After All - Part Twenty Nine

Chapter Twenty Nine

Dylan’s heart was in his mouth as his taxi raced across town. A policewoman, that’s who’d answered Matilda’s phone, and that scared him beyond belief. All he knew was there was “an incident” and now she was in hospital, ironically a hospital as far away from him as possible. Suddenly his jetlag was a thing of the past, his worry; his fear for Matilda superseded anything else. He had no idea what he was walking into, he had no clue what had happened. For a fleeting moment he worried what would happen if that chancer Andy was there. He of the cheap flowers. He’d not pushed her to find out the nature of their relationship, but for a moment that didn’t matter. As the cab got closer to the hospital he noted the irony that he’d not known where she was for most of the last six years, but today he was more worried about Matilda than he had ever been about anyone else in his life.

Matilda.

He shook his head, so bloody stubborn, always thinking she knew best...and always thinking that he was the bad man. Damn her.

The taxi stopped and he flung a wad of notes at the driver then ran into the casualty unit.

                “I’m looking for Matilda Davies; she was brought in about an hour ago.”

The grey faced receptionist tapped at his computer for a moment, “you family?”

He nodded, crossing his fingers behind his back, “she’s my wife.”

The boy nodded, “end of the corridor, fourth door on your right, she’s being patched up.”

A nurse blocked his route as he approached his destination.

                “I’m looking for Matilda Davies.”

The nurse glanced at the chart in her hand, then nodded, “are you...”

                “Her husband.”

Giving a nod she smiled, “she’s in room six, over there.”

He thanked her then made for the room.

Pushing the door open he groaned. Matilda was sat on a bed, a man in scrubs was cleaning a wound to her head, and she glanced up as the door opened.

                “Shit Matilda...” he rushed across the room as she closed her eyes and bit her lip. She was fighting tears, he could tell. With her eyes closed she was trying to block him out, but he wasn’t having that. He reached for her hand and squeezed it.

                “What are you doing here? How did you know?”

He sighed, watching the man in front of him, the witness to this conversation as he stated to apply iodine to the wound at her hairline. The right side of her face was grotesquely bruised, her cheek and jaw swollen. “You called me when I was coming through customs, so I couldn’t answer, then when I called back, the police answered. You have NO idea how terrifying that was. What happened?”

She sighed, “that’s how they knew my name! You told them. I did wonder.” She swallowed and he could see it was painful for her, so he reached for the glass of water that sat on a table beside her then waited as she sipped at it. “It was a nice day so I decided to walk home. I saw you’d phoned, so I called you back. You didn’t answer...” she was thinking desperately trying to recall. “Then there was a tug at my bag...” She looked up at him, “there was a boy, he had a scarf over his face. I pulled my bag away from him, but there was another one...another boy. He hit me, but I was holding the bag...”

                “So you fell?”

She nodded, “hit my head...and the bastards got my bag.”

Dylan waited as the man finished dressing the stitched wound at her temple.

                “Right, you need those stitches removed in five days. The consultant wants to check your neuro obs in another half an hour.”

                “Can I go then?”

The man shrugged, “you’ve got concussion, as long as you don't go home alone, it’s ok. You need someone keeping an eye on you...just in case.”

                “That won’t be a problem.” Dylan reassured him rather rapidly.

When Matilda groaned he squeezed her hand and glared when she met his eyes. The man...a nurse or doctor he wasn’t sure, left the room, and he hissed under his breath.

                “You want to stay in here? Cos if you don’t come home with me that is EXACTLY what will happen.”

She shook her head “I’m not coming home with you.”

He laughed, “stop being SO bloody stubborn, you are NOT going home alone. THAT is a doctor’s opinion, not mine. SO get over it, ok?”

An hour later, still against every bone in her body, Dylan was leading Matilda out to a waiting taxi. She had nothing but the clothes she had on, no wallet, no house key, no clothes...nothing. But he brushed that off in an instant.

As they sat in the back of the car he sighed.

                “So where’s this Andy chap then? Is he not able to look after you?” He hated that there was bitterness in his voice, but the thought of her with another man wasn’t pleasurable, and the fact that he wasn’t here helping her angered him even more.

Her head snapped up and she stared at him, “he’s my neighbour...he has no commitment or responsibility to me.”

That stunned him, “but the flowers...”

She laughed, “stick your nose where it isn’t welcome and things like this happen. He sent me flowers to say sorry for something. Is that so ridiculous?”

He had no answer, other than “I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”

                “Don’t. Please. My head feels like it’s caving in, and I don’t have ANY time for this alpha male shit. Ok?”

Nodding he slumped back and was silent as the taxi cut through the London streets.

                “Your key was in your bag?” Suddenly he realised how vulnerable things were. When she nodded he added, “anything with your address?”

She turned slowly, “I didn’t even think of that. I don’t know.”

Nodding he pulled out his phone and called the police officer who’d taken her statement before they’d left hospital. When it became clear that they had no idea if her home had been broken into, he hung up then called a locksmith. After much negotiating, he agreed to meet the locksmith at her apartment in an hour’s time.

When he glanced at her she was smiling gratefully at him, and everything was worthwhile for that moment.

The last time they’d been in his apartment had been when they’d argued when she’d found out he’d bought the hotel. She’d not really had chance to look around at that point, but now as she sank on to the sofa SO appreciatively, she looked around her. The place was so obviously a man’s home. Minimally decorated, neutral colours. 

Dylan had disappeared when they arrived, and now he emerged from a door.

                “Here are some things...” he handed her a t-shirt and a pair of shorts. “Take a shower, have a sleep...whatever. I’m going to go secure your place. Ok?”

                “You sure?”

He nodded, “I’ll bring some clothes, anything else?”

Nodding she couldn’t believe she was giving into this so easily, “my laptop, should be on my bed...phone charger. That should be enough.”

With a grin he disappeared back out the door.

Words failed him as he moved around the room that she classed as an apartment, they’d lived in better when they were young and skint students. He found the bathroom at least and swept the bottles and sundry gathered on the shelf above the sink into a bag along with her toothbrush. Then found underwear, pyjamas in a drawer, then in the only cupboard he found some jeans, a couple of t-shirts. He hoped he had a good selection, but it felt so intrusive to be searching through her belongings.  That said he had no intention of her living here again. She’s hate him, fight it, but he was determined. He could live at the hotel when he was in the country, she could have his apartment, until she sorted out something more permanent.

As he re-entered his home with three large bags, which he dumped in the hall, he shrugged off his jacket and then strolled into the lounge, but the sight there stopped him dead in his tracks, Matilda was clad in his t-shirt, a soft throw over her legs, fast asleep on the sofa. The doctors had told him to keep a check on her, not let her sleep too much until night time, but she looked so comfortable, so relaxed that there was no way that he’d wake her yet. Taking her bags through to the second bedroom in the apartment, he then made for the kitchen. But the cupboards were bare, he’d not expected to be back there, he’d planned on staying at the hotel.

Picking up the phone he called Fortnum and Mason, he’d bought hampers from the food hall before, and once he explained his predicament, the gentleman who’d taken his call promised a delivery of a variety of luxury food within the hour. He would pay for that privilege, but he wanted to have dinner ready when she woke.

He’d showered and changed into jeans and a thin knit sweater, his feet still bare when the doorbell rang. As he moved to answer the intercom, he noticed Matilda stirring. When he returned with the five bags packed full of food, Matilda was sat on the sofa rubbing her eyes.

                “You ok?” He asked pausing in his journey.

She nodded, “how long have I been asleep?”

He glanced at the clock, “well I’ve been back from your home an hour at least.”

She sighed, “my head hurts.”

He laughed, “I am not surprised. You’re due some meds. I bought some juice to wash it down.”

Taking in the bags in his hand, and his position half way to the open plan kitchen, she placed the back of her hand to her forehead and swooned, “is Dylan Wallace...he who can’t boil an egg...about to make me some dinner? I’m not sure my weak disposition can cope with that!”

He gave a grimace, “I can cook a bit...but today I’ve had help from Messers Fortnum and Mason.”

She giggled at his indignation, but as he started up the oven and began to warm a huge Beef Wellington, it looked, and almost immediately smelled amazing. As her pulled cartons of potato, beetroot and corn salads from the bag, Matilda stood and wandered towards him, her nose taking in as many aromas as it could.

                “You hungry?” he asked pulling out a bar stool for her to perch the other side of the work station.

When she nodded he found a pot of olives and slipped them in front of her, “an appetite is a good thing.”

She laughed scooping a plump black olive into her mouth, “I feel a bit unsettled, my stomach is churning, but I presume that’ll ease...I almost feel too hungry, too empty, you know?”

He nodded, “and this...” he pulled out a bottle of sparkling water, “might help settle that stomach.” As she took the glass he poured, he slid two pain killers across the smooth worktop to her. “With these.”

She mock saluted him then took the meds, before resting her elbow on the counter, her chin in her upturned hand, “thanks for looking after me.”

He grinned, but as he opened his mouth to reply he looked serious, so she spoke quickly, silencing him.

                “And for not giving it ‘I told you so’.”

That made him laugh, “you know that’s what I think, really. Will you humour me, please?”

Shrugging she immediately refused to consider anything at that point, she was sore, bruised and her confidence was shattered, she didn’t need to make rash decisions in the midst of all that.

The Beef Wellington was amazing. Dylan had laid up the small table in the corner of the kitchen, and Mattie sat opposite him devouring the food which was amazing. When she looked up Dylan’s eyes were on her.

                “What?”

He sighed, “nothing, just glad to see you eat...that you’re better, you know?”

She ate silently for a moment, then nodded, “it could have been a lot worse I suppose.”

                “you’re not wrong there. You could be in a mortuary. Let your bag go next time, ok?”

Mattie had to nod, “I suppose that’s right.”

                “You can’t stay living there...”

                “I| wasn’t at my home when this happened.”

He shrugged, “it’s not the worst place in the world, but it’s not right for you. Ok? I can’t debate that with you, and if you won’t listen to me...then I’ll make you sleep at the hotel. You KNOW I can do that.”

She was too tired to argue, “we’ll discuss it when I’m feeling up to it. Ok?”

He laughed, “why am I sensing a fight over this?”

                “You LOVE us fighting; you’ve already told me that.”

Taking a piece of the perfect beef on his fork he groaned, “you are too bloody stubborn for your own good, you know that?”

                “You wash dishes too?”

She loved goading him, he could tell. Looking up he grimaced at her, “no, I’m loading the dishwasher. You got a problem with that?”

She was reclining on the sofa with a groan when she heard his retort, “just amazed to see the difference in the boy I met in Uni. Don’t think you even warmed up a quiche when we lived together.”

Again he grimaced, “you took over with the cooking, like you do everything else!”

She shook her head, reminding him of the half dozen times he had shirked his culinary responsibility, and Dylan couldn’t help but lean against the kitchen work surface and appreciate the moment, them talking about the past with humour and  fondness, not the anger and resentment that seemed to rule things until recently.

                “Are you listening to me?” She asked and it made him shake his head instinctively.

                “Sorry was just thinking. You need anything else?”

She was half reclined on the sofa; shaking her head she lowered herself right down, “you mind me having a nap?”

Shaking his head he smiled, “no, but I’m not letting you sleep for too long. I’ve got some work to do.”

But she was already closing her eyes and stretching out.