Give a Little Love

  Contents

  About the Book

  About the Author

  Title Page

  Give a Little Love

  Ads for other titles

  Copyright

  About the book

  Three years after an accident left her in a wheelchair, artist Penny Diamond has made a new life for herself in a little cottage on the edge of Talyton St George.

  With the aid of her assistance dog Sally and a carer who comes in during the day, she’s managing to live an independent, if slightly dull, life.

  Until a new carer turns up at her door. Declan is young – a lot younger than Penny – and he brings a breath of fresh air into her life. It doesn’t hurt that he’s also thoughtful, kind and good looking.

  But what could a young man like Declan ever see in a woman like Penny?

  About the author

  Cathy Woodman began her working life as a small animal vet before turning to writing fiction. In 2002 she won the Harry Bowling First Novel Award and is a member of the Romantic Novelists’ Association. She is also a sessional lecturer in Animal Management at a local college for land-based industries.

  Vets on Call is the ninth novel set in the fictional market town of Talyton St George in beautiful East Devon where Cathy lived as a child. Cathy now lives with her two children, three exuberant Border Terriers and two cats in a village near Winchester, Hampshire.

  GIVE A LITTLE LOVE

  Cathy Woodman

  I have never in the nine months since I met Declan known him not turn up for work. He’s been late before, but he’s always called or texted to let me know. I look out of the studio window through the slanting rain to where the wind is ripping the yellowing leaves from the trees and whisking them up into mini-tornadoes, dropping them and picking them up again.

  Has he been caught up in the storm? Is he having second thoughts after what happened last night? Or has he, as seems most likely, decided to give the morning visit a miss? I take my mobile from the basket on my wheelchair and call him, leaving a message on his voicemail.

  ‘Hi, it’s Penny. Just checking you haven’t been washed away. I hope everything’s okay…’

  I pick up the paintbrush from my lap and check the palette attached to the easel in front of me. I need a fresh squeeze of ultramarine, but the tube is on the floor and I’ve left my grabber in the bedroom. I smile wryly. There are times when I wish I was the bionic woman, and this is one of them.

  ‘Sally,’ I call. I hear the clatter of the flap in the door between the garden and the kitchen before a golden retriever with brown eyes, a pink nose and muddy paws comes flying into the studio to greet me with a low woof. She gives herself a good shake and licks my hand as if to say, What do you want me to do?

  I point towards the tube of paint. With a yelp of excitement, she runs across, picks it up and carries it back, dropping it undamaged into my lap. I give her a ball from the basket in exchange. She tosses it up in the air and catches it. ‘You’re a clever girl,’ I tell her and she settles at my side in her harness, sprawled across the stone floor.

  I squeeze some gouache on to the palette, but I can’t get started. I can’t concentrate, not knowing what’s happened to Declan. I pick up my mobile for a second time and call the agency.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Carole, the manager, says. ‘Didn’t he tell you? He dropped a letter through the door this morning saying he’s handed in his notice with immediate effect. It’s very inconvenient.’

  ‘He never said a word. It isn’t like him at all.’ My brow tightens. I thought we could talk about anything, so how could he walk away without discussing it with me first? ‘Did he say why he was leaving?’

  ‘No, it’s a pretty standard letter. Let me know if you hear anything. I’d like to get hold of him and wring his scrawny neck for leaving us in the lurch like this. I’ll make sure someone comes out to you today. I’m not sure what time they’ll be with you though, seeing as we’re a man down.’

  ‘Don’t worry about the morning call,’ I say. ‘I can wait until this evening.’

  ‘I’ll see what I can do,’ Carole says with a sigh.

  I thank her and return to my painting, but as I stare at the blank canvas, twisting the silver fretwork ring on my finger, I’m waiting for the knock on the door and the sound of Declan’s key in the lock.

  I remember the first time I met him. It was just before last Christmas when I was feeling smug and organised with all my presents wrapped, cards posted and a couple of festive dinners ready in the freezer, which meant I could focus on my painting. I was in the studio when Sally barked at the sound of the doorbell on that particular morning. I did a five- or six-point turn to manoeuvre out past the easel and make my way down the hallway where I opened the door. A tall young man in his early twenties with shaggy light brown hair and hazel eyes looked down at me.

  ‘Hi, I’m Declan.’ He held out his hand and smiled warmly.

  ‘I’m sorry. I’m covered in paint,’ I said, glancing down at my fingers to hide my confusion. He wasn’t classically handsome, but there was something about him that caught my attention and made me feel that I should have at least washed my hands and done my make-up.

  ‘Are you Ms Penny Diamond?’

  ‘I am…’ What must I have looked like: barefoot, with my beaded, multi-coloured hair tied up in a rag and wearing a dirty smock and joggers?

  ‘I’m your new carer.’ He showed me his ID. ‘I’m afraid Millie’s had to take some time off for a family emergency.’

  ‘Oh dear.’ What else could I say? Millie had been my carer for a while and I’d grown fond of her so I was sorry she was going through a bad time. ‘There must be some mistake. Carole knows I’d never accept a male carer.’ I stared at him through narrowed eyes. ‘It isn’t personal,’ I added more gently.

  ‘I understand.’ He shivered in jeans and a Linkin Park T-shirt, making me think he needed a little more flesh on his lanky bones, or at least a jumper. ‘May I come in for a moment?’

  ‘I’m sorry. Come through.’ I showed him into the living room. ‘Mind your head,’ I added, too late as he walked straight into one of the dark oak beams that runs across the ceiling.

  ‘Ouch,’ he exclaimed, rumpling his hair.

  ‘It’s one of the hazards of living in a cottage,’ I chuckled, but in spite of its disadvantages, the draughty windows, crumbling cob walls and scruffy hat of thatch, I’d fallen in love with the Old Forge in the tiny hamlet of Talyford as soon as I’d seen it. ‘Take a seat.’

  He sat down on the sofa. Sally jumped up beside him, leaving muddy paw-prints on his jeans.

  I apologised. ‘She’s supposed to be my assistance dog, but there are times when she’s more of a hindrance than a help.’

  ‘I don’t mind,’ he said. ‘I like dogs.’

  ‘I didn’t, until I met Sally. My sister arranged for me to have her, forced her on to me really. “So you can hold onto your independence, Pen,” she told me, but I think it had more to do with her keeping hold of hers.’ I looked at the photo of my sister and her kids on the bookshelf. ‘I wouldn’t be without Sally now. She’s great company. I’m sorry, I’m twittering. It’s a bad habit of mine, a result of living on my own. Don’t let me keep you from your work.’

  ‘You aren’t keeping me from anything. I’m not due with my next client until eleven-thirty. You might as well make use of me while I’m here. There must be something I can do that isn’t… well, you know, personal care.’

  I hesitated. I found it demeaning having to request help with menial tasks like housework and getting in and out of the shower. It felt wrong, even though that’s what carers were paid for.

  ‘I suppose you could take the dog for a walk.’ I glanced at Sally who
was sniffing at my shin through my joggers, a weird habit that she’d recently taken up. ‘That’s what Millie does.’

  ‘I’d love to.’ Declan stood up. ‘Shall I get your coat?’

  ‘Oh, no, I’m not coming with you.’

  ‘That’s a shame. Are you sure?’

  I held my hands up. ‘I’m in the middle of something, and I need to call the agency.’ A shadow crossed his eyes. ‘I’ll put the kettle on for when you get back though,’ I added and he grinned, reminding me of an overgrown puppy. He was exceedingly cute.

  He fetched a jacket from his car and I watched him walking Sally down the road towards the footpath to the river before I called Carole, but to no avail. The agency was short-staffed, Millie was on indefinite leave and I was stuck with Declan.

  ‘I realise this isn’t ideal,’ Carole said when I argued that it was inappropriate that I should receive personal care from a man. ‘He’s one of my favourite members of staff, very professional and caring. Surely you can wear some kind of cover-up as required. Look, I wouldn’t normally do this to one of our clients, but I’m well and truly stuck. I’ve tried ringing around for cover, but it’s the wrong time of year.’ She paused. ‘If this really won’t work for you, is there any way you ask a friend or relative to help out just until after the New Year when I can find an alternative?’

  I bit my lip, glancing at the row of Christmas cards on the mantel above the empty grate. My sister and friends lived too far away, and I didn’t want to impose on them during the holiday season, even though they’d offered. I didn’t regret escaping to the country and settling in glorious Devon for a moment, but life would have been simpler if I’d moved closer to my sister as she’d wanted me to.

  ‘Give Declan a chance,’ Carole said. ‘That’s all I’m asking.’

  ‘Oh, all right,’ I agreed reluctantly, unable to see that I had a choice.

  Looking on the bright side, it could be interesting to have a man in my life once more, even if he was the carer. I cut the call, my heart clenching with pain as I thought of my darling husband. It had been three years, but the grief remained as fresh as if it was yesterday.

  I waited for Declan to return, listening to the gurgling of the brook outside. Later, I let him and the dog back indoors. He washed and dried Sally’s paws and I offered him a coffee as he hung the towel over the kitchen radiator before standing with his back to it, his hands blue with cold.

  ‘You look as if you could do with warming up,’ I observed.

  ‘Are you offering?’ A grin spread across his face. ‘Only joking,’ he added quickly.

  ‘You’ve made me blush,’ I said, touching my skin. ‘I almost thought you were flirting with me there.’

  ‘Maybe I was, maybe I wasn’t. Mum always says to me, “Declan, keep them guessing.”’

  Smiling, I made the drinks and we settled in the living room with my Christmas treat, a box of chocolate biscuits, open between us.

  ‘I’ve spoken to Carole, and I’m afraid we’re stuck with each other for a few days,’ I began.

  ‘We’ll have to make the best of it then. Let’s go through your care plan.’ Declan looked at me with a twinkle in his eye. ‘That’s what we’re supposed to do, but on the other hand, you could just think of me as your Christmas elf and set me to work. Your wish is my command.’

  ‘That sounds fun,’ I said, thinking of how Millie was a stickler for the care plan, refusing to deviate from it in any way. ‘You won’t get into any trouble?’

  ‘As long as no one tells.’

  ‘I won’t say anything.’ I rather liked the idea that he was a little subversive. In fact, I wouldn’t have had any objection to him becoming my long-term carer if it hadn’t been for the shower issue. I thought I was pretty open-minded, but I couldn’t get my head around the concept of this man, any man, seeing me naked. Was it because I was self-conscious about the changes that the accident had wreaked on my body? My legs were thin where the muscles had wasted away, and my stomach looked like a stack of spare tyres, yet I still had the same feelings as before, the capacity for love and desire. I was still human.

  ‘Is that you in the wedding photo?’ Declan asked, gazing up at the pictures on the wall. ‘You look lovely,’ he added, getting up to take a closer look at the one of a much younger and slimmer version of me, standing in a 1920s-style ivory dress beside a rather striking groom with spiky hair and red drainpipe trousers.

  ‘Thank you. Mark and I got married a couple of months before the accident. It was such a happy day. I thought we’d be together for ever,’ I said. ‘You probably have all this in my notes, but to summarise… we were living in London. My husband was driving us home through Clapham and we came off the road, crashed straight into some railings. He died in hospital the same night.’

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ Declan said softly, in a way that told me he really meant it.

  ‘He was a fashion designer who was making a name for himself, and I was beginning to gain recognition for my art. In spite of our rows, we were so in love, yet it all ended just like that with one glass of wine too many and a moment’s lack of attention.’ I paused. ‘How about you? Are you married?’

  ‘Oh no. I’m not… well, I’m only 22 and I haven’t met anyone I want to spend the rest of my life with. I’m not ready to settle down.’ He blushed. ‘The last time I went out with someone, it didn’t go too well. She liked the idea that I was a drummer in a band, but when she found out about my rock ‘n‘ roll lifestyle as a carer and pub quiz geek, she went off me pretty quickly. It’s a shame because I liked her – at first anyway, until I found out how shallow she was. I’m quite shy when it comes to women.’

  He didn’t seem at all shy to me. He had the gift of the gab.

  ‘Where do you live?’ I asked.

  ‘With my mum in Talyton St George, just down the road – I can’t afford my own place.’ He smiled ruefully. ‘I didn’t go into caring for the money. It’s just something I’ve always wanted to do. Apart from being a rock star, of course. I play for one of the local bands, End Of, you might have heard of them.’

  ‘I’m afraid I haven’t.’

  ‘We have regular gigs at the Talymill Inn and the music festival at Talymouth. You should come along sometime.’

  ‘That would be fun,’ I said in a non-committal tone. I didn’t see why Declan should take his work home with him, so to speak, and I knew I’d feel out of place among his friends.

  ‘Our audience is of all ages,’ he said as if reading my mind.

  ‘Thanks,’ I said with irony.

  ‘Oh, I don’t mean… I’m not saying you’re old, far from it. What’s that saying? Age is just a number.’

  ‘That’s right. Dig it deep,’ I said, amused by his apparent discomfort as he looked around trying to think of a way of changing the subject. His gaze fixed on the painting above the fireplace, a rather dark representation of the Taly Valley by moonlight.

  ‘Is that one of yours?’ he asked.

  I nodded.

  ‘That’s really good. You should sell your paintings.’

  ‘I do,’ I said.

  ‘So you’re a real artist?’

  ‘Of course. I studied art in London.’

  ‘Wow,’ he breathed. ‘I’m impressed.’

  ‘One day, I plan to open a gallery, although I’m not sure the inhabitants of Talyton St George are ready for me yet.’ I smiled. ‘It’s my turn to joke, not about the gallery – that’s a long-term dream of mine. I’m joking about the people – they’re lovely. Have another biscuit. Go on, you don’t need to watch your figure.’

  He took another and drained his mug. ‘I’ll see you tonight.’

  ‘Unless Carole finds somebody else,’ I pointed out.

  ‘Don’t hold your breath,’ he said, and with that he was gone.

  I made my way back to the studio and picked up my paintbrush, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get back into the zone for thinking about this young man who had walked in throu
gh the door like a breath of fresh air, reminding me of a time when life was exciting, stimulating and fulfilling. I looked down at my chipped nails and paint-spattered fingers with regret. I’d come here to escape the memories of my brief marriage and my time in London, but meeting Declan had confirmed what I’d already suspected, that there was no escape. I had to learn to live with the past and I couldn’t do that by hiding myself away in the cottage with my art.

  I spent the rest of the day on tenterhooks, facing a blank canvas and hoping that Declan would return.

  He turned up later that day when Sally was helping me with the washing, removing it from the washer-dryer one item at a time, and putting it in the basket ready for me to fold and put away. Declan took over and we talked through what else he could do. I declined his offer to help me take a shower, saying I’d had a wash. I felt embarrassed and frustrated. Why, when I could manage everything else myself using hoists, handrails and a lot of effort, couldn’t I do this one thing?

  I felt like a bit of a rebel early the next morning when I checked the brake on the wheelchair, reached out and pulled the shower screen open, thinking how much more convenient it would be to have a drive-through arrangement like a car wash.

  Sally looked on, her eyes filled with concern.

  ‘Don’t worry about me,’ I chuckled. ‘I can do it.’ And to prove it, I manoeuvred myself into the cubicle and onto the seat inside the shower, turned the water on, washed and turned the water back off again. So far, so good. I began to shift myself along the seat back towards the wheelchair, but I hadn’t bargained on the rails being slippery when wet, an oversight which floored me, literally.

  I lost my grip, my useless legs dragged me down and I hit the tiles with a thud. I bumped my head on the corner of the shower screen, and lay there for a moment, seeing stars. Sally licked at my face, as if trying to revive me, her tongue warm like a damp towel.

  I swore out loud as I lay there, naked, shivering and wet, and scared that I’d stirred up the old injury to my spinal cord. My back was killing me, I was alone except for dear old Sally, and I had no idea when Declan would turn up, and what he’d do when I didn’t answer the door.