In The Garden Of Stones (34 page)

She
nods.

He
clears his throat. “It may astound you to know, Grace, that I agree
with everything you’ve just said. It’s true I didn’t want to know
because it all went so much against the grain. It’s been a
gargantuan struggle to set aside everything I know, to cultivate
even a glimmer of understanding. It’s taken a lot of thought,
sleepless nights even, but I’ve taken into consideration all you’ve
said, all I’ve learned, and I’ve used every shred of my rationality
and intelligence to come to realise that … I was wrong. Three words
you won’t hear very often from me, but there you are, I’ve said
them and I mean it. I admit it. I-was-wrong. It wasn’t the talking
therapy at all that was helping you. That was just a catalyst. You
agreeing to take part in my experimental treatment was just a
coincidence because whatever fantastic thing happened to you had
already done so while you were in your induced coma. All I did was
suggest a few breathing and mind clearing exercises that you used
to help make the connection stronger and easier. Everything else
you did all by yourself.”

He sags
down into his chair, as if all the air has been let out of him,
running his hand down his face and over his goatee. “I didn’t do
anything.”

He
snatches up one of the chocolate teacakes, rips off the foil and
takes a huge bite, decapitating the cake. It looks as if chocolate
is his go-to comforter in times of crisis and uncertainty too. He
is but human after all.

He looks
so crestfallen that Grace can’t help but feel a twinge of sympathy
for him.

“
Don’t feel that your treatment has failed, Mal,” she says,
offering a crumb of comfort. “For the right person, I think it
could be incredibly useful. I’m just not that person. That said,
you can take great solace in the fact that you’ve done me an
enormous favour. Without you I would never have known about Colin,
wouldn’t have found him out at Pelham, wouldn’t have found a new
purpose to my existence, found something, someone to live
for
.
You did say yourself when you came to visit me at home that you
thought I had made progress, that I looked better, sounded better,
had more confidence, more drive, more … everything,
remember?”

He nods,
his mouth now full of the chocolate covered biscuit base of the
teacake.

“
I’d call that a success,” she says. “I … no let’s make that
we, Colin and I, have a lot to thank you for.”

Mal
catches a smear of chocolate from the corner of his mouth. “I
suppose that’s me off your Christmas card list and no
groundbreaking article in the International Journal of
Psychotherapy.”

“
You can write your article. I give you my
permission.”

He
deflates some more. “You must be joking. I’d be a laughing
stock.”

“
Did you really mean to say that out loud?”

Sag.
“No.”

“
You can stay on my Christmas card list on one
condition.”

“
What’s that?”

“
That when Colin’s ready for it, when he asks for it, you’ll
help him.”

“
He might not ask me.”

“
He will. I’m working on it. It’s going to be a long time
yet, but if he knows there’s someone out there willing to listen to
him, ready to help him when he needs it, it will be a great boost
to his self confidence. It’s going to be a challenge for you too, a
real test of your abilities.”

“
I’ll do my best, although I don’t know if I’ll be up to
it.” He takes a gulp from his coffee cup. “Can I hear your speech
now? The one you had ready to bawl me out with.”

Still in
shock from Mal’s change of both mind and heart, Grace opens her
mouth, then snaps it closed. The diatribe she had prepared all
seems irrelevant now, and a tad unfair.

He’s changed his mind. He’s on your side. Be grateful. Don’t
rock the boat with petty retorts or he might change it back again
and then you’ll be back to square one, minus help for
Colin.

“
No,” she says. “It was somewhat…vitriolic and there may be
tears, and as I hate to see a grown man cry–” She points at the
plate and the silver and red foil wrapped goodie on it. “But I will
have that teacake if it’s going begging.”

Chapter 34

The following day Grace returns to the garden, fully
prepared to help Colin tidy up the mess he made. At first she
thinks she’s in the wrong place, because there doesn’t seem to be
anything
to
tidy up.

The sun
is shining, the flowers are blooming and filling the air with their
perfume. The robin is back on his perch, singing his little heart
out, and over at the greenhouse she can find not a single crack in
a single pane. The seedlings are back in their tiny red clay pots,
bright green and healthy against the rich brown compost. Even the
aspidistra is back in the Chinese jardinière, not a leaf
bent.

It’s as
if somehow time had been turned back, restoring
perfection.

From the other side of the hedge comes the rhythmic
clunk, clunk
of axe on wood, and
she follows the sound to where Colin is hard at work chopping
logs.

He is
stripped down to his khaki coloured vest, the raw scarred skin over
his shoulders on show. His arms are solid, shiny with sweat,
muscles bulging and relaxing as he swings the axe. The large tattoo
on his right arm changes shape with each contraction and she
watches it with quiet fascination until he reaches for the next log
and the time is right for her to make her presence
known.

“
Shouldn’t you be resting?”

He
starts and wheels. “Jesus!”

In one
swift motion he drops the axe, snatches his shirt from where he has
draped it over the water pump handle and wrestles it on in a
desperate attempt to hide his damaged flesh.

“
Bit of light exercise never hurt anyone,” he says, stuffing
the tail of his shirt into the waistband of his
trousers.

“
Garden’s looking good,” she says. “Maybe better than
before. Two guesses. Either the gardening pixies sneaked in during
the night, or you put it right in here–” She presses her fingers to
her temples, “–because you’re feeling better.”

“
Aye.”

“
Which one?”

“
Pixies.”

“
Good for them. They did a good job. It looks
great.”

“
I’ll tell them ye said so.”

A touch
of humour? A good sign

“
I rang Simon to ask how you were,” Grace says, picking her
spot in the shade, upturning a galvanised bucket and plonking
herself down on it. “He says your fever is coming down, blood tests
show nothing out of the ordinary. It was as he said, you stressed
yourself sick. You should be feeling much better soon.”

“
Aye. I’m no' sa bad now.”

Colin
takes up the axe and continues with his chopping. A few logs later
he pauses, takes off his cap, puffs out his cheeks and wipes his
hand over his glossy brow. He pauses and listens for something that
should be there, but isn’t.

Grace,
for once, is not talking. The background radiation of her banal
chatter is conspicuous by its absence.

Has she
gone already? He looks round. No, there she is, sitting on her
improvised seat in the shade, legs crossed, elbow on one knee,
resting her chin in her hand, watching him with a gentle smile
sitting on her lips.

“
What’s the ma’er wi yoo? Ye sitting on a feather?” he says,
slopping his cap back on.

“
Just admiring that sweaty lumberjack look you’ve got going
there,” she says.

“
Eh?”

She gets
to her feet and sidles over to him. Her hand dips into his pocket
and pulls out his handkerchief. She wets the corner of the cloth
with spit and wipes it over his cheek, leaving a clean
streak.

“
You know, under all that sticky grime and grot, you’re a
very attractive man Colin McLeod,” she says.

Colin
screws up his nose. “Bollocks.”

She
wipes off more dirt. “I mean it. Look at you.” She squeezes his
bicep as if testing a ripe fruit. “All muscley and toned, as strong
as an ox, all that military training at work–” She presses her
palms against his face. “And you have a very expressive face,
beautiful eyes and–” Her fingers go to his hair, burying themselves
in the curly mop, “–exquisite hair.”

He curls
his top lip, frowns, squints one eye shut and looks at her
sideways. “You wouldn’t happen ta be flirting wi me would ye,
quine?”

Grace
lets her head fall back and rolls her eyes. “I’m trying to, but
some people are just too…dense.” She puffs out a breath, thrusts
the axe back into his hand and flounces back to her bucket seat,
dropping down onto it, arms folded in a solid peeve.

Colin
turns his back on her so she can’t see the split melon grin
dividing his face. “Wound her up like a cheap pocket watch,” he
murmurs, and chuckles to himself.

After
half an hour he has a pile of quartered logs. He arches and
stretches his back until it cracks, then sniffs the dark stain
colouring the armpit of his shirt. “Oh aye. Honking here. No sa
sexy now, eh?”

Grace
wrinkles her nose in disgust. “Ewww.”

Colin
leans the axe against the hut wall, “That’s enough hard labour for
one day. Gonna find a beer and cool off. Want one?”

“
Don’t mind if I do.”

She
follows him into the hut and sits on the cot while he takes two
brown bottles from the bucket of cold water. He uses the old
fashioned slam it against a hard edge method to pop the
caps.

“
Simple but effective,” he says, handing a bottle to Grace.
“Hurts like a bastard though.”

She
takes a delicate mouthful of the deliciously cold liquid. Colin, in
contrast, downs half his bottle without taking a breath, throat
moving convulsively, Adam’s apple bobbing. He then lets out a
diaphragm rattling belch.

“
Par-don me.”

They sit
together on the cot, drinking and making small talk until they run
out of trivial things to say, and so just sit and drink in
silence.

“
It fixed itself,” Colin says, dragging Grace out of quiet
consideration of the shopping list she is composing in her
head.

“
What did?”

“
The garden. One minute it was a wreck, and so was I. I had
maself a little weep, cleared ma heid, tried to make maself have
just one positive thought, and the next time I looked, everything
was back as it should be.”

“
Must have been a pretty powerful thought. Want to tell me
what was it?”

He takes
slow sip at his bottle. “I decided…I don’t want to be broken any
more.”

Grace leans into him and kisses him on the cheek. “Colin,
that is wonderful. Not so much a baby step as a massive great
ground gobbling stride. I’m
so
proud of you.”

“
Couldn’t have done it without you, Gracie. You…you gave me
the strength to–” He takes another sip. “I couldna done it on ma
ain.”

Grace
pats his leg. “Yes you could.”

“
No, I…I absorbed it, from you. You…you give it off, in
waves, and it…it soaks right into me.” He turns his bottle in his
hands. “Can I ask you a wee favour?”

“
Sure.”

He puts
the bottle on the windowsill. The sunshine passes through it,
turning the brown glass a rich amber, casting a streak of coloured
light onto the bed.

“
Would you mind if … if I held you?” he says. “Jest fer a
little while. To soak up some more. Top up my reserves, so to
speak?”

Grace
puts her bottle on the sill next to his where they stand together
like soldiers on parade.

“
Of course you can. There’s plenty to spare. Help
yourself.”

He
gathers her up into a bear hug, enfolding her with his arms,
holding her tightly against him, cheek resting against her hair,
eyes closed as he concentrates on recharging his emotional
batteries.

Grace
returns the hug, sliding her arms around his waist, her hands up
his back, feeling his muscles tighten and relax beneath
her.

“
How’s that?” she says, after they have been silently
shoring each other up for nearly a full minute.

“
Very nice. Feeling stronger already.”

He
releases her from the clutch, yet they do not separate, remaining
with their arms around each other, faces a few inches apart, each
looking into the other’s eyes, each wondering which one is going to
make the first move.

The
decision is simultaneous. Their first kiss is an exploratory
touching of the lips, no more than a tentative peck, their second
more confident, their third, full bodied and deep.

“
Are
you
flirting with
me
now, Mr McLeod?”

He
kisses her neck with delicious tenderness, puts his hand beneath
her T shirt, his skin hot against hers.