been last time we’d been in bed together rose up.
Gabriel smiled, a tired, stretched smile. ‘Yes. It was fabulous but now is not really the time. And we’re both so used to sleeping alone that romantic illusions of us lying all night in one another’s arms is probably just a recipe for cramp and a lot of apologising.’
I actually laughed. ‘Come on. I need a shower. Is there any more news from the hospital?’
He glanced down at his phone. ‘They said they’d ring or text if there was any change. And the signal is still rubbish so I told them text was better. There’s nothing here.’
I hoped Granny Mary wasn’t lying in a hospital bed feeling deserted. Then the memory of that one open eye, that expression of desperation and hopelessness came back to me. ‘I hope she’s all right,’ I said, with feeling.
‘You sound like you’ve warmed to her a bit.’ Gabriel stood up and stretched. ‘I told you, she’s okay when you get to know her.’
‘Do you know…’ I was about to ask him if Mary had told him about Rose, about her lost future, but then decided that it was for us to talk about with Mary present, just in case she hadn’t told him ‘… if the roads will be clear by tomorrow?’
‘We usually get the main roads cleared quite quickly after these storms.’ If he noticed my verbal stumble, he didn’t react. ‘Autumn storms and high tides are normal in this part of the world. Not always on quite this scale though.’ He waved a hand to indicate the booming windows and the maraca-sound of rain on glass. ‘We only get one like this every ten years or so.’
I thought about Poppy and Rory, their fancy costumes, the sight of them hand in hand surrounded by sea spray as they celebrated Halloween. ‘In ten years’ time I’m going to barricade myself indoors for the duration, then.’ Ten years. It was a long time. Anything could happen. Poppy would know about being a trust fund richer – would she stay here in Dorset? Or race back to London? How would her budding romance with Rory turn out? They were so young – but stranger things had happened. My head hurt.
‘I need to get clean and go to sleep,’ I said.
Gabriel laid a hand on my shoulder, briefly. ‘It’s been a hell of a day,’ he said. ‘Things might be very different in the morning.’
He was partly right. When I woke up, clearly very late as sunlight was streaming in through the window, the storm had vanished as though it had never been. Cold, still light captured untroubled dust motes swirling in the beams; there was a curious silence broken only by the brittle cries of gulls and the nearer and more urgent trill of the blackbird from the hedge. There was also an insistent smell of bacon and toast. With my eyes closed I was almost convinced I was back in the flat in London, with Poppy making herself breakfast and a pile of marking to be done on the table.
The bedroom door swung open. ‘I brought food. No news – she’s “resting as comfortably as can be expected” apparently. The Bridport road is open, our lane is still blocked, and Karen has said she’ll keep Poppy until we can get out and fetch her back.’ A tray came into the room with the voice behind it, and a smell of coffee preceding the lot. ‘I made food. Sorry, but I was bloody starving. I hope I haven’t inadvertently cooked a week’s worth of dinners for breakfast.’
Gabriel looked amazing, and not just because he was carrying a stack of bacon, some clearly home-made pancake things and a large jug of coffee. He had sleep-rumpled hair and a new growth of stubble, which emphasised his wonderful cheekbones, and a grin that made him look invitingly sexy. Despite all my resolutions, despite everything we’d agreed last night, the smell of the coffee and bacon and frying, I couldn’t help myself. I flipped back the corner of the duvet and raised my eyebrows and that was that until the coffee got cold and the bacon was flabby, and we didn’t care.
The sound of chainsaws woke us. Chainsaws and men calling macho commands to one another to the undertone of a tractor engine rumbling. Gabriel got out of bed and leaned out of the window. ‘It’s as we feared,’ he said gloomily. ‘They’re taking the fallen log away. I’m afraid we’re going to be able to get out.’
The pull of motherhood was happy that I’d be able to fetch Poppy back and have her under my protection again, but the part of me that had revelled in this time with Gabriel crumbled into disappointment. Why couldn’t I have both? My daughter wouldn’t be at home forever… and maybe that was why. While she was here I owed it to her to concentrate on her upbringing – after all, she’d had enough disruption and disorganisation in her life up until now. I’d brought her to Dorset to give her a settled life, one without the threats that the big city constantly held over me. And without, a tiny voice whispered, her father being able to whisk her off to Harrods every weekend or fly her off to the chateau on short notice. Down here, with its marked absence of easy-reach airports, short-notice getaways meant a day on the beach, not a weekend at Longchamp, underage drinking and sophisticated behaviour she wasn’t ready for yet.
Gabriel had turned back from the window and was watching me. At least, he didn’t have his glasses on but his face was pointing in my direction. I wanted him here. I wanted to have breakfast with him, sit with him, have a life with him. How the hell did I tell him that he had to wait another four years before we could do more than snatch moments together?
‘How can you see what they’re doing down the road when you’ve not got your glasses on?’ I tried to sound jocular rather than accusatory. My inner monologue was my own problem, not his.
He winked. ‘Don’t have to be able to see to know that it’s Andrew Northcote and Bren Gass, also known as “Mr Gassy” to his friends. Was at school with both of them. I predict a later fist fight over who gets to take the wood, and twelve pints up in the pub later to make up. Not much changes round here.’ He came over and sat on the edge of the bed. ‘Except you coming to Dorset. You’ve changed everything for me.’
I knew I should reiterate that, at least while Poppy was around, we’d have to keep our distance. Gabriel had already told me he was all right with it; I wanted to wail about how unfair it all was, but was interrupted by my phone pinging a text.
It was Keenan with a rather rambling text, containing a general indication that the film unit might need to do some more shots to tidy up the storyline, and that he was trying to persuade them that the cottage could be re-dressed and used again for some location work for the next series. I felt a brief loosening of the tight financial screw that lurked somewhere above my stomach and a warm burst of affection towards Keenan. It might not be much, but it would help.
I was just about to tell Gabriel about the text, when the phone buzzed another incoming message. This time it was Karen.
Reckon tree should be cleared soon. Why not meet us up at the pub this evening? Poppy can put in a shift at the café today, she’s no trouble. Let me know if there’s anything I can do about Granny Mary, if she needs stuff. Hope you and Gabriel are getting on all right trapped up there.