New Lease of Life (10 page)

Of course Colby couldn’t have known. This gift had taken planning. Even if the item had been in Colby’s shop, it still required time and thought for the careful packaging. Colby must have brought it with him that morning,
before
Pip had revealed the details behind his condition.

The mist subsided as quickly as it had appeared, and Pip relaxed his grip on the stick. He studied the handle more closely, relieved to find there were no dogs to be found in the vista. Instead what emerged were intricately carved trees sweeping down into the water’s edge, not one but two punts on the river, the one in the foreground being guided by a standing figure in a boater and a jacket that could easily have been a blazer. The scene, while probably of Cambridge, held enough details to be reminiscent of Henley Regatta, or what Colby thought Henley would be like.

Watch it, your inner snob is showing.

The scene certainly reflected qualities that were in the photograph of Pip that Colby had so admired.

The man I used to be.

It seemed like a beautiful item, but Pip didn’t know enough about walking sticks to understand what he was seeing.

Walking sticks and canes had never been something Pip had given much thought to. His grandfather—who Pip attributed for his interest in vintage tweed—had despised any type of stick, claiming they were the sign of the old and infirm, and had died at a sprightly eighty-seven, still chugging along under his own steam until the end. Consequently Pip hadn’t taken the time to learn anything about them, but he liked to think he recognized quality when he saw it, regardless of the item. Reproductions made from resins could be convincing and cheap. A look of age could be faked. But the weight felt right. Also, that smoothness on the top of the handle, where a man’s hand would rest, and the lack of clarity to the carving in that area all pointed to the walking stick being vintage.

And, even if it was a cheap copy, the stick still looked a hundred times better than his crutch.

Why? Why gift a stranger such a beautiful item? And with such a poor sense of timing? The hanging rails in both the wardrobes he’d opened mocked him with their emptiness.

The metal crutch had complemented—hah!—the loose fitting T-shirts and baggy joggers that made up his current wardrobe. All were equally hideous in their design and guaranteed to keep Pip cooped up in the house as often as possible. The walking stick deserved more than Pip had to give.

You deserve more than you’re allowing yourself.
Damned if that didn’t sound like Colby’s voice. Pip could berate himself with the best of them and, where he couldn’t manage, he had a mother to pick up the slack. He certainly didn’t need another detractor, however well meaning.

If he accepted the gift, he would be indebted to Colby for a darn sight more than putting away his perishables. Colby would think he had the right to call and see how Pip was coping. He would ingratiate himself into Pip’s life, bringing his sunshine and smiles with him.

Is that what Colby wanted? To make Pip one of his charity projects? Or did he want to be friends? Despite Colby’s insistence, Pip refused to believe Colby wanted more than that.

It had taken Pip months and a foul attitude to get rid of the friends he’d had before the incident. He couldn’t invite someone new into his life who would only highlight the drab, empty aspects of Pip’s soul and take the color and life with him every time he stepped out of the front door. Someone who could make Pip laugh, only to make the silence even more empty after he had gone. Someone who got the blood pumping around Pip’s body in something other than anger.

I’d fuck you.

Maybe that was all this was. A thoughtful, expensive invitation to mindless animal sex. Well, Colby would be sorely disappointed if it was. Lying on his back or side with his leg hanging off the edge of the bed to avoid his ankle being jostled would be the extent of Pip’s sexual gymnastics. Where once he had been supple and lithe, now his ribs were visible and his joints ached. And not just the ones in his legs.

Unnecessary strain. Shoulder. Back out of alignment.

Pip exhaled noisily. He hated it when people were right. It was the reason the last date on his physio’s appointment card was three months ago. And why he only spoke to his mother when she phoned, never the other way around. Or how he feigned sleep on those days when his Latvian cleaning lady arrived with fragrant dishes that he later found in his fridge.

No, the walking stick would have to go back where it came from.

He reached for his phone with his free hand, unable or unwilling to put the walking stick back in the box.

Best get it over with.

He redialed the last number called. The
only
number called all day. Caressing the shaft of the walking stick with his thumb, Pip contemplated what to say. He didn’t want to hurt Colby’s feelings by returning such a thoughtful gift, but to accept it would be tantamount to encouraging further contact.

Colby had all but called him on that too.

“The mobile phone you are calling is not available.”

Wanker! Knowing Pip would make that call, Colby still hadn’t turned his phone back on.

Tossing the useless implement onto the top of the dresser in front of him, Pip watched his phone slide over the shiny surface until Colby’s note impeded its progress.

Eat me.

As if following instructions, Pip’s stomach growled. He peeled the foil back from the largest package of sandwiches, not caring if it ripped. The food would be no good tomorrow, after all. He picked at a piece of mozzarella then ripped off a corner of the brioche to chase it down.

His stomach gurgled appreciatively, and Pip was suddenly hit by the realization that he had only had a sandwich and a couple of cups of coffee all day.

Yet again Colby and his “eat me” note had been right.

Standing, and with the walking stick tucked under his arm, Pip finished off both of the sandwiches, even going so far as to scrape the crumbs and wayward bits of filling into a pile and messily scoop them into his mouth.

Still hungry, he eyed the remaining food. He didn’t fancy the crisps but a drink would go down quite well with cookies. He’d need to get next door to the spare room, save taking the stairs again. The handle of the walking stick fit his hand as though it had been made for him. Not wanting to put undue strain on the shaft, Pip didn’t lean into it the way he would have with the metal crutch.

His first steps were tentative, uncertain of his own ability to stay upright without the support of the crutch or using the walls and furniture. But the stick compensated for his shaky balance, and although at one point he had to pause to rest his palm on the doorframe, he made it to the spare bedroom without going arse over tit.

He congratulated himself on that achievement while he waited for the kettle to come to the boil. As a test run with the stick, that had been remarkably successful. Not that he had changed his mind—the stick would be returned to Colby first thing in the morning—but he would need to use it if he got up in the night when, groggy from sleep, he would be more inclined to lose his balance. Without his crutch the walking stick filled the void perfectly.

HAVING TAKEN
the tea back into his bedroom, Pip had relocated to the chair in the corner to read while he ate his cookie and finished his drink. By the time his bladder demanded attention, he was surprised to realize how far the evening had progressed while he’d been engrossed in his book.

He’d intended to try Colby’s phone one more time before retiring to bed, but it was after ten.

He decided, rather petulantly, that it would be Colby’s own fault if Pip woke him since he had been the one to avoid confrontation and communication by turning his phone off.

Pip redialed the last number called, absently typing Colby’s name and adding it to his contacts while he waited for a recorded message to confirm Colby remained incommunicado. The first ring was shrill and completely unexpected, causing Pip to fumble the phone. Once, twice, three times, the phone trilled, and the likelihood that Colby would either answer or Pip was about to wake him from slumber increased with every ring.

He stabbed at the Disconnect Call button, breathing heavily as silence fell in the room once again.

A yawn grabbed at him, interrupting the stuttering breaths that had accompanied his unexplainable panic when he realized that Colby could have answered the phone. He should lock the house up and head to bed himself. Not that he normally went to bed before midnight, but today he felt inexplicably tired, despite his nap.

He reached for the stick nestled against his thigh and pushed himself to his feet. As he tackled the stairs with an ease that the cumbersome crutch hadn’t allowed him, Pip let his mind wander. Each time, though, he kept coming back to the cowardly way he had disconnected the call. Before he had a chance to hear Colby’s voice. Before he could discern the disappointment there. Before he could change his mind about accepting Colby’s gift.

As he checked the locks on the front door, the muffled tune of his ringtone floated down from the bedroom. It was too late for it to be his mother—and under no illusion he might be out, she’d ring the landline—so it could only be one other person.

Part of him wanted to take the stairs two at time, at a run, to catch the phone before Colby could ring off. The realist in him knew such an endeavor wouldn’t be possible. The coward in him didn’t even try. He would put off talking to Colby until tomorrow.

Two steps up and the house fell silent again. There! Even running he wouldn’t have made it. Justified in his decision, he tucked his cowardice away for another day and caressed the handle of the walking stick with his thumb as he slowly navigated the stairs.

It wasn’t until he’d shucked his joggers, swapped his T-shirt for one that he only slept in—due to the faded but huge Duck Dodgers on the front—and finished his ablutions that he noticed the flashing light on his phone.

A message. Pip chewed on his bottom lip. Did he want to listen to it? Undoubtedly he wanted to hear Colby’s voice, but did Pip want to listen to what he had to say? Especially if he’d woken Colby up. Although, his voice would be all soft and dozy sounding, or maybe rough and even more manly than normal.

Putting off the decision for a while longer, Pip contemplated what to do with the walking stick for the night. The crutch normally got dropped unceremoniously on the rug by the bed, in easy reach if he woke in the night but with no thought or care for how it landed. The walking stick, however, could not be subjected to such blasé treatment. What if he stepped on it in the night? Broke it in two. Marred the charming handle. Colby had to be able to return the stick when Pip took it back to him tomorrow, or, at the very least, sell it on.

He cleared all the items off his nightstand, transferring them to the matching piece of furniture on the other side of the bed. Then he laid the stick carefully across the top, the handle near to his pillow for easy access.

Once settled in bed, propped up on his pillows, Pip finally turned his attention back to his phone.

The display confirmed the caller had been Colby, and he had left a message.

“Hey, I missed your call. I was in the shower.” A strangled noise escaped from Pip’s lips, and he missed the next few words. “Look, I’m sorry for being a knob and turning my phone off. I just wanted to give you time to… I don’t know, just time. To get over that knee-jerk reaction thing you’ve got going on.

“Hopefully, you’re not ringing to say you want your crutch back, but I suspect you are. And I’m sorry about that as well. It didn’t dawn on me that you would search the house for it without going into the dressing room first.” Message Colby sighed, and Pip felt a stab of regret that Colby was right, and he knew it already even without confirmation.

“Anyway, I’m off to bed now. Just me and my teddy bear.”

Liar. No way did Colby have a teddy bear. Unless that was a pet name for his boyfriend. No, Colby had said he would date Pip. If he smiled. Hadn’t said he wasn’t in a relationship already, though.

“I’ll be at the shop early tomorrow, and I’m there all day. Ring me on either number.”

About to place the phone on the farthest nightstand, Pip noticed the symbol that indicated he had a picture message. Curious, Pip clicked the link to open the message. A dark brown, shaggy teddy bear nestled against a pillowcase of solid block navy blue. The duvet tucked up around the stuffed bear’s waist was the same color, but the flipside of the cover could be seen on the edge of the photo. Fuchsia pink.

The laugh that escaped from Pip surprised him, and he smiled as much at his own reaction as at Colby’s photo. He placed the phone with the message still open on the spare pillow, turned off his lamp, and snuggled into bed.

If he’d had a boyfriend, someone like Colby, before the incident instead of the string of inconsequential and unimportant fuck buddies, then maybe he’d have made it through the hospital visits and treatments unscathed. Someone—Colby—would have bolstered his failing confidence, encouraged him to eat, forced him to physiotherapy. Hell, he’d done all but the last of those things in the two days Pip had known him. Colby wouldn’t have let Pip stop smiling or get rid of his precious clothes.

The light on the screen blinked off, leaving the room in darkness. Blindly, Pip groped on the pillow until he found his phone and tapped the screen before it could lock up.

How much sadder could he possibly get? Sleeping with somebody else’s teddy by proxy.

Maybe it was time for him to get back out there. Or at least get laid. Soon, but not yet, when every man would likely be compared to a man he’d only known three days.

No, when he was ready he’d dip his toes in the water again. Meet someone drab and gray, someone who might be impressed enough by Pip’s postcode to compensate for what he now lacked—a smile, friends, a purpose in life—and who didn’t mind shagging with the light off.