Fireside Romance Book 4: Glowing Embers

Chapter 1-2

Charlotte was holding on to the furniture and taking a few experimental steps when we entered the Bates’s living room.

“You’re a clever little lady,” I said, kneeling next to her. She gave a few happy baby-type gurgles in response. “Do you want to come and sit on Uncle Simon’s knee?”

I took more of the happy baby sounds as a ‘yes’, so I carefully picked her up and bounced her a few times on my knee. She giggled away.

“Okay, everyone,” Helen announced, coming into the room. “The feeding frenzy may begin.”

I carried Charlotte to the kitchen where Helen took over and strapped the baby into her highchair.

“Did you have a good day yesterday?” Steve, Helen’s brother, asked Mark and me.

“Yes, thanks. It was our first anniversary actually.”

“Really?”

Mark and I told him an edited version of how we’d bumped into each other on the street, how we’d met up a number of times after that, how Mark had hurt his hands and had come to live with me so I could look after him.

“Staying with matters medical,” I nodded to Steve, “your job sounds fascinating. Why did you choose orthopaedics?”

“It is. I went into bones because the professor at university made it really interesting.”

I nodded, remembering how a good teacher could make any subject fun.

Steve chewed for a moment, swallowed, and then continued. “It’s possible to make a huge difference to a patient’s life, give them back their mobility, and relieve some or all of their pain. And the results are usually fairly quickly achieved.”

“A kid down our street broke his arm last year,” Billy put in. “He had to wear a plaster cast for about six weeks. Apart from his arm looking a bit thin for a while after the plaster came off, his arm seemed to be as good as new.”

Steve nodded. “Bones heal quicker when you’re younger.”

He then told us he was looking around for another job. “I’m about the right age to think about becoming a consultant.”

“That would be nice,” Helen said, handing her brother the plate of bread and butter he’d requested. “Then maybe you could find yourself a nice man to settle down with.”

Steve rolled his eyes. I sensed his job was more important to him than a partner. Each to their own.

“I’ve applied for a post in a hospital near York.”

Helen and Sam were all smiles, but Steve brought them back down to earth by telling them that it was rare for someone to get such a position on their first attempt.

“But it’d be great if you did get it,” Sam said, laying down his knife to shake more ketchup on his chips. “We’d see a lot more of you. Scotland’s too far away.”

Helen nodded her agreement before taking the bottle from her son. “That’s enough.”

“Well, we’ll see,” Steve said, giving his nephew a sympathetic smile.

It turned out the hospital Steve had applied to was the same one our friend Tom had been admitted to when he’d been stabbed. Tom was a postman and had been attacked for the unemployment cheques in his bag.

“I haven’t seen the hospital yet, but it has a good reputation,” Steve said.

We told him about the peeling paint on the walls, the dreadful hospital food, and the battle-axe of a ward sister we’d had the misfortune to encounter.

“Sounds like your typical NHS hospital,” he said, making a chip sandwich.

“Philistine,” Helen said when she saw what her brother was doing.

Sam grinned and started to make one for himself, earning a glare from his mother and a snort of laughter from his dad.

“What made you go for a job up in Scotland in the first place?” I asked Steve, feeling it was wise to move the topic away from unusual eating practices.

“Wanted to get as far away from Mum and Dad as I could.” He put a pickled onion in his mouth, chewed for a moment, swallowed, then added, “But that was a mistake.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“I’ve missed out on seeing the other members of my family.” Smiling at his nephew, he added, “And of course I’ve missed out on seeing Sam grow up.”

“I’ve missed seeing you, too, Unc.”

“Another reason for wanting to move is my current boss, Mr MacDonald. He’s a complete bast…” Steve shot a quick look at his sister before saying, “He isn’t very supportive of the gay lifestyle.”

“I’d have thought medicine would be fairly accepting,” I said. “It being a caring profession and everything.” Then I remembered the battle-axe in Tom’s ward.

“Some branches are, but surgery, or at least certain surgeons, definitely aren’t.”

Steve told us about a patient of his who was brought in with several broken bones as a result of a gay bashing. “My boss, when he reviewed the case, came out with a load of homophobic vitriol. Basically he said the patient got what he’d deserved.”

“I take it you’re not out at work then?” Mark asked.

“Only to a few colleagues.”

“What are your chances of getting the job in York?” Helen asked.

Steve shook his head. “Don’t know. As with many other things in the good old NHS, it’s not what you know, it’s who you know.”

“We’ll keep our fingers crossed for you,” Paul said, laying down his knife and fork. “Great meal, love,” He leaned over and kissed Helen’s cheek.

As everyone else had finished and no one wanted dessert, save Sam and Billy, the adults retired to the front room.

“We can’t stop long,” Mark said, declining a glass of brandy.

“Oh?” Paul asked, offering the brandy to me.

I shook my head.

“We’ve got a kitten,” Mark said.

I filled Paul and Helen in on Noel. “He seems to be settling in pretty well.”

“Hope nobody comes round to claim him,” Paul said.

Mark nodded. I’d cautioned him that that might happen.

The conversation moved on. I played a game of mini skittles with baby Charlotte, but she was tired and soon lost interest.

Mark was starting to fidget; I could tell he wanted to get home to Noel, so we began to say our goodbyes.

“We’ll see you two later then?” I asked Sam and Billy, who had come into the front room after eating most of Helen’s mince pies.

“It’ll just be me,” Sam said.

“Mum and Dad want me to stay at home with them tonight.” Billy smirked. “They said they’d like to be reminded what I look like.”

* * * *

Back at home, we tried to convince Noel to use his new litter tray. I didn’t really want him going back outside; he might run away. Once he got older and was more used to our house being his home I thought we’d put in a cat flap so he could come and go as he pleased.

“Come on, baby, time for wee-wees,”

I rolled my eyes at Mark’s continued baby talk. “You’ll make him nervous if you keep bending over him like that.” I doubted I’d be able to pee if someone was watching me.

Mark nodded and straightened up.

* * * *

As it was still a nice day—by December standards—Mark and I decided to go for a walk.

“The woods?” he asked as we turned the corner out of our street.

“So long as you promise to give me a kiss when we get there,” I said, nudging his shoulder with mine.

“The woods it is then.” Mark returned my shoulder nudge.

Once we’d reached the thickest part of the wood, Mark stopped walking, turned to me, and opened his arms. I walked into his hug and we exchanged a few kisses.

Out of the sun it soon grew chilly, despite the fact we’d wrapped up well.

“Want to walk some more?” Mark asked.

I nodded and we held hands as we negotiated the various tree roots.

A few minutes later, we heard someone coming towards us, so we reluctantly moved apart.

“Merry Christmas,” Mark called out.

The newcomer grunted. It was Mr Wagner. He and his family lived a couple of streets away. I’d had a number of run-ins with the Wagners at the library where I worked. Although, as I didn’t get out onto the floor as much since being promoted, I hadn’t seen Mr Wagner or any of his unpleasant brood in a few months.

“You seen a kitten round here?” he gruffly asked.

“A kitten?” I asked. “No, sorry. Why, have you lost one?”

“Wouldn’t be bloody asking if I hadn’t.”

I saw Mark tense.

“Got the bloody thing for our Cindy for Christmas and it buggered off yesterday.”

I shrugged.

“Can’t say I’m sorry; the bloody thing kept pissing on the carpet.”

“Oh, right.”

“Scrawny little sod it was. Black with white paws and a white patch on the bottom of its face. It’s probably got itself run over.”

It seemed he was describing Noel.

I shrugged again.

“Cats,” Mr Wagner continued, not realising the conversation was one way. “Can’t stand them. So part of me hopes the sodding thing did get run over.”

I shivered involuntarily; I was glad Noel had gotten away from the obnoxious Mr Wagner and his equally unpleasant family.

“Sorry, can’t help you,” I said, turning my back on the man and walking away. Thankfully, Mark, who had been silent throughout the brief exchange, followed me.

Once we were a reasonable distance away, Mark took my hand and gave it a squeeze. “Thanks.”

“There was no way I’d let Noel go back to that family.” I filled him in on some of the things I knew about the Wagners.

* * * *

“Only me!” Sam burst through our front door later that evening.

“Hi, Sam. You hungry again?” Mark was on the couch; I was holding him from behind.

“No, I’m still full from dinner. Mum and Dad have gone out for the evening, and Uncle Steve is looking after Charlotte.” He sprawled in our one and only armchair.

“Missing Billy?” I asked. Normally the two of them cuddled up together in the chair.

“Yeah.” He sighed. “But it’s good he’s spending some time with his olds.”

Noel came over and sniffed at Sam’s hand. Sam rubbed the kitten behind his ears.

We told Sam about our earlier encounter with Mr Wagner.

“Noel’s better off with you two, that’s for sure,” Sam said, lifting the kitten onto his knee.

* * * *

“It’ll be nice to have you at home next week,” I told Mark later that evening when Sam had gone upstairs to shower. Daphne, Mark’s boss, was closing the cafe for the week between Christmas and New Year.

Mark stretched. “The rest will give me time to unwind from all those long shifts before the holiday.”

During the run up to Christmas, Mark would frequently come home exhausted after a long day spent on his feet. I’d bought some scented massage oil, and we both enjoyed me rubbing it on him after he’d taken a bath. The poor man had been so tired that he’d sometimes fallen asleep on me, mid-massage.

* * * *

Tuesday evening—the day before he was due to head back up to Scotland—Steve paid us a visit. We all had a glass, or should that be wee dram, of the bottle of single malt he’d bought us for Christmas.

“I’m not much of a whisky drinker normally,” I told Steve, staring into the glass of amber liquid. "But I could get used to this. It’s so smooth.”

Steve nodded. “I like a small glass at the end of a busy day. It helps me to relax.”

Mark and I had our own ways of relaxing. There was still half a bottle of lavender massage oil in the bathroom and I planned on using some of it to relax with later.

“Hello, Noel,” Steve said, bringing my mind back from thoughts of sliding my hands all over Mark’s slick body.

I covered my bulging crotch with the arm that was holding my whisky glass and watched Noel accepting a back scratch from Steve.

Noel seemed to like this as he arched into Steve’s touch.

The conversation moved to the possibility of Steve getting the consultant’s post in York.

“We have friends near there,” I said, thinking of Tom and Cliff. “If you get the job we’ll have to introduce you.”

“And there’s The George of course,” Mark added.

“Who’s he?” Noel had moved off so Steve put his hand back on the arm of the chair.

“He’s a pub.” I smiled. “A gay pub. Pretty quiet most of the time, except when Mark sings.”

This naturally had Steve asking us about that. Mark left most of the talking to me. My man was always shy about his singing.

“A man of many talents,” Steve said, finishing his glass.

You don’t know the half of it. I smiled to myself.

“When we take you to The George, you’ll have to watch out because you’ll have plenty of men throwing themselves at you, what with you being a doctor and your Scots accent.” Mark smiled.

“A real life Dr Finlay,” I added.

Steve laughed. “I don’t know about the men throwing themselves at me, but I’d love to come and hear you sing sometime.”

“Yeah.” Mark nodded and I smiled at his failed attempt to move the focus of the conversation away from him.

“That’s if I get the job of course.”

“Fingers crossed,” I said, meaning it.

“Do you have a Hogmanay party to go to?” I asked, knowing how much the Scots made of New Year’s Eve.

Steve shook his head. “I’ll be working. Mr MacDonald pulled rank, and he’s having the time off. Though it did mean I could have Christmas off and spend it with Helen and the family.”

I nodded.

“And speaking of Helen,” Steve said, getting to his feet. “I’d better be heading back over there. I need to get on the road early. I’m on duty tomorrow night.”

Mark took Steve’s empty glass. “It’s been great catching up with you.”

I said, “Let us know when you get an interview for the job in York—”

“If I get an interview,” he countered.

“—you can come and stay with us if you need to do an overnighter.”

“Thanks, that’s really kind of you.”

Steve put his coat on, and after promising he’d stay in touch, we bade him good night.