Nine Months to Change His Life. Marion Lennox

are you writing?’

      ‘Writing?

      ‘By the fire. While I was snoozing.’

      ‘That’s none of your business,’ she said, shocked.

      ‘Sorry. Diary? No, I won’t ask.’ He hesitated for all of two seconds. ‘Did you put something nice about me in it?’

      ‘Only how much you weigh. Like a ton.’ The mood had changed again. Lightness had returned. Thankfully.

      ‘That’s not kind,’ he said, wounded.

      ‘It’s what matters. My shoulder’s sore.’

      ‘My leg’s worse.’

      ‘Do you need more painkillers? We can double the dose.’

      ‘Yes, please,’ he said, even though a hero would have knocked them back. Actually, a hero would have put her aside, braved a cyclone or two, swum to the mainland and knocked the heads of her appalling family together. A hero might do that in the future but for now his leg did indeed hurt. Knocking heads together needed to take a back seat. But it wouldn’t be forgotten, he promised himself. Just shelved.

      ‘If I have hurt your shoulder...you can take painkillers too.’

      ‘I’m on duty.’

      ‘You’re not on duty,’ he told her, gentling again. ‘You need to sleep.’

      ‘In a cyclone?’

      ‘This isn’t a cyclone. This is an edge of a cyclone.’