A Season for Second Chances(110)

“You stupid sod!” She half laughed, choking back tears. “Who does that? Who throws themselves into a raging storm like that?”

“Me, apparently,” he replied. “I couldn’t leave him out there to drown.”

“I know,” said Annie quietly. “I know. I can’t decide whether to kiss you or punch you.”

“I think the rocks gave me enough of a beating for one day,” he said.

“I’m coming down with tea!” came Maeve’s voice from above.

She reached them, and Maeve handed a steaming mug to John, who took it with shaking hands.

“Get that down you, boy!” she said.

John did as he was told.

Maeve looked around. “What about Alfred?”

“They’re still treating him,” said Annie.

Maeve was quiet. Annie knew she was worried.

“Right ho,” said Maeve. “I’ll go and fill the troops in. Let me know when you’re done with that one, John, and I’ll make you another.”

Annie turned her attention to John. His legs and arms were a mass of cuts and scrapes, and Annie didn’t doubt that he’d have some royal bruises by morning. She put her arm around him and pulled him close. John leaned into her, his hands wrapped around his mug of tea. His hair smelled of cold winter walks. They sat that way for five minutes or more before they heard coughing and the low grumbling sound of Alfred’s voice. Annie let out a breath she hadn’t known she was holding, and John perked his head up like a dog who’s just heard his master’s voice. Above Alfred’s protestations came the soothing tones of Georgina’s calm voice and Mark’s jolly quips. John went to get up, but Mark appeared round the door.

“Right,” he said, smiling broadly. “Your turn.”

“I’m fine,” said John, his voice still gravelly.

“Would you mind letting me be the judge of that?” asked Mark cheerfully. “Only my bosses get terribly upset if I let accident victims diagnose themselves.”

Annie smiled and John offered the closest approximation he could muster.

“How’s Alfred?” asked Annie, straining her neck to see if she could see around the door.

“He’s doing really well considering,” said Mark. “We’re going to take him to hospital to get him checked over by a doctor.”

“He won’t like that,” said John.

“So I’ve noticed,” Mark replied.

“He struggles with being kept inside,” said Annie, quietly enough that she hoped Alfred wouldn’t hear her. “If you see what I mean.”

“Gotcha,” said Mark. “Thanks for letting me know. We are going to have to take him in, but we’ll let A&E know, and we’ll be as sensitive to his needs as we can be.”

Annie was worried that a spell in hospital would send Alfred into another spiral like the one that led him to this situation in the first place, but when Georgina popped her head around the door and said brightly, “Okay, Mark. Ready when you are!” and there was no sound of Alfred grumbling, Annie surmised that Georgina had worked her charms on her curmudgeonly friend.





Chapter 84



Mark finished checking John over. He bandaged a couple of the nastier gashes on his legs and put a butterfly stitch on a cut on his head. After taking his blood pressure and pulse and shining a pen-torch in his eyes, Mark declared that John had been very lucky indeed.

“I’d like you to come in too and get a doctor to give you the once-over,” said Mark.

“Do I have to?” asked John.

“No, you don’t have to. We advise it just in case. You could be concussed. But ultimately it’s your choice.”

“I’d rather not,” said John. “I’m not an emergency and I don’t fancy sitting in an A&E waiting room for hours just to be told I can go home and rest. No offense.”

“None taken,” said Mark. “I wouldn’t want to be waiting around either. Have you got someone at home? Or anyone who can stay with you tonight? I would feel happier knowing you had help at hand, should you need it.”

“He can stay here,” said Annie. “I’ll keep an eye on him.”

“I don’t need a babysitter,” John protested.

“Don’t argue with me. You’re staying here,” said Annie.

Mark went back to the ambulance to get a stretcher, and John and Annie followed him up the stairs, Annie walking behind to steady John if he needed it.

“I’m not wearing any trousers,” said John when they reached the café door.

“Worried the sight of your legs will be too much for the book club?” asked Annie. She looked down at the marks left on the wooden floor by his wet socks. “I think you need to take those socks off. You’ll get trench foot.”

“You seem determined to get me naked.”

“When you’re my age and single you’ve got to get your kicks when you can.”

John chuckled. “Far be it from me to deny you your kicks, Ms. Sharpe,” he said, reaching down—foil blanket crinkling—to remove his socks. “Satisfied?”

“Hold on for one second,” she said, grabbing one of the pairs of sweatpants from the banister. “Do you want to pop these on to cover your modesty?”