New Lease of Life (8 page)

With most of Pip’s body in shadow, Colby followed the line of the duvet as it spread and flattened, covering Pip’s right leg but leaving the left one exposed. Pip’s left foot and ankle nestled on a pillow, presumably to stop Pip from jostling it in his sleep, and all but hiding the damaged joint from Colby’s view.

From the information Pip had revealed about the incident and the date on the news article, that ankle should have been more stable than it currently appeared.

He could do so much to ease Pip’s pain if Colby could only get his hands on that damaged ankle. Pip had all but melted into his touch earlier, but he’d been emotional and exhausted, his barriers crumbled to dust in the retelling of his tragic story. That thought gave Colby the impetus he needed. He swept his gaze back up to Pip’s face to ensure he was still asleep and then edged away from the door.

Back in the dressing room, Colby checked that all of the drawers were shut and the wardrobe doors closed apart from one closest to the doorway. The space was made up of a set of drawers to about hip height and a hanging rail for shorter items. That very morning the rail had held an array of shirts. Now, not even a hanger remained.

Colby slid the long, narrow purple and green gift box onto the top of the chest where Pip couldn’t fail to notice it when he entered the dressing room. He could have left the gift on the bed or down in the living room, but Colby wanted Pip to be confronted by the emptiness of the carefully designed room.

Now he just had to get Pip to step foot in the room after he’d gone. He had a plan for that too. A plan that would undoubtedly ruin any fledgling friendship that had been developing between them, but Colby knew the chances of Pip making any attempt at contact once he stepped out of that front door were slim to none. He was on a hiding to nothing and hopefully his actions could drag Pip even a little way out of the low place the accident had left him. Colby would happily scupper his chances if his actions could be the reason for Pip to one day smile again.

Mind made up, Colby took a final glance around the bedroom, regretting that he would never wake up to the room’s bright colors and the possibility of shared laughter. He closed his hand around the cold chill of metal and, tucking his prize under his arm, jogged down the stairs.

WHEN HE
woke from his nap, Pip felt better rested than he had in ages. He’d even entertained pleasant thoughts in his dreams rather than the normal nightmares of rabid dogs, withered limbs, and amputation. Nothing solid, but a comforting sense of somebody watching over him while he slept.

Not just anybody either. Someone strong, patient, easygoing. Colby.

Unfortunately the dream hadn’t quite gone the way he’d hoped. In the darkness of his dream, Pip had waited, listening for the telltale creak of the door, wanting to hear the soft impact of socked feet on the parquet floor as Colby padded toward the bed where Pip lay, shucking his chinos and then sliding into the bed beside him. Wrapping his larger body around Pip as he had on the landing earlier and just holding him.

But dream Colby had stood at the crack in the doorway and watched. Nothing more, nothing less.

Even without his phone or a clock, Pip knew he had slept far longer than he’d intended. The darkness that shrouded the room confirmed the lateness of the hour and the fact that Colby would be long gone. Nevertheless he listened acutely for several minutes, indulging a fantasy where Colby waited for him downstairs in the lounge, determined to stay until Pip awoke, just to say good-bye.

The house remained stubbornly silent.

He scoffed at the ridiculous notions and eased up onto his elbows. He couldn’t stay in bed any longer, or he wouldn’t be able to sleep later. Rolling up into a sitting position, he swung his legs over the side of the bed, reached for his crutch, and came up empty.

Of course, he’d had no need of his crutch when he’d entered the room. Colby’s hand under his arm and the warmth at his side had been all the support Pip had required at the time. Now, once more alone and in the dark, Pip would have given anything for the bite of plastic against his palm, the cold metal on the underside of his forearm, and the cage of the cuff above his elbow.

Luckily, a sliver of light from the doorway provided enough illumination to guide Pip from one solid object to the next until he could maneuver his way from the room.

He pulled on the door handle, flooding the area with light from the landing, where the bulb shone brightly overhead, and rested for a moment against the doorjamb. Normally he would have cursed the audacity of a tradesman for leaving the light switched on, especially when it had probably been barely dusk when Colby had left. Yet Colby’d had the foresight to think about how Pip would get around in the dark and cared enough to do something practical to combat the problem.

A tingling started in the soles of his feet, and he raised his injured foot from the floor and started to rotate it in a way that sometimes eased the ache in his ankle before he realized the feeling had nothing to do with pain. In fact it wasn’t a physical sensation at all, more a warmth that spread until it engulfed him in layers of memories from the last few days: Colby’s touch, his thoughtfulness, the easy way he laughed, his concerned questions where anyone else would have eagerly whipped his collection away. Soft, sincere blue eyes, the broad span of his shoulders, Colby’s casual way of jogging up and down the stairs, the intense concentration and appreciation when cataloguing Pip’s treasures, the genuine sorrow in a gaze that never once shifted uncomfortably away while Pip relayed his story.

So many memories in such a short number of hours.

Now, where did he leave that bloody crutch?

Anger. The dull thud and clatter of rubber and metal hitting a wood floor.

The brief flashback of sound and emotion left a flush of embarrassment in its wake. He’d thrown the crutch across the room in a tantrum. Again.

Using the wall for balance, Pip shuffled slowly to his bedroom, sliding his socked feet across the smooth flooring rather than taking the effort to lift them.

He paused in the doorway, expecting to notice the gleam of metal winking accusingly at him from the rug by his bed. Nothing. Just the toe of his bedroom slippers peeking out from where Pip had pushed them under his bed that morning. Just to keep things tidy. Nothing to do with Colby’s visit. Or hiding the fact that he wore slippers like an old man to stop the chill from the floor seeping into his ankle.

Two teetering steps took him to the bed, and he gripped the wooden footboard until he’d regained his equilibrium.

Could his crutch have slipped under the bed? It seemed unlikely, but he lowered himself to a sitting position on the floor, then stretched out to survey the area under his bed.

Nothing, except some dust bunnies he’d need to speak to his cleaner about and his slippers. He pushed himself back up and snagged his slippers before pulling himself up onto the bed.

Slipping his feet into the plush embrace of sheepskin, Pip allowed a satisfied sigh to escape from his lips. He took a moment to enjoy the sensation, an appreciation he would never confess to a living soul, especially his mother, who had bought them for him. After the fight he’d put up trying to reject the gift, he couldn’t now admit that they had been the most thoughtful thing she’d ever given him in his adult life.

God, what sort of a crap son did that make him? That he couldn’t admit that he’d been wrong. Crabby, in pain, and in a dark place, the slippers had been the right gift at a time when gracious acceptance hadn’t been on the agenda. He owed someone an apology, but Thursday was bridge night, so the call to his mother would have to wait.

Anyway, his phone was downstairs next to the laptop, and until he could find his crutch, he wasn’t getting that far. If he’d had the phone with him, he could have called Colby to see if he remembered what had happened to the hideously ugly prop. Except he hadn’t asked Colby for his personal number—too scared of rejection—and the shop’s number was pinned to the board in the kitchen, next to the appointment card for his physiotherapist.

Colby must have been the one to pick up his crutch, but where could he have put it?

Pip had gone straight from throwing the damn thing to tossing abuse at Colby for not being a cripple—as if he would wish that on anyone else—before collapsing in a sobbing mess against the strong body he’d not moments before been cursing.

He swept his gaze around the walls of the room, stopping briefly in the corner where his tailor’s dummy had once stood.
I want everything to do with the clothes gone.
Colby had taken him at his word. He twisted toward the side table, his heart skipping with a sporadic stop start rhythm as his eyes searched the surface.

Pip let out a long breath in an attempt to calm himself. They were still there. His box of photo albums. Just as Colby had left them, one open and propped up against the box. Why had he thought Colby would have wanted those for his shop? The panic that had gripped him moments before now seemed ridiculous.

Freddie, the tailor’s dummy, had gone, he still had his photos, and there was no sign of his crutch anywhere.

Surely Colby wouldn’t have…? Pip eyed the door to the dressing room. It stood slightly ajar as though calling him over, but Pip had no desire to look into what must now be a dead and empty space. No, Colby wouldn’t have been so thoughtless to leave his crutch in there.

It must be in the spare room, and Pip had just missed it in the darkness.

Fifteen minutes later Pip stood on the landing, gripping the banister rail tightly. His search of the spare room had yielded no results, and he’d even checked the bathroom, to no avail.

The stairs stood between him and the phone, although who he planned to phone at quarter to eight in the evening Pip had no idea. The chance of finding Colby at the shop seemed unlikely at this time of night, but then, his collection would take a while to unload, and Pip didn’t imagine Colby would leave such a precious cargo in the van overnight.

It’s only precious to you. To him, it’s just stock.

Good quality stock, though. No, Colby wouldn’t leave it in the van. But if he stood pondering the stairs for much longer, Colby really would’ve gone home.

Despite a sturdy banister, without the support of his crutch Pip wouldn’t even attempt the stairs. Only one thing for it. He lowered himself down to sit on the top step and—thanking his lucky stars there was no one present to witness his reversion to childhood—bumped his way down the fifteen steps in his staircase until his feet hit the hallway floor. There had been a temptation about halfway down to push off and see if he could make it all the way to the bottom as he had when he was a kid, teeth clattering in his head, bashed elbows, and a wedgie to show for the exhilarating ride. But his parent’s house had a wide marble staircase, while his was made of polished wood and had a carpet stair runner, which would slow down his journey and result in difficult to explain friction burns.

Not that he had anyone to explain them to.

That thought shouldn’t have conjured up images of Colby, but it did.

Just to be certain Colby hadn’t brought the crutch downstairs without thinking, Pip checked the rest of the hallway and then poked his head into the lounge. The wheeled clothing rails that earlier in the day had cluttered up the room were long gone, and still Pip could find no trace of his crutch.

The next stop on the way to the kitchen—and Colby’s shop number—was the study to collect his phone. On the antique, slope-front writing desk, Pip’s laptop remained as he had left it all those hours earlier, the screen flipped open but black now. Pip couldn’t resist giving the touchpad a little rub just to see if the laptop was in sleep mode or the battery had died.

Tweedle’s About
surged to life on the screen, and before he even thought about what he was doing, Pip clicked the refresh button. No new comments. What did he expect? Nobody would realize he had revisited the site. Colby was right, though. He should do a final post just to reassure his followers that he was okay but that he would be closing down the blog. He would disable comments so he wouldn’t have to face any awkward questions.

That was a job for tomorrow. He logged off and shut down the machine before the battery really did die. Right now he needed to speak to Colby. His lips curved into what could arguably be called a smile.

“About your crutch, fool,” Pip chastised himself.

Who was he kidding? He really wanted to speak to Colby even if it turned out his crutch was leaning up against the fridge. He’d just pretend he hadn’t got that far.

The corner of a small card poked out from under his phone. A business card, he realized as he pushed the phone out of the way.

New Lease of Life

Any donations gratefully received

Vintage. Designer. Bespoke.

The shop number filled the bottom right-hand corner, and next to it, scribbled in bright fuchsia sharpie, the legend P.T.O….

Flipping the card as instructed, Pip was greeted with a chain of numbers, more pink handwriting, and a smiley face.

My personal mobile number.

C

If that wasn’t an invitation to phone…. But Pip still picked up the card and tapped it against his lower lip before he eased his body down into his desk chair and reached for his phone.

“Hi,” Colby answered, a little breathlessly, on the third or fourth ring, his voice holding a hint of a query.

Of course, he wouldn’t have any idea who was calling. “Hey, Colby. It’s Pip.” All of a sudden his confidence deserted him. “Pip Longhampton. You were at my house to collect a donation earlier today.”

Huffed laughter came out of the speaker. “I know who you are, Pip. Don’t worry, I’ll not be forgetting you in a hurry. I just needed to catch my breath.”

“Sorry, are you still working? I can call back later.”

“No, I’m at home.”

“And still so breathless. What were you doing?” Even as he spoke, X-rated images filled the space in his brain that the words had left. “No! Don’t answer that! My God, sorry.”