A Season for Second Chances(111)

“Oh, now you’re worried about my modesty.” He gave a croaky laugh. And with some difficulty he pulled the sweatpants on. They were too short by miles, but then the foil blanket didn’t exactly ooze high fashion either.

“Come on, then, wet-pants,” said Annie. “Let’s put your fans’ minds at rest.”



* * *



—

For several minutes John was swamped by women. Gemma clucked about him like a mother hen, while Maeve forced another cup of strong tea with two upon him.

“You look like you’ve just run a marathon,” said Sally.

“I feel like it too.” John tried to laugh but erupted into another fit of coughing, which saw Gemma’s clucking go into overdrive.

It was warm in the café, and Annie was pleased to note John’s shivering beginning to subside a little. Then Georgina and Mark came carefully into the café with Alfred strapped onto the stretcher and everything went quiet. Alfred’s eyes were closed, but they fluttered open as a little gasp escaped Gemma’s lips.

“Thank you, John,” he croaked.

“Anytime,” said John. He turned to Annie. “I’m going to follow him up in the car.”

“You most certainly are not, young man,” said Maeve, flinging off her blanket. “Half dressed and half drowned, you look an absolute fright! You stay here, my lad, and get some rest. I’ll be accompanying Alfred to the hospital. Margate, I presume?” she asked Georgina, who nodded.

“Don’t fuss, woman,” wheezed Alfred, his eyes closed again.

“When have you ever known me to fuss, you crotchety old bugger?” Maeve retorted. “I’m only coming to make sure they don’t accidentally mistake you for a sasquatch.”

Alfred’s lips twitched into a smile.

“Could murder one of your bacon sandwiches,” he whispered.

“Behave yourself, and I’ll see what I can do,” said Maeve.

The ambulance pulled away, followed by Maeve’s car, and the others left shortly after. Sally offered to drop Gemma home, since she’d come down in Maeve’s car.

Annie stood by the door and waved until Sally’s car rounded the bend. The rain had mercifully stopped, but the cold wind still howled as though anguished, and the ocean thundered in response.

Georgina had given Annie some advice on what to keep an eye out for with regards to John. For the next twenty-four hours, she would be watching for chest pains, shortness of breath, dizziness or confusion, and fever. Annie hadn’t felt so responsible since the boys were small.

“You can sleep in my bed, and I’ll take the sofa,” said Annie when they got back up to the flat.

“I’m not taking your bed,” croaked John. “I’ll take the sofa, I’ll be fine. I’m just glad to be warm again.”

“It’s not a big sofa and you’re rather a big man, you’ll be squashed.”

“I’ll be fine.”

It was clear he wasn’t going to be persuaded. Annie went into her bedroom and returned a moment later holding her fluffy dressing gown with the cat-ears hood.

“Take that shirt off and I’ll chuck it away,” she said, thrusting the dressing gown at him.

“I’m not wearing that!” said John.

“I don’t have anything else that will fit you. It’s dry and warm, and I promise not to take photographs of you in it while you’re sleeping.”

John looked unconvinced.

“You’ve got no other clothes,” she reasoned. “I can put your jumper and jeans through the wash now and they’ll be dry by morning. I won’t look,” she said, holding out her hand and making a show of turning her head and screwing her eyes tightly shut.

After a sigh of resignation, she heard the ruffle of clothing and then John pushing his tattered shirt into her hand. She opened her eyes and turned back to look at him. She quashed the laugh that spasmed in her chest at the sight of this tall, dark, handsome man looking gangly and awkward in her pink dressing gown, instead going to the kitchen and stuffing his shirt into the bin and the rest of his clothes into the washer-dryer.

Annie came back into the sitting room with her arms full of fresh linen and thick blankets.

“It’s hard to look any kind of masculine in this,” John said, motioning to the dressing gown. “Whichever way I sit looks distinctly camp.”

He did look comical, the two edges of the gown constantly falling open to reveal his long, hairy legs. Annie gave a wry smile.

“Well, I think you look very becoming,” she said, directing him to get up while she laid a cotton sheet across the sofa cushions and fashioned him a makeshift bed.

“In you get,” she said, when she had finished.

John gave her a look that was halfway between amused and uncomfortable.

“You’re not going to tuck me in, are you?”

Annie flushed. That was exactly what she’d had in mind. “I want to make sure you’re comfortable,” she said. “Don’t be a pain in the arse about it.”

John grinned and climbed under the blankets, pulling them up around his chin. “Your bedside manner leaves a bit to be desired.”

“Shut up and go to sleep.”

Annie was reluctant to leave him. She’d suggested sleeping in the armchair, so she could keep an eye on him, but John had firmly vetoed the idea.