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I’m thinking of his brothers and his mother. I don’t get it.
I thought they were such a tight, close family, so bright and happy. The feeling I’m getting is that Paul would rather be anywhere else – but was forced to come here.
“Come on, let me take you somewhere we can talk.”
“Lily, no. Go home. You don’t need this.”
I feel burned, to a crisp. He made the choice. He left. He didn’t tell me why, but I’m starting to see.
“I do need this. Oh, I do. I deserve answers. I deserve to be allowed to take care of you when I see you like this. So, fucking buck up and come on, or I swear to God, I’ll haunt you in this life and in all your future reincarnations too, Paul Barton.”
I start walking away, and when I glance behind, I see he’s following me. My heart lifts, just a couple of millimetres. I love Paul more than anything and right now, if all I can do is be here for him, then that’s what I’m going to do, because that’s love. And he won’t stop me, not this time.
I drive him to my place and when we get inside, I push him into the shower because he stinks. I doubt he’s washed in days; probably flew home and came direct to the hospital. While he’s showering, I throw his clothes into the washing machine and drag out some clean clothes for him from my drawer of scruffy sweats. I’ve got a 34 inside leg so they ought to fit him and are rather generous, as I usually wear them while cleaning or lounging in front of the TV. I find my largest t-shirt too and throw both items on the toilet seat while he’s still in the shower, hidden behind the curtain. I’d love a shower too but after spending the car journey with him stinking like that, I’m fairly certain I’m not in any danger of becoming that smelly anytime soon.
While he’s finishing up, I change into my pyjamas and tug on a robe, tying my hair up high on my head. I hear the shower click off and dive into the kitchen, rummaging around for food. I’ve got a vegetable stir fry so I throw the wok onto the hob, add some oil and toss it all in. In the cupboard I have noodles and oyster sauce. I get to work on throwing it all together.
He arrives in the kitchen just as I’m about to serve up, looming like a giant teenager in baggy clothes. I forgot he doesn’t have childbearing hips like mine.
“I can’t eat, Lily,” he groans.
I ignore him and put food in two bowls, carrying them both through, two sets of chopsticks too.
I place them on the coffee table in the living room and he looms again, not sure where to put himself.
I put the telly on, selectingOutlanderon catch-up.
I sit back, relax, eat my food and begin watching the programme. Eventually he sits beside me, takes up his bowl and stares at the screen, eating bitesize amounts now and again.
Once I’ve scoffed my food I put the TV on pause, leave the room, put my bowl in the sink and grab two cokes from the fridge. There’s also half a cheesecake left so I grab two forks and remove it straight from the shelf.
Placing everything down on the coffee table I resume the show, then begin eating the cheesecake direct from the serving plate.
Jamie is about to get raped by Black Jack Randall. I heard this scene is horrific, so not surprising that as it plays out, Paul explodes, “What the fuck are we watching?”
“Oh, god… yeah… you don’t know the backstory.”
I put it on pause and tell him as best I can how the story of Claire and Jamie began. He’s still a bit flummoxed as I resume, and even I have to admit, the violence and graphic detail is rather a bit much.
“You really need to watch from the beginning. It’s the best show.”
“Okay… can we?”
I turn and look at him. “I suppose.”
He looks delighted when I switch to the first episode and even takes the remaining cheesecake and polishes it off.
Cracking open both our cans, we then proceed to watch.
We enjoy the whole thing in silence and I notice how Paul seems to be really taking it in.
After it’s over, he looks at me and exclaims, “Wow, I love history and this is really… gripping.”
“Yeah, I know. Thank god for period drama eh? I was with a guy today and it was like watching David Jason go from playing Del Boy to Jack Frost to Granville to Pop Larkin. There were at least four or five different personalities, it was incredible. Sometimes I need this when I get home to switch off, you know?”
He smiles sadly and I sense a weight on his shoulders.
“What is it, Paul?”
