Chapter 36 – Aftershock

"What were you thinking?" Colin asked as he half-dragged me up to the top of the stone stairs and then to the footpath.

"How'd… you find me?" I spluttered. I looked back and could see waves pummeling the foot of the steps. Too close, Rachel; far too close.

"You didn't come back to your house. No lights. And I worried. Found your bike on the path, so I figured… that… you must be down on the beach. You okay now?"

I was soaked, had a spot on my left shin that hurt like hell, my mobile had been drenched with salt water, and I had sand and salt – well – everywhere. "Just cold."

Colin stopped our trek, wrapped his arms around me and began to rub my back. "You poor thing."

I felt quite stupid. "So stupid. Should have been more careful."

He held me close. "You silly goose, you could've…" I heard him gulp. "Gotten… uhm, hurt."

"Yeah. Helluva time for a swim." I closed my eyes, just enjoying his warm embrace. "Colin… thanks. Thanks for coming after me." I pushed him away so I could see his face, which showed concern in the light of his torch.

His arms dropped to his sides. "Like I'd…" he gulped, "let something… happen. How did you not notice the tide coming up?"

I shrugged. "Just lost track of the time. Dozed off I guess."

"That little nap could have …" He looked like he was going to say more, but he took my arm. "Come on. Back home in a jiff." In short order he had me tucked into his banged-up Peugeot hatchback.

Soon enough we were outside my door. By now I was shaking, both from reaction and cold I guess. Colin jumped out, opened my door, helped me to my feet, and hiked me up to the door.

"Key?" he asked. "I'll pick up your bike tomorrow."

"Fine." I wrapped my arms around chest. "I'll just…" I looked at him and perhaps really saw him for the first time. He had nice hair and kind eyes, although they were pinched with worry, and his arms had been both strong and warm. "Door's not locked."

He opened the door, and ushered me in, switching on the lights. He took in the clean interior, then looked down at my leg, which was oozing blood through my jeans. "Nasty. That needs… looking after."

Right then I didn't care about the hole in my leg, for I knew immediately what I wanted, no needed, and it made no sense. Rachel you don't need someone to look after you, do you? And if you do, does it imply that you are not capable of caring for yourself? Knowing what I knew, though, it was nice to have somebody, shall we say, show concern about me? At least on an academic level?

He interrupted my trance. "You go now; into the loo. Get washed up; warmed up. I'll put the kettle on. Hot tea, I think, will fix you up."

"Right," I sighed softly.

"Do you need help?"

"No. I can manage." I pulled my mobile from my back pocket and gave it to him. Water and sand dripped from it onto his palm. "Think you can do anything with this?"

He wrinkled his nose. "We'll see. Might be buggered."

So, I squished my way to my bedroom and a hot shower. I dropped all my clothes in a pile, started the water, and when the water was warmed up I got in. The hot water made me yelp, but I was so cold, as well as mucky with sand, I had to stand there for minutes with water pouring on me, until my shivering stopped. Only then could I wash myself. In there I could still feel the waves surging, dragging me backwards, knocking me over, and filling my mouth and nose with salt water. That's when it hit me, and I started bawling; just shattered.

I heard a tentative knock on the bathroom door. "Rachel? You alright? I thought I heard…" Colin called through the door.

I stifled my sobs enough to answer, "Yes! I'm fine!" Don't come in here Colin, please don't, I begged in my head.

"If you say so. Tea's about ready!" he called.

I washed my hair, added conditioner, and rinsed it. Shutting off the water, I got a towel and dried myself. My eyes were all red, but I could blame that on the sea. A dollop of antibiotic gel and two plasters covered the oozing scrape on my shin. My fingertips were also abraded from the rocks, and I'd snapped off two nails, so I trimmed them all short and sanded them smooth. By then my eyes had lost some of their weepy appearance. I pulled on sweatpants and a long-sleeve shirt, brushed my hair, and added a light dab of lipstick. Thick fluffy socks covered my feet, but they still felt icy.

I followed the scent of freshly brewed tea and toasted bread to the kitchen. Colin had wrapped a towel around his waist and was standing by the cooker.

"Hey, you look good," Colin told me. "You had me worried." He'd set the table for two, with the teapot ready, along with cups, sugar, and cream. "I toasted muffins." He dropped two of them onto a platter and he opened my fridge. "You want some eggs? I do cook a mean omelet."

I sat down. "Okay." I was reaching out a shaky hand to pour tea when he took the pot away.

"Let me. Milk?"

"No, just sugar, I think."

He grimaced but he poured the tea anyway. "You drink it black?" He was cradling four eggs in one hand and my frying pan in the other.

"Not usually, no."

He nodded, then prepared the eggs as I munched my way through a muffin laded with butter and jam.

In short order, he ladled a nice-looking omelet onto a plate and gave it to me. "Ah, cheese," I sniffed appreciatively.

"You had a brick, so I threw that in."

"You cook."

He half-bowed. "One of my talents."

I dug into the eggs and they were perfect; not too hard or too runny, and tasty. "And yummy as well." I looked up and he was grinning at me. "The eggs I mean."

"Sure," he said, his grin vanishing.

"Don't just stand there, Colin. Join me. Please?"

He pulled out the chair next to mine, and poured himself tea, with milk and sugar. Took a sip. "Cheers. Fine night for an adventure, wasn't it?"

I laughed.

"Good." His eyes twinkled. "Still got a sense of humor."

I kept eating. "Thanks," after I'd finished. "You don't have to stick around."

"Oh," he answered, "I'll stay until I know you're okay."

"I'm fine. Really."

He looked down, then pointed towards the floor.

I looked where his finger led, and saw that blood had soaked through my sweats and was now dripping onto the slate. "Oh my God!" I hadn't noticed.

He knelt down on the floor. "Let's have a look," he directed. Then he sheepishly looked up at me. "May I?"

"Yeah," I said nervously.

He lifted my foot and peeled up my trouser leg. The plasters had gone adrift and the wound was a bleeding mess. Blood freely trickled down my shin, dripping onto my sock.

"God, I fixed that," I said.

He got the kitchen roll, sat back down on his chair and lifted my leg into his lap, and pushed the sweats up to my knee. Then he made a folded pad of two towels and applied pressure to the wound. "I'll keep the pressure on; keep a hold this for a few minutes." He pressing gently but firmly on my shin.

I sighed. This man cared, was cautious, and thoughtful. The last time a man had touched my leg was my doctor. But this was different. This was… I caught myself. "What are you doing?"

"Hm? Rending first aid."

"No, I mean…" I changed the subject. "Why are you here? Why are you trying to keep the pub running? Hardly seems…" I shrugged.

"Worthwhile?" He peeked under the makeshift bandage, then added another layer of towel and went back to squeezing my leg. "It's not," he sighed. "It was Tim's, my brother, and…" He cleared his throat.

"Liz told me he died."

"Yeah," he sighed. "Surfing accident. Big waves on a beach up in Wales. He got knocked down by a big roller, hit his head. Drowned."

"I am sorry."

Colin grimaced, then his face took on the look of the bereaved. "He was twenty-eight. Left a wife and a little girl behind." He smiled ruefully. "He'd asked me to come down from Manchester that weekend to go surfing with him and his mates. But I was too busy." He shook his head. "I was working for a bank then. Stayed late that Friday to finish paperwork that could have waited, and missed the surfing. Was the bloody paperwork worth more than his life?" he sighed. "I keep thinking what if I'd been there?" He stared at me. "What if?"

I put my hand on top of his (the one atop the bandage on my shin) and rubbed it. "I am sorry. When was this?"

"Three years ago." He tossed his head and I could see his eyes were wet. "Ah… these things happen."

"You cared for him."

"Yeah. Tim was my younger brother. My dad, well… he left us, so mum divorced him, and later she met Charles. Tim's dad. I was eight when Tim was born. Half-brother, see?"

"Grief never quite goes away, just… lessens," I told him as I squeezed his hand. So, doing the math, Colin was thirty-nine.

He nodded. "Right." His arm twitched, so I lifted my hand off his. "Right," he repeated. "Now for a bandage and antiseptic cream." He stood, transferred my leg onto his chair, and moved my hand to press on the towels. "Hold that. First aid things in the bathroom?"

I could only nod yes, then I watched him slowly walk into my bedroom, while I bit my lip.

Authors's note:

I owe a big 'thank you' to reader Snowsie2011 who, through great questions, made me ask myself, and then answer who Colin was and what is in his background . :)