My dearest readers, this is the second update today, so please make sure you have read chapter six prior to chapter seven. This chapter, however, will move the story into the right direction and I hope so much that you still like it. I always listened that as a drama/angst story, so well ... Don't expect nothing but fluff, even though the middle part of this chapter is actually very fluffy.
And, as always, I sadly work without a beta and am not a native speaker, so please forgive me my many mistakes.
However, enjoy x3
Near Inverness, December 14th 2018
"You could have rang the doorbell instead of climbing over our fence and sneaking around in the backyard, you know?" It was rather amusing, actually, and Thomas had to laugh at the visibly freezing young man who had just knocked at the patio door.
"I didn't want to disturb Elsie, she's surely asleep." He rubbed his hands as he stepped into the house, snow on his coat and his boots more than just a little bit muddy. But well, he could clean that later.
"I wish she was. Lying in her bedroom, don't ask me for details." It was incredibly hard for him to be there for his aunt. He shouldn't think like that, but he did. The first two days after a Chemo were the worst, but it nearly took her a week to recover. Every single time. Yes, everybody knew that it made you feel nauseous, but nausea and puke were only a little part of all the horrible side effects. And all Thomas could do was standing there, witnessing it and just hoping all would be well.
At least it didn't spread. That was good.
"I just wanted to bring back her handbag, she's forgotten it in the cab yesterday."
"Just put it on the kitchen table. I'll put the kettle on. You have to stay for a few minutes." A few years ago, Thomas hadn't been very fond of Tom, the young Irish man living next door, but now they had become friends, somehow. Perhaps because they both cared very much about Elsie, or maybe even because a cab driver often came in handy. Especially now that his aunt needed someone to bring her to the hospital every third Thursday and the health insurance company paid him well.
"I don't want to impose." He said that and got rid of his coat, of course he'd stay.
"You always do," Thomas teased him, smirking. Of course that wasn't true.
He filled the kettle with water, put it on. Tea would be great now. There were times when he had enjoyed a cold beer in the afternoon, but now that he was an adult, behaved like one and was, in a very weird way, somehow happy, tea would be just fine.
"I heard you have a date in York soon." Tom leaned back in the wooden kitchen chair and gave Thomas a meaningful look.
Of course Elsie told him. He was the only friend they really had and of course he'd be happy for him, but why? Why had family members always have to tell everything?
"Yes, I have. Auntie will come with me. Can't leave her home alone for Christmas."
"True, Harry and Marv could show up!"
It took him a second to get that. Harry and Marv, true, the Wet Bandits from Home Alone. He had loved that movie as a child.
"They could, I guess. But anyhow, now I have a date and what about you?"
Tom just shrugged his shoulders. "Nothing since July, and that was a disaster. Now I am the one alone for Christmas. I thought about going back to Ireland for Christmas, but I have to be back to work on the 31st, so I told my mum I'd visit for her birthday in February."
Thomas put the two steaming mugs of tea on the table and sat down with a sigh. "Adult life is complicated. But you're more than welcome to travel with us, you know. You could go shopping with Aunt Elsie while I'm meeting Eddy."
Tom couldn't reply to that, since suddenly the house telephone rang. Thankfully, it lay right in front of him. Whoever that might be.
"Hello, Thomas Barrow speaking."
"Oh, uhm … Thomas. I … I am Charles Carson, I wanted to speak to your aunt." Alright. That was strange. Very much so. He said Thomas and obviously knew he was Elsie's nephew. But he didn't know, obviously, was that his aunt was in no state to talk to anyone. And who for God's sake was Charles Carson?
It was very confusing and even Tom seemed to noticed that, since he furrowed his brow at Thomas and raised his hands as if to ask what the hell was going on.
"Well, I'm afraid my aunt can't speak right now. Can I relay a message to her?"
A pause.
"When could I talk to her?" Well, that Carson person wasn't exactly terribly polite, but sounded rather nervous. A man, calling his aunt, on the house telephone. Not on her mobile. One day after Chemo. Who the heck was that? Thomas was curious by nature, and that mysterious call somehow triggered him.
"Next Wednesday, at the earliest. But you could give me your number. Elsie could call you back."
"Uhm … I had hoped to talk to her sooner. Is … is she alright?" What kind of question was that? Of course not! That woman had breast cancer, for God's sake. He could only roll his eyes at that.
"Excuse me, Mr. Carson, but I have no idea who you are, so why shall I tell you?"
Again, a pause. But Thomas heard a quiet sigh at the other end of the phone.
"We … we own a cottage, together. I need to talk to her about that and I recently heard she wasn't well, so I worried."
A cottage. His face fell. A cottage. His aunt owned a cottage. Obviously not anywhere near, since that Carson person sounded very English, and she had never even mentioned it. Not once. But there weren't many Elsie Hughes living near who weren't well, as that man had put it, and he had known that Thomas was her nephew.
It had to be true. Elsie had lied to him. For all of his life. How often had they worried about money? About bills and repairs and all the time that woman had owned a cottage!
"Well, perhaps she really should call you back." But Thomas couldn't possibly end that call now. He needed to know more. "Just tell me, Mr. Carson, about which of her properties do you talk?" That was nonsense of course, Elsie certainly didn't own more cottages or houses or estates, even if she never told her nephew about the cottage she obviously owned.
"Uhm, well … the cottage in Alne, I'm sure … I'm sure she remembers," he replied and Thomas could sense that the man was more than just nervous. Hurt. Apprehensive.
"However, Thomas, please tell her I have called."
That he would do. That he would do, for sure.
Downton, Yorkshire, late January 2019
Right in there. Right in there was growing his baby. His own flesh and blood, a child. Their child. He had always hoped they'd have a children one day, when Elsie was ready and he had put a ring on her finger. Not that he'd mind that it was already happening now.
Quite the opposite. A very late, but very welcome Christmas gift.
Elsie had just fallen asleep, her nude body still lying on top of the sheets, the tips of his fingers ghosting over the soft skin of her still flat belly. It wouldn't stay flat for much longer and now that he knew, he could feel a certain round hardness that hadn't been there weeks ago.
Charles Carson would be a father. The father of Elsie Hughes' baby.
No. that was not what he wanted. He wanted to be the father of Elsie Carson's baby. Funny enough, his mother had given him her engagement ring nearly two years ago, but he had never proposed. He had simply had been too afraid that he wouldn't get the answer he wanted. Charlie could only hope she'd say yes now, because he would finally pop the give their child his name, of course, but also because he loved her. It was time. They were moving on. Finally.
He sighed to himself, wondering if there was some kind of plan for them, if they had needed the pregnancy to finally take the next step, and gently cupped his loved one's cheek. Elsie was perfect. To him, at least. Her love had transformed him into a better version of himself, it was true. That woman had opened him like a book, had read every single page with that soothing, soft voice of hers, rolling the Rs and replacing some words with Gaelic endearments. Elsie had blown away the dust on his cover, had reached for him and put him out of the shelf.
Like a book, a novel, a romance, but a tasteful one. He hadn't fallen in love with her immediately, not right away. It took him a few months to make her reveal her inner beauty to him, but when she did … he had been enchanted.
"Oh, my love, if only you knew how grateful I'll always be," he whispered to himself, watching her sleeping.
It had been an emotionally exhausting evening, that was for sure. They had both cried tears of happiness, had discussed their future by painting wonderful pictures in their mind, had made love and dreamed about how their life would look like a year from now on.
They'd be parents.
And hopefully married. His mother would be delighted and little Thomas could carry the rings, while Mary and Edith would make wonderful flower children.
It would be perfect.
All of it.
"You're thinking too much; you should sleep," he suddenly heard her murmuring, her eyes still closed.
"You should sleep on."
Elsie stretched out in bed, a weak smile on her lips. "Darling, I can literally hear you thinking. And I may need to cover myself for the night." He watched her raightening herself up and reached out for her.
"True, I don't want you to catch a cold." Not the most poetic thing he'd ever said. "I just … had to look at you. The woman who's carrying my child."
"Well, Mr. Carson, I dare say you'll have even more of me to look at soon, I am carrying our child after all."
That she did. Elsie Hughes was carrying their child and for the very first time.
t time, Charles Carson felt complete.
Near Inverness, December 16th 2018
Sunday. Day three after the Chemo and even though she had actually managed to get out of bed, she still felt as if she was one of those Zombies from The Walking Dead. Her throat was on fire, her nose bleeding, her legs wobbly. Alone the smell of fried bacon that came from the kitchen made her feel nauseous again and while she clutched the handle of the door with both hands, her knuckles white under the skin, she had to take the deepest breath she could muster. Wouldn't be the first time she didn't manage the short walk from her bedroom to the living room, which was embarrassing. It were days like that when she was thankful for not having a family on her own, cruel as it might sound. Knowing that Thomas had to see her like that was hard enough. Not that she hadn't offered him to move out in the past. Elsie would somehow manage on her own. And she wouldn't be sick forever. In fact, tomorrow would already be a much better day and not even a week from now on, she'd go on vacation.
Okay. Another deep breath. Her hands let go of the handle and she slowly approached the armchair, always trying to get hold of a wall or something else. Her poor nephew should never find her on the floor again, unable to get up on her own.
One step after the other. Nearly there.
Elsie hated to be so weak, so sick, but she needed to go through that in order to survive. And she would show that bitch called cancer just how much of a fighter she was.
Alas, that fighter was out of breath as soon as she fell into that armchair, both hands on her bald head now, wishing someone could simply hold her. That was beyond contradictory, she knew that well enough. On the one hand, she wanted someone to hold her, on the other hand she was glad that she didn't put a husband or a child through that.
There it was again. Funny how her illness brought everything back. Like a wave washed up shells on the beach. Broken shells. Empty shells.
Leaning back, she tried hard not to dwell on what might have been. Twentyfour. Their child would have been twentyfour years old by now. They could have celebrated their 25th wedding anniversary next year. Had they actually made it to the altar.
No matter how much she loved Thomas and the beautiful cozy cottage they lived in, a part of her would forever regret that she walked away. No, she didn't walk away. Elsie had run away from their problems.
And Charlie hadn't tried to bring her home.
"I had hoped you'd still be in bed." Thomas' voice startled her; she hadn't heard him coming, but now he stood right behind the armchair, his hands on her shoulders.
"I needed to move my sick bones," she replied, her voice quiet and weak.
"Do you want some lukewarm tea?" He was so considerate, knowing exactly that her throat and lining of the mouth couldn't stand anything too hot or too cold. Or too spicy. Or to sweet. In fact, lukewarm water or tea was everything she could gulp down right now.
"In a bit, maybe. I'll try to recover from my long journey now." Elsie could still joke, the cancer didn't affect her dry sense of humour after all, but those few steps did indeed feel like a long journey, therefor her remark was too true to be actually funny.
"I hope you feel better soon, auntie."
"I know you do."
All the medical details are somehow borrowed from my mother, who got the diagnosis breast cancer in May 2017. The lukewarm tea thing, the dizziness, the chemo treatment and some stuff in future chapters ... her experiences. But thankfully, she won the battle (for now) and leads a healthy, happy life again A review would rock my socks