‘Come on, Lydia. Let’s get you inside.’ I crouch down beside her and help her to her feet. She doesn’t resist but leans on me and follows my lead. I take her into the kitchen and guide her to a chair.
It’s as if the strings holding her up have been snipped and she slumps on the table, her head resting on her arms.
Suddenly now we’re out of the rain, a renewed surge of energy pours through me, which saves me from the awkwardness I’m feeling. Lydia needs looking after, and though I’ve never looked after anyone in my life, I want to now. There’s a tenderness inside me that’s alien and scary. It’s not what I would choose but it’s crept on me. I don’t like it. Not one bit. I don’t like not being in control of how I feel.
And yet there’s that competitiveness to look after her to the very best of my ability. I have absolutely no idea what to do with this feeling except hide it and make sure she has no idea because if she did, I’m not sure what would happen, and that scares the living shit out of me.
Chapter Sixteen LYDIA
My head is killing me and my leg is flashing bolts of pain. I grit my poor abused teeth, but I can’t move or ease the pain.
Tom disappears from the kitchen and comes back a couple of seconds later. ‘Excellent news. It’s a combi boiler.’
‘And?’ I croak, forcing the word out of my throat.
‘Instant hot water and I’ve turned the heating on.’
My head weighs a ton as I lift it to stare blearily at him. I’m running on empty.
He disappears again. Honestly, he’s like a Duracell bunny on heat all of a sudden. All I want to do is sleep, even though I’m soaked through. There’s a possibility I might bite my own tongue, my teeth are chattering so hard.
Tom reappears. He’s only wearing jersey boxer shorts, which are so damp they cling to his junk. Even in my drowned-rat, rain-sodden state, I can’t help but notice the smooth chest and vee of dark hair or the quick flashback of hot skin against mine. I avert my gaze as he picks up one of the kitchen chairs and disappears again. There’s obviously a plan afoot – everything about him is purposeful and decisive. Even in my feeble state it’s very attractive.
Then he’s back again and it’s my turn to be managed as part of his ongoing mission, whatever it is.
My body is about as compliant as a ragdoll, but he manages to get my coat off and then helps me to my feet.
‘Sorry, it’s upstairs. But I’ll help you.’
With careful patience he helps me up to a very stylish bathroom. Pathetic as I am, even I can’t fail to notice the huge walk-in shower with multiple levers and shower heads, the expensive-looking white tiles, the industrial-style shelving filled with plush towels, and the double-ended modern bath.
The chair has been plonked in the middle of the room and immediately reminds me of one of those torture scenes in a movie.
‘You’re not going to tie me up, are you?’ I ask, a rubbish attempt at a joke.
‘Not today,’ says Tom with a sudden devilish grin. ‘But I am going to take your clothes off.’
Okay, it seems my hormones are in a better state than my battered body because they do sit up and take notice.
Before I sit down, he undoes my trousers before pushing me into the chair. He kneels in front of me and slowly peels them down my thighs.
‘Oh, Lydia,’ he says and his fingers skim the mottled purple bruise running down the top of my left leg. He looks up into my face, sympathy and worry glowing in his eyes. I swallow and give him a tight smile. Thankfully he goes back to the task and manoeuvres the fabric past my knees and down my shins. The concentration on his face and the obvious care he’s taking turn me inside out.
‘Lydia. Lydia.’ His distress is palpable as more bruises are unveiled and I have the urge to comfort him. I put a hand on his shoulder and give it a reassuring squeeze.
He undoes my boots and wriggles them off. His hands on my ice-cold feet are like little red-hot pokers as he tugs at my socks.
Then he stands up. ‘Can you lift your arms up?’
I nod and move to do so, but it’s too painful to raise the right one.
‘I’m sorry. I’m going to have to take the scissors to your jumper and T-shirt.’
He returns with a pair of scissors and with swift snips makes short work of both.
He stands behind me and in the mirror I can see his hand hovering above my misshapen shoulder as if he daren’t touch it. ‘That doesn’t look right.’ There’s a brief pause and I feel the slight brush of his hair and the gentlest kiss on my skin. I squeeze my eyes tight shut, so that the tears can’t escape.
‘Come on. Let’s get you in the shower. You’ll feel a lot better when you’re warm and dry.’ He’s all business again, for which I’m extremely relieved. The dam could burst any second now and I could cry all over him.
Having turned the water on, checking the temperature for me, he finally deems it hot enough. At the threshold of the shower, he stands behind me and unclasps my bra and lets it drop to the floor and then he slides my pants down but in such an obviously brisk, impersonal way, I know this is nurse Tom in action. He nudges me into the shower, under the bucket head of hot water. It’s bliss, pure bliss, and all I can do is stand there, limp, letting the water cascade over me, bringing blessed warmth.
‘That better?’ Tom comes to stand behind me. I sway a little and he steps forward, wrapping an arm around my waist, anchoring my back to his chest, holding me up. The tears I’ve been hanging on to finally break free to hide among the water streaming across my face. His fingers slide into my hair, separating the muddy clumps that I’d been oblivious to until now, stroking through the tangled mess. When he’s done, I can’t help it, an involuntary sob escapes, shuddering through my chest. Tom’s hold tightens and his fingers stroke the skin at my waist.
‘It’s okay, Lydia,’ he murmurs at my ear. ‘You’re safe now.’
I’m so grateful that he doesn’t turn me round, that he can’t see me crying properly now. He just holds me and lets me cry, embarrassed tears spilling down my face. We stand like that for a little longer and I think he might be the only thing holding me up. Numbness has taken over my body. I just want to sleep.
He wraps me up in one of those velvety soft towels, draping one over my head, too, and guides me back to the chair. He dabs at my face, smiling up at me in a reassuring, I’m-here-now way, which melts my heart even though I know I shouldn’t let it, and pats me dry in that impersonal but caring way, melting my heart even more.
He’s even prepared a clean T-shirt, one of his, to slip over my head, although I can only get one arm in. Once he’s bandaged my leg up, like a little lost lamb, I let him take me through to the spacious double bedroom, where he peels back the pristine white fluffy feather duvet and sits me on the edge while he wraps my hair up in the towel and then pushes me back against a pile of pillows and tucks the duvet around me.
‘I’ll be right back,’ he says, before adding with an impish grin, ‘Don’t go anywhere.’
I sink back into the softness, relishing the feeling of being warm and oh so comfortable.
I jerk awake to the sound of china chinking on the place mat on the bedside table next to me.
‘Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you.’
