Читать книгу The Butterfly Cove Collection - Sarah Bennett, Sarah Bennett - Страница 15

Mia stayed still as she watched Daniel struggle not to fall apart before her. His chest heaved, lungs working like a bellows as the air sawed in and out. There was a smear of vomit on his chin, more down his dark sweater and across the sleeve where he’d scrubbed at his face.

She recognised the signs of an impending meltdown when she saw them; had suffered plenty herself over the past couple of years. His obvious distress tugged at her. She didn’t want this man, this intruder in her house. The rational part of her recognised that his presence wasn’t voluntary, and she made a mental note to give Madeline a call later and voice her ire at the correct source of her dilemma.

Mia wanted to carry on as she was, hiding away and burying herself in the work to try and bring Butterfly House back to a semblance of its former glory. It was a Herculean task—even with the help and support of Madeline and Richard.

Her target for opening to guests was slipping further into the distance and part of her was glad of it. If the house wasn’t ready, then she didn’t have to be ready to deal with the outside world. Her grand plan to move forward with her life had turned into a different type of inertia. Perhaps it was time to act, time to take a chance and help someone else, and just maybe help herself at the same time.

Daniel raised a hand to cover his already shut eyes and his shoulders quaked. Moving before she was aware of what she was doing, she reached out to take his other hand, heedless of the unpleasant dampness of it.

‘Daniel, come inside with me and let’s get you cleaned up. It’s all right, darling. It’ll be all right, I promise.’ She tugged gently on his hand and gave an encouraging nod when he dropped his big hand to blink at her through the moisture clinging to his lashes. The sparkle of his tears drew her attention to the stormy green colour of his eyes.

Walking backwards she maintained eye contact as she led him through the empty room and back into the relative warmth of the kitchen. She guided him back to the table and he didn’t resist when pressed into a chair. She dashed through to the dining room to close and latch the patio doors, her stockinged feet sliding across the wooden floor as she hurried back.

Pulling the kitchen door closed, she cocooned them in the warmth from the Aga. Daniel hadn’t moved from the spot she had placed him in and Mia gave him a worried frown as she went over to the sink and turned on the hot water tap. She quickly rinsed her hands, washing off the vomit and snot and supressing a little shudder. Not the time to be squeamish.

Retrieving a plastic bowl from under the sink, she filled it with warm water and fetched a clean towel from the drawer. After placing them on the table, she gripped Daniel’s chin, turning his face towards her. He remained passive while she washed his face, letting her turn his head this way and that as she wiped away the traces of his outburst. She rinsed the towel out in the bowl, then cleaned off his hands with the same concentration, keeping her touch gentle, stroking his skin until he began to stir.

Daniel opened his mouth, no doubt to apologise for his behaviour, but she shook her head and tapped him under the chin to close his mouth. ‘Arms up, Daniel. Let’s get this nasty sweater off you.’ Taking care not to let the dirty material touch his face, she eased the garment over his head and bundled it up with the dirty towel. Turning away, she shoved them into the washing machine, adding them to her grubby pyjamas and dressing gown. A quick twist of the dial and the soothing hum of the machine filled the air.

‘You got a toothbrush in that duffel bag of yours?’ Mia asked, pointing towards the big bag that lay just inside the back door. She waited for him to nod before digging around in its contents until she gave a little grunt of satisfaction as she located and retrieved his wash kit. ‘You’ll feel better once you rinse your mouth and clean your teeth; I always do,’ she said trying to put him at ease.

Deciding a cold drink would probably be welcome, she fetched a can of Diet Coke and a bottle of mineral water from the fridge, before resuming her seat from earlier, one foot tucked beneath her in her habitual position. She’d regret it soon enough when the pins and needles started, but it was a habit she’d developed in childhood and never grown out of.

She watched Daniel rinse and spit, rinse again then dry his face and hands. He was braced over the sink taking deep breaths and the tension in his shoulders told her was trying not to be sick again. Without any real thought, she crossed to stand behind him and rubbed his back softly. Making circles with her hand, she stroked the tense muscles until they yielded beneath her touch.

Stormy green eyes met hers over his shoulder and she twisted her lips into a semblance of a smile, though there was little true mirth in it. ‘What a pair of fuck-ups we are,’ she said bluntly.

Surprise widened his gaze, chasing away some of the desperate vulnerability she couldn’t miss. She knew that look, knew it well, and it helped to crystallise her decision. ‘I don’t want to hear your sad story, Daniel. Nor do I want to tell you mine, so I’ll make a deal with you. You can stay here for a week and get yourself together and in return I expect you to work on the house to earn your keep. There’s a list of things to do as long as your arm. I wasn’t joking when I said I didn’t have a room fit for habitation. I’ll get you a quilt and a pillow and you can crash on the sofa. Tomorrow you can pick one of the rooms upstairs and we’ll clean it up so you have somewhere to sleep tomorrow night. That’s my only offer—take it or take off.’

Mia hoped he’d take it. She knew what it was like to hit rock bottom and Daniel seemed close to that. It was time to move forward and she could manage a week. There were plenty of dirty, heavy chores on her list that he could help with. A bit of hard work might be just what he needed.

‘Thank you.’ His voice sounded rough, his throat clearly raw and dry. Mia stepped back, gathered the drinks and offered them to him. He reached for the Diet Coke, popping the tab and gulping at the cold, sweet liquid. She waited for him to drink his fill, wary in case it came back up, but he seemed more settled now that she had agreed to let him stay for a few days.

‘A couple of the rooms upstairs are en suite so I’ll sort the bathroom out while you sort the bedroom. Can you manage tonight without a shower? The only useable one is in my room and I just can’t have you in there.’ She turned away, needing to put some distance between them, muttering to herself as she resumed her seat. ‘I just can’t have you in my space.’

Mia crossed one arm over her chest and rubbed her other shoulder. The body language was defensive, but she couldn’t help it. With each passing moment, panic rose. She wanted to rescind her offer, shove Daniel out the door and erect all her barriers again. Danger! Keep Out! No Trespassing! She forced her hands down into her lap and tried to relax and keep her breathing calm.

‘You’ve done more than I could ever have expected under the circumstances. I’m sorry to put you in this position.’ His quiet tone sounded soft and sincere. With a rueful laugh, he continued. ‘But apparently not sorry enough that I can bring myself to do the honourable thing and leave you in peace. I will do my best to repay you with a lot of hard work and I wouldn’t dream of invading any more of your home than you are comfortable with sharing. A hot shower and a proper bed will be motivation tomorrow to get stuck in.’

Mia felt his eyes on her but didn’t want to meet them. She crossed over to the kitchen window, pulling the curtains closed over the rapidly darkening sky. ‘It gets dark so quickly this time of year.’ She rolled her eyes at her inane remark; her back was turned so thankfully he didn’t see her. The decision was made and it was time to face up to it. Hopefully they would find some neutral ground where they could both relax a little and adjust to the other’s company.

She’d always been a feeder by nature, a nurturer. It was a source of deep regret that she and Jamie had not felt ready to have a child because at least then she would’ve had a piece of him to care for. They’d been young, eager to explore the world together, revelling in the selfish bliss of just their own company, not having to split their attentions on anything other than each other. They had their whole lives ahead of them, Jamie had said. No need to rush into a family.

A burst tyre and a slick, wet road had robbed them of their future; those dream babies that Mia had pictured holding would never fill her empty arms. ‘Shit, shit, stop it, Mia!’ She shook her head to dislodge the memories threatening to encroach.

Needing to hide for a moment to regain her compose, she crossed the kitchen and entered the narrow pantry that ran the length of the room. It was a treasure of a space. Sturdy, wide shelves down one side and a built-in wine rack at the far end. The bare stone floor helped to keep the temperature cooler than the rest of the kitchen, but was brutal underfoot this time of year, even with thick woollen socks on.

Mia grabbed the cob loaf wrapped in a muslin cloth and returned to the main kitchen space, wiggling her feet gratefully on the warmer floor in front of the Aga. She unwrapped the bread and tested its freshness. She’d baked it a couple of days ago, but the cloth had helped to keep it from drying out. Opening the fridge, she retrieved half a roast chicken, a pot of single cream and some stock. She placed them on the board and turned back towards the pantry. Daniel watched her, a slightly quizzical expression on his face.

‘I thought I’d make some soup, nothing too testing if your stomach is still feeling a little rebellious. We’ll both feel better for a hot meal, I think.’

She carried on past the table and back into the pantry to root in her vegetable basket for the bits she needed to thicken the soup and up the nutritional punch. Since moving to Orcombe, she’d made a conscious effort to eat well, having neglected herself for too long after Jamie’s death. Cooking and baking had always been a source of comfort and enjoyment. Originally it had been a chore that she had learned through necessity thanks to her mother’s negligence and her father’s steadfast refusal to notice his wife’s drink problem.

As the oldest of three, it had fallen to Mia to assume the responsibility for the day-to-day care of her two sisters. Each of them had taken on a different role to survive their upbringing. Kiki had been the pacifier, covering for their mother and making excuses for their father spending so many hours buried in his work. Nee had been the warrior protector of her elder sisters. A tiny bundle of spirit and fury from a young age, she was the one who verbally sparred with their father, driving him to distraction and the sanctuary of his study in her vain efforts to get his attention. Her exhortations to their mother to put down her glass and give a damn led to tears on both sides.

Together the girls had done their best to look out for each other but they had scattered to the winds as soon as they could. Mia and Kiki to young marriages; Nee to art school and more recently overseas. Mia glanced over to the pinboard at the postcard of Times Square lit up in all its seedy glory. She hadn’t heard from Nee since that last card had arrived about three weeks ago and it struck Mia suddenly she had no idea where her little sister was other than somewhere in Manhattan.

‘I’m not a great cook, but I take instruction well. Is there anything I can do to help?’ Daniel’s deep voice broke through her reverie.

Mia blinked at him, trying to gather her thoughts before pointing to the cooked chicken. ‘You can shred the meat from that if you don’t mind; that would be a great help. Take it over to the table with you so that you don’t get under my feet. I’m not used to anyone else in the kitchen these days.’

‘But you used to have someone else in your kitchen?’ Daniel prompted and Mia couldn’t stop her whole body from stiffening.

She kept slicing and chopping, her hands working automatically as she reeled under an assault of memories. At least Jamie had never been in this kitchen. It was her own space, manageable most days. ‘No sad stories, remember?’ She jabbed her finger at the radio on the countertop next to her.

A commercial music station filled the kitchen with a rhythmic beat and Mia flicked the volume up a couple of notches, erecting a wall of sound that separated them. She chopped the vegetables with a practiced hand, added them to a large saucepan with the chicken stock and set it to simmer on the top of the Aga.

Daniel bent to his task, stripping the meat from the carcass of the chicken, shredding it as he placed it on a clean plate. Mia paused to check his efforts before she returned to the stove, tapping a wooden spoon against the pan in time with the music as she checked the progress of the soup.

The music caught her in its rhythm and she swayed and sang along, waiting for the stock to boil. She couldn’t carry a tune to save her life, but she loved to sing. Aiming for the high note in the chorus, she missed her target by a country mile. A soft chuckle behind her reminded her that she wasn’t alone.

If her face glowed, it was the heat from the stove and most definitely not a blush.