Lost and Found

Part Eighteen

I didn't sleep all that well in the end. Maybe it was to be expected after the kind of evening I'd had, but I felt grumpy and irritable all the same. I'm not naturally a morning person either and today looked like it would be one that required more coffee than normal to function. Dragging on a dressing gown as the heating had only just kicked in for the morning, I went downstairs in search of caffeine.

On some half asleep level I knew James was there, but I guess I'd expected him to still be asleep.  He wasn't. He was also shirtless. 

Maybe he slept in just his boxers or was he an old fashioned underpants kind of guy? I wasn't sure whether I was disappointed or not that I wasn't going to find out as he was wearing his suit trousers. Although from the way they weren't all creased and crumpled I guessed he'd taken them off to sleep as well. If only I'd been a few minutes earlier.

Any thoughts in that direction rapidly vanished as he turned to see me at the foot of the stairs. He looked so embarrassed that I really did feel sorry for him, as I suspected that I was first to see him like this in some time. The horribly purple bruises that spread across his ribs and stomach killed off any lingering desire and made me wish that I'd pressed him a bit harder last night about just how hurt he was. There were old scars too, the worse a ragged patch of puckered, silvery scar tissue on his left forearm.

"I'm sorry," James said, face flushing as he turned away from me. Picking up his shirt he draped it over his arm hiding the scar from view. "I'd meant to be dressed and out of your way before you were up. I do apologise."

"It's okay," I replied trying not to sound too irritated that he'd been planning to do a moonlight flit rather than speak to me. Looking at the state of him I wondered how he'd thought that putting on a seatbelt and driving across the city would be anything other than a painfully bad idea. I gestured towards the bruising. "That looks sore. Are you sure you don't want to get it checked out, make sure nothing's broken?"

"It's not so bad," he said, carefully not looking at me. "Just a little uncomfortable really."

"Well that's alright then," I replied. Then realising that being flippant was probably lost on him and that he would take it as a sign that I was suitably placated, I said, "Look I'm really not going to think any less of you for admitting that it sore as hell. Seriously, go have a hot shower, take some painkillers and have some breakfast. Whatever order you like. We've got time."

James hesitated, shivering slightly in the chilly living room. "You're sure you don't mind?"

"I wouldn't have suggested it if I had. It's just hot water, a couple of paracetamol and either toast or cornflakes." I went over to him, stopping short of touching him. "It's not a big deal. Seriously, it's okay. I'm offering because you look like need it and you're too polite to ask." At least I hoped it was manners, rather than the fact he was so used to nobody being around to consider his feelings and needs that he'd stopping considering that anybody would. The problem was now I'd thought it of course I couldn't get myself to unthink it. I really do hate my brain sometimes.

Looking down, James worried his lower lip between his teeth before answering. "Thank you," he said softly. "The painkillers would be greatly appreciated."

I doubted that bog standard paracetamol from the supermarket would do much more than take the edge off, but it had to be better than nothing. James took them and then retreated to the sofa to wait for them to work.  I didn't miss how he curled his arm protectively over the worse of the bruising on his ribs or small noise of pain that escaped him as sat down.

"You would tell me if you thought they were broken, wouldn't you?" I asked as I made us some much needed coffee. Well coffee for me and tea for him as that's what he'd wanted.

There was a pause before James answered. "If I thought I was in need of urgent hospital treatment of course I would."

I handed him his tea. "That's not really an answer you know."

"I know from experience what broken ribs feel like," James said, cradling the mug of tea in his hands. "This is merely uncomfortable in comparison. Not pleasant I grant you, but it's hardly the grating agony that accompanied each breath as on those previous occasions." He gave me a wan little smile. "So you really don't need to worry about me."

I doubted that I'd be able to manage it. Especially not now I knew he'd had his ribs broken more than once. I doubted he wanted to discuss those times either, so I went with a nice easy question instead. "So do you think you can manage some toast?"

He drank some of the tea and considered it for a moment. "I should probably try."

Not the most comforting of answers, I decided, but it would have to do. "Right, it'll have to brown bread and there's a choice of...." I looked in the cupboard. "...marmite or jam. Or I guess just butter."

"Just butter is fine, thank you."

So we had breakfast and somehow it wasn't anywhere as near awkward as I'd thought it might the previous evening. We weren't exactly chatty, but the silences were companionable enough that I didn't feel the need to try and make small talk to fill them. Which was probably just as well as I'm not great at small talk. I suppose we could have talked about the case, but chatting about abductions, seriously weird high level charms and ritual magic before my second cup of coffee was so not happening. Not if I wanted to make any kind of coherent sense that is.

It didn't end up happening after the second cup either. As James, who'd picked at a couple of slices of toast for about half an hour, decided to go have a shower. By the time he came back down, hair damp and smelling of my shampoo, it was time for me to have a hurried wash and shave before getting ready for work.

Which to be honest posed another question; what to do with James? He could stay at my house for the day if he wanted or I could drive him home, or we could find some other solution as long as it didn't involve him driving. His protestations that he was fine were rather undermined by the fact that anything that that required bending or moving between sitting and standing was accompanied by a stifled groan and him going almost grey.

In the end I decided that driving him home was the only sensible option. Mainly because I didn't trust him to stay put for the day. In fact I was pretty much certain that as soon as I left for work he'd would be off regardless of how awful he felt.  I'd just have to tell work that I'd be in late. Which was annoying as I'd have to make the time up later, but at least it wouldn't cause a problem with my readings for the day as my first wasn't until half ten. So I texted Parminder to let her know, giving her a partially honest reason for being late: I needed to drive a friend home who'd been hurt and couldn't drive, and that I was very sorry and would make the time up.

I could have told her that it was connected with my external case, and explained how it was proving to be was way out of my league and that I was almost certainly in over my head. I didn't though.  It wasn't the most sensible decision that I'd ever made, not even close. Yet I didn't feel like I could tell her. Mainly because I had the lingering worry that she'd give me an ultimatum: Drop it or be out of a job.  No, I told myself, I had to make a success of the case, not just for Calvin and Joe, but for James' sake and my own as well.

James wasn't exactly happy with the idea of me chauffeuring him back to the barge, but the obvious pain it caused him getting into the car meant that he didn't argue about it.  Honestly I'd have rather had him complaining the whole way rather than sitting tense and tight lipped as I drove his lumbering old Volvo across town. 

We managed to get there without incident which, as it turned out, was about the only positive that thing that was going to to happen to me for the rest of the day.