William, Claimed
Harri waved disconsolately at the retreating car ambulance as it carried William Sabine up the slope in the still dark morning. Minty watched it go with her arms folded across her Barbour windcheater.
‘This isn’t at all what I wanted,’ she was saying. ‘He came tous. He was one of us.’
Mr Sabine had refused Harri’s offer of cornflakes and orange juice at seven this morning when he’d heard the old man rattling around downstairs and sprung silently from Annie’s bed, leaving her breathing softly in her sleep.
There’d been a minor tussle when he’d offered William his arm at the foot of the spiral staircase to help him up to the bathroom.
‘If I can manage an elephant ladder, I can make it up these stairs,’ he’d grumped and Harri hadn’t pressed him on what exactly an elephant ladder might be and quite how many of them William had climbed in recent days.
Annie slept through the whole thing, which was surprising after she’d passed out pretty much as soon as she lay down in the bed next to him last night. She’d not moved a muscle, lying like a wrapped mummy; she must have had nine hours’ sleep, at least. Harri remembered how fitfully she used to sleep back at uni. Maybe she’d changed? Was Annie becoming more restful?
Harri, on the other hand, had finally drifted off at around four, having lain awake burningly aware of Annie next to him, terrified of disturbing her. He was, after all, a bed-crasher and a pretty rubbish friend with a lot of making up to do today. He supposed now that Mr Sabine was being carted off to the hospital, he’d be back in his own room tonight, and of course that was a good thing.
‘Got your bags?’ the agency social worker had asked William out on the slope. Even Harri thought the guy looked fresh out of college, and Minty had stated the fact out loud. The ambulance driver had stayed in the car, no time to waste.
‘He came to us with only the clothes he was wearing,’ Minty had said with some force. ‘Doesn’t it mention that in your notes?’
The young man pulled a clipboard from under his arm, scanned the pages and shook his head. Harri could see the names of umpteen people on his caseload and hoped they weren’t all to be visited today. Something in the social worker’s harried, efficient demeanour told him they probably were.
‘Right you are, Mr Sawyer,’ he’d said cheerily, opening the rear door.
‘It’s MrSabine,’ said William, not at all pleased about any of this but stooping to get in, nevertheless.
The social worker’s shoulders had dropped with what must have been relief as he realised this old guy wasn’t going to give him any trouble. ‘Right you are,’ he’d said again in the same tone of voice, like he was talking to a child.
Harri felt a twinge of worry. ‘You will let us know how he’s getting on?’ he’d asked, while William slapped the social worker’s hands away from his seat belt.
‘Not if you’re not family,’ the young man had replied.
‘How can you be reached, if we uncover any more information?’ said Minty.
Closing the car door, he replied, ‘There’s no direct line. You can ring County, leave a message for the social work team. Someone will ring you back eventually.’
‘I wantyouto ring me!’ Minty scolded, but the young man ignored this, and climbed into the passenger seat, looking at his notes once again.
Harri had heard him say, ‘District Hospital, then?’ before pulling his door shut.
The engine started and the car crawled off Up-along, the cobbled path only just wide enough for the slow-moving emergency vehicle. Eyes watched on from behind the blinds and curtains of every cottage on the slope.
Harri waved feebly at the back of William’s head, realising that for the first time he found himself in agreement with Minty. William Sabine felt just as much a part of Clove Lore as any of the other misfits and madcaps. With no family or friends claiming him, and no notion of his address, where was he going to end up now?
‘We could have helped him, somehow,’ Minty said sadly, and after squeezing Harri on the elbow, began her trudge Up-along. ‘You did well,’ she said as she left.
Harri didn’t think he’d done anything at all, and he turned to the bookshop with an unsettled feeling that wouldn’t leave him for the rest of the morning.
Chapter Thirteen
Cupid’s Arrows
The morning stayed dry and mild that Wednesday; last night’s wet weather having blown itself out somewhere over the Atlantic. Annie’s fifth day in England was brightened by the arrival of a pale blue sky and white wintry clouds.
She kept the door propped open onto the cool courtyard all morning, not so much out of a need to air the stuffy bookshop, but hoping it would usher in some clarity and calm. The fright of last night had reminded them both of the need to be careful with one another’s feelings. Two weeks spent in close proximity and then unexpectedly sharing a bad after their disastrous dates was not an easy feat, and today Annie felt her way around gently and slowly as though the stacks of books concealed coral snakes.
They’d sipped mint teas and nibbled Harri’s fresh Welsh cakes (he was branching out from hangover buns). ‘A batch of forty should see out the whole day,’ he’d told her. They picked a playlist of jazz covers of pop songs for the shop, all the time talking to each other kindly. Customers who happened to overhear them wouldn’t for the life of them be able to detect any awkwardness.
She’d taken her time dressing that morning too, going for jeans and a white shirt tucked in with her blanket coat on top, and, for a change, her beat-up white cowboy boots that had been vintage when she’d thrifted them back in Amarillo years ago. She loved how they elevated her, and today she needed the confidence of being a tall girl choosing heels. It helped, unquestionably.
