Snowflakes on Silver Cove: A festive, feel-good Christmas romance (White Cliff Bay Book 2) (11 page)

She giggled again. ‘I can’t go like this; I’m naked under this robe.’

He had noticed. As soon as she’d knocked herself out, she had slumped unconscious on the floor, and the robe had fallen open in the most indiscreet manner.

‘Well, go and put some clothes on.’

She nodded thoughtfully and started to walk towards her bedroom. She wobbled a bit, her legs not performing as she wanted them to. He caught her arm.

‘You might need to help me.’

He nodded.

‘But no peeking.’

‘Right, so I have to help you get dressed with my eyes closed?’

‘Exactly,’ she giggled.

Honestly, with her giggling like this, it was like she was drunk. Maybe she really had dislodged some of her brain cells.

They went into the bedroom and she sat down on the bed.

‘Underwear first,’ she said, dispensing with her robe.

His eyes bulged as he tried to look everywhere but at the beautiful, naked woman before him.

‘Right, where shall I look?’

‘Top drawer.’

He went to the top drawer. It was filled with all manner of tiny, delicate things. He grabbed the first one that came to hand, a lacy black pair of knickers with tiny red roses and took them over to her.

She giggled when she saw them. ‘Not those, George, they’re my sex knickers.’

He laughed. ‘You have sex knickers?’

She nodded.

‘I thought the whole idea of sex was that you didn’t wear knickers.’

‘Those are the knickers I wear when I’m going to have sex; the unwrapping is part of the process, as well you know. I have a matching bra in there too.’

There was so much he didn’t know about relationships. In his limited experience of sex, it normally involved getting the underwear off as quick as possible.

‘If I wear those, the doctors will think I’m a prostitute.’

‘Why is the doctor looking at your underwear when you’ve banged your head?’

She clearly thought about this for a moment. ‘Good point.’ She took the knickers and stood up. But it was like watching Bambi on ice, as she wobbled on her legs. He took her arm to steady her, as she precariously lifted one leg into the hole and then the other. She pulled them up and then sat down on the bed again.

He went back to the drawers and pulled out a white bra and passed it to her.

‘Oh George,’ she sighed in disappointment. ‘Do I not even get to go to the hospital in matching underwear? The shame of it.’ She put it on anyway, sighing theatrically.

‘Right, jeans and a hoodie and then we can be off.’ He went to the wardrobe, dug them out and turned back. She was lying across the bed, clearly asleep.

He sighed. ‘Libby.’ He shook her gently. ‘Libby, you really shouldn’t go to sleep after banging your head. Libby. Libby.’

She jerked awake. ‘What?’

He pulled her back into a sitting position, pulled the hoodie on over her head, struggled to get her arms through the sleeves, as she was now not helping at all. He pulled her jeans on up to her thighs, helped her to her feet and pulled them up the rest of the way. Doing up the flies was quite embarrassing as his hand was so close to her crotch.

He bent and put her feet into a pair of trainers and then, with his arm round her shoulders, he guided her out the flat.

‘George,’ she whispered theatrically, ‘you’ve seen me naked.’

‘Yes Lib, that’s twice now.’

She leaned heavily against him as he shut her flat door behind him. They turned around and came face to face with Giselle.

G
iselle clearly didn’t know where
to look first – at the drunken Libby staggering in George’s arms or the fact that he was dressed as an old lady.

Deciding ignoring his freakish behaviour was probably the safest tactic, she focussed on Libby instead.

‘Oh God, is she drunk?’ Giselle said with disgust. ‘It’s nine o’clock in the morning.’

‘No, she banged her head, knocked herself out, I’m taking her to the hospital,’ George explained. No need to mention that it was his stupid joke that knocked her out in the first place. Though maybe he should explain that, considering he was standing there dressed as a woman.

‘Oh no, is she OK?’ Giselle’s face changed to one of sympathy.

‘I think so, just a bit dizzy. Actually, would you mind holding her for a second, while I grab my car keys?’

‘Of course.’ She stepped forward and put her hands round Libby’s waist. Libby didn’t even seem to notice.

He quickly ran into the flat, grabbed his keys, put some shoes on and ran back out. There wasn’t really time to change. Besides, if he left Libby with Giselle for long, Libby might say something embarrassing to Giselle about his feelings for her. Or just something embarrassing.

‘You’re very pretty,’ Libby was saying to an embarrassed Giselle, as he came back out ‘Very, very beautiful.’

Too late.

‘Thanks,’ Giselle said awkwardly.

‘And George is lovely, isn’t he?’

Oh God. He was frozen to the spot, like watching a car crash and being unable to do anything about it.

‘Yes,’ Giselle said.

‘Very, very lovely. And lovely looking too. Lovely eyes, don’t you think?’

‘Um… yes,’ Giselle said, blushing as she caught his eye.

‘Lovely bum too,’ Libby surmised. ‘I’m just saying you’re beautiful,’ she held out her left hand, ‘and he’s lovely,’ she held out her right hand. ‘That’s all I’m saying.’ She brought both hands together, meshing the fingers and making kissing noises, as if the two hands were kissing each other. ‘That’s
all
I’m saying.’ Libby waggled her eyebrows at Giselle.

George ran forward before it could get any worse. ‘Erm, thanks Giselle, I better get her to the hospital. I think she banged her head harder than I thought,’ he laughed nervously.

‘Yes, that’s probably a good idea,’ Giselle blushed.

George took Libby in his arms and guided her out the flat.

‘And another thing, Giselle,’ Libby called. ‘George has seen me naked…’

Oh God.

‘Twice.’

He quickly ushered her out the flat and round the back to where his car was parked. He managed to get her into the front seat, strapped her in and then took off up the road. Libby was silent, and judging by the soft snoring sounds coming from her side of the car, she had fallen asleep again. He wasn’t happy about that, but he couldn’t keep her awake and drive at the same time. And as long as he could hear her snoring, that meant that she was OK. He hoped.

How had it gone so spectacularly wrong? He’d wanted to make her laugh after her revelation the night before and he had nearly killed her.

The nearest hospital was a good forty-five minutes from White Cliff Bay, on the other side of Apple Hill. And this time of the morning in the run-up to Christmas, it would be packed with shoppers. The traffic would be horrendous. At least the road between here and Apple Hill would be relatively quiet; he could really put his foot down.

Unfortunately the road towards Apple Hill was a bumpy, twisty one and every bump and lump in the road caused Libby to bang her floppy head against the window. As they careened round a corner, he heard a loud thud as she smacked her face against the glass. This was no good; she would be in an even worse state by the time he got her to the hospital.

He quickly stopped the car, ran round to the boot and pulled out the tow rope, then tied it round her head, and round the back of the headrest of her seat. At least it would stop her head from banging against the window.

He got back in the car and put his foot down on the accelerator again. They were making good time now, the countryside whizzing past in a blur of green. But as he tore up the road, he was suddenly joined by a police car, its blue lights flashing furiously behind him.

‘Shit,’ he muttered, as he pulled over onto the side of the road.

The policeman got out the car and leaned into his window.

‘George,’ he nodded, seriously.

‘Uncle Bob,’ he nodded back, equally as serious. People might think that he would get preferential treatment having his uncle in the police. But no, Uncle Bob took his job very seriously.

Uncle Bob looked him up and down in his purple dress and pearl necklace and, like the elephant in the room, decided not to address his nephew’s transgender tendencies.

‘Do you have any idea what speed you were travelling at?’

‘Erm, probably about sixty miles an hour?’ George ventured, though he knew it had been probably more like seventy.

‘Do you know what the speed limit is round here?’

‘Yes, Uncle Bob, it’s forty. But it’s an emergency.’

‘What kind of emergency would require you to break the law so flagrantly?’

‘Uncle Bob, you remember Libby, my friend.’ He indicated the tied-up, slumped, pale and bleeding figure next to him. Christ, this looked like something out of one of those action films, a kidnapped girl, a speeding car. Bob’s eyes bulged as he noticed her for the first time.

‘She banged her head, knocked herself out, so I’m taking her to the hospital.’ He decided it was time for some of that drama he was so famous for when he was at school. ‘Please Uncle Bob, I’m scared she might die, she’s unresponsive and I didn’t know what to do,’ he cried. This surely had to work, appealing to Uncle Bob’s softer side. Uncle Bob always reminded him of the heroic gentlemen in the older movies he loved so much. A cross between Cary Grant and Rock Hudson in looks and his chivalrous attitude. If anyone was going to swoop in and save Libby it would be Uncle Bob.

‘Well yes, son, I see, but you should really have called an ambulance.’

Maybe not.

‘I know,’ George sobbed, ‘but I thought that it would take ages to get here and then it would be too late.’

‘Well, son, we can’t have that now, can we?’ Bob straightened his shoulders as if this was the most daring thing he’d done in his life. ‘I will give you a police escort to the hospital – we’ll save the little lady, don’t you worry about that.’

Bob hurried off to the police car and a few seconds later it whizzed past him, with the sirens blaring and blue lights flashing furiously. George quickly followed him. Bob was driving a lot slower than he would have done, but he was certainly grateful for it once they reached Apple Hill. The roads were packed as predicted, but as Uncle Bob forced his way through the traffic the cars parted and George followed closely behind.

When they finally got to the hospital, Bob ran in shouting about a medical emergency and seconds later a couple of nurses came running out with a trolley, obviously expecting some kind of massacre. George blushed with embarrassment at the fuss he had caused as he ran round to the other side of the car, untied Libby and pulled her out of the car.

The nurses helped him to get her on the trolley, though from the loud snores that she was now emitting, it was quite clear that she was asleep rather than unconscious.

Bob looked at her in confusion.

‘Erm thanks, Uncle Bob,’ George said, awkwardly, shaking his hand and then running after the trolley before Bob could say anything.

A
my lay
back on the bed, naked apart from a thin sheet draped over her. Her hair was thick and tangled as it hung over her shoulder. The sun drifted through a chink in the curtains, lacing her shoulder with a ribbon of gold. She smiled across at Jackson as he watched her from the other side of the room.

Initially when he had first suggested this, she had been horrified at the thought. But the amount of money he had offered her had been more than she got in a month from her other jobs. She would have been silly to turn it down. It was a one-off, she’d told herself the year before. But Jackson had been coming to her house every Tuesday ever since. They had come to an arrangement now, a weekly fee rather than a lump sum, but the weekly fee was still huge and actually if she only continued with this job, forsaking all others, she could still afford to pay her mortgage and have some left over for her bills.

She had been embarrassed about it at first, but when Jackson had finished, he actually made her feel really beautiful and desirable. No man had ever made her feel what Jackson had achieved. She loved what Jackson did; it actually took her breath away. The first few times she had actually cried tears of joy when he’d finished. No man had ever made her cry before, and she was glad that Jackson had been the first.

But still no one knew. Jackson was very discreet and, though he now relied on her to get him through his week, he swore to her that no one would ever know. Until now.

Jackson was becoming quite famous in his own circles and he wanted to go public before people found out and, though she was a bit nervous about it, she agreed that the time was right.

‘I need to go, my darling,’ Jackson said, pulling on his jacket.

‘So…
Saturday, that’s when everyone will know?’ she said, quietly. Once word got out it would spread like wildfire.

‘Yes, four o’clock. You’ll be there, won’t you, when I reveal it? You can stand at my side and I’ll hold your hand.’

She nodded. ‘I’ll be there.’

L
ibby woke later
to find herself in a hospital bed. Her head hurt but she was no longer dizzy and her vision had returned to normal. She had been woken rudely on her arrival at the hospital, but after a CT scan, and a few other observations, which were all a bit hazy, she had been allowed to sleep. She looked round and smiled when she saw George asleep in the chair next to her, holding her hand, and still wearing that awful purple dress.

She carefully sat up and was glad to see the room didn’t spin. Her movements woke George up though.

‘Hey Lib.’ He smiled. ‘You OK?’

‘Who are you? Why are you holding my hand? Where am I? Who am I?’ she stammered.

His face fell. ‘Oh God, Lib, do you not remember? I’m George.’

She so wanted to drag this out a bit more, but she couldn’t keep a straight face any longer. She snorted with laughter. ‘Sorry George, couldn’t help myself.’

His face set angrily. ‘Oh, I suppose you think that’s funny.’

‘Yeah, about as funny as you leaping out the shower in a dress with a knife in your hand, it scared the bloody life out of me.’

‘Touché.’

She stretched. ‘Can I go home now?’

‘I think so, the doctors say there’s no swelling on the brain, no permanent damage, just a bit of concussion, you didn’t even need any stitches. I’ve got to keep an eye on you tonight though.’

‘You’re an idiot, you know that, don’t you?’

‘A loveable idiot though?’

‘Yes, I suppose so.’

She swung her legs off the bed and carefully stood up. George held her arm just in case, but the effects seemed to have passed.

‘
Eight days before Christmas my true love gave to me, a bump on the head and a fright that was very scary
,’ George sang.

Libby laughed. ‘Worst present ever.’

She followed him into the main reception, and he signed some papers, the nurses and doctors all bravely ignoring the fact that George was in a dress.

They got in the car and he started driving back towards White Cliff Bay, explaining to her how he nearly got arrested by his own uncle. She laughed. ‘I imagine your mum wouldn’t be too impressed.’

‘She’d kill me… and er… Giselle saw me, in this.’ He gestured to the dress.

‘Oh.’ Wearing a wetsuit, a snorkel and flippers was one thing, but dressing up in women’s clothes was a whole different kettle of fish.

‘Do you remember talking to her as well?’

She bit her lip, trying to remember.

‘“You’re very pretty”,’ he mimicked. ‘“And George is very lovely, lovely eyes, and a lovely bum, don’t you think?”’

She flushed with embarrassment. ‘Is that what I said?’

They had reached some traffic lights at this point and George stopped in front of the red lights that he had apparently torn through a few hours before with his police escort.

‘Yes, which was nice,’ he grinned. ‘But then you did this.’ He pressed his hands together and moved them against each other, making kissing noises.

‘What was that?’

‘Me and Giselle, apparently.’

‘Oh God, I’m so sorry.’

‘It’s OK; I think I’d already done enough damage by that point by carrying a half-drunken girl out of your flat whilst wearing a dress. Bet she thinks she’s moved into a right mad house.’

‘And White Cliff Bay used to be such a respectable place.’

‘Yeah, but it’s the quiet places like White Cliff Bay that you have to watch out for, who knows what happens behind closed doors. Mrs Kempston from number fifty-six might be a secret drug lord, selling Ecstasy and Speed to the kids.’

Libby laughed. ‘She’s ninety-three.’

‘So? It doesn’t mean she’s not capable, she’s quite a wily little minx.’

‘And I suppose Mr and Mrs Gillespie might secretly be making porn films in their back bedroom?’

‘Exactly, and that Mr Alexander, he’s definitely a KGB agent.’

‘And I guess Mrs Baldwin is making weapons of mass destruction in her cellar.’

George laughed as he manoeuvred down the windy lanes back towards the seedy underbelly that was White Cliff Bay.

She leaned back in her seat for a moment, closing her eyes against the glare of the early afternoon sun. On the radio, WCB FM, Nick was introducing the next song and reminding people about the forthcoming cake sale that was happening in aid of the Lifeboat appeal. A front for tobacco smuggling or money laundering if ever she heard one.

‘Oh,’ she laughed, letting her head fall into her hands as she remembered. ‘You saw me naked again, didn’t you?’

He grinned, proudly. ‘Yes I did.’