Read Online Painting Naked (Macmillan New Writing) by Maggie Dana - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Maggie Dana
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she shooshes me from the kitchen. So I go upstairs, have a bath, and get changed. Somehow, I’ve got to force feed myself into pantyhose, tie a scarf the way Sophie does, and make friends with a pair of malevolent shoes.
An hour later, I’m tumbling out of control down Sophie’s narrow stairs.
Chapter 10
London
September 2010
I’m coming round, I think. I can hear people talking.
Claudia, her voice faint, says, “Keith, clear that stuff off the settee and gather pillows. This leg needs to be elevated.”
“I’ll get some ice.” Sophie sounds distant.
Oh, shit. My ankle.
It’s killing me.
“Jilly, I’m so sorry.” Colin’s voice. Deeper, older.
“Help me get her on the couch.” Claudia, loud and clear this time.
Strong arms lift me up and I’m swaying, weightless. The plank is stretched between us. I’m scared of falling.
Come on, Jilly, you can do it .
Why didn’t Sophie tell me he was coming to lunch? Needles of pain shoot up my leg. I tighten my arms around Colin’s neck. He’s lowering me to the couch but I don’t want to let go.
Something cold, ice cold, flops onto my foot.
“Ouch!” I open my eyes. A bag of frozen peas lies across my ankle. “Peas?”
“I didn’t have enough ice in the freezer,” Sophie says. “Poor Jill. You look wrecked.”
I close my eyes. This is a dream. I’ll wake up in a minute, in bed, and this will be something to laugh about. I didn’t really fall downstairs, did I? This is happening to someone else, isn’t it? But the pain in my ankle is real, and so’s Colin Carpenter, sitting at the end of Sophie’s couch in a dusky pink shirt. A cotton shirt, heavy and well pressed, with bronze buttons shaped like miniature cartwheels. A corner of one cuff is frayed.
God! What if my ankle’s broken? The peas shift. I feel fingers touching, probing. “Damn! That hurts!”
“Can you wiggle your toes?”
I open my eyes. Colin’s glasses are shoved on top of his head and he’s examining my foot, moving it gently from side to side. “A stretched ligament, but no broken bones.”
“I didn’t think so,” Claudia says.
Colin replaces the peas. “It’s a sprain, Jilly.”
Jilly . No one else has ever called me that. Not even my dad.
Sophie’s oven timer pings. “Lunch is ready,” she says. “Okay, everyone. Into the dining room. Not you, Jill. I’ll set up a tray.”
“I’ll stay with her,” Colin says. His hair is thick and streaked with silver. Lines add character to his face, and the dimples, thank God, are still there when he smiles. “Does it hurt badly?” he asks.
I nod. “How do you know it’s not broken?”
“I was a medic in the army.”
Thirty-five years.
There’s so much I don’t know about him.
Sophie hands me a glass of champagne and asks Colin what he wants to drink.
“Ginger ale—or water.” He smiles again. “I have a long drive home.”
Where does he live? Bubbles tickle my nose as I gulp my champagne, hoping Sophie will float by with more.
“Here you are, you two.” She refills my glass and sets a tray of food on the side table.
“I’m starving,” Colin says, leaning toward it.
He’s as slender now as he was back then. I’ll start my diet tomorrow. “Sophie said you and your wife run a bed and breakfast.”
“Yes, we do, but Shelby’s not my wife.”
So that’s her name.
“I was married once,” Colin goes on. “It lasted fourteen years and I never want to do it again.” He maneuvers the tray onto his knees. “Would you like some of this?”
“No, thanks. Not yet. I’m still trying to cope with falling downstairs.”
And seeing you again.
He spears a piece of chicken. “Tell me about your life in America.”
I watch his mouth and want to kiss it. “I was married and then divorced,” I say. “I have two sons and a cat, and I live on a beach.” Maybe we could sneak upstairs. No. I can’t walk. He could hardly carry me up. Or could he? Does he want to kiss me?
An hour later, I’m tumbling out of control down Sophie’s narrow stairs.
Chapter 10
London
September 2010
I’m coming round, I think. I can hear people talking.
Claudia, her voice faint, says, “Keith, clear that stuff off the settee and gather pillows. This leg needs to be elevated.”
“I’ll get some ice.” Sophie sounds distant.
Oh, shit. My ankle.
It’s killing me.
“Jilly, I’m so sorry.” Colin’s voice. Deeper, older.
“Help me get her on the couch.” Claudia, loud and clear this time.
Strong arms lift me up and I’m swaying, weightless. The plank is stretched between us. I’m scared of falling.
Come on, Jilly, you can do it .
Why didn’t Sophie tell me he was coming to lunch? Needles of pain shoot up my leg. I tighten my arms around Colin’s neck. He’s lowering me to the couch but I don’t want to let go.
Something cold, ice cold, flops onto my foot.
“Ouch!” I open my eyes. A bag of frozen peas lies across my ankle. “Peas?”
“I didn’t have enough ice in the freezer,” Sophie says. “Poor Jill. You look wrecked.”
I close my eyes. This is a dream. I’ll wake up in a minute, in bed, and this will be something to laugh about. I didn’t really fall downstairs, did I? This is happening to someone else, isn’t it? But the pain in my ankle is real, and so’s Colin Carpenter, sitting at the end of Sophie’s couch in a dusky pink shirt. A cotton shirt, heavy and well pressed, with bronze buttons shaped like miniature cartwheels. A corner of one cuff is frayed.
God! What if my ankle’s broken? The peas shift. I feel fingers touching, probing. “Damn! That hurts!”
“Can you wiggle your toes?”
I open my eyes. Colin’s glasses are shoved on top of his head and he’s examining my foot, moving it gently from side to side. “A stretched ligament, but no broken bones.”
“I didn’t think so,” Claudia says.
Colin replaces the peas. “It’s a sprain, Jilly.”
Jilly . No one else has ever called me that. Not even my dad.
Sophie’s oven timer pings. “Lunch is ready,” she says. “Okay, everyone. Into the dining room. Not you, Jill. I’ll set up a tray.”
“I’ll stay with her,” Colin says. His hair is thick and streaked with silver. Lines add character to his face, and the dimples, thank God, are still there when he smiles. “Does it hurt badly?” he asks.
I nod. “How do you know it’s not broken?”
“I was a medic in the army.”
Thirty-five years.
There’s so much I don’t know about him.
Sophie hands me a glass of champagne and asks Colin what he wants to drink.
“Ginger ale—or water.” He smiles again. “I have a long drive home.”
Where does he live? Bubbles tickle my nose as I gulp my champagne, hoping Sophie will float by with more.
“Here you are, you two.” She refills my glass and sets a tray of food on the side table.
“I’m starving,” Colin says, leaning toward it.
He’s as slender now as he was back then. I’ll start my diet tomorrow. “Sophie said you and your wife run a bed and breakfast.”
“Yes, we do, but Shelby’s not my wife.”
So that’s her name.
“I was married once,” Colin goes on. “It lasted fourteen years and I never want to do it again.” He maneuvers the tray onto his knees. “Would you like some of this?”
“No, thanks. Not yet. I’m still trying to cope with falling downstairs.”
And seeing you again.
He spears a piece of chicken. “Tell me about your life in America.”
I watch his mouth and want to kiss it. “I was married and then divorced,” I say. “I have two sons and a cat, and I live on a beach.” Maybe we could sneak upstairs. No. I can’t walk. He could hardly carry me up. Or could he? Does he want to kiss me?
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