ‘I don’t need all the details, but I do need something to go on. Was it a fall? An impact injury? Did you twist the joint?’
The muscles in his jaw clenched. ‘I jumped from a height and landed heavily.’
‘How high up were you?’
‘About two metres.’
‘What surface did you land on, soft or hard?’
He visibly flinched, as if plagued by painful memories. ‘Concrete.’
It was a miracle he hadn’t broken his pelvis. ‘I imagine that was incredibly painful.’
He shot her a sarcastic look. ‘You could say that.’
She softened her tone. ‘And what happened after you fell?’
He frowned. ‘How do you mean?’
‘Did you receive any medical attention? Was an ambulance called?’