Chapter Two - Home sweet Home
Derek's apartment was on the top floor of the four levels. In the dim blue emergency lighting of the corridor, and from what Casey imagined from her earlier view of the exterior, it appeared to be located in the roof area, above the building's parapet. Unlike the lower levels with their high ceilings, she could tell the apartments on the top level had always been accommodation rather than industrial space, and whilst the paintwork and other décor was modern in colour and style, the actual fixtures in the corridor were original. They had been painstakingly restored and, somehow, it worked. There were two apartments, the front doors of which were not original, but had been chosen to be as sympathetic as possible, so Casey guessed this was a building code or security decision foisted on the developers rather than a lack of attention to detail. Since the doors were on the opposing walls, she could tell that each apartment would have three small windows at the front of the building and three much larger windows at the back.
When Derek unlocked the door and let them both inside, Casey was expecting to find the interior in darkness, so it was pleasant to see a gentle orange glow over Derek's shoulder. He paused to switch on a battery-powered lantern light on a side table and then stepped into the main room, allowing Casey a better view.
Casey was intrigued by the room which lay before them. The warm glow came from a black wrought iron wood-burn stove set into the middle of an original large brick fireplace at the far end where the long rear wall met the gable end of the roof. The wall had three large windows set about a metre from the ground, and the light from the fireplace, the reflected snow-light from outside and the lantern light Derek carried were enough to sketch the layout of the main living area. She saw an open plan space with a kitchen area to her immediate left running towards the fireplace and lounge area, and to the right a row of doors, which she assumed were the bathroom and bedrooms.
Nora had been right about the apartment having an air of masculinity about it. The soft furnishings were few and far between, the walls were predominantly red brick, and there was an abundance of ice hockey memorabilia displayed on them. But the trophies and news articles were personal to Derek, and family photos also dotted the flat surfaces above traditional cast iron radiators and occasional tables. Dominant in the space was a comfortable modular sofa large enough to take up almost half of the main room; on the floor between the back of the sofa and a circular dining table were several rugs.
The décor had character. It screamed Derek Venturi, but to Casey's surprise, it felt comforting, welcoming. It felt like home.
Casey looked up at Derek.
"This is actually quite nice." She commented in the irritating manner he had been living with on and off for ten years. He couldn't complain. If the tables had been turned, he would have found a way to be equally annoying.
"Glad it meets with your approval." He retorted dryly. "I like it." It was the truth. For the first time in many years, he liked his life, his apartment. There was a lack of pressure once he closed the door. A lack of peer pressure if he was being honest with himself. He liked living alone. He liked having a clean bathroom, and a fridge that didn't lose its contents overnight just because he went out for the evening and his roommates didn't.
His life before the pandemic had been vastly different, his Kingston apartment had been little more than a frat house. A group of young guys – okay, yes… jocks – in a rundown building, chosen because it was cheap and could house seven of them with minimum inconvenience.
Things had changed when the lockdowns started. Derek had changed. And he wasn't alone. There had been a period of time measured in short months, where Derek and Casey had rubbed the corners off each other, become almost compatible. Derek was okay with admitting to himself that part of his change in lifestyle and attitude was down to Casey and the events of the previous year.
A big part.
He scratched his head. Despite the antagonism, Casey, dressed in a smart pant suit, looked cold and vulnerable and they had grown up enough that he could no longer celebrate this.
"You can leave your stuff in the spare room." He indicated a door across from the fireplace. "Do you need some dry clothes?"
Casey glanced down at her feet. "My suit pants are a bit wet." She admitted. "I bought new underwear earlier today, but I don't have anything else to change into." She indicated the shopping bags at her feet. "These are just Christmas presents. For the fam."
"Any for me?" He wriggled his eyebrows.
"Do you deserve them?" She asked archly in a tone which suggested otherwise.
Derek nodded. "Surely, rescuing you counts as a good deed?" He ventured, removing his own sodden outer garments, and hanging them up.
"I haven't worked out the catch, yet." Casey replied, doing likewise. "Why the about-face?"
He frowned. "What about-face?" Casey gave him a pointed look, but he also noticed her shiver. Now wasn't the time to argue.
"You're getting a chill. I'll grab you something to change into. There's still some hot water in the tank if you want a shower and I'll get you some towels. I suspect the spare room is freezing, so I'd change in the bathroom if I were you. I had a shower just before I came to get you, so the room will still be warm."
Practical Derek was a bit disconcerting. Realising her teeth were beginning to chatter, Casey just nodded.
Derek moved across to a second door next to the indicated spare bedroom, which Casey worked out was his own bedroom. A moment later he returned carrying towels, a t-shirt, and some pyjama pants. Casey didn't recognise them exactly, but they were little different from the type of t-shirts and lounge pants she was used to seeing Derek wearing when they had lived together – as teens, and in more recent times.
"I think I've only worn these once and OBVIOUSLY I've washed them since" Derek tried to reassure her. "They are a bit small for me, so they should be perfect for you."
Casey took the clothes gratefully. Beggars could not be choosers and she did not enjoy the sensation of wet fabric against her skin. Derek pointed in the direction of the third door – the bathroom - and left Casey to it so that he could go and change his own clothes.
When Casey returned to the main room, Derek, now dressed in dry and comfortable clothing, was opening cupboards in the kitchen. She took herself over to the wood stove, appreciating the heat, and sat in front of it on a deep pile rug. She was wearing Derek's t-shirt and pyjamas. Her long hair had obviously been washed, towelled and combed. It was still damp, however, and the spot in front of the stove seemed an ideal place to sit and finish the drying process.
"It gets a bit on the warm side sitting there." Derek cautioned her. "Your hair should dry quite quickly, though. I take it the shower met with your approval?" He frowned to himself.
Pod person! How did she make him so awkward in his own home?
Casey nodded. "Thank you, yes. For an old building you have great water pressure. It's better than at home, and it was so nice not to have to fight Lizzie or Marti for bathroom time." She paused. "Talking of which, I spoke to Mom. She sends her love, and her thanks for rescuing me. She says it's a relief to know that I'm in safe hands." She glanced up at him with wry amusement. "I asked if she'd actually met you…What's in the pan?" She asked, changing topic with lightning speed, and indicating the saucepan on top of the stove. It smelled really good.
"Soup. Can you keep an eye on it? I've only just put it on there, but it won't take long to heat up and I need to make sandwiches."
Casey kept to herself a small smile at "Domesticated Derek". The hot shower had mellowed her slightly and she had realised he was, after all, doing her a favour by bringing her here – a big one, if his actions of nine months ago were anything to go by.
They sat on the floor at a small coffee table in front of the fire, eating sandwiches and soup, and Casey gradually felt the surface warmth grow deeper, penetrating into her bones. Her hair was drying quickly and the clothes Derek had lent her were comfortable. They smelled of the detergent she used to buy, and she suspected Derek bought the same brand out of habit.
When they had cleared the bowls and plates, Derek stood at the kitchen work surface and held up a bottle of red wine with a question on his face.
"It's Spanish." He reassured her. "One of your favourites." He knew he was betraying a knowledge that he told himself he shouldn't have.
Casey nodded her affirmative acceptance of his offer. "Wine, Derek? I thought you preferred beer?" She commented. He withdrew the cork and splashed the red liquid into bulbous red wine glasses, answering as he walked back to the couch.
"You're a bad influence." He remarked dryly. "Now I buy it when I see it, out of habit, even though, of course, no one else drinks it." He handed her a glass. "And then YOU never visit." He sat down on the rug again. "So, I'm developing quite a wine cellar. We may as well make an in-road into it as you are actually here."
Casey paused with the glass half to her lips. "I'm not a big fan of turning up where I'm not wanted." She commented, pointedly. A pain of regret hit her as soon as she said the words, but on reflection, he needed to know. It had been nine months and it still hurt.
Her step-brother watched the fire in the stove through his wine glass, without even glancing at her. He could feel a fight coming on. He put the glass back on the table, but he still avoided her gaze.
"I never said you weren't welcome here."
Casey almost choked on her wine. "No, Derek. That was a given." Her tone was weary.
There was no reply but she could tell he didn't like what she had said. To fill the silence, she stood up and sat back on the sofa. "So, what do we do now? I'm getting a real sense of déjà vu." Casey commented wryly, curling her legs up beside her.
He did look at her then, across the low table, the firelight catching her face, softening familiar features. Her slightly damp hair had developed a wave to it that Derek didn't often see. It suited her and he idly wondered why she bothered to spend time straightening it, when the alternative was more attractive. Too attractive. It didn't help his frame of mind that she was wearing his clothes.
"We shelter in place. As instructed." Derek shrugged and reaching for his wine glass again. "Let's hope this time the delay doesn't last three months."
"You've never followed instructions willingly and it was two months. Talking of which, I'm curious. Just what did mom say to you to get you to come rescue me?"
Derek deadpanned.
"It was ugly. There were tears, pleading and everything".
"Liar."
He sipped his wine and regarded her carefully.
"She told me where you were and I offered to come and get you." Deep breath. "Casey, the days of impaling you on the nearest pitchfork are long gone, you know that. We've grown up. Moved on."
"So why the radio silence?" Her heckles rose.
"Radio silence? What gave you that idea?" Derek shifted awkwardly.
"Nine months ago, you ghosted me as soon as we got home," She ticked off the points on her hand. "…cleared off to Toronto within forty-eight hours, and every other member of our family gets regular contact and invites to visit - except me. What did I do? Snore?" and her voice rose with her indignation. Her head wiggled side to side. In another scenario it would have been funny.
"In a manner of speaking." He muttered.
She looked incredulous. "Seriously?"
Derek put his glass back on the table and turned to face her properly. Their eyes met in a challenge. Nothing new, except, they were both aware of the emotional distance between them and how fragile this truce was. This was a fight unlike any other they had ever had. There was no rhythm to it, no playful chiding. This was dangerous and it had an air of permanence about it. The only thing keeping them in the room together was the weather outside.
"I had my reasons for distancing myself from everything that happened at the cabin." He swallowed, taking the truth approach.
Casey waited. She raised an eyebrow pointedly.
"That lockdown was eight weeks long. What do you think would have happened if that lockdown had lasted another month? Fortnight even?" He asked eventually. His tone was sharp, precise, yet also weary, as though they had been through the reasons a hundred times.
They hadn't. He'd never given her an opportunity to discuss it before.
"In what context?" Casey was confused.
"Us, Casey!" Derek raised his voice for the first time. "What do you think would have happened if they had extended the curfews, and not lifted the travel restrictions?"
She shrugged but moved back slightly. "We'd have carried on as we were."
"Exactly. And…?" Derek pushed for an answer.
Casey sighed. "You're making too much of this." She told him. Then she narrowed her eyes. "Why?"
"What do you mean, 'why?'"
"It's weird. Normally it's me that freaks out about this sort of thing. You know, personal space issues. Lack of privacy. Relationship bumps."
Derek choked on his wine. Her gaze was like fire on his skin.
"If it isn't bothering me, then it shouldn't bother you." Casey concluded.
He supposed she was right. On the face of it, maybe he was over-reacting. There had been times over the past nine months when he had regretted exactly how he had distanced himself from Casey. He might not have discussed it with her before, but Derek had debated his reasoning with himself a hundred times or more.
He still thought withdrawing from the situation had been the right thing to do, however.
On the other hand…
Derek desperately needed to change the subject. When they started this conversation, he was calm and it was Casey who was riled. He snuck a glance at her. She seemed amused. The tables had, definitely, been turned. He hated it when she got the upper hand…didn't he?
"You want chocolate? I need chocolate." He stood up and went to raid his cupboards for something sweet to eat. Casey watched him go with a strange expression on her face.
"What IS biting you?" She asked softly, to herself. "And why does it matter so much?"
Walking away gave them breathing space, and the subject was quickly dropped. Derek solved the whole "what do we do now?" problem, by getting out his iPad and putting on a series they both liked which he had downloaded before the power cut out. Ironically, the last time he'd watched an episode had been with Casey and he had only made the decision to move on through the series without her earlier that week.
"You've probably seen this already." He told her, taking a seat close enough to see the screen, far enough away from Casey it avoided conflict.
Casey shook her head. "No, actually. I…erm…haven't got round to watching anymore since…the cabin."
Derek grinned. "Great! Then I won't spend the whole time worrying you'll tell me what happens next."
Casey frowned as she settled back on the sofa.
"I wouldn't do…actually, yes! You're right. I totally would." She grinned back.
"Sshh Woman! It's starting."
00000000
They watched three episodes before Casey realised the events of earlier in the day were catching up with her. The early departure from London, train travel, job interview, and stress of being stranded were each tiring, but combined brought a new level of exhaustion.
It was the ice-cold weather, warmth from the fire and two glasses of Rioja that made her eyes droop, however. Derek had been about to suggest an episode from a different series when he glanced at her beside him on the sofa and noticed the weariness on her face.
"You're going to be asleep in a minute." He told her softly, and without rancour. In the soft light from the stove, the earlier antagonism seemed to have disappeared. Or maybe it was in watching the TV show, they had shared an activity which had meant a lot to them just a few short months ago. It was a reminder of how much their relationship had changed.
Casey smiled gently. "Sorry." She replied. "It's been a long day. Where shall I sleep?"
Derek pulled a face. "I was going to camp in here. It's warmer" He looked thoughtful. "If we move the coffee table to one side, there should be room for us to make a couple of beds. I won't keep the stove blazing over night, but there should be enough residual heat to take the edge off the room." He saw her look and correctly interpreted it. He was getting better at translating 'Casey' mannerisms. "Don't worry. I have a CO detector. And the stove was only checked last week."
Casey blushed. "I didn't say a word…" She began.
He laughed. "You didn't need to. Right! I'll get some bedding. You sort out the cushions."
In a very short time, they had two lines of sofa cushions positioned on the rug, a respectable distance between them. Derek added pillows, sheets and two single duvets. As he finished off, Casey went to the bathroom to clean her teeth.
It was nice to lie in her makeshift bed and watch the embers die away in the stove. She could still feel the warmth, however, and under the duvet it was toasty. Her sleepiness began to return. She glanced across at Derek and saw he too was close to drowsy.
Amongst the comfort, she felt a pang of regret for the lost relationship, the forgotten ease between them which had brought her though one of the hardest times in her life. As she closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep, images from that time resurfaced in her mind.