Page 40 of Kate and Clara's Curious Cornish Craft Shop
‘There’s always that,’ I say briskly. ‘Who knows? We certainly won’t unless we get another set of pictures of course.’ I lift my embroidery off the easel. ‘I guess I’d better get going.’ I glance at my watch. It was only nine thirty so Molly wouldn’t be ready for another hour and a half. ‘Molly will be finished at her party soon.’
‘What eighteenth birthday party finishes before ten o’clock?’ Jack asks. ‘Not any decent one anyway.’
‘I have things to do before then,’ I lie. The truth was I’d only go back to the flat and sit there worrying about what she might be getting up to. This evening with Jack had been a pleasant distraction.
‘Stay,’ Jack says solemnly, looking up at me. ‘I don’t know about you but these flats, so noisy in the day, get quite lonely at night when the streets outside are deserted. You’ll be doing me a favour by keeping me company, and I might hazard a guess I’ll be doing the same for you by distracting you from thinking about what Molly’s doing?’
I’m surprised by the expressive nature of the first part of Jack’s request. Unsure, I hesitate for a moment. ‘All right then,’ I say. ‘But no more talk about Arty having the hots for someone or getting it on, okay?’
I blush as I realise what I’ve said.
Jack grins. ‘I’ll do my best for you, Lady Kate, but I’m not promising anything …’
Fourteen
‘Shall I walk you to the community centre to collect Molly from her party?’ Jack asks as my watch strikes 10.45 and I make a move to leave his flat.
We’ve had a lovely evening together, in particular the last hour when we’d relaxed in Jack’s comfortable living room and simply chatted about all sorts – St Felix, having teenagers, our shops. In fact, we’d covered a lot of topics since our last visit to ‘vintage’ St Felix, everything but ourselves.
‘Er …’ I’m hesitating for two reasons. Firstly, I don’t want to put Jack out by forcing him to have to descend those stairs again for no reason other than me and, secondly, I’m not quite sure why he’s offering in the first place.
‘When I saywalk,’ Jack adds, grinning, ‘obviously I meanwheel!’
‘Well, yes,’ I reply, still sounding doubtful.
‘What’s wrong, Kate? Will being seen with me cramp your style?’ Jack is still smiling, but I sense that his swagger is fading somewhat. ‘I’ll put my legs on especially!’
‘Don’t be silly – it’s not that.’
‘What is it then?’ Jack’s smile has faded now.
‘I don’t want to put you out, that’s all. I mean you’ve got to get yourself all the way downstairs and change your wheelchair. It’s seems an awful faff.’
Jack looks down into his lap for a moment, then up at me. His face is solemn once more and his gaze is intense.
‘My whole life is one big faff, as you put it, Kate. Everything I do is complicated, from the moment I get up in the morning to the moment I go to bed. I rarely do anything on the spur of the moment any more. I simply can’t. Everything has to be planned so I can accommodate this thing.’ He gestures to his wheelchair. ‘So getting myself down the stairs to accompany you to the community centre, in the greater scheme of things, really isn’t that big a deal. It might not mean that much to you whether I do or whether I don’t, but perhaps you’d be kind enough to allow me that one moment of normality … allow me to at least pretend I’m being chivalrous.’
I stare at him.
I feel awful, I hadn’t thought about it like that at all – what seemed like an enormous hassle to me was normality to him. He was simply asking me to allow him to be ordinary.
I’m about to say my usual ‘sorry’ but I stop myself, remembering how Jack usually reacts when I become apologetic. Instead I simply smile at him and say: ‘No need for the sob story. If you want to come and watch a load of teenagers who’ve had too much to drink fall out of our local community centre, then this is your night!’
Jack and I make our way companionably towards the party together. He had insisted on attaching his legs before we left even though I had told him it wasn’t necessary and no one would care.
‘I will care, Kate,’ had been his answer, and that had been enough.
‘Thanks,’ Jack says now as he wheels himself along next to me, ‘for what you said before at the flat. I overreacted as usual. I often do.’
‘Not at all. I hadn’t thought about things in that way. What you said helped me understand your situation, and maybe you a little bit as well.’
‘I’m not difficult to understand,’ Jack says, his voice returning to its usual buoyant tone. ‘As black and white as a chess-board me, most of the time.’
‘You might think that, but I’ve already experienced many shades of grey since I met you – and before you say anything notthosesorts of shades of grey.’
Jack grins. ‘You already know me too well. But I still take offence at the term “grey”. That suggests I’m a bit bland, and I try very hard to be anything but that.’
‘No, I didn’t mean grey as in wishy-washy, I meant grey as in you’re not always as black and white as you think. Sometimes you give out mixed messages.’
