Page 23 of Only for Christmas

Lucas stepped into the lamplight. ‘Sorry, Mrs Kelsey, that’ll be me.’

‘You?’ She shook a fist at him. ‘You got a dog?’

‘No, but I work out. It involves a lot of shouting. It’s probably that you can hear. Sorry.’ He subjected her to a disarming smile – a smile that would melt the hardiest of souls, except that Sarah suspected Mrs Kelsey had no soul, so it was a lost cause.

‘You telling me there’s no dog up there?’

‘I promise, I don’t have a dog, Mrs Kelsey.’ He gave Sarah a discreet wink. ‘Why don’t you head back inside; it’s cold out here.’ He nudged Sarah towards the steps. ‘We’re heading up now. See you tomorrow.’

‘I can deal with the likes of Mrs Kelsey,’ Sarah grumbled, frustrated that Lucas was coming to her rescue for a second time that evening.

When he reached the top step, he turned to her. ‘You want to admit to having a dog up there?’

Sarah was two steps down, so at a distinct height disadvantage. He was tall enough as it was. ‘What makes you think I have a dog? I don’t have a dog.’

Both his eyebrows lifted. ‘Sure you don’t.’ He turned and headed towards his flat. ‘Night, Sarah… say hi to Fred for me,’ he called back, before disappearing inside his flat, wearing a huge grin plastered across his annoyingly handsome face.

Sarah slumped against the wall.

So much for keeping Fred a secret. Her cover was blown.

Chapter Six

Saturday, 10th December

Lucas couldn’t remember the last time he’d bought a woman flowers. Maybe his mom on Mother’s Day. But here he was, walking back from the Putney Exchange carrying a huge bouquet of winter roses. The woman at The Flowersmith had referred to him as darlin’ a lot, and wished him good luck when he’d confessed the flowers were for his attractive neighbour.

He’d need all the luck he could get, as buying Sarah Haynes flowers was not the action of a sane man. But what could he say? He’d never been able to resist the appeal of a wounded woman. And despite her tetchy exterior, Sarah wasn’t as tough as she made out.

‘Oi! You there. American fella.’

Lucas paused when he reached the building steps, figuring whoever was shouting across the street could only be referring to him. He turned to see Mrs Kelsey leaning on her walking frame by her front door.

‘That’s right, you. I need your help.’

Lucas glanced up longingly at Sarah’s flat, before sighing in resignation and heading down the steps to the basement flat. ‘What can I do for you, Mrs Kelsey?’

‘Leaky tap in the bathroom. You handy with a wrench?’

‘Not in the least, but I’m happy to take a look. What happened?’

‘How the hell should I know.’ She gave him an incredulous look; her skin was sallow and grey. She didn’t look well. ‘The blessed thing started leaking water.’

‘Have you called a plumber?’

‘And pay weekend rates?’ she scoffed. ‘Don’t be daft. You’ll do.’

It was hard to resist such charm.

He followed her inside, watching as she shuffled along, her worn slippers dragging against the equally worn matting. Her yellow hair had white roots showing, and her dressing gown was dirty at the bottom. There was a definite shake to her hands and she had large patches of purple bruising visible on her paper-thin skin.

He covered his mouth as he entered her flat, his senses struggling to process the array of aromas. Old cigarette smoke was the predominant odour, mixed with air freshener and stale wine. The lounge was small and crammed with large pieces of furniture. There were two bottle-green armchairs and a two-seater couch positioned in front of a walnut coffee table. Side cabinets were covered in magazines, and newspapers were thrown across the worn carpet, alongside dirty dinner plates and empty mugs. Discarded inhalers and opened packets of steroids explained the purple bruising.

‘Through here,’ she said, shuffling down the hallway.

Placing his flowers on the cabinet, Lucas followed her and eased himself into the tiny bathroom. The small window was cracked and covered in mould. Limescale tarnished the plugholes and there were urine stains around the toilet pan.

Mrs Kelsey was wheezing badly. ‘Can you fix it?’

---