‘I managed it before. Come on.’
Muttering half-hearted protests and warnings, Becky clasped her arms around his neck and let him pick her up. Her heavy head sank against his shoulder as he made steady progress up the stairs. Not entirely conscious, she rubbed her cheek against the soft warm wool of his jumper, breathing in its faint spicy scent.
Without any hint of effort, he lowered her onto the bed and arranged her pillows. He was about to turn off the bedside lamp when she grabbed his outstretched hand.
‘Charlie? Will you please check on Dylan before you go?’
‘Of course.’ He brushed a few strands of hair from her forehead as she closed her eyes. ‘And I’ll be back tomorrow before Dylan’s awake. Call me if you need anything.’
Chapter 42
After a week lounging on the sofa, sleeping off a couple of years of fatigue and letting Charlie and Ronnie take over, Becky felt strong enough to leave the house.
Becky nodded while Charlie tried to persuade her to extend her convalescence, all the while plotting her escape. He didn’t want her venturing into town on foot. He couldn’t drive her because he had to visit Rachel on Friday morning. She should wait until next week.
He worried too much. Friday was set to be a dry day; if she wrapped up and stayed outside for brief periods there was no reason a short excursion wouldn’t do her some good. And ignoring her dwindling bank balance wasn’t going to put her back in the black. If she could talk the bank into giving her a mortgage holiday until her commission came in from Charlie’s show, with some more belt tightening she should have enough to tide her over for another couple of months.
The next morning Ronnie arrived at nine to take charge of Dylan. Becky’s plan was to go to the bank, then to a few shops to get nappies and other essentials. However, after talking to a couple of helpful bank employees, she cut her trip short and was back home less than an hour after she had left.
She slammed the front door. ‘Ronnie!’ Stripping off her coat, hat and gloves, she strung them up and kicked her boots into the corner before bounding up the stairs.
The world turned grey as she made it to the top. Groaning, she sank to her knees and lowered her head to the floor.
When Ronnie came out of Dylan’s room, Becky was curled in a ball on the landing. She crouched and helped Becky to sitting, propping her against the wall. ‘You’ve been to the bank, then?’
Becky tried to raise her head so she could glare at her, but moving did funny things to her vision. She kept her head still and injected some venom into her tone. ‘You knew?’
‘He already had your account number to pay expenses. And Mike may have given him an idea of how much would cover a couple of months of your mortgage. But,’ she said, as Becky growled, ‘he’ll deduct it from your final commission, which you won’t get until well into February or March.’
Becky turned her head just enough so she could fix Ronnie with one squinting eye. Ronnie kept going.
‘And it’s all your own fault anyway. No one would work for over half a year for free, getting paid everything at the end. You should demand an advance or part payments throughout the project. Mike agrees with me on this one and he knows what he’s talking about. Charlie owes you and he’s got money to spare.’ She nudged Becky. ‘Obviously you should give him a hard time about doing it behind your back. But then you and I both know you wouldn’t have let him do it if he’d asked you first.’
Becky let her head hang lower.
‘And how many times has your policy been “do first, apologise later”?’ Ronnie asked. ‘He’s an observant guy and you can’t blame him if he’s following your poor example.’
Becky wasn’t sure if it was the remnants of the flu making her dizzy or Ronnie’s energetic defence of Charlie.
‘Anyway, turns out he’s a Taurus too. So no point in trying to change his mind now.’ She helped Becky to her feet. ‘Let’s go downstairs and make some tea. And why don’t we make something for Charlie too?’
After lunch, Ronnie got Dylan to sleep and installed Becky on the sofa. Charlie was expected any minute. He continued to be expected until he was late and Ronnie couldn’t wait any longer. So when he did show up, it was Becky who let him in, causing him to flap apologetically for having forced her to get up.
‘Don’t worry about it,’ she said, leaning against the sofa and watching him take off his coat. ‘I was well enough to go to the bank this morning, but I think I overdid it. I had a shock which did unfortunate things to my blood pressure.’
Charlie removed his glasses and used his scarf to clean them. Becky crossed her arms and waited while he put his glasses back on, looked up and cleared his throat. ‘You haven’t hit me or shouted,’ he said.
She raised an eyebrow. ‘Do you want me to?’
He shrugged and a shadow of a smile lingered at the corners of his mouth as he pushed his glasses up onto the bridge of his nose. ‘No. Are you going to?’
‘As long as it’s an advance, then no.’
‘An advance. Like the boiler repair. Honest.’ He held up his hands. ‘And I would have told you about it before I did it, but—’
‘I would have stopped you. I know, I know.’ She sighed. ‘I never thought I was so difficult to help.’
‘Well, you are.’ He looked past her into the kitchen and his smile disappeared. ‘You made tea already?’
He sounded disappointed. ‘Don’t worry, it should still be warm. And there’s a treat to go with it. Ronnie made it, so it’ll be great.’
He followed her into the kitchen. On the countertop a tray was waiting, laden with two mugs and two plates, each plate holding a right-angled triangle of sponge cake with white icing and multicoloured sprinkles.
Charlie’s smile returned.
‘Now, although you’ve done more than enough to help me lately, perhaps you’d be so kind as to carry the tray through to the front room.’ She steadied herself by placing a hand on his left bicep and gave the muscle a playful squeeze. ‘I may be on the mend, but why risk setting back my recovery when you’ve spent all that time at the gym?’
Chapter 43
A Christmas miracle came to South Compton rail station on the thirtieth of December when Becky’s train arrived a full five minutes ahead of schedule.
She had left Dylan, a warm house and wonderful home cooking to come back to the Comptons and, as Becky stood shivering by the taxi bay, she had to remind herself that the numbness in her toes was for a good cause. Back in July, she had been pleased with her idea of using the New Year’s ball to give Charlie’s show a boost. But now it was a day away, the prospect was more daunting than inspired.
Virgil having gone AWOL didn’t help her flagging confidence either. She hadn’t spoken to her date since November, although he had sent her a message to wish her Merry Christmas and confirm he would meet her at the Hall.
Charlie’s car came round the corner as the numbness was starting to pass her ankles. ‘Sorry I’m late,’ he said, taking her case and opening the passenger door for her. ‘I would have picked you up at your parents’.’