This chapter takes place during January 2015 and January 2016.
TW for marital abuse and heartbreak.
Chapter 42 – Change
End of January 2015
She was late. She hated being late. It was in bad taste and came across as lazy and disorganised – of which she was neither. At work she prided herself on doing things correctly, to the best of her ability. Yet she was no pushover, if she disagreed with the latest fad or scheme she'd say so. But if Elsie Hughes was behind you then her support was unwavering.
Reports would be thorough and precise, usually completed days before they were required. Books were accurately marked with useful feedback. Her lessons were never less than good, often outstanding, and her relationships with both staff and students was professional yet friendly.
She prided herself on her ability to do her job well because there was a time when she didn't have a job and her hunger to be doing something useful burned inside of her. Years and years of just existing. And then somehow, in some way, she found a way out.
It had taken every ounce of strength and bravery to sit in front of Joe one night at dinner and nervously, hands shaking as they rested on her knees below the table, tell him that she was taking an Open University course. That her plan was to become a teacher. That she'd passed the entry tests. That of course it wouldn't interfere with her running of the house or her desire to be a mother to his child, but the money would be good and perhaps they could move to a bigger place.
'Yes.' He'd breathed and she'd trembled, crossing her ankles as she watched him eat.
'Don't let anything slip.'
And that had been all he'd said.
But later, as she'd stood at the sink doing the dishes, he'd touched her from behind and she'd closed her eyes, knowing what was to come.
He'd been particularly rough that time, insistent. And she recalled the feel of the cool tiles beneath her, the angry fluorescent light of the kitchen ceiling as she'd blinked up to it. Twisting her head away from him, noting the dust gathering at the corners of the floor, the places she hadn't cleaned as thoroughly as she could. A pounding deep inside her, in her head, the beat of her heart – oh but it wouldn't touch her heart, that very thing had been isolated, turned off, so very long ago, perhaps even before she'd met him.
And her knee smashing against the tiles. She'd yelled at that, a raw, unmanaged cry of agony – and he'd done it again.
For weeks she'd questioned if it was worth it. Hobbling about. A slither of freedom offered in this distant dream of having her own job, her own profession.
The course would start in September. She found out she was pregnant in July. Plans were put on hold, but not forgotten. Sometimes she wonders if he did it on purpose, got her pregnant, but then she knows that's ridiculous, they'd never used birth control.
There was something about the way Charles ran his store that reminded her of her own work ethic. He was punctual. Organised. Knowledgeable. Thorough. And, though not natural to him, he would chat to customers when and how required; altering his tone, the content, in order to best fit their needs. She respected that about him. She always had.
So, of course he was already seated in the coffee shop. Sitting bolt upright gazing out of the window searching for her. She'd parked someway down the road, where there was a space, and trampled over the day's old snow, waving when she saw him.
She slipped inside, gripping the door handle and berating herself for not taking more care on the icy path and wet floor and he'd stood as if coming to catch her. But she smiled and hobbled towards him.
"Hi," she said, leaning in to kiss his cheek. "Sorry I'm late, I lost track of time and then left late." She shook her head. "Think I chanced a few red lights on the way here." She reflected, slipping her coat off and hanging it over the back of a chair.
"Oh dear. Don't worry about it, it's not too late." He sat back down, pushing a menu across the table to where her chair was.
She glanced at her watch, "Nineteen minutes Charles, practically an age to someone as punctual as you."
"I don't mind, really. Glad you made it." He watched as she lowered herself into a chair, inching her leg under the table.
"Something wrong?" He asked.
"Hmm?" She flipped over the menu, digging one hand into her bag and searching for her glasses.
"You seem to be struggling with your leg."
She chewed on the end of her nail, feeling her chest redden. ""It's this damned winter weather, I think the ice gets into my joints."
He chuckled, "Ah, the joys of age."
"Indeed." She reached down and rubbed her knee. "The truth is I hurt it years ago, it's fine mostly but sometimes, when the weather's like this or I've been on my feet all day it aches."
"How did you hurt it?"
She closed her menu, "I'm having the coconut and lime cake. How about you?"
"I quite liked the sound of that one too. That or the chocolate marmalade cake."
She reached over and touched his hand, a fleeting memory of being naked on her couch with him on Sunday afternoon. "Let's have a slice of each and share."
"It's a plan." He pushed his chair back, "Tea or coffee?"
"Tea, of course."
"Of course." She watched him go to order, stretched her leg out beneath the table and rubbed at her aching knee again. She'd take a bath tonight then smother it in that aching joints cream she had that smelt like the inside of a hospital.
"Not much fun is it," he said, retaking his seat. "The ice."
"Oh don't get me started. I'm about ready to leave the country. I can't stand all this, dark mornings, dark nights, and cold and snow and ice and sitting for hours in traffic because the roads aren't clear. It depresses me. Look," she said waving at the window, "it's already going dark."
"Some sunshine would be welcome."
"Very much so. In fact," she sat forward, her elbows on the table. "I was chatting with a colleague in the staff room at lunch and she's booked her holiday for Easter and she's waxing lyrical about it – showing me the pictures on her phone, it looked like heaven. She's cruised in the area before apparently."
He was pouring their tea as he listened, "Where's she off to?"
"Dubai." She took her teacup from him, shuffling in her chair to get comfortable. "You're well travelled. Have you ever been?"
"Actually no." He glanced up to the waitress putting their cake down. "Thank you very much."
"Ooh this looks good."
"How do you want to do it?"
"Shall I play mother?" She smiled, lifting her knife and slicing the coconut cake in half.
"Well, as you are one."
His mention of Anna reminded her of her guilt over Sunday. She wasn't proud of her behaviour. He was so good to her, with her, the way he'd take his time, his patience, his seemingly endless capacity to forgive her sudden changes in emotional direction.
She slid his plate to him, licking icing from her finger. "I am sorry about what happened on Sunday you know." She said gently, aware of others in the coffee shop – she certainly didn't want her sex life the talk of the town.
Did he actually blush?
He took his time chewing his cake before he answered, "That's alright. I'm sorry I got a little… well, I don't usually act like a stroppy child."
"You were hardly that," she chuckled, "and I should know, I have experience with them."
She watched as his fingers tentatively reached out to brush her hand, the pads of his fingers nervously touching the edge of her wrist. This man who she'd rolled around naked with for three days in Scotland, who'd had her up against a wall, who she'd sat astride and taken as much pleasure from as she'd given.
Breathing deeply she crossed her legs, the memory of it bringing a tingle of pleasure to her core, the sudden desire to have him inside of her again.
Certainly not the kind of thoughts an upright member of the community should be having as she sat eating cake late in the afternoon.
"So, are you going to go?" He suddenly asked, thankfully disturbing her reflections.
"Going where?"
"On holiday. For the sunshine."
"Oh, right, yes. Well, I don't know." She poured them more tea. "I mean it would be nice wouldn't it. Especially at Easter when I'll be on my knees from all the exam prep." She pushed her plate away, half of her chocolate cake left.
"You don't want that?"
"Feel free," she smiled, sliding her fork off of the plate. "Or even now, February half term, get away from this misery."
"You should go. It'll be gorgeous I bet."
"I could do with just lying in the sunshine for a week, and doing little else." She sipped her tea, glancing out at the darkening sky, windows covered in condensation from the heat of the café and the cold of outdoors. "Trouble is I've never travelled alone. I'd feel odd about it. Exposed somehow. And Beryl won't come. She can never afford a thing. Anna has exams…" She turned her attention back to him finishing her cake, a contented smile playing upon his lips. "Why don't we go together?" She suddenly said, her mouth speaking before her brain even had time to kick in.
"Sorry?"
"We could…" she stuttered, sitting forward now, putting her cup down as this idea began to take shape in her head. "I mean we didn't kill each other in Scotland, did we."
"I thought we got on rather well." He put his fork down, daring to hope that she was suggesting this – a proper holiday together, and she was suggesting it!
"Very well. So, how would you feel about going?"
"I'd love to go." He was practically bouncing on his chair.
"The shop?"
"I just close it when I'm away, I put the dates up in advance."
"I'd organise it all," she said nervously, biting the inside of her cheek. "I don't mind. Find a hotel."
"We could go this weekend couldn't we, to the travel agents."
"We could."
A broad smile slowly edged across his face, and she found her own do the same at the sight of it.
"Dubai then." She said, holding her teacup up.
He tapped his against hers, "Dubai it is."
"I don't know what possessed me to say it!" She'd exclaim to Beryl a few days later as she sat in her kitchen writing out cake labels. "Is the size you want?" She asked, holding a card up and showing her.
"Perfect." Beryl pushed her errant hair back and continued rolling out icing. "Now, start again, you suggested taking a holiday with lover boy?"
"Yes."
"Despite the fact you're keeping him at arm's length…"
Elsie glared, "Don't make me out a complete bitch."
Beryl laughed, "Hardly. Cautious. I get that."
Elsie slanted her pen to one side, scripting 'Raspberry and white chocolate' across the card. "I am a complete bitch." She sighed, "we had such a wonderful time in Edinburgh and I'm still…"
"…Keeping him at arm's length. But don't beat yourself up love, bloody hell you had years with that bastard."
"Beryl."
"Yeah I know, but still. It's about time you took some time for yourself, had some fun – and from the sounds of your New Year trip you're having lots of fun!"
Elsie sighed, "I think he's falling for me."
Beryl snickered.
"What? Don't laugh at me, I'm not being big headed."
"It's hardly that," she continued laughing, her rolling pin wobbling in the air.
"Then what? Don't mock me – I won't help with these bloody cards!"
"It's just… oh goodness Elsie, falling for you! The man is besotted."
"What?"
"Surely you know that."
Elsie turned her attention back to the cards, sliding a blank one in front of her, 'Chocolate & Cherry'. "I do not know that."
"Maybe you don't want to know that." Beryl pointed out, returning to her icing.
"Don't say that," she huffed, "it scares me."
"He does – or perhaps your feelings for him are the thing that's scary?"
Elsie breathed deeply, twiddling the pen between two fingers. "Let's stop talking about it now."
"You brought it up."
"And now I'm putting it to bed. Let's talk about something else, where are all these bloody cakes going to anyhow?"
"I'm having a stall on Saturday at some fair, Daisy's helping out, raise the profile a bit, try and get some wedding orders and such. You should pop along, bring Charlie."
"I'll come along," she bit her lip, "on my own I think, he's working."
Beryl thinks he'd probably walk over hot coals if she asked him to never mind take a few hours off work to accompany her somewhere – but she lets it pass, if she's learnt anything about Elsie over the years it's that she doesn't rush into things. If Beryl had things her way she'd left that bully many, many years ago instead of waiting for him to do the ditching.
"As you wish," is all she says.
Monday, 11th January 2016
She'll never know how she drove herself to the hospital. Many of her department colleagues offered to take her as she frantically got her things together and left garbled instructions to Phyllis about her classes. But she insisted she'd be okay, that Charles would be.
Now, as she gripped the steering wheel, she wasn't sure what she was going to do nor what to expect.
Somehow, in a moment of clarity, she dialled Anna's number on the car phone. Of course she didn't answer, she'd be in the shop. She dialled again.
After several seconds she was greeted with, "Good morning, Carson's bookstore."
"Anna, honey, it's mum. Look I need you to do something for me."
"Mum? You sound funny."
"Charles has been in an accident, I need you to fetch me things from home. I'm on my way to the hospital now and I don't want to have to leave him, if he's got to stay he'll need things."
She was garbling, Anna struggled to follow her. She perched back on Charles' stool behind the counter, her hand resting on her stomach. "Mum, what kind of accident?"
"A car crash, I warned him not to go out on that bloody bike, it's still too icy, he's determined to start some New Year health kick."
"Is he okay?"
"Stable but serious, they said, I don't know what that means. I'm almost at the hospital. But I want you to go to the house and get clothes for him, he'll have been in his biking gear, so get him warm clothes and shoes, proper shoes." That suddenly seemed vey important to her.
"Alright I will, don't panic. John and I will shut up now and sort it, we'll be there soon, don't worry."
"I'm not worried. He'll be fine."
It was hell to park, she could feel her ire rising as she watched an elderly lady trying to reverse out of a space, and she was usually so calm when driving. Not today. Today she felt like dragging the woman out of the car and doing it for her.
By the time she'd parked and raced into A&E she was flustered, her chest red and blotchy.
"Charles Carson, he was in a road accident, a collision." She caught her breath as the receptionist searched the database.
"Are you his wife?"
"Fiancée, Elsie Hughes."
"If you take a seat I'll get someone to talk to you, could you complete a form for me on your fiancé?"
"Well. I'll try." She took the sheets of paper and sat down, fiddling about in her bag for a pen. It occurred to her, as she made her way through the questions, that she actually knew very few of the answers, and she suspected the same would be true for Charles. She had to count back for his year of birth, she guessed at his weight, she knew of no family illnesses. Their relationship, their life together, was actually still very much in the early stages. They hadn't yet built anything together.
She shook her head, turning the page on the form; she couldn't allow herself to slip into melancholy.
"Mrs Carson?" A young man said, standing over her.
She got to her feet, "Hughes. We're not married yet. Is he okay? Can I see him?"
"Yes, I'll take you to see him now. But I wanted to ask first, does your fiancé have any heart problems?"
"His heart? No, not that I'm aware of. I thought he was hit by a car."
"He was. Or rather he hit a car. He swerved on the road, lost control and went into the path of a car."
She grimaced, "I told him the roads would be slippy."
"Yes but I suspect he may suffered a heart attack prior to the accident, that caused him to lose control."
She placed a hand on her chest, "His heart?"
"We're still running tests but that's my suspicion."
"Okay," she tried to breathe, to process the information. "And will he be able to go home?"
"I think I'll probably want him to stay in. Maybe just overnight, we'll see. He needs to have his arm set."
"He's broken his arm?"
"And a couple of fractured ribs too I'm afraid."
"Oh god," she covered her mouth with her free hand, the other scrunching the document she still clasped.
"He looks battered and bruised Ms Hughes but it could have been a lot worse. Shall I take you through to him?"
"Yes… Yes please." She hooked her bag over her arm and followed him down the corridor, through several grey doors and into a small room where Charles lay propped up on a bed.
His face was badly bruised, and clearly he'd cut his head quite severely as there was a large bandage across it. One arm was being supported and his head was tilted back on his pillows, eyes tightly shut, both were bruised and blackened.
"Charles…" She whispered, holding her breath, he'd never seemed small to her, never.
His eyes cracked open as she stepped into the room.
"I'll leave you a moment." The Doctor excused himself and closed the door.
"The state of me," he mumbled, she wasn't sure if his mouth was swollen or he was on strong painkillers but his words slurred either way.
"Oh darling," she was beside him in a second, holding his good arm, kissing his head. "I was so worried."
"You should be, look at me, what an idiot, total hindrance."
"Don't say that." She kissed him again, stroked his cheek. "I'm so glad you're okay."
"Okay?" He indicated his sorry state, "As opposed to what, being dead?!"
"Charles, don't say that!" She sank into a chair by the side of the bed, still holding his hand, her voice softening. "Don't ever say that." She kissed his fingers.
"Bike's trashed."
"Good, going out on it in this weather."
"I've done it every year since forever."
"Well no more."
"Is this you putting your foot down?"
"Yes. Don't defy me." She smiled up at him.
"And my heart?" He said softly, she noted the slightest hint of fear in his tone. "He thinks it was a heart attack."
"I know."
"So I'm no good anymore. Ready for the knacker's yard."
"You're feeling like crap so I'll allow you to be dramatic but no, you're not. It's just a warning, if it is a heart attack. We'll deal with it."
"How?" He closed his eyes again and she leant over him, brushing his hair, kissing his head.
"We just will."
"Didn't know where I was," he mumbled, exhaustion and painkillers combining. "Must've blacked out for a bit. Then some woman leaning over me and asking me questions – I thought it was you."
"Shh, I'm here now, I'm not going anywhere." She kissed his head again. "Go to sleep. I'll take care of you."
Elsie only left Charles' bedside when Anna forced her to and even then she only went because John was with him.
"You need to eat," Anna insisted, dragging her to the canteen.
Standing in the queue with a wet tray in her hand she closed her eyes, a strange metallic taste circled her tongue and she felt a wave of nausea hit her.
"I can't stay in here. I need some fresh air." She said, handing the tray to Anna.
"Ok, I'll bring you out some tea."
Outside she sat on a low wall watching the smokers gather in their assigned area. It was only just after six but already dark as night and their smoke circled in blue white plumes above their heads. She contemplated asking them for one and joining the group and only sitting on her hands and imagining Charles' face if he caught her with a cigarette stopped her from doing it.
"Here," Anna said, thrusting a paper cup into her hand. "It probably tastes like crap but when did you last have anything?"
"I had a tea at break today and half an apple." She sipped the bitter tasting beverage. "God that's vile, this is what we pay our taxes for?"
"This and plain cheese sandwiches apparently," she smiled handing her one.
"Thanks."
"You're welcome." Anna took the lid off of her own drink and blew the steam off the top. "So, how you doing?"
"Bloody marvellous." She bit into the corner of her sandwich, chewing it seemed an effort in itself let alone swallowing the tasteless mush. "Suddenly I don't feel quite so hungry. If they serve this stuff to Charles he'll go crackers."
Anna laughed, "Now that I'd quite like to see actually."
Elsie put the sandwich aside on the wall and closed her eyes, tilting her head back and breathing in the frosty night air. "What the hell kind of a start to the year hey."
"Yeah. And he was in such fine form on Friday night, though he did drink quite a bit but he was cracking jokes and –,"
"–We'd argued."
"What?"
"Before we met you at the restaurant. We'd argued, over your father, would you believe."
"Why?"
"Oh because I bumped into him in the supermarket and stupidly didn't tell Charles straight away." She shrugged. "He was upset, thought I was hiding something."
"Were you?"
"It was nothing more than me wanting to prove I could deal with it on my own. Silly. And now this – probably because of stress, don't you think?"
"Mum, we don't know that." Anna turned her own sandwich over in her hand. "I saw him too."
"Who? Your father!"
She nodded, "I called him, we had lunch."
Elsie felt disappointment rise in her, "Oh."
"I'm pregnant, I thought I should tell him face-to-face."
Elsie licked her lips, "And?"
"And he asked if I was getting married, seemed glad that I wasn't."
"You are still young." She watched as Anna rubbed her hand back and forth across her swollen belly. "You've grown up," she suddenly said. "I hadn't realised just how much in such a short time." Stretching her legs out she pulled her coat tighter around her. "How was he?"
"Better, actually. Back with Sarah," she breathed deeply, unsure whether to tell her their news - but surely honesty was best. "They're having a boy..."
For reasons she didn't want to explore she felt her stomach drop. "You're going to have a brother." She stated.
"Half brother. Pretty weird though, my own baby and my brother will only be months apart."
"Yes. Very odd." She felt Anna slide her hand into hers. "I don't forgive him mum, I never will. But he needed to know, I wanted to give him that chance."
"I know." She nodded. "When's the baby due?"
"June I think, maybe July, David is what they've settled on."
"That's what he's calling him?"
"Yeah, why?'
Elsie shrugged, fiddling with her engagement ring. "It was his grandfather's name."
"Oh. I didn't know." She squeezed her mum's hand. "Charles will still be this one's grandpa you know."
"I know, don't tell him about Joe hey, not yet. I don't want him to worry."
"Sure."
Elsie closed her eyes, breathing in the icy air, enjoying the slightly painful sensation as her chest swelled with it. "Remember I told you the other night we've all got to die at some point? Well not now, Anna," she snuffled back tears, her voice thick with emotion. "Not now. I've only just found him, I can't lose… what we have…"
Anna grasped her mother's trembling hand in both of hers, "He's not going to die. It's a straightforward operation to clear the blockage, he'll be fine. Of course he will. Just grumpy."
"Oh god, can you imagine?" She hastily wiped her face. "Let's go back. Richard and Isobel should be here soon. They insisted on coming, I texted Thomas, do you think there's anyone else I need to inform?"
"Not now mum, don't worry about it."
"So stupid, I don't even know if he has any extended family, who he'd want to know."
"It doesn't matter. John can deal with things like that. Just, come on," she draped her arm around her helping her to her feet.
"It'll be over pretty quickly," Richard assured Elsie as they sat gathered in the small seating area. Somehow she'd kept it together since the talk with Anna, adopting a calm and practical air seemed the best approach. If she got emotional she'd lose control and right then she needed to be very much in control.
She could feel Isobel's eyes on her, Isobel's red and puffy eyes, and was doing her best to avoid being drawn into anything. She hadn't cried in front of them and she wouldn't, though perhaps Isobel saw that as uncaring. Emotions were high and the situation fraught and the adult in her kept reminding her of that. Stay calm Elsie, he'll be fine.
Reaching into her handbag she took out her phone and flicked through her messages.
"I don't think we're meant to use phones in here." Isobel said. "Richard?"
"Well, it depends."
"It's fine, it's going away." Elsie said lowly, "I was checking for work. I'll need to take some time off." She tilted her head back, leaning it against the wall and avoiding all of their gazes.
Each minute dragged and when the heavy fall of footsteps clattered down towards them she thought it was the surgeon on his way back with news. Her chest tightened as she stood up, only to find Thomas' worried face coming towards her.
For some reason the sight of him caught her off guard and when he got close enough she threw her arms around him, sobbing like a child against his shoulder.
"Hey love, the big man's gonna be alright." He said rubbing her back. "He's got you hasn't it, as if he's gonna give all that up – marriage and shit, he's gagging for it."
Despite herself she laughed into his jacket, her tears mingling with her giggles.
"Thank goodness you're here." She whispered and he squeezed her waist.
"Of course. And look at this gorgeous creature." He smiled over her shoulder. "No doubting you're Elsie's daughter looking that divine. How's the bump?"
"Bumpy thanks," Anna smiled back at him.
"Hope you're taking care of the big man's grankid, he's ecstatic."
"Doing my best."
He pushed a still crying Elsie gently back from him, "Now, you got that out of your system now? You're meant to be the the sassy one remember."
She took a deep breath, "I shall try."
He wiped a thumb over her cheek, brushing an errant tear away. "Good, he's gonna need to see your pretty face when he opens his eyes, jolt that heart right back to life."
Tuesday, January 19th, 2016
Charles gripped the side of the bedhead with his good hand as he pushed himself up. Dangling his feet over the edge of the mattress he tentatively pressed his toes into the carpet and watched as they wiggled into the plushness.
Taking a breath he braced himself then stood, steadying himself before letting go of the bedhead. He wobbled only for a second, his hand coming to rest at the place where his ribs ached, then with a determined sigh he set off across the bedroom. Each step seemed like eternity but he finally made it to the door, eased it open and inched his way down the corridor towards the kitchen.
He'd been sleeping in a makeshift bedroom downstairs, the room they'd planned to turn into the master suite to accommodate them in old age. Charles was non-too-pleased at having to accept it as his place of rest way before that. Luckily Elsie had moved in with him – though he felt that was more to do with her nurse-maiding him than anything else.
Twisting the handle on the kitchen door he pushed upon it, finding Thomas cursing at the hob and turning buttons haphazardly.
"What the hell's going on?" Charles asked, leaning gratefully on the back of a chair. "I thought you were going make me some soup, you've been ages."
"This fancy thing, what's it got all these knobs for?"
"Heavens above, you'll drive me to my grave." He slowly sank into a chair, grimacing. "Did you forget my painkillers too?"
"I was going to bring them with lunch. What are you doing out of bed?"
"I can't keep sitting in there, staring at the walls. Drives me mad," he eyed Thomas tipping something into a pan. "Why Elsie thought it would be good to have you here I have no idea."
"Me neither. I'm hardly cut out for being a carer." He dug around in the drawer searching for a spoon. "She's arranged it all though, so you're not alone."
"Mmm," Charles frowned, "I know." After his return home she'd spent an age on the phone writing names onto the calendar so that someone would visit him every day. He'd lain in bed listening to her – born organiser. He eyed his broken arm, the pot on the table. "Hand me a knife."
"I don't think things are quite that bad."
"I have an itch in here – I'm either going to scratch it or smash this thing to bits."
Thomas opened the drawer searching for some tool other than a knife; he'd never known Charles to have such a short temper, not even when he was regaling him with his latest conquests.
"Can't do a damned thing." Charles muttered. "Not even shower myself. She's got to do it all."
"It won't be for long mate." He handed him a skewer. "Be careful with that."
"I'm not about to slit my wrists."
Thomas stirred the soup as he watched Charles fussing. "Make the most of it you know, having this time, read, watch some box sets."
"Box sets?" He muttered irritated.
"Yeah, get yourself into something. Breaking Bad or Game of Thrones or go for a classic – you know I got Elsie the Sex and the City box set?"
"That pink thing she's put in the cabinet beneath the television?"
"Yeah. Don't watch that without Els." He chuckled carrying the bowl of soup over to the table.
"Ah, got it! You little bastard!" Charles groaned in relief as he scratched the right spot.
Thomas laughed, "Nice turn of phrase."
"God that's nice."
"You want me to do anything else for you? I don't mind staying…" he said, turning the watch on his wrist.
"Go, go, I'm not a total invalid. I can manage to feed myself, not quite dribbling yet."
Thomas got to his feet, finding his belongings. Truth be told he was dying for a cigarette, he'd never dare smoke anywhere near the new house, let alone near Charles in this condition – Elsie would kill him.
"Would you believe I have actually got to go and do some work?"
Charles' eyes widened, "What is it you actually do?"
"Fashion and shit, for the magazine. You know that."
"Honestly I thought you just drifted around all day."
"I'll forgive you that, because you've still got a broken arm and black eyes." He squeezed Charles' shoulder. "Take care mate, think I'm in again in a few days."
"I'm not an invalid. I keep telling her that." He shouted after Thomas.
Thursday, January 21st, 2016
Elsie was home late. She was exhausted and concerned. She'd been ringing Charles for the past forty-five minutes and no response. There was a garbled message on her phone from Anna saying Charles had sent her away and seemed in a grumpy mood.
No surprise there, she'd reflected, he was permanently grumpy at the moment.
Bloody parents evening. And bloody bad weather. And bloody men who can't accept when they're ill and need taking care of.
"Charles!" She called, as she practically fell through the front door. "Where the hell are you?"
No response.
She dropped her bags on the floor, not even stopping to remove her coat and shoes.
"Charles?!" She shouted again, moving quickly through the house.
She found him in the reading room; his feet propped up, headphones on, eyes closed.
"You bloody man!" She complained, clambering over the sheets of The Times that lay across the floor, and yanking off his headphones.
"Hey! What the hell! I was listening to Bach."
"You'll be listening to the wrong end of my tongue if you do that to me again."
"Do what to you?"
"I must have rung you twenty times on my way home."
"I didn't hear the phone."
"Clearly. And you send Anna home."
He rolled his eyes, picking up the headphones again. "I don't need a nurse, I keep telling you. Making them hang around here all day in case I pop my clogs."
"That isn't why she's here, you've a broken arm, you had heart surgery, you're still recovering."
"You treat me like a child. I don't need a nanny."
"Today you acted like one." She stood back, hands on her hips surveying the room. "And what's with all the paper?"
"I got in a mess with it, lost my temper. So I laid it into sections, easier to manage with one arm."
"For goodness sake Charles, the ink will seep into the carpet." She bent, picking up the sections and putting them back together.
He watched her bottom as she moved, the tight stretch of the material of her skirt.
"You were a week in hospital," she said as she tidied up after him. "You can't rush these things."
He rolled his eyes, "A week of hell." He complained.
"I'm knackered." She said, folding the paper and placing it onto the table beside him. "I need a shower and bed."
"There's a late film on I want to watch, some French thing."
"Oh, okay."
"I'll be fine, I can get myself to bed. You know you don't have to keep sleeping down here with me, that bed's not much good anyway. I don't mind if you move back to our room."
She watched him for a moment; the days old stubble, the lack of apparent care. As annoyed as she was her tenderness for him overrode everything else.
Leaning over she kissed his head, "You won't miss me, sleeping apart?"
He shrugged, "Only for a few days. I reckon I'll be able to manage those stairs again soon."
She ruffled his hair, "Why don't you have a soak in the bath? I can help you in and out."
"Els, I'm fine, I told you I'm going to listen to this then this film starts at eleven."
"I'll be asleep."
"I know. But I won't. I'm fine." He popped his headphones back on. "Happy and dandy."
Tuesday, January 26th, 2016
"What's for dinner?" Charles asked as he settled himself at the kitchen table and spread out his newspaper.
"Salad…" Elsie started, taking plates from the cupboard above her head.
"Oh jeez again? We had salad last night."
Breathing deeply she turned to him and slid her hands over his shoulders and down to his chest, kissing his cheek. "I know honey, but I'm trying to make it interesting, some fancy thing with strips of steak tonight, last night it was chicken."
"It's boring."
She bit back the sharp comment that was on the tip of her tongue, the last thing she wanted to do was argue. Never, mind that searching the Internet for decent things to do with salad had taken up most of her lunch hour or that she had a thousand jobs to do for work which were going to take ages and on top of that she'd got three emails to respond to concerning wedding plans.
But no, she said nothing, just smoothed her hands over his chest and tried to be consoling.
"I know it can be boring, that's why I'm trying to liven it up, and it's for the best isn't it, as the Doctor advised, to keep you healthy and I am doing it with you darling."
"Hmm…When can I have pie again?"
She brought one hand up to ruffle his hair, "Maybe Sunday, homemade, less butter in the pastry. I'll make you one with my own fair hands, you usually think I'm pretty good with my hands…" She teased, whispering by his ear.
"Mmm…" He mumbled and turned the page on his newspaper.
Standing to her full height she left him alone, returning to preparing dinner, her iPad propped up on the side with the instructions on. It seemed she had to combine about a hundred different powders with the special olive oil she'd searched the supermarket for just for the bloody dressing.
Still, she did it. And she listened to Charles complaining about the quality of the reporting in the local paper.
When it was finally prepared she actually thought it looked pretty good and she carried their plates to the table with a smile on her face.
"Ah great. Are we having wine with it?" He asked, spreading out his napkin on his lap.
"Do you think that's a good idea?"
"Surely one measly glass of red can't hurt."
"I guess not." She opened a bottle, poured two glasses, drank a third of hers and filled it up again before carrying them to the table.
Charles had already started eating and was pulling a face.
"What now?" She asked; Elsie was known for her patience at school but right at this second she was on the precipice of losing it.
"Tastes kind of…" He chewed his meat. "Like Chinese food."
"It's Asian salad."
"Oh."
"What?" She sighed; she hadn't even picked up her cutlery.
"Nothing. Just didn't know steak could be done like that, like this. Seems a bit of a waste of good steak."
Elsie moved so fast Charles barely had time to react. His dinner was yanked out from under him and she poured the contents of both of their plates into the bin.
"That was a bit dramatic don't you think!" He said, his voice rising, astounded by her actions.
"Oh, go to hell!" She responded, picking up the bottle of wine and her glass and slamming the kitchen door as she left.
Well, that was fine, he decided, with her gone he could have what he bloody well wanted for dinner and no having to follow strict rules set out by some boring desk bound Doctor. Only he didn't feel in the slightest hungry now.
He spent the rest of the night lying on the sofa flicking through meaningless television stations. The book she'd purchased for him – a new historical thriller – still lay unopened on the coffee table and he contemplated reading it, the blurb sounded pretty good. But he couldn't really be bothered to put in the effort.
Elsie worked in her office for most of the night; the bottle of wine helping her through, she snacked on breadsticks and finally gave in around 10:30. Her back could take no more of being hunched over a desk.
She showered, changed for bed and made her way down. She could hear the sounds of some action film coming from the lounge and tiptoed in to take a look.
Charles was fast asleep on the couch. There was a bowl of half-eaten grapes on the coffee table and a glass of something clear and fizzy – she picked up the glass and gave it a taste – mineral water.
'Fine,' she thought looking down at him, 'sleep on the fucking couch.'
But when she was in the kitchen tidying up after him she found herself drawn back to the lounge. She dug a blanket out of the chest in the hallway and covered him up, kissing his forehead and switching off the television before she took herself to bed.
Charles woke around 2:00, shivering and disorientated. He sat up, glaring around the dark room, before stumbling to his feet and heading down the hall to the bedroom. From the window by the bedroom he could see it was snowing outside which explained his frozen toes.
He tiptoed in, undressed and scooted into bed beside her, lying flat on his back as close to her warm body as he could. He lay there for a long time, staring at the ceiling, thinking about the falling snow.
In time she turned, stretching in her sleep, settling her head at the side of his on the pillow as she had a hundred times before, and he found he naturally leant into her. She was soft and so warm against him he soon drifted into sleep.
When he woke she was gone and the house was still and silent. The clock blinked angrily at him – 7:25 – and he sat up, rubbing his face and recalling the weather from the night before.
Crawling out of bed he drew back one curtain and surveyed the snow-capped fields stretching as far as the eye could see. And then on their drive… Tyre tracks! What in heavens name had possessed her?
He reached for the phone by the bed, dialling her number, for some unfathomable reason feeling blisteringly angry.
"Hi, Charles, I can't really talk, I'm trying to concentrate on driving."
"What in the hell do you think you're doing?"
"What?"
"Driving in this, all that way. It's bloody stupid!"
"School's open I have to get there."
"It's dangerous. Stupid."
"You said that and it's no good moaning at me now, I've got to concentrate. If you want to ball me out do it when I get in tonight."
"You shouldn't have gone –,"
"Goodbye Charles."
He spent the day whittling and pacing, switching from one news channel to the other for the latest headlines. As it happened school closed at lunch and the buses came to pick the students up, she left soon after, it took her almost two hours to get home but she got in just after three, safe and sound.
"Good lord I'm glad to be out of the blasted car." She said, taking off her hat and scarf and shaking the snow onto the welcome mat. "Charles?" She called unbuttoning her coat.
He lumbered in from the lounge, still wearing his dressing gown and pyjamas.
"You're home then."
"I am indeed, and freezing and with a bad headache. I need a soak in the bath and hot chocolate." She hung her coat, turning to look at him. Her cheeks were rosy red and her eyes glinting with adrenaline. "What? Were you worried?" She asked gently.
He shrugged, hands in his pocket, "Just think it's silly, to drive in that."
"I've done it for years, it was fine once I got off the country roads, just slow moving traffic."
"It's dangerous, you shouldn't have done it."
She moved towards him, resting her hands on his chest, "You know instead you could just say Els, I love you and I was very worried and I'm glad you're home now, you know."
He stared down at her, damp hair and chapped lips. "Go get your bath Elsie."
Thursday, January 28th, 2016
"How about Pain and Arse?" Charles laughed, looking up from the television to find Elsie glaring at him.
"That's not helpful."
He shrugged. "You said kitten names. How about Fur and Ball?"
"No." She tapped away furiously on her laptop.
"Money and Drain?"
"Charles!" She snapped. "If you can't think of anything sensible then don't suggest anything. And do we really have to watch this?"
"I like it."
"It's that bloody stupid antiques show, it's on all day, don't tell me you've not just been lying here day after day watching it because I know you have. And you have it so loud! I can't hear myself think."
"Well go work some place else, nobody asked you to sit in here with me."
She snapped her laptop shut, getting to her feet. "No, because god forbid we spend some time together. That you actually talk to me."
"What's that mean?"
"You know what it means. Ever since the hospital you've either ignored me or argued with me. I'm not sure what I've done wrong but clearly you hate me for it. Either that or hurting me has become your new sport."
"Oh, don't be so dramatic." He turned his attention back to the television.
"Dramatic! I've put up with this for ages now, I'm doing my best to help Charles and yet all you want to do is push me into arguing."
"That's it, right there!" He pointed the remote at her. "To 'help', like I need it. Like I can't take care of myself. If I were living in the flat I'd be on my own and doing fine."
"And is that what you want? To be back in your flat on your own? Because the way this is going…"
"Suits me."
She huffed, "You don't mean that…"
He turned away from her, staring at the television again.
"Don't keep turning your back on me." She was doing her best not to let any sign of tears creep into her voice. "Charles…"
"You said you had work to do. So go do it."
Elsie spent the next hour hunched over the kitchen table snuffling into a handkerchief and desperately trying to plan her year 9 lesson. Presently school work, in fact anything, was the farthest thing from her mind. There'd been a shift in her man, in the relationship they shared, and she couldn't quite fathom why or find a way to bring him back. In fact the more she tried the more he pushed the other way.
Richard had warned her that sometimes, following an accident, the shock of it can knock a person's confidence, alter their personality slightly. She kept reminding herself of that every time he snapped at her, or laid a barbed comment in her direction, or spent the day lying around in his pyjamas watching television.
She wondered just how long it would go on for. And what state their relationship would be in by the time he came out of it.
Sunday, January 31st, 2016
She watched him that morning, sitting on the edge of their bed unbuttoning his pyjama shirt with one hand. She'd showered, was drying her hair sitting at her vanity, where she had a clear view of his actions.
His shoulders slumped down, his chin dipped. He hadn't shaved for three days – she'd kept count – the banter between them was gone, and worse than that she felt awkward now, like there were unsaid things, unshed tears, and no matter how patient she was trying to be he was pushing her to the edge.
She watched as he fumbled with the third button down, cursing as it popped between his fingers. Turning off the hairdryer she got up, tightening the tie on her robe and going to kneel in front of him.
"Here, let me." She reached up to unhook the button. "You just have to ask." She said gently.
"I wanted to do it."
"I don't mind."
"That's not the point."
She sighed, reaching the bottom of his shirt and opening it. His angry looking scar stared out at her from his chest and she tenderly ran her hand up his chest.
"Don't do that," he snatched his shirt back together.
"Charles." She sighed, leaning back, her hands reaching to touch his legs. "Talk to me, hmm, please."
"You don't have to fuss round me today, go out, do something with your Sunday."
"I don't mind." She squeezed his legs, trying to smile, "I promised to make you a pie didn't I. We can watch a movie, plan the garden for when Spring arrives, I could read to you…"
"For fucks sake Elsie I need some space." He said, getting abruptly to his feet, wobbling slightly.
She stood behind him, her hands on his upper arms. "Are you alright?"
"I hate this! I hate it."
For a moment or two they stood silent, her hand still on his back, his breathing deep and laboured. She searched for something to say but words failed her. Leaning forward she placed a kiss to his shoulder through his shirt and he jerked forward.
"I need to wash."
"Do you want –,"
"Don't even finish that sentence!"
By the time he'd made it to breakfast he was resolved.
Elsie was sitting at the kitchen table reading the paper. There was a pot of tea in the middle, a cup set out for him, a plate ready for his toast and bread sliced on the side.
Standing behind his chair he rested his hand on it and squeezed until his knuckles turned white.
"I can't keep doing this." He said and she looked up at him over the top of her glasses.
"Okay."
"We've done nothing but argue. If I sit here now and eat breakfast with you we'll probably argue again. I need to get out."
"Alright. Well, go for a walk, get some fresh air or something, then we can try talking again with clear heads."
He shook his head, "No. I mean really get out."
She slid her glasses off, hand trembling.
"I think it's best I go away, take some time…"
"Some time?" She interrupted, fixing him with a questioning gaze, the glasses in her hand hanging in mid-air.
"…Some time to myself."
She pushed her plate of toast away, her appetite immediately gone. "I see. And how much time do you need, for yourself I mean?"
He bit his cheek, was rewarded with a bitter metallic taste around his tooth.
"Is there a timeframe Charles?" she asked, more irritated. "Because perhaps I might need to know that."
He looked down at his empty plate, waiting for the breakfast she would have prepared for him. "There's no timeframe Elsie. Richard and Izzy have a place in Cornwall on the coast, she said I can use it. If I need it. It's quiet there."
"Oh I'm sure she bloody did."
"Don't make this about her."
"Well, maybe you could enlighten me as to what this actually is. Because clearly you've spoken to her about something you haven't shared with me – which makes me feel like total shit, so thanks very much for that!" She threw her napkin to the table. "So maybe if you explain we'll all understand, hmm, myself and the sainted bloody Isobel."
"Elsie…" He rubbed his face.
She wasn't sure if it was hurt or annoyance that passed over his face, but it scared her either way. Was he annoyed with her? Aggravated by her? The thought stung as painfully as when she'd received the call regarding his accident.
"I don't know what's going on," she whispered now, panicked. "And they clearly must think I'm doing something wrong here, with us, because otherwise why would they offer to lend you a house to live in? And why did they?"
Her mind was racing, frantically working through the possibilities, the questions. "What do they think is happening? You must have told them something about us, something you clearly haven't told me Charles because I don't understand why you're going."
Her last few words were strangled and she caught her breath, afraid to say more, afraid she'd start crying and not stop.
"You know things have been off since… Well, I just feel a break would do me good. Health wise. I can just… Just have time to think."
Suddenly, there was a particularly sharp lump in her throat, and an odd feeling, as if she'd been swimming and swallowed too much water.
She closed her eyes, drawing in air, filling her lungs until she felt they'd burst.
"Alright."
"Sorry?"
"Alright." She pushed her chair back, got to her feet, "If that's what you've decided. And how will you get there, what with your broken arm and injured ribs?" She swallowed. "And healing heart."
He held her gaze, focussed, determined. "Izzy's agreed to drive me down, when I'm ready."
She nodded, "Right, and nursemaid you too no doubt." She pushed her chair away from her, the sharp noise irritating as it scraped the tiles. "Well, I'm clearly not needed so…" She shrugged, "I guess you'll be fine without me."
She hurried from the room, covering her mouth as she did, determined not to cry.
She headed upstairs to their bedroom, then into the bathroom slamming the door shut behind her – the farthest place in the house she could think to be away from him. Once behind the door she let the tears come, covering her face as she sank down into the chair in there, and when it had started it couldn't stop, she sobbed for what she saw as the end of it all. For what she couldn't understand.
Charles followed her upstairs some time later, breathless and aching before he even reached the top. He stopped by their bedroom door when he heard the sound of her tears. His hands closed in on themselves, knuckles tight and white. He would have gone to her, but something stopped him. And instead he sat at the top of the stairs listening to her cry.
He'd pack later.
Get Izzy to drive him down that afternoon.