ELEVEN
It's not the sound of the ward waking up that rouses Grace from a deep and pleasant sleep, it's the sound of Tina Wade screeching for a nurse as she simultaneously hammers at her call button.
Tina is a scrawny blonde from somewhere unremarkable in Essex. Forties, thin-featured, and loud, she arrived less than an hour after Boyd's departure, and has been an unwelcome disturbance ever since. She's recovering from some kind of gynaecological procedure that Grace tried to avoid learning too much about, despite Tina's best efforts.
The screeching has the same effect on Grace's semi-permanent dull headache as a pneumatic road drill. Wincing, she does not open her eyes. Letting Tina know that she is awake would be a very bad idea, that much Grace has already learned. The hard way.
Determinedly feigning sleep, she listens as the summons is eventually answered. Tries to tune out the sound of the complaints and protestations. Tina is not a good patient, and it's already clear to Grace that the staff are rapidly losing patience with her.
When breakfast arrives, she can no longer keep up the pretence of sleep. She does her best with the food, glad that there's no evidence of nausea today, as Tina talks at her with the relentless vigour of someone who has never learned to listen.
It's ceaseless, lasting through breakfast, and then through visits from various nurses and healthcare assistants. Most of the details don't stick, but Grace still feels she already knows far more than she ever needed to about Tina's life with her four children, and her bitter feud with her ex-husband.
Words can't express how glad she is when a tall figure manoeuvring on crutches finally appears. He looks better, she thinks immediately. Hair ruthlessly groomed into place, beard trimmed. His skin looks less sallow, his eyes a little brighter. Faded black jeans, suitably butchered, a pale grey shirt and a lightweight jacket complete the image of a tenacious man who's pulling himself back together against the odds.
"Grace." Immediate and heartfelt. He approaches as quickly as he can. "How are you feeling today?"
"Better," she tells him, as he stoops to bestow a light kiss on her forehead. "I think the antibiotics are starting to work."
"Christ, you gave me a fright. Do you remember going to sleep on me mid-call?"
"Not really. It's all rather blurry. Sit down, will you. Before you fall down."
"Are you going to introduce us?" Tina cuts in before any further words can be exchanged.
"Oh." Nonplussed, Grace falls back on ingrained manners. "Tina, this is my... friend... Peter Boyd. Peter, this is Tina."
"Wade," the younger woman supplies. "Tina Wade."
"Er, hello." Boyd looks perplexed, is clearly not interested in continuing the conversation. "Grace –"
Tina is relentless. "What's the weather like out there? Kevin – that's my oldest – has a job interview today. I told him that –"
"It's raining." It couldn't be more curt. For once, Grace is smugly glad for Boyd's penchant for succinct abruptness. Before Tina can reply, he moves the chair by Grace's bed enough to angle himself away from the other woman, then settles himself. Looking directly at Grace he says, "How's the head?"
Thwarted, Tina is glaring. Grace studiously keeps her attention on Boyd. "Not as bad, I don't think. Breakfast has stayed down, too."
"That's a good sign."
"It is."
"Clara sends her regards."
"How was your first night of freedom?" she asks.
"Odd," Boyd admits. "I woke up at five with Apollo trying to smother me."
"Smother you?"
"Yeah, I think he has it in for me just as much as that scrawny rat of a dog."
"Buster seems nice," she protests, for argument's sake.
Boyd frowns. "Not since we got home."
"Oh?"
"Little shit clearly still hates me."
She wants to laugh, forces herself not to. "And now the cat has it in for you as well, hm?"
"Bloody seems like it."
Teasing him is too easy. "I sense a theme here…"
"You wait," he threatens, but there is no malice behind his words, only a cheeky grin.
She can't. Wait. Is desperate to leave this place and join him. He must see something in her face, because his eyebrows draw together. "What is it?"
Honesty wins out. "I miss you." He looks like he's struggling to find the right words, so she jumps in. "It's okay, I'm just being silly. But after the last week… well, you know…"
"I do know." He takes her good hand, runs his fingers over hers before lacing them together. "What if I hire a carer? Just a for a few days, to get you to The Rectory?"
It's a sweet thought, but also an intimidating one. Someone else she doesn't know touching her, invading her personal space. Grace shakes her head. "I should be out of here late tomorrow or early the next morning. Lisa and Anna are being militant with getting my meds on time so I can keep food down and sit up. It'll be bath-time soon," she can't help an involuntary grimace at the thought, despite how good the care staff are about the process, "and then the chair again. I get to try standing after lunch. If I can shuffle to the bathroom with a stick or someone to lean on, they'll let me go, but I have to be able to do that so they can take the catheter out."
Boyd scratches at his beard. "Christ, we sound like a right pair of old crocks, don't we?"
She can't disagree with him. She tugs his hand gently, is gratified when he leans towards her. "I just want to be able to cuddle you," she whispers, well-aware that Tina is still listening intently.
"Me, too." Roommate ignored, he brushes his lips against her temple. Lingers there far longer than she expects him to. He smells nice, she realises. Like he always did, before this… fiasco.
Boyd settles back in his chair. Asks quietly, "Have you heard from Dawn?"
She hasn't. It hurts far more than she will admit to. "No. She's not answering my calls or messages. I haven't told her where I'm going to stay."
A look of deep consternation fills his features. "Probably just as well, then."
"Mm."
"What are you two whispering about?" Tina demands obnoxiously. "You can't just leave me sitting here dying from curiosity, you know."
Grace simply stares at her, lost for words. How, she wonders, can anyone be so rude, so utterly devoid of basic social skills?
Boyd continues to gaze at her for a second or two, then he turns his head towards the bed that was so recently his. It's very slow, very deliberate. It spells all sorts of trouble, Grace knows. For once she makes absolutely no attempt to forestall him. Let Tina find out for herself just how spiky Boyd can be when something – or someone – annoys him.
"I'm sorry," he says, the edge to his voice very familiar, "who the fuck are you, again?"
Tina blinks, clearly taken aback. "There's no need to be so rude."
"I think there is," he says, and turns his head back to Grace in a clear gesture of dismissal.
Tina looks outraged. She huffs, none too quietly, and starts another assault on the call button.
"Oh dear," Grace murmurs. "Now you've done it."
Boyd shrugs, indifferent to any offence caused. Leans back in his chair a little. "I spoke to Eve on the way here. She's going to come in later. If you give her a list, she'll go to your place and get you whatever you need for the next week or two."
"That's kind of her," Grace says, half an eye still on Tina.
"I didn't think you'd want me poking around in your stuff."
Jose appears in the doorway, offers them both a smile, and moves to Tina. "Mrs Wade. What's the matter now?"
"That man," she says, loudly and clearly. "He was very rude to me. There must be rules about visitors coming in and upsetting patients."
"Indeed there are," Jose says. "Is that all? I'm extremely busy."
"Aren't you going to tell him to leave?"
"Mr Boyd?" Jose says, glancing at them again. "No, I don't think so. I prefer to stay on the good side of the police."
"The police?" Tina looks confused.
Boyd does not look round, keeps his eyes firmly on Grace as he takes his warrant card out of his jacket and holds it up. "Detective Superintendent Peter Boyd, Metropolitan Police."
It's one of those perfect moments. Grace wants to laugh. Restrains herself. She can see the same struggle in Jose's carefully neutral expression.
"Well... I... er..." Tina's voice trails away into barely audible muttering. Ostentatiously, she picks up a magazine and starts to flick pages. Jose nods to Grace and retreats, a smile on his face.
"Bravo," she mouths at Boyd as he slowly and deliberately replaces his warrant card. Aloud, she says, "How's Clara?"
"Oh, she's in fine form. My bedroom is full of rocks, and I had my breakfast to the sound of copulating whales."
Grace blinks. "Copulating? How do you know?"
"Why else would they be making such a bloody racket?"
She laughs, picturing him enduring the sound of whale song. For the first time in what feels like forever, it doesn't hurt to do so.
Lisa appears. "Bath-time, I'm afraid."
Boyd gathers his crutches. "I'll go and have a coffee."
"Good idea," Lisa says. "Right then, Grace. Ready?"
She's so tired of the indignity of it all. Kind and professional though all the nurses are, she hates all the necessary but embarrassing things they have to do to her, or help her to do for herself.
"It's a good sign," Lisa tells her, when Grace voices some of her frustration. "We know our patients are getting better when they really start to resent not being able to do things for themselves. Let's get you into your chair."
It's not as bad as she feared. The aches and pains subside quickly, and the dizziness is less of a problem than it has been. True, she doesn't feel entirely well, but sitting up is much better than she expected.
When Lisa leaves, Tina says, "So he's a policeman. Your gentleman friend."
Resisting the impulse to sigh, Grace nods. "He is."
"I see."
What Tina sees isn't clear, but Grace isn't going to risk asking her. She closes her eyes, makes a determined effort to relax. She has a notion that the more she relaxes, the faster she will heal. It might be nonsense, of course, but it can't do any harm.
Her thoughts return to Boyd. He looks so much better, as if being out of the hospital has given him the kind of boost she can only dream of. Joining him at The Rectory is a thought that stirs mixed emotions. There's no doubt she wants to be there with him, with all his charms and contradictions, and she's certain she will get on well enough with Clara, but... Well, it's alien territory. Someone else's home.
What's the alternative? Stay with Dawn, alone and unhappy? If the offer is even still open.
The Rectory it will be. She needs to simply embrace her apprehension, befriend it.
"Grace?"
He's back. She opens her eyes to find him looking down at her. "Hello."
"I thought you'd gone to sleep on me again."
"No. Not this time." She smiles at him. "Will you sit with me for a bit?"
"Of course. I'm not going anywhere, Grace."
He drags the guest chair away from Tina's bed without a word, and surprisingly there is neither complaint nor comment. It's a struggle, Grace can see that, but he's nothing if not determined, and eventually he is able to slump down next to her, stretching out his damaged leg.
"Does it hurt?" she asks him.
"All the time," he admits. "The painkillers help a lot, though. Apparently there's a thing called Painful Hardware."
"Eh?"
"The screws and the plates. They can cause pain and irritation."
"Will it settle?"
Boyd nods. "Should do. If it doesn't... Well, as a last resort they'll take it all out."
It's news to her. "More surgery?"
He grimaces. "Lucky me, eh? Don't worry – it almost certainly won't come to that."
She feels absurdly guilty, feels as if she has spent so much time dwelling on her own miseries that she's somehow underestimated his suffering, his problems. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be. Not your fault." He takes her hand. "We're going to get through this together, Grace. All of it."
She believes him. Despite everything, she believes him.
True to his word, Boyd stays with her. Tells her about his mother's antics, about Apollo stealing the warm spot in his bed when he gave up and dragged himself off to the bathroom at half-past five, and Buster snapping at his cast when he eventually made it downstairs to breakfast.
"Are there any other animals I should be worried about?" Grace asks, leaning as far back in the chair as she can. After so much time lying down, sitting for more than a few minutes is uncomfortable. Her muscles ache all over, but especially in her back.
Boyd is watching her. "I had the same," he tells her, somehow instinctively knowing what she's going through without asking. "It gets better when you start to move."
"Good to know."
"There are usually a few ducks in the garden," he says, answering her question. "They paddle about in the stream. Other wild birds. And there are some senile old hens that were rescued. She did have a couple of goats in the orchard at one time… I'm not sure what happened to them, actually." Boyd scratches his beard again, clearly thinking. "Oh, yeah, and there's Matilda."
"Matilda?"
"Yes."
"Who or what is Matilda?" Grace inquires.
He grins. "A tortoise. She lives outside mostly, though she does like to venture into the conservatory on occasion. She's about seventy now, I imagine."
Grace can't picture it. Her. Not in the slightest. "Where did she come from?"
"No idea. Mum found her somewhere before she met my dad, and where she went, Matilda went."
"Love me, love my tortoise?"
"Something like that, yes. She doesn't do a lot, but Clara won't be parted from her. The golden rule growing up was don't upset Matilda."
"I look forward to meeting her," says Grace gravely.
He seems to be thinking again. "Incense."
"What about it?"
"Be prepared to have it waved at you."
She's perplexed. "Waved at me?"
"Well, maybe not waved, exactly," he shrugs, "but if crystals aren't the answer, incense usually is."
Grace laughs. "I see."
Talk continues, light and entertaining as he regales her with tales of youthful misadventure. Cups of tea arrive courtesy of Sister Cooper who tells Boyd he looks well before berating him for doing too much too soon. There are little packets of biscuits, as well, and to Grace's delight, those too stay down.
"I think she secretly like you, you know," Grace prods, purely for fun.
The look he gives her makes her giggle. "Not going to happen, Grace. Not ever."
Boyd produces sandwiches from the small backpack he arrived with, carefully packed in Tupperware that has clearly seen a lot of life. Clara, she assumes. "For lunch," he tells her, unnecessarily, as he digs deeper into his backpack and then pulls out a folded piece of newspaper and a pen. "You can help me solve the crossword."
Grace smiles at the absurdity of it. The banal, yet intimate domesticity of it.
Boyd smiles back. Blows her a kiss. "I have a treat for you," he tells her, "but I'm saving it for much later, when you're at The Rectory."
"Oh?" Intrigued, Grace searches his face for any hint of a clue. Disappointingly, she finds nothing. Boyd just grins as she purses her lips.
Lisa is back, with Anna and Jose in tow. Grace sighs before she can stop herself. Feels a tightening in the pit of her stomach that has nothing to do with nausea.
"Big day," says Anna, smiling.
"Mm," is the best she can muster.
A palm, warm and reassuring, reaches across the gap between their chairs and rests on her thigh. "You can do it," Boyd urges. His eyes, when she looks at him, are filled with faith.
Lisa perches briefly on the edge of the bed in front of her as Jose pulls the table out of the way. "I promise you, Grace, we won't let you fall," the nurse tells her, seriously. She holds out a hand, waits for Grace to take it in her own time.
It's silly, she knows, but she's terrified. This seems the biggest hurdle yet, by far. Another glance at Boyd; he's smiling at her, nodding in encouragement. It's enough to get her to reach out to Lisa.
"Anna and I are going to stand on each side of you," is the quiet explanation. "We'll help you up, keep you steady. We won't let go. Okay?"
Grace swallows, forces her fear down. Nods.
"We'll stay still until you get used to it, and if you feel like you can take a few steps, Jose will stand behind."
He grins cheerfully at her. "No falling," he assures her. "I have ninja reflexes."
That startles a chuckle out of her, at least.
"Ready?"
They're so willing to help, so reassuring. She can't refuse them, can't let them down after everything they've done to help her. Mentally gathering herself, Grace nods. Grabs on to Anna with her good arm, feels Lisa take hold on her broken side.
"One, two, three…"
They move slowly but steadily, easing her upright. Finding her centre of gravity is hard, and Grace wavers on her feet, feels the nurses step closer as Jose pulls the chair aside.
"We've got you," murmurs Anna. "You're standing, you won't fall. Just focus on finding your balance."
Closing her eyes helps. So does breathing slowly, as steadily as she can make herself. It feels… wrong. Peculiar. Her legs seem to be made of rubber, far too insubstantial to support her weight. Except… they are. Just as they eventually did when she first tried to stand up two days ago.
"There you go." Lisa this time. "You're balancing. Hold it there."
She can feel it now, Grace realises. Opening her eyes, she looks around. Feels the hot, uncomfortable queasy edge of dizziness start to prickle at the sides of her vision, in her stomach.
"Keep breathing," Jose tells her. "Remember when we first sat you up? This is the same. Your body needs to get used to it. It just takes a little time."
Stubbornly, Grace holds on. Clings to the two women, to her focus on fighting the nausea; the driving force behind it all is her desperate need to get out of here.
Jose shifts the bed, moves it a little further away before returning to stand behind her. "Half a dozen steps," he tells her. "Do you think you can do it?"
Determined, Grace nods. It takes conscious thought to remember how, but she orders her right leg to move, to step forward.
Wobbly doesn't even begin to describe it, but she manages. With Anna and Lisa supporting her, she takes six halting steps and then shuffles herself one hundred and eighty degrees. Only then do they let her sit down on the edge of the mattress.
Lisa is openly grinning. "Well done. I knew you could do it."
Relief. Intense, almost overwhelming relief rushes through her. Grace looks for Boyd. Finds him watching her with a wild grin on his face, pride in his eyes.
"Think you can make it back to the chair?" he challenges. "There's a kiss in it for you if you can…"
"That's an incentive I can relate to," Anna says, drawing amused looks from her colleagues. "What?" she protests. "I have a bit of a thing for older men. I can't help it."
"He's spoken for," Jose tells her. "Isn't that right, Grace?"
The banter is fun, but she feels herself flush slightly. "Um..."
"Definitely spoken for," Boyd informs them all. It causes a little thrill to rush through her. To her he says, "Well?"
He knows her far too well. Knows that she's far too obstinate to back down. Summoning everything she has, Grace gathers herself. To her willing helpers, she says, "Come on, then, let's show him."
It could be worse, she decides. Of course, she is weak and unsteady, but once she's up again, the steps aren't too bad. Her injured ankle registers its grumbling disapproval, but even that isn't too painful to bear. She's almost at the chair when she realises that two of her helpers have released her and are merely hovering, ready to catch and support her if necessary. It's terrifying and exhilarating, and when she reaches the chair the sense of triumph is overwhelming.
"I think we'll leave you to call in your debts," Lisa says. "Well done, Grace."
"Payment," Boyd says, leaning towards her. It's gentle, that kiss, but it makes the kind of promises that make her pulse start racing.
"Seriously?" A grumpy complaint from Tina's direction. "This is a public place, you know."
They ignore her. Grace says, "I did it."
"You did," he agrees. "You really did."
"Maybe I really will be out of here soon," she dares to say. "It feels as if I've been here forever."
"This time last week, we were sitting in the squad room talking about whether to go and look at that damned house," Boyd says.
"A whole lifetime ago," she says, guessing he will understand.
One of the healthcare assistants appears beyond the door, pushing an enclosed trolley. One they both recognise. "Lunch," Boyd tells her. "I'd better leave you to it for a bit. They don't feed visitors and I want a decent coffee with my sandwiches."
"Will you go to the cafe?"
"Yeah. I'll be back in a bit."
He's getting better on the crutches, she thinks, watching him get to his feet and organise himself for the trip. Stronger and more coordinated. He departs as food trays arrive.
She and Tina eat in silence for a few minutes, then her roommate says, "It's a new thing, is it? You and him?"
"Yes." Grace doesn't feel the need to explain further.
"Thought so. He's far too devoted." A pause. "Attractive man. Physically, at least."
It's a backhanded compliment at best. Grace decides to ignore it, and does her best to tackle the food in front of her. The memory of so much nausea and vomiting is too raw for her to enjoy the sensation of eating, but it's... tolerable.
"Doesn't look like a copper," Tina says.
Grace glances at her. "What's a copper supposed to look like?"
Tina shrugs. "I don't know, really. Not like that."
Like what? she wonders. Deciding not to ask, she says, "He's been a police officer for over thirty years."
"And you? What do you do?"
"I'm a psychologist," Grace says. She's going to leave it at that, but something makes her add, "Forensic psychologist. I consult for the police."
This time Tina frowns. "What do you actually do, then?"
"I study patterns of human behaviour." It's a simplistic answer, but one that people usually understand and accept.
"So... you tell them who you think did the murder, or whatever?"
"It's not quite like that, but essentially, I suppose so," Grace agrees.
"You work for him?"
"I consult for the investigative unit he runs. I work for the Home Office."
"What, the government?" Tina asks.
"Yes, the government. I'm not part of the police force, I simply work with them."
"Do you do murders?"
Grace assumes she is not being asked if she commits murders. "Yes, we do murders."
"Have you ever met a serial killer?"
It's a question she gets asked far too often. "Several."
"For real?" Tina seems fascinated. "I can't imagine what that must be like."
"It's usually rather underwhelming," Grace says dryly. "Most serial killers are very ordinary people. Beyond the scope of their crimes."
Lisa arrives again, halting the conversation, but this time she goes to Tina, not to Grace. It provides a welcome respite, and with Tina occupied, Grace is able to finish her lunch in peace.
She's waiting for Boyd to return when Eve arrives. She's greeted by, "Grace! You're looking so much better!"
There's a light hug and a kiss on the cheek. It's rather wonderful.
Sitting down the chair Boyd previously occupied, Eve says, "So, I hear you're off to Farnham?"
"Close to it," Grace confirms.
"What's she like?" Eve demands. "We're all going crazy speculating."
She knows who's being referred to, of course, but it amuses her to say, "Who?"
"The Tyrant's Mother," Eve says, "who else?!"
"Clara? She's very nice."
"Nice? What sort of character assessment is that?"
Grace chuckles at the plaintive tone. "All right, all right. She's... a bit eccentric. Healing crystals and incense, all that sort of thing."
"Really?" Eve seems fascinated. "Well, I didn't expect that."
"Nor me," Grace admits, "but she's... nice."
"So staying with her won't be a chore?"
"I don't think so."
"Good." Eve nods. Then she says, "Do you have a list for me?"
"I'll make one now."
Lunch is cleared away, and minutes later Grace checks her completed list for anything she may have missed. Satisfied, she hands it over. "I've written where to find things, too."
"Are you happy for me to...?"
She shrugs. "I don't have a choice really, do I? But yes, I am. I don't think there are any embarrassing secrets for you to accidentally uncover."
"I once accidentally found my parents' sex toys. Traumatic doesn't come close."
Grace resists the urge to chuckle. "Children can have trouble with that sort of thing."
Eve's expression is inscrutable. "I was twenty-six."
"Oh." Not sure what else to say, Grace tries, "If the front door sticks when you try to close it, try lifting it a bit with the handle."
"All right." Putting the list in her jacket pocket, Eve says, "Liberation day is tomorrow, then?"
"Hopefully. I really don't want to be here any longer than I have to be."
"It's been a rough ride," Eve agrees. "For both of you. How is he, by the way? He sounded quite chipper on the phone."
"He seems to be fine, except... Well, he was complaining about his leg a bit. I think the ironmongery is hurting."
Eve nods. "It can happen. At this early stage, it's to be expected. There will still be a lot of swelling, a lot of irritated delicate structures. No cause for alarm yet. When the swelling comes down it could get better... or worse."
"Is that likely?"
"No way to tell. It can happen that a plate aggravates a nerve, or a screw rubs on a tendon, that sort of thing. The surgeon won't worry yet."
Grace absorbs the information, then asks, "Is he... do you think in the end he'll be… fit enough to go back to work?"
Eve seems to hesitate for a moment before saying, "I think that's a hurdle that's still a long way off. Long-term, his injuries are much more complicated and potentially debilitating than yours. Although I know it doesn't feel like that at the moment."
"You're saying I'll recover first?"
"Mid-term, definitely," Eve tells her. "For now, though, you just need to take everything slow and steady. Baby steps, Grace."
Eve leaves and Anna returns. "More obs, I'm afraid."
Grace grimaces but holds out her arm. She hates the blood pressure cuff. It aches fiercely each and every time. Investigation earlier showed her that her arm is still heavily bruised, a thick handprint wrapping around the bicep. She vaguely remembers it happening, being grabbed and shaken like a dog.
She wonders what will happen when she gets to Clara's house. Will they share a room? How will they deal with the limitations of their various injuries? And then there's the question of nudity…
She wants him, of that she is certain. Wants to be naked with him – she hasn't forgotten what got her through that hideous journey to get help – but…
If he sees her nude now, he will blame himself. He will be horrified. Will keep the image in his mind long after the hideous, extensive bruising has faded. And that… well she doesn't want that.
It's a worry. A significant one.
Anna is still there, is handing her a paper cup and a glass of water. "Time to make sure you can swallow these," she explains.
Medication. One at a time, Grace dutifully swallows. The larger of the collection gets briefly stuck, but she sips steadily at the water and coughs, as she has been instructed. The pill obediently makes its way down to her stomach. "How long…" she begins, wondering quite how to phrase what she wants to ask.
"Before you feel better?"
Grace shakes her head slowly. "No. Before my ribs…" She trails off, unable to voice what she was going to say. Too embarrassing, given the difference in their ages. Asks instead, "Before I can breathe easily. Before the pain is gone. Before I can… be normal, I suppose."
Anna sits in Boyd's abandoned chair. "The rough guide is four to six weeks for initial healing with ribs, but with some discomfort often lasting a little longer than that." Sympathy appears in her face before she continues. "I think you should expect it to take at least six weeks." There's kindness in her tone that makes Grace wonder if she hasn't guessed the real motive behind the question.
"Why?"
Anna sighs. "I can't lie to you, Grace. You're a little older, and that doesn't help, but you've also had multiple traumatic injuries. Your body needs you to rest and let it heal. Good food, good company, lots of sleep. Do that, and you'll find you're back on your feet sooner than it feels like you will be. You'll be able to do all of the things you want to."
Grace thanks her, appreciating the honesty.
"If you think you're up to it, I'll help you walk to the bathroom later. If you can do it comfortably, we'll take the catheter out after Boyd leaves. Tomorrow morning Lisa or I will help you have a real shower – there's a stool in the bathroom so you can sit down."
"That," Grace tells her with feeling, "sounds like heaven."
"We'll probably take your stitches out, too, and we'll do dressing changes. The physio will come and assess you and probably give you a single crutch or a walking stick, I imagine, then Doctor Dufour will come and see you again, to check on your progress and make sure he's happy for you to be discharged. And then there's just one last thing before you can go."
"What's that?" She can't think of anything.
Anna points to her heavily bandaged broken wrist. "You need a proper cast on that. The swelling has come down and if you're going to be mobile and risk jarring it, you need more protection around it."
Involuntarily, she grimaces. Wants to protest, but clamps her mouth shut.
"I know, I know," is the response. "Casts are annoying, but you need it. The break is remarkably clean, but if it heals badly you'll have lasting problems with that wrist. It's best we avoid that."
Not something she can argue with, despite the resigned sigh that escapes her. "Of course."
"It's not all bad," Anna tells her, levering herself to her feet. "You get to pick the colour you want. I'm a big fan of the pink, myself. It's obnoxiously bright." Grace's distaste must show, because the nurse laughs and says, "Well, the purple is nice, too."
"Sounds better," Grace agrees.
"You'll have a check-up at the fracture clinic in a week or so. Here, or at whichever local hospital is most convenient." They both hear the tell-tale thump of crutches approaching. "Your handsome man is back," Anna grins. "Enjoy. He'll need to leave before dinner."
The two pass in the doorway, and Grace smiles tiredly at Boyd as he approaches her, as he settles himself in the other chair once again. The look of relief as he sits makes worry flare. "Are you okay?"
"Getting tired," he admits. "I've just had the DAC on the phone, wanting an update on how I'm doing, what I remember, and so forth."
"Have you taken your painkillers?" It would be so like him to forget in his determination to see her.
Boyd smiles. Pats his pocket. "Yes, dear."
That brings a smile to her lips at least.
Jose appears, waves to both of them, and then, with the help of a porter Grace doesn't recognise, wheels a protesting Tina away to a scan she clearly isn't keen on having.
The resulting silence and privacy is startling. Maybe it's responsible for her traitorous lips suddenly blurting out, "Do you find me attractive?"
Boyd looks startled by the question. Grace feels panic instantly well inside. "I mean," she gabbles, trying desperately to salvage the situation, "are you… well… are you attracted to me. When I'm not… you know… a mess. Like I am now." The words trail away, lamely, and she genuinely wants to disappear. Mortified, she looks down, stares at the blanket spread across her lap.
Fuck, she thinks.
"Grace -"
"It's all right," she says quickly, not looking up. She can't bear to listen to him fumble through some sort of clumsy apology. "Forget it. I know I'm not –"
"Grace," he says again. It's gentle, but insistent, too. "Look at me."
Reluctantly, she does so, meeting the solemn dark-eyed gaze. "Boyd..."
"Yes."
"Yes?" She shouldn't feel as confused by the word as she is, Grace is sure.
A soft, distinctly amused snort. "The answer to your question. Or, rather, questions."
As reassurance goes, it's somewhat lacking. She looks down again. "Oh."
"If I've learned anything in the last week," he says, "it's that I'm sick and tired of all the shilly-shallying, all the time-wasting. I want to be with you, Grace. And yes, I mean in that way." His voice drops, becomes rougher. "Every time I look at you, part of me is obsessing over the idea of taking you to bed and... well, let's just say I have a very vivid imagination."
The admission has a startling physical effect, and Grace is incredibly glad that Anna has already done her obs. Trying to explain what she is certain is a sudden rise in her blood pressure would be... tricky. Potentially extremely awkward.
She looks up again, swallowing as she says, "Me, too."
One eyebrow raises an elegant fraction. "Oh, really?"
"Really." Unabashed now, she adds, "You have no idea."
"We need to get you out of here," he says, "before both of us die from extreme sexual frustration."
She laughs, can't help it. "I don't think that's actually a thing, Boyd."
"Trust me, at three o'clock this morning..." He doesn't finish the sentence, just gives her a look that's dangerously close to a leer.
"You do realise..." She hesitates. "Well, to put it bluntly, at the moment neither of us is in any state to be swinging from the chandeliers, are we?"
Boyd smirks. "Good thing there aren't any chandeliers at The Rectory, then."
"You know what I mean," Grace chides.
"I think you are seriously underestimating my determination," he tells her. "I'm going to have my wicked way with you if it kills me."
She fights the urge to laugh in relief. Settles for a grave, "I see."
"Look," he says, the bantering note in his voice vanishing, "I think I get it, Grace. But you have no reason to feel... insecure. Or whatever it is you're feeling. I want you, okay? I could be blunter, if you'd prefer."
"No," she says hastily. "It's just... Oh, I don't know. Look at the state of me, Boyd. And it's not just –"
"Stop," he interrupts. "Don't go down that rabbit-hole. It's destructive and it's utterly pointless."
There's a growing touch of irritation there, she realises. Real irritation, the first she's seen from him directed at her for... well, certainly since this whole nightmare began. "I know this sort of thing isn't easy to discuss, Boyd, but –"
"No." The second interruption is even harsher than the first. "No, Grace. I'm not having this conversation with you. Not here and now."
She gives in. Doesn't want to argue, feels too tired to anyway. Boyd is watching her, tensed for a fight. She smiles weakly, shakes her head a little.
"What?"
"Nothing," she tells him, honestly. "I don't want to fight with you, Boyd. I really don't."
"Good." The short, sharp return amuses her. As does the way he experimentally stands on one leg, pulling off a strange combination of balancing awkwardly and hopping as he slides his chair right up to hers.
Seated again, he twists at the waist, leans forward until he can caress her cheek, her jawline tenderly. "We'll figure it out," he declares, and there is serious intent in his low tone. "We're both too old and too stubborn to let a few hurdles get in our way."
"Okay," says Grace, simply. It strikes her, not for the first time, as she sits and watches him, just how handsome he really is. How much she trusts him, too. He's stolen her heart, somehow, and she's no longer afraid to let him in. Actively wants to, in fact.
Maybe recuperation at The Rectory will be good, she muses. Will allow them to have uninterrupted time to get to know the sides of each other that work and London and that half-imagined sense of propriety have thus far prevented them from exploring. Suddenly she's excited by the prospect of time alone with him – almost alone – with both the capital and the stress of their working lives so far away.
It's his thumb, gently tracing her lips, that startles her out of her musings and brings her back to the moment with alacrity. Boyd is leaning closer, is closing the distance between them with an intent, almost hungry look on his face.
It's a kiss much like the one from earlier, except there is a distinctly hotter edge to it, a clearer, more defined sense of need. It lasts longer, leaves her heady and breathless. Urgently wanting more.
He gives her more.
With no one to disturb them, no one to interrupt with inane, rude chatter, Boyd closes the gap again and returns to kissing her. His fingers slide into her hair, her good hand finds his shoulder, glides down over his arm, finding the lines of muscle beneath her questing fingers.
The desperate desire to rip his clothes off and lie naked and entangled on the bed together is both laughable given their circumstances and surroundings, and also incredibly intense when it rapidly seizes hold of her. Takes her by surprise, despite how well-acknowledged her feelings towards him are.
It's a raw, visceral hunger for him, for all the things she wants to share with him.
"Christ…" is the intense, unvarnished exclamation from him as they finally part. Boyd's eyes, Grace notes with glee, are wild with emotion, with want. For her.
A ruthless shiver runs down her spine and her already thudding heart pounds a little harder.
"I know," she murmurs, breath raspy. Her body feels more alive than it has in years.
He's staring at her. Can't seem to tear his eyes from her. But that's absolutely fine, she feels entirely the same way.
"When we get to Italy…" he doesn't bother finishing the sentence. Grace doesn't need him to.
"I know," she repeats, a victorious, delighted grin running across her face.
Boyd runs a hand through his now dishevelled hair. "Fuck…" It's an exclamation and a moan.
She winks at him, a hint of wickedness leering through her exhaustion. "That, too."
He's on her in a flash, kissing her again and again, his tongue deft and agile as he urges her to part her lips, to deepen the kiss. It's delicious and hedonistic, and exactly what Grace wants, but sadly breathing is becoming something of an issue. Her palm on his chest doesn't stop him, not until she exerts more than a little pressure.
Boyd pulls back, confused, wounded even, until he sees. "You can't breathe through your nose?" he frowns.
"I can, but it hurts."
His look of concern deepens. "Is it bad?"
Reaching for his hand, she squeezes gently, needing to reassure him. "No. Mostly my chest… The chair doesn't help, either." She trails off, gives a slight shrug. "Don't worry so much," she urges. "It's getting better."
The wry look she gets in return makes her want to chuckle. "Grace, the day I don't worry about you will be the day I'm in my grave."
"That's sweet, but unnecessary."
"I beg to differ."
He's about to launch into an argument about his reasoning, she knows, when a tap on the door makes them both look that way.
"Heads up," Lisa tells them. "She's on her way back." There's no need to clarify who she is. With a cheeky wink, she disappears.
Sinking back into his chair, Boyd groans deeply in frustration.
They hear Tina before they see her. Her complaints are loud and strident, and leave no-one in any doubt as to what she thinks of the NHS in general and her current care team in particular. Grace catches Boyd's eye and pulls a face. He grimaces in return. Neither of them says a word as Tina is reinstalled by a couple of nurses wearing identical long-suffering expressions.
When they leave, Tina looks across at Grace, says, "Half the people who work in this wretched place are incompetent, and the other half just don't give a damn about anything."
"That hasn't been my experience," Grace tells her, working hard to keep the edge from her voice. In the name of peace and harmony, she adds, "But being in hospital is always hard, and they're terribly overworked."
"Hmff." Derisive, at best. Tina's gaze shifts, just a fraction. "Can't keep away, eh, Peter?"
Grace does her best not to wince, knowing exactly how much the casual use of his first name by someone who barely knows him will grate on Boyd. Give the man his due, he manages a laconic but not impolite, "Evidently."
Tina seems to take the response as some kind of encouragement. "You might have brought us some flowers."
Us? Grace thinks, but doesn't issue a challenge.
"Against hospital policy," Boyd says. "Risk of bacteria, that sort of thing."
"Chocolates, then," Tina says. She's fumbling with the box of tissues left to hand by the nurses, manages to push it beyond her reach. Deliberately, Grace is almost certain. Tina sighs loudly and plaintively. "Oh dear. Could you...?"
Grace watches with mild interest, not sure how the scene will play out. Boyd has a notable weakness for damsels in distress, but he is also sharp enough to know when he's being played, and he clearly doesn't think much of Tina. She's not sure if he will assume the role of knight in shining armour, or whether he will tell Tina – none too politely – what she can do with her box of tissues.
He seems to decide on the former, but with a certain reluctant thorniness as he makes a production of hoisting himself up on his crutches.
"Thank you," Tina says as he obliges. Grace is sure she is trying her best to sound winsome. "My mother always told me that if I was in trouble, I should find a policeman to help me."
The response is an indifferent grunt.
It doesn't seem to put Tina off. She raises her eyebrows at him, switching from winsome to coquettish. "I've always liked men in uniform."
Not that old chestnut! Grace thinks, but keeps it firmly to herself.
"It's been at least twenty years since I last wore a uniform," Boyd tells her, pivoting to return to his chair. "Aside from exceptional formal occasions."
Grace can't resist any longer. "Though he does have access to handcuffs."
The look he gives her suggests there will be words spoken about her helpful contribution to the conversation at some point in the future.
"Ooh," Tina says, and if she doesn't actually bat her eyelashes at him, it's heavily implied. "Do you ever take – "
"No," he says. "And trust me, every other even vaguely risqué question you can think of to ask, I've heard a hundred times before."
It seems to dawn on Tina that she isn't making any headway. She sniffs, makes a great show of reaching for the magazine the nurses had also left within her reach.
As Boyd resumes position beside her, Grace smirks and murmurs, "She fancies you."
He looks faintly appalled. "As if."
"She does," Grace insists, knowing she's right. "You may not be able to read women, but I can read people. And Ms Wade is an open book."
"Well, it's not a book I have any intention of reading," he tells her. "Not in this lifetime or the next."
"Good." She smiles, then frowns as he seems to sway slightly in his chair. "Boyd? Are you all right?"
"Fine." Automatic, but perhaps not entirely honest. At the look she gives him, he adds, "Just a bit light-headed for a moment, that's all."
"You're doing too much far too soon," she scolds him, but gently. "I'm not the only one who took a beating, remember?"
"I'm fine," Boyd insists.
"Hm." She scrutinises him carefully. "How's your leg?"
"Hurts like a bitch," he admits. "The painkillers help a bit, though."
"Maybe you should ask them to check it? There might be an infection at the wound site, or something. You know, where they put the plate in."
"There isn't."
"How do you know?"
"I just know."
"You're so ridiculously stubborn," Grace tells him, not bothering to hide her irritation.
"Pot, kettle, black," he says. "Anyway, I thought you didn't want to fight with me?"
"I don't and I'm not. I'm just trying to save you from yourself."
"Thank you," he says, tone grave. "I appreciate it."
"Go on," Grace chides, "brush it off, the way you always do. Suffer if you want to."
"Trouble in paradise?" Tina inquires.
"No," they say, simultaneously. Further comment is prevented by the sudden unexpected ringing of Grace's cheap replacement phone.
Boyd picks it up from the side table for her, passes it across without looking at it. Grace glances at the caller ID. Something in her chest lurches. "Dawn," she says, adding in explanation, "I sent her a text this morning."
Boyd's expression remains neutral. "Better answer it, then, hadn't you?"
She stares at the little screen for a moment, not sure what to do.
In the end, she answers. Is keenly aware that Tina is overtly eavesdropping while Boyd is pretending not to hear.
"Hello, darling," she says, keeping her tone light.
There is a grudging note of truce in Dawn's voice as they move thorough the pleasantries, but to Grace it sounds forced. Her daughter is clearly still unhappy. It does not bode well, she thinks, for what is surely to come. They chat for a couple of minutes about Nathan, and a party he went to for a classmate's birthday, and then the subject turns back to what is surely the reason for the call.
"So, you're being released tomorrow." It's not a question.
"I am, yes. Probably late afternoon."
"And you're still refusing to come and stay with me." Also not a question.
Grace takes a breath before answering. "I'm not refusing, darling. I just don't think it's for the best."
There's a derisive snort at the other end of the line. "Whatever you say, mother." A slight pause, then, "So where are you going? Home? To struggle alone? You take fiercely independent to a whole new level, you know. Whenever people ask me where I got my independence from, I don't have to think hard for an answer, that's for certain."
The mental eye-roll is all too audible. Grace cringes internally, but keeps her expression smooth and her voice steady for Boyd's benefit as she makes her admission. "Actually, no. Boyd's mother lives in the countryside in Surrey. She's offered to host both of us for a couple of weeks."
Deafening silence meets her ears.
"It's a big house with lots of garden, apparently," Grace offers, hoping to stave off any arguments. "Susan – his sister – told me it would be a great place to go to recover."
The silence continues, becoming more ominous by the second. "I should have known," is the eventual disgusted response.
Grace frowns. "Should have known what?"
"Are you really that desperate, mum?" Dawn demands, obvious anger bubbling up now as she ignores the question.
"Dawn – "
"All the men in London to choose from, and you want to fuck some maverick copper hellbent on destroying himself and everyone else around him? What the hell is wrong with you?"
Her breath catches in her chest, but through sheer force of will and years of practice, Grace steadies herself. "Enough," she orders. "You're being exceptionally unkind. And rude."
"And you're being utterly ridiculous. Blind to the danger he poses to you. Stubborn just for the sake of it, too, I imagine."
"Dawn," Grace interrupts, before the conversation can get any further out of hand. "I'm not going to argue with you about this. I love him, and that's that."
There's a moment in which her daughter quite clearly doesn't know what to say. Then, "You're mad. You're absolutely fucking mad, but that's okay, because it's only about you and what you want, isn't it. I can't believe I'm listening to this, I really can't. You fucking love him? Get real, mum. How stupid can you be?"
She can't listen to it anymore. Hotness is welling in her eyes, heat building in her face. For the first time ever, Grace hangs up on her daughter. Drops the little phone onto her lap and closes her eyes, bowing her head as she tries to regain some control.
"Grace?" Soft-voiced, but concerned. A large hand reaches out, rests against her knee. "Are you okay?"
If she speaks, she will lose what little control she's still clinging to, she knows. Instead, she just nods. Doesn't look up and let him see her face.
"Trouble with the children?" crows Tina, an edge of something rather too like a leer in her tone, something too much like glee.
"Sorry, did we ask you?" demands Boyd, irritation immediately clear.
"Well, I have four," Tina pushes, oblivious to the warning in his voice. "I'm sure I can tell you where you're going wrong."
"I've got a better idea," Boyd snaps, and though her eyes are closed, Grace detects a lurch of movement. "Why don't you pretend you're alone and we're not here." There's a familiar whooshing sound, and Grace looks up, sees that he has snatched the curtains closed between the two beds.
Anger is dark in his face as he settles, but he abandons it quickly as he leans forward, taking her hand. "Are you okay?" he repeats, and the tenderness in him causes a fierce ache in her chest, is the catalyst for the two fat, hot tears that finally defy her to brim over and tumble down her cheeks.
cont...