All of her precious belongings had been tossed around, as if they were nothing but rubbish at a dump. The sense of loss and devastation was overwhelming. With her hand over her face, she began to feel a tremble overtake her body, until she was shuddering and shaking, sobs gasping from her body as if every intake of breath were a desperate struggle for survival.
Tom frowned from his place in the kitchen and stood awkwardly as she cried.
She had no idea how long she stood there like that, just crying. For the loss of her things, for the loss of her privacy, for the uncaring way in which her things had been used and tossed aside. She’d never claimed to be rich, or to have expensive objects that she treasured, but this had been her very first venture out into the world to stand on her own two feet alone. The items she’d gathered in that home might have been from car boot sales or markets or pound shops, but they’d been hers. They’d each been treasured and valued as they’d arrived in her home to take their place and make the hole that she was living in a beautiful, homely place to be. Or at least, an attempt at one.
That someone had forced their way in, breaking and trashing everything … well, it broke her heart. So she cried.
And she cried. Until suddenly she realised she wasn’t crying any more and Tom had started trying to sort through her belongings. He’d been picking up books and ornaments, trying to straighten them, trying to return them to their rightful place.
She couldn’t look him in the eye. Had she not embarrassed herself enough in front of this man, today? Falling from a ladder. Being rescued from a drunk. Being heard as she cried like a baby? That last had been the most horrifying. It was embarrassing. Crying always made other people feel incredibly awkward and she didn’t need to look at him to know how much he wanted to leave, but was staying because he now felt obligated.
What am I putting this man through, today? The impression I’m making is terrible!
‘It’s okay, you can go. I’ll wait here for the police. I’ll deal with it. You must have things to do.’
‘I’ll stay.’
She found an old tissue in her pocket and she pulled it out to wipe her nose and then dab at her eyes. She must look a sight! Her eyes would be all puffy and her face all red …
‘No, really, you don’t have to …’
‘I’ll stay until you’re done with the police. Then, you’ll need someplace to go. I won’t feel safe with you sleeping here on your own tonight. It won’t be secure.’
‘The police will fix the door.’
‘With a sheet of plyboard. Hardly Fort Knox. I won’t leave you here with that as your sole defence against the world in this neighbourhood.’
A short brief smile found its way onto her ravaged features. She was appreciative of his kindness. He clearly wasn’t all gruffness. ‘Thank you.’
‘Now you ought to check to see if anything’s missing.’
She nodded. He was right. There were only a few things that really meant anything to her. Her photos of her and Vincent. Her old wedding ring in her bedside table that she never wore to work, as jewellery wasn’t allowed.
Alone in the bedroom, she made the grim discovery that the ring was gone, stolen. Along with some cheaper bits of jewellery that she’d bought and an old watch.
She felt strangely empty as she recounted what was missing to the police when they arrived.
Throughout it all, Tom was kind and attentive. He just sat there and listened to her ramble, making them both a cup of tea and heaping hers with sugar for the shock.
Although it had been caused by a terrible situation, Naomi found herself enjoying their conversation. Just sitting and talking to someone. Something she hadn’t truly experienced since Vincent had passed. She missed him greatly, but she knew he was in a better place. No longer in pain. No longer a prisoner in his own body. No longer feeling guilty for what he’d done to her life.
So it was nice just to sit and talk. Even if it was only happening because she’d been burgled!
Her first day at work had gone fine. It was only the things that had happened after her shift that had been so awful! Now, after being berated by her boss and saved by him from physical assault, she was being comforted by him. He might not be the most smiley individual in the world, but he was being kind.
‘You need to pack some clothes for an overnight stay.’
‘Right.’ He was right. Being practical would also help to take her mind off what had happened. She couldn’t stay here. The place felt violated. Dirty. She didn’t want to have to stay there a moment longer than she had to. ‘You’re right …’
‘What is it?’
She bit her lip. ‘I have nowhere to go.’
‘You must have family?’
‘They’re all up north. A four-hour drive away.’
He frowned. ‘Friends?’
‘I’ve just moved here. I don’t know anyone.’
‘Of course not.’ He let out a heavy sigh, his hands on his hips. ‘A hotel?’
She winced at having to admit it. ‘I couldn’t afford it.’
‘Right. I suppose you’ll have to come to mine, then. For the night. I can take you to work in the morning, too.’
Naomi tried hard not to show how horrified she was by the thought of having to share a living space with the one man whom she’d humiliated herself in front of so much today.
She couldn’t stay at his. They’d only just met and, yes, he was her boss, but he was also a prickly individual, standoffish and cool. He already clearly thought of her as incompetent and now he was offering to share his home with her …
Seriously … she couldn’t accept his offer.
‘That’s very gracious of you, but—’
‘Then it’s settled. Pack your things and let’s get going.’
Her mouth dropped open for a moment and when she became aware that she probably looked like a landed goldfish, she closed it again and headed to her bedroom.
I can’t believe I’m doing this.
NAOMI WAS IN her bedroom, packing her clothes into a suitcase, as Tom sat on the torn-up sofa and stared into space.
Nurse Naomi Bloom.
What had happened?
He’d been his usual work-focused self. He’d been on call all night in the hospital and then he’d worked a full twelve-hour shift in A&E on top of that. He always did what was needed. Worked hard. He treated patients and kept his mind on work.
It was what worked for him. The work was a salve. A sticking plaster over the savage gash that was his heart. If he worked, if he took care of patients, if he investigated their ills, then he didn’t have to focus on his own. His own pain. His own grief. Work kept the hurt firmly in its box where he never had to pay it any attention.
He’d been on his way home. Heading back for a shower, a change of clothes, maybe a quick four-hour nap. Then he’d planned on coming back to work.
But then he’d seen this woman climbing up a wobbly ladder, a ladder she should never have been up in the first place, on her own. He’d seen her reaching out for things that she hadn’t got a chance in hell of reaching.
He’d seen how badly it had wobbled and he’d dropped his own briefcase and caught her, feeling the weight of