Chasing Marigolds

Chapter Four

Marigold stepped gingerly into the room, hearing the crunch of glass beneath her boots. The old, solid oak bookshelf that had once stood against the wall by the front door now lay face down on the hardwood. Books, picture frames, and the various small bits and bobs she'd left lying on the shelves over the years, lay scattered beneath and around the fallen shelf. No wonder it sounded like the bloody roof was caving in.

The shelf had been her grandfather's; solidly built and seemingly sturdy. It hadn't, however, been anchored to the wall. She'd meant to do so, but hadn't set aside the time to do it; partly because the idea of it falling seemed such a remote one. Apparently not.

She felt the warmth of a body behind her and nearly jumped out of her skin before she remembered Tom had followed her up the stairs. She only half wondered just why he'd done so as she tried to survey the damage.

A rustling, growling noise drew her attention to the window at the far end of the room. Clinging haphazardly half way up the thick blue curtains that covered the window was Dougal. He looked thoroughly unsettled, spitting and hissing as if his life depended on it. The first thought that crossed her mind after thank Christ he's safe was I'm going to strangle the life out of him.

Before Marigold had a chance to move an inch towards the angry cat, Tom had slipped behind her and had gingerly worked to loosen Dougal's death grip on the curtains. And getting more than his fair share of scratches and nips for his trouble. Nonetheless, he spoke soothing words to the angry feline who was having exactly none of it. Dougal continued to struggle fiercely to free himself from this strange man's hold, clawing manically at anything he could in a desperate bid to gain purchase.

With a hiss of his own, Tom unceremoniously dropped the flailing cat, who then scrambled madly on the hardwood floor before bolting towards the safety of Marigold's bedroom.

Shock receding enough for Marigold to regain hold of herself, she dashed towards Tom. "Oh god, Tom. I'm so sorry," she whispered, grabbing at his hand to inspect the damage. He winced as she turned his hand over. There were a few bleeding scratches but nothing too deep. Thank god he'd still had his coat on or Dougal would have certainly torn his arms to ribbons. "He's normally not this much of an asshole. Are you alright?" Marigold was rambling and she knew it, but she couldn't seem to stop herself. She just felt terrible. All he'd done was try to help, lord only knew why, and he'd gotten mangled because of it. "I think I've got a first aid kit buried in my medicine cabinet."

Please don't let it be out of date. While she kept a decent supply of plasters (paper cuts were an occupational hazard not to mention the occasional scratch when Dougal was feeling more than a little ornery), most everything else in the kit dated back several years, from when she still lived with Molly.

"It's alright, I've had much worse," he assured her, his voice soft and soothing. "And I believe you have me at a bit of a disadvantage."

She blinked at him, confusion painting her features. "What?"

Tom smiled, the skin around his eyes crinkling as a soft laugh fell from his lips. "You know my name, but I haven't a clue what yours is."

Marigold blinked at him. "Oh," she whispered after several moments of silence. She hadn't told him her name, had she? The idea hadn't even occurred to her in the mad rush from the shop to her flat...Oh god, the shop!

Dropping his hand and backing away, she darted out the door and then swiftly down the stairs. In her haste to make sure her flat and that mangey little shit of a cat were alright, she hadn't bothered to lock the shop door. Not that she feared anyone would take the opportunity to rob her blind (she hadn't had any real trouble since she'd taken over the shop, nor had her grandfather ever mentioned any), not really, but still it was a risk she ought not take.