Sunrise for Two (4 page)

“
Great so I’m
going to be shot.”

“
See. That
right there is the attitude that we’re trying to
address.”

“
Where’s the
food from?”

“
Donations.
All the local shops and the supermarkets have given very
generously.”

“
Okay that’s
good.” Harry told her with a grudging smile.

“
Absolutely!
I knew you’d enjoy this.” They drove through the expansive streets
of south Manchester and up through bedsits and tower blocks to the
rows of terraced houses and the park where a sound system was
vibrating with a rather impressive base note.

Harry wheeled to the rows
of tables and looked at the food. “What’s the menu?”

“
Food,”
Olivia said hopefully, “you know, you always have good ideas.”
Harry closed her eyes for a moment and thought about her book. Then
she looked up at her friend and smiled. “Okay,” she said, “but you
better have lots and lots of wine.”

Chris ran further than he
intended, back to the streets where he had grown up. He paused,
savouring the satisfying ache in his legs and sucked the air into
his lungs. He could smell food, good food, the kind that came from
fresh ingredients. Curiously he walked towards the park where he
had opened his exam results and done most of his revision. He saw
Harry and the adrenaline rush caught him by surprise. She was
stirring a pot that was at almost the same level as her
head.

“
There’s
about seven foot of gorgeousness leaning against our sound system
and watching you.” Julia said with a smile. Harry looked up and
felt suddenly short of breath.

“
That’s the
surgeon.”

“
The
interesting surgeon? The one you like?”

“
I don’t like
him at all.”

“
Well then
can I have him?” Olivia asked appreciatively.

“
Oh my
goodness he’s coming over.” Harry said unsteadily, she took a deep
breath and looked up at Olivia, “You promised me wine.”

“
I know honey
I’m sorry. They told me they’d be here by now.”

“
Hi,” said
Chris, “that smells good.”

“
You can have
some for free.” Olivia told him warmly.

“
I’m sure he
can.” Julia murmured.

“
Thank you.”
Chris said with a smile, still looking at Harry. “Is your finger
okay?”

“
Yes, it’s
fine,” Harry said, pleased that he had noticed, but also slightly
embarrassed, “I burnt it on the side of the pot.”

“
Oh honey I’m
sorry.” Olivia said awkwardly. “I know your hands are really
important.” Harry looked at her friend, feeling her embarrassment
deepening, and wishing more than ever that she was back on her
sofa.

“
Everyone’s
hands are important.” Chris said, with a sudden flash of
inspiration, and was rewarded by her beautiful smile. He smiled
back, then added hopefully, “I’m really good at
chopping.”

“
Thank
goodness.” Julia interjected, “I’m terrible. Here you can have my
knife.”

“
Thank you.”
Chris said sincerely. He sat down beside Harry and smiled at her,
“How finely do you want these vegetables?”

“
Fairly
rough,” she suggested, still adjusting to his distracting
proximity.

“
Okay then.”
he chopped in silence, still unable to believe his good luck. He
was sitting next to her, he had the chance to make amends away from
the amused eyes of his mentor. “Is this something that you often
do?” he asked, deciding that if was, then he would be
volunteering.

“
Well I used
to do a lot more, you know chanting things on street corners,
painting banners, but I’ve gotten a bit softer now, I spend more
time on the sofa.”

“
Helping
communities is a good cause.” He said approvingly, and she smiled
at him and their preparation fell into a charged silence. Chris
drew in a breath, he didn’t want these precious moments alone with
her to be squandered. He rehearsed casual and tempting suggestions
for their Saturday night and he savoured the sight of her honey
dark profile as she concentrated on the battered stove that
Olivia’s group had dragged into the park.

“
You’re good
at that.” Harry said finally.

“
I spent four
years as a teenager in a children’s home round the corner from
here.”

“
And they
taught you how to cook?”

“
I figured a
lot of stuff out myself, it was the only way to have anything
decent to eat.”

“
I’m running
low on ideas.” she said tiredly, “if you can think of anything with
a lot of carrots in it then I’d be really grateful.”

“
Watch this.”
He stood up and reached across her. She wheeled back, torn between
amusement and desire. His faded shorts left very little to her
imagination, the hard muscles of his legs moved distractingly as he
shifted his weight, and she was finding it really hard to
concentrate on the food.

Their cooking fell into a
rhythm, chopping, frying and tending to the dented pots. Harry
watched Olivia and Julia gathering plates and cutlery and washing
them with a rather ineffective ecological soap. She was alone with
him and she half hoped that he would say something that would give
her some clue as to why he was spending his Friday night chopping
up donated vegetables. He was thinking the same thing, wondering
what to say to let her know how attractive he found her, and how
much he regretted his thoughtless reaction to her wheelchair.
Normally on dates he drank wine and took people to bed. But he was
on new territory here, so he sliced open another onion and looked
down at her, he was a resourceful man and he relished a new
challenge. Then he almost chopped off his thumb when he realised
that her loose cotton shirt wasn’t buttoned up as high as the
clothes she wore for work.

“
Can I ask
where you lived before the children’s home?” she said carefully,
wishing that the much promised wine would finally
arrive.

“
With my
parents, my dad was a porter at the hospital, he wanted me to be a
doctor.”

“
What
happened?” she asked softly, “If that’s okay to ask.”

“
It’s okay,”
he took a breath, “my little sister died and my mum never
recovered, she started drinking, and she never stopped smoking.
There was a house fire while I was out at rugby
practice.”

“
Oh I’m
sorry.” she looked up at him, her big dark eyes holding
his.

“
It’s okay,”
he said with a smile, “it was a long time ago.” He focussed on his
chopping for a couple of minutes, comfortably selecting vegetables
for the four pots that he now effortlessly controlled and throwing
in big handfuls of the herbs that Harry was slicing up. “They were
good people,” he added softly, “they came down from Edinburgh so
that my mum could take up a place at art college. Then she had me
and she said that found her vocation.” He stopped and served a
family who had arrived in the park, explaining the cooking process
and the herbs that he had used.

Julia and Olivia returned
looking triumphant. They poured out red wine into paper cups then
swept on to the advice stands, liberally distributing the contents
of their bottles. “At last,” said Harry, she took an appreciative
mouthful and smiled up at him. “I'm so glad it's Friday
night.”

Chris grinned and held up
his own cup. There was good music playing and he was talking to a
beautiful woman. He realised that he wanted to ask her to dance and
he paused and took another mouthful of wine. It alarmed him to
think that his repertoire of romantic strategies was so small that
he could not think of anything more to say to her. He looked down
at her delicate legs, she was wearing a pair of faded jeans and
boots and his surgeons mind wondered again why she needed to use
her chair.

“
We've got a
fresh delivery of broccoli.” she said, and laughed at his
expression. “Let's swap places for a while, it's my turn to
improvise.” He chopped and heaped the waste into the compost bin.
Harry concentrated for a moment on her concoction, she bit
thoughtfully on the side of her sensuous mouth and his jolt of
attraction caught him by surprise. He filled up her wine glass and
his own and decided that getting her alone was fast becoming a
priority.

They stopped when the
Manchester weather started to get worse. Olivia and Julia returned
and helped them pack up the remaining food. “Can I help?” Chris
asked hopefully and took the lead on moving the heavy pots and
boxes of vegetables into the big white van that Olivia
drove.

“
Do you want
a lift somewhere?” Olivia asked him, and he accepted gratefully,
wishing the offer had come from her friend. Harry manoeuvred her
chair into a space near the front and locked herself into the
roughly rigged wheelchair bay. He thought protectively that it
didn’t look very secure, but he didn’t think she would react very
well to his concerns and he contented himself by sitting down on a
rough bench as close as he could to her. She smiled at him when he
made a rather weak remark about their cooking and he wondered what
she would say if he invited her in for a cup of coffee.

He didn't get a chance to
find out. Olivia treated him to a lengthy explanation as to how the
three women had met. He learned that they had started university
together, living in the same corridor in a big student hall. Olivia
and Harry had been studying computing, and Julia medicine. In
second year Julia's parents and Harry's parents had bought them the
little adjoining terraced houses and Olivia had moved in with Julia
until she could find a place of her own and never moved out again.
Chris explained that he had spent a couple of years before
university working in a kitchen and saving up. He met his present
housemate Jeff, a man who had trained as an accountant and worked
for a while, when they both started medical school. They had both
struggled with the youthful culture of their fellow students and
they had escaped by buying a big house and slowly decorating it.
Now Nicola lived there with them and Chris wondered sometimes if
should move out. The problem was that Jeff was the closest thing he
had to family.

They pulled up outside
the pretty little terraced houses and Chris explained that he lived
about 10 minutes’ walk away. Julia invited him in to enjoy the
remains of his cooking and Chris looked hopefully at the lovely
woman beside him and accepted the offer. Harry led the way down the
ramp and followed Julia into her house, Olivia steered Chris into
the kitchen, and he put down the pots on the battered work surfaces
and filled up the mismatching plates and bowls. Harry had
transferred onto the sofa when he returned to the lounge, and he
sat down beside her, conscious of her proximity and the delicate
scent of her perfume. They discussed the people they had met that
evening; the complex politics of the central Manchester suburb
where members of the African Caribbean community negotiated the
tricky waters of poverty and adolescence. Julia put on a gloriously
atmospheric jazz album and he sat back against the scruffy floral
covers, enjoying their company and watching Harry tapping her
finger on her glass in time to the music.

Finally Harry rubbed the
back of her neck, and smiled tiredly at him. “Thank you so much for
your help.” she said softly, “I really couldn’t have done it
without you. Now if you'll excuse me, I think I'm going to climb
into bed.” He nodded and his intrusive surgeon’s eyes watched her
slide her delicate hips back into her wheelchair and use her hands
to arrange her feet on the footrests. He wanted to follow her so
badly it felt like a physical ache, but instead he declined Julia's
offer of a cup of coffee and walked slowly back to his
house.

Harry prepared for bed
and let her mind replay the evening. He was good company and an
excellent cook. She wondered why he had stayed as long as he did.
Was it because they were helping his old neighbourhood? She thought
that was the most likely explanation. She had wondered for a
moment, just around the time Olivia had poured out the wine, if he
was flirting with her. Then he had immersed himself in their
cooking again and she remembered the stab of disappointment she had
felt.

Her parents had bought
the house for her, something she still felt vaguely embarrassed
about. At the time she had suggested a bungalow, or at least a flat
on one floor, but her mother had fallen in love with the pretty
little stone house, and Julia had been excited about living next
door. So she had allowed herself to be persuaded, and now she lived
in the bottom three rooms of her house, grateful at least for the
fact that the room she used as a bedroom looked out over the big
stretch of gardens that the row of terraces shared.

She transferred into bed
and switched on the radio. Usually she enjoyed this broadcasting
slot, where books were read and plays repeated. But she still felt
restless. She wished that she could have walked back to his house
with him. Another couple out on a Friday evening, comfortably
invisible and wrapped in their own private bubble. She wished that
they could drink hot drinks in the privacy of his kitchen and then
maybe go upstairs together. She remembered the white hot flare of
attraction she had felt and closed her eyes, she decided she would
need to go swimming the next day.