Page 51 of Only for Christmas

‘Because you were right. I am messed up. And despite having good reason for being messed up, I shouldn’t be this messed up after this length of time. I knew that; I just didn’t appreciate you pointing it out.’

He stopped by the bed and looked down at her. It had taken a lot of guts for her to admit that. ‘I shouldn’t have said what I did; it was uncalled for and mean. I’m truly sorry.’

Her eyes drifted away from his. ‘That’s okay.’

He lowered her onto the duvet and fetched his medical bag. ‘Is the pain getting worse or better?’

Fred had jumped onto an armchair and was curled up in a ball.

‘Better,’ she said, looking into the glow of the slit lamp so he could check for concussion.

‘Any dizziness?’

‘It’s better now I’m lying down. You have a comfy bed.’

He lifted her hair and saw the cause of the blood, a nasty graze on her forehead. ‘Relax your head against the pillow so I can check for damage.’ He felt his way around her skull, relieved that her head seemed to be intact. ‘Tell me if it hurts.’

‘The truth often hurts,’ she said. ‘But sometimes it’s necessary.’

‘I meant your head.’

‘Oh, right… my head’s fine, thanks.’ She gave a little shrug. ‘I’m just saying. Sometimes it’s easier to see what’s wrong in someone else’s life than your own.’

He tried to focus on the job at hand, something that wasn’t easy when she was looking at him with dilated pupils. He cleared his throat. ‘I’m going to check the rest of you… is that okay?’

She nodded. ‘I mean, I spend my days solving other people’s problems. It’s my job. The staff come to me with all kinds of issues and I provide them with solutions. Debt problems? Go to Citizens Advice. Relationship problems? Go to Relate. Tax issues? Contact HMRC. Whatever the problem, I research it and find a solution.’ She recoiled when he touched her wrist. ‘Ouch.’

‘Can you wiggle your fingers?’ She did as he asked. It probably wasn’t broken.

‘But you can only do that if you know you have a problem, and I didn’t. Well, maybe I did, but I didn’t want to admit that I had a problem.’ She shuffled onto one elbow. ‘Do you think I have a concussion?’

He moved down to check her knees. ‘Yes, but you’re talking – that’s a good sign. Lie down, please.’

‘I might not be making sense,’ she said, flopping down. ‘Please ignore anything I say. I’m being weird.’

He smiled. ‘You’re being cute.’

‘Please, I am not cute. I am spiky and defensive and sad.’

‘You’re also cute.’ He pressed her tummy, hoping she didn’t have any internal bleeding. ‘And funny, and kind.’ This was a new experience for him, flattering a woman while medically treating her. ‘Any pain when I press here?’

‘No… And you don’t like my furniture.’

He laughed. ‘I like you. Isn’t that more important?’ He took her blood pressure, checked her oxygen levels and temperature. All normal. ‘Want the verdict?’

‘Give it to me straight, Doctor. I can take it.’

‘Mild concussion, sprained wrist and extensive bruising.’ He lifted her arm so he could prop a pillow under her wrist. ‘And a nasty graze on your forehead, which needs cleaning and dressing. I can do it here, or I can take you to the nearest A&E.’

‘Can you do it, please. I’m very comfy; I don’t want to move.’

‘Not a problem. Back soon.’ He took a petri dish into the bathroom and filled it with warm water. This was not how he’d expected his night to go. Who would have thought Sarah would be lying on his bed, albeit battered from a fall. At least she’d forgiven him; that was something.

When he came back into the bedroom, her eyes were drifting shut. ‘I guess buying the furniture was an act of rebellion,’ she said, hugging one of his pillows to her chest. ‘I’d always liked antiques, and Josh hated them, so when I got my own place I wanted to make it all about me.’

He pushed her hair away from her face and soaked a piece of gauze. ‘Understandable.’

‘I deliberately chose stuff I knew he’d hate. I think maybe I did that so he wouldn’t want me back. Ouch!’

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