Look Back at Me (Fleckney Fields Series, Book 1)

The Holyoakes

It took four rounds to exhaust him, with astonishingly little time for recovery in between. She'd quite forgotten his 'appetite.' Several times, he'd of course mumbled something about 'returning the favour' and 'still having one working hand' - but she was having too much fun to let him take over any of it. When she came back from the bathroom the fourth time, he was fast asleep, his massive body relaxed, his right arm perpendicular to his torso, and she stood above him for quite a while, shamelessly ogling him. She then went downstairs, leaving her - his - shirt and pants on the bedroom floor where she'd thrown them during the second time. Her knickers and bra were dry now, she fished out her jeans, socks, and shirt from the machine, and got dressed. She tightly tied her hair in a bun, using an elastic she found among the bits and bobs on one of his coffee tables. She carefully folded her sweater, drank a glass of water, and called herself a cab. She needed to eat, regroup, and get ready for the Winter Dance.

When she walked into the surgery, she immediately heard "Viola!" from the kitchen.

Fenton stepped out, wearing his usual frown, this time with worry written clearly on his face. He looked her over, and whatever he saw, made his face relax.

"Afternoon, Alan," Viola said.

"How's Holyoake?" he asked.

"He's alright," she answered, painfully aware that she was holding her sweater in her hands, all her clothes crumpled, no makeup, and with the most unflattering hairdo anyone had ever seen her in public. "He has an unstable shoulder, so it'll take some time to heal, but other than that, he's fine. How's the other man?"

"Stephen Bassey," Fenton said. "He's still in the hospital, but they expect no long-term damage. His wife owns Cornflower & Sparrow. Eddie Sparrow. She's a patient of mine."

"And the supplier of your Chelsea buns, if memory serves me right," Viola said with a chuckle.

"You should try them some time. We can all pretend Miss Rosa has no competition, but these townies know what they're doing with all that caster sugar."

Viola laughed. "Townies?"

"Eddie Sparrow moved to Fleckney four years ago, from London, of all places." It sounded like 'from Hell' from Fenton's lips. "Stephen is local, born and bred in Fleckney. It was quite a popular story on the grapevine as you can imagine. Her coming and stealing one of them local lads. But the buns are excellent," he said with a shrug. "Anyroad, your ex-husband saved his life. You do realise what it means, don't you?" He gave her a sardonic look.

"Nothing to do with me personally," Viola answered with dignity, turned around, and headed to her part of the flat.

"You've been seen in his cottage through his pretentious glass staircase!" Fenton shouted after her, his voice shaking with laughter.

Viola cringed, already around the corner, and wondered if she should develop selective deafness, or tell the Welshman to shove it.

"In red lingerie!" he added with more and more glee in his voice. "Some describe even more exciting scenes, but considering his shoulder had been pulled out of its socket, surely the position in which you two were supposedly 'entangled' would prove impossible. No one can hold a woman by–"

Viola didn't hear the continuation of the good doctor's amused hollering since she was inside her bedroom already. She slammed the door behind her pointedly and stopped in the middle of the room. For some reason, it took her a moment to realise that it was indeed her bedroom: with its pared down design, immaculate order, her large bed, made to perfection, and her brushes and bottles, neatly organised on her vanity. It looked just the same as it had when she'd left for the bake the day before - but it felt cold and unwelcoming. Viola fought an uncharacteristic urge to plop on the bed, to stretch or maybe even to nestle, giving her tired body a moment to rest and to process what had happened in the past hours - but then she told herself she had no time for such silliness. She put her jumper in the dirty laundry hamper, ordered take-away, stripped, and went to the shower. Standing under the weak stream of luke-warm water, she wistfully thought back at Rhys' luxurious bathroom.