Roman Holiday Page 21

  He pulled out a soft long-sleeved garment that had a Picasso print emblazoned on the front – he couldn’t tell which one but he bet Toby could. He could hear the boy running water and he quickly moved to the bed to ease off Caroline’s soiled clothing. A long cotton sleep-shirt, this one had the Michelangelo Creation of Adam image on its front – so she was an equal opportunity nightdress-wearer, both classical and modern.Good to know. Propping her up as gently as he could, he pulled the nightdress up and over her head.

  Toby walked back into the room and stopped abruptly.

  “You shouldn’t be undressing my mother like that. It’s not right.”

  The tone was accusatory and stilted, and Nick admired the hell out of him for it. He was a true champion, this boy.

  “Kid, your mother is half asleep, feverish and smelling of vomit. Believe me when I say I do not have a lustful bone in my body right now. Bring me the water and you can stand as sentry as I wipe her down a bit.”

  Nick did his best to be matter-of-fact about the whole business, but the truth of the matter was, regardless of her unfortunate condition, Caro was a very sexy woman. Nick would defy any red-blooded man to say the sight of those plump, creamy breasts and rosy nipples didn’t cause even a little stirring in his nether regions.

  But, being an adult was his role now, not a leering teen. So he used the wrung-out facecloth from the lightly scented warm water and briskly, but as gently as he could, washed her face, neck and upper shoulders. Toby stood next to him, holding the bowl of warm soapy water, his back turned away from the sight of his partially naked mother. Damn! This has got to be weird as shit for him, he thought as he repositioned a towel modestly about her. Trying to imagine seeing his own mother, upper body bared to his eyes as a young teenager, made Nick wince in appreciation of Toby’s stoicism.

  Finishing his task quickly, Nick tugged the fresh nightwear over Caroline’s lolling head and smoothly down over her body. He then dragged the loose cotton sleep shorts down over her hips and off to the floor. He wasn’t about to wash her lower body in front of Toby, not in this lifetime, not if he didn’t want the boy scarred for life, so he figured he could just leave her as was. Picking her up in his arms again, he brought her around to the other side of the bed and set her down propped against the pillows. She stirred, moaned and her eyes fluttered open.

  “Toby?” Her voice was raw and croaky.

  Returning from the bathroom empty-handed, Toby rushed over and kneeled by the bed.

  “It’s okay, Mum. You’ve been a bit sick, but we’re going to make sure you’re all better soon. We’re taking care of you,” he whispered, his own voice unsteady.

  Caroline raised one arm to reach out for him. Finding his head bent she rested her hand there, as if that small motion exhausted her.

  “We?” she queried, but her eyes fluttered closed again before he could answer.

  “Right.” Nick went back to brisk mode. “Can you bring up a mint tea for your mother and I’ll try to get some of this stomach-settling medicine into her. I asked the doctor on call what to do for violent throwing up and he swears by this.”

  Noticing Toby’s reluctance to leave his mother, he continued, “She’ll be fine, kid, I promise. But I need your help to make that happen, okay?”

  He waited till Toby’s eyes met his, until he saw understanding and acceptance in the boy’s face before he went about measuring the dosage.

  “And you’d better bring up a large bowl or even a bucket, some paper towel and newspapers. Just in case she’s not done yet.”

  Nick offered what he hoped was a conspiratorial smile and nodded Toby from the room.

  Fucking hell.

  This was a bloody nightmare. Caroline looked absolutely awful and he was deeply worried that he might be wrong about the food poisoning diagnosis. If he hadn’t heard about a multi-car pile-up and full hospitals on the radio on the way over he’d have been tempted to bring her in. If she didn’t improve within the hour, he was calling the doctor. He prayed he wasn’t making a mistake waiting.

  When Toby hurried in with the provisions, Nick told him he was waiting the hour to see how she was before contacting the doctor, cluing him in on the major road accident and how stretched medical services would be. Toby nodded and simply stood there, staring at the prone figure.

  “Hey, why don’t you take off your sweater and jeans and climb in the other side of the bed. Try to get some sleep. I’m going to get in beside your mom to keep her propped up and this way we’ll both be here if she needs us. Okay?”

  Toby continued to stare for another minute. Just as Nick was going to push the plan, Toby walked around to the other side of the bed, took his outer clothes off and, in his T-shirt and boxers, climbed in, tugging the sheet up to his neck.

  “If I fall asleep, do you promise to wake me if she gets worse?”

  “If anything happens that you need to know about, I’ll wake you.”

  Nick sidestepped a direct answer. No way was he promising anything he wasn’t sure he could keep. The last thing the boy needed was lies and mistrust on top of everything he’d been through.

  “And, hey,” he added as Toby turned on his side, facing the far wall, “you did great with her earlier, really great. She’ll be so proud of you.”

  Thin, narrow shoulders relaxed slightly but he remained silent.

  Caroline threw up twice more over the next few hours and Nick did his best with the bowl, towels and facecloth. She whimpered and moaned, but that last bout seemed to have emptied her body entirely. Toby had woken with a jerk the first time, disturbed by the retching sounds, but slept, exhausted, through the next.

  Nick figured the young lad had had more stress in his life in the last few hours than anything his “dead dad” scenario could have thrown at him. That’s what seeing someone you love in pain does to you. Toby had helped again, brought warm water, changed the towels and, brownie points here, emptied the nasty-smelling bowl when Caroline finally sank back on the pillows.

  Nick hoped the troubled, haunted look in the boy’s eyes would be gone by morning. And he really hoped Caroline would be feeling better. He’d call his old family GP to come for a house call anyway, just to make sure, but now, lying stretched out on the bed in his shirtsleeves, one arm holding Caroline to his side, he believed she was over the worst.

  No denying she would feel absolutely horrible when she woke, but her fever was only low grade now, a warm forehead as opposed to the furnace a few hours ago, so Nick pulled a light blanket up to cover them and allowed himself to close his eyes.

  A light hand at his shoulder had Nick stirring and, with a flash of memory, almost rearing upright. His eyes swivelled to Caroline nestled against him in the bed, her bottom pressed snugly to his groin – ah, that explained his rather descriptive dreams – but she was breathing evenly, her face pale but not pallid. Toby was sitting up on the bed across from him, knees pulled to his chest, staring at him expectantly. Nick felt her forehead and smiled at Toby.

  “Fever’s gone.” He spoke quietly, hoping Caroline would sleep deeply now for a few hours. “And she’s breathing normally. We’re out of the woods, my man, and with any luck, she’ll be right as rain by later today.”

  He untangled himself from the blanket and hoped the kid wouldn’t notice his early morning bulge in his trousers. In his defence, it had been that particularly luscious bottom pressed against him and he’d missed the feel of her a whole hell of a lot more than he wanted to admit since the “your cousin was my ex-lover and the father of my child” situation had occurred.

  When Nick came out of the bathroom refreshed, Toby was still glued to the bed, one hand resting on his mum’s shoulder. His head was propped sideways on his knees, his gaze on her face. Without looking at Nick, he mumbled something then, realising his voice was scratchy, cleared his throat and spoke again – so softly Nick had to strain to hear it.

  “It’s my fault, you know. I did this.”

  A shudder ran through Toby’s s
light frame as the words hit the air, never to be taken back.

  “No. It’s not.”

  “Yes!” he insisted, still not looking away from the sleeping woman. “I made her dinner last night. It was supposed to be our night, just the two of us, eating and watching Netflix. I thought I knew what I was doing, I really did.” He turned then, head still on his knees, eyes locking on Nick’s. “I’d made it before. Mostly. But instead I made her sick.”

  “No,” Nick tried again, but Toby wasn’t listening.

  “She hasn’t been happy with me lately. Not really. And I’m not happy with her. I’m so . . . so . . . ” He broke off, a quiver having entered his words.

  Damn it all to hell, Nick thought. The kid was carrying a lot of pent-up emotions and what adult around him had noticed? None, that’s how many. And Nick himself was to blame for that. A boy his age needs to be kicking or punching something – obviously, in preference, a ball or a punch-bag. Whatever, he sure as hell needed to get rid of a shitload of angst and, if what Nick was interpreting right now was correct, an equally large load of guilt. Time to man up, and he didn’t mean the boy.

  “Snap out of it, kid, and stop with the melodrama.” There, that seemed to work, as Toby’s head jerked back. No young teen boy wanted to be sniffling in front of another guy, so Nick figured some tough talk and some action was needed. “Get yourself to the kitchen and make us both some breakfast, why don’t you? I’ll make sure your mom is comfortable and I’ll be down in a few minutes. Let’s see if you can scramble some eggs.”

  Toby scooted off the bed and yanked on his jeans while covering a few suspicious sniffs. Shoving his arms into his rumpled T-shirt, he had enough sass left to ask, “Are you sure you trust me with raw ingredients?”

  “Kid, I’m starved. I’ll eat a box of dry cereal right now. All this nurse-maiding has whetted my appetite. Scram.”

  And, to his astonishment, Toby scrammed – a little straighter, just a little brighter, the light of a mission in his still-tired eyes.

  Huh. Well that seemed to work. Nick’s experience with youngsters was limited to his kid sister and she’d been the brat from hell, but dealing with a girl was different. Nick walked over to Caroline’s bedside and, reaching down, feathered his fingers over her cheek. Her skin was soft and warm, but naturally warm, not sticky or moist.

  Good. All good.

  He tucked the blanket gently around her shoulders, refreshed the glass of water and, picking up her discarded mobile, left it on the nightstand in case she woke before he returned. He doubted she would, but wouldn’t take the chance if she needed to call for help.

  He located his jacket in a heap on the armchair and found his own phone. He dialled the local doctor, to check in, just as a precaution, then headed down to the old kitchen to see what the kid had mustered up. His stomach growled and he increased his pace. Damn,he was hungry.

  Warm. Headachy. Hungry. Caro came to her senses about mid-afternoon. She stretched out a shaky arm and peered at her phone: 15.25. She swallowed. Shit, that hurt. Spying the glass of water, she hauled her body somewhat upright and took hold of the glass. Drinking – guzzling, really – she let her mind collect itself. Eyes closed, drained glass held loosely in her hands, she remembered.

  She remembered the searing pain in her gut as she practically crawled up the stairs. She remembered barely making it to the bathroom the first time – throwing up had never felt so good. She’d crawled into bed, weak and dizzy, but before long the remaining contents of her stomach had wanted an out. Christ! she’d really done a number on herself, puking what seemed like the last of everything her insides could offer over and over.

  She remembered sliding to the cool bathroom tiles on the floor, exhausted, drained and feeling like she was burning up even as the chills slithered over her body. There were other vague memories – Toby’s worried face, voices, strong arms, softness, more gut-spewing and then, blessedly, nothing.

  Toby. Toby? Where was her boy? He must have been terrified! How did he get her to bed? She knew calling out was a waste of time on many levels. Their suite of rooms was miles from the kitchen and the den – the only two rooms Toby would be in right now – and she doubted her aching throat would deal effectively with any kind of shout. She replaced the glass on the bedside table and reached for her phone.

  “Hey.” She didn’t have the energy to type anything else but he would know she was alert.

  A smiley face appeared almost instantly and she lay back, content. Maybe he’d bring more water. And drugs – God, she hoped he would bring some serious drugs. She gave herself permission to smile at the idea of a mum hoping her thirteen-year-old would medicate her, acknowledging, as she did regularly, that theirs was an unusual relationship. Damn, she groaned, last night was supposed to have been for them, food, TV of some kind and, if her luck held, a chat. She’d totally axed that plan with her vomit-fest.

  Soft shoe-fall along the corridor had her dragging a hand though her hair – ugh – that felt nasty – and she smiled expectantly at the door, which was slightly ajar.

  “We thought you might be hungry.”

  She heard her son’s voice before he entered and the door was obviously kicked open as a tray appeared first.

  We? We who? was all she had time to think before the welcome sight of Toby was followed by the length and breadth of Nick. What the . . . ?

  “Lots of toast and tea. And a banana.” Toby carried the tray carefully to her bedside as she shifted her legs to allow it to rest on them without tipping. “How are you feeling, Mum?”

  Toby’s voice was breathless, anxious, and she simply wanted to hug his narrow shoulders and whisper that all would be well. The tall man lurking behind the boy kinda cramped her style. But still. Toby needed to know she was okay.

  “Better, darling, thank you. And thanks for this, I do believe I’m actually hungry; though I can’t imagine how.”

  “Eat slowly.” Nick’s deep voice was low and calm. “And only a little at a time. Your stomach will feel tender and uncomfortable for a day or two, so you must be sensible.”

  So many thoughts whirled in Caro’s head, so many feelings at the sight of him here, in her room. And none of them made any sense. They were contradictory feelings, contradicting each other, for God’s sake. She was glad he was here, for Toby. She was pissed he was here because he shouldn’t be. He had no business in their lives – big, fat lie, Caro, of course he does – and Jesus! she must look a fright. She probably smelled like a public toilet. Trying her best to drown all the chatter in her brain, she chose to ignore Nick and focused instead on Toby.

  “Are you okay? Did you get sick, too?”

  Toby looked stricken.

  “I’m so sorry, Mum. I didn’t mean it. I thought everything was fine. I was fine. Not sick at all. I’m so sorry.”

  The last sorry wobbled a bit and Caro’s heart melted for him.

  “Come here and sit next to me, pet. Have some of my toast. Why the banana? You know I’m not great at the healthy stuff.” She smiled as she spoke, patting the bed next to her far side, removing any reprimand from her tone.

  “Nick said it’s good for lining the stomach,” Toby offered as he walked around the end of the large wooden bed frame and clambered up beside her. He reached across and snatched a piece of dry toast. “And you can’t have butter yet, either,” he continued. “Nick says it’s too greasy right away. Maybe later, right, Nick?” He tilted his head.

  Nick’s lips twitched in agreement. “You’d better eat the banana and prove me right. The kid here thinks he’s the only one who knows about food in this house. I’m here to prove him wrong.”

  He walked to the windows and pulled open the heavy curtains to let in the late-afternoon winter light. Combined with the soft glow from her bedside lamp, Caro could see Nick’s face more clearly. The razor-sharp jaw was lightly stubbled and his mouth was a thin, grim line. Dark shadows circled beneath his eyes. He looked as worn out as she felt. But he was here. Helping Tob
y, and her, and for that she must be grateful.

  Absurdly conscious of her night attire, considering he’d seen her naked flesh on more than one occasion, Caro figured she needed to thank him, get him out of here and get herself into the shower. Toby probably hadn’t washed yet either, but maybe now wasn’t the time to nag.

  “So, thank you so much, Nick, for . . . you know, coming over today and checking in with us, but we’re good now. I’m sure you’re busy and have places to be.”

  Caro heard her words rushing out and cringed at her rudeness but seriously, how was she to get out of bed with him there, and her in an ancient nightshirt and in desperate need of a shower?

  “Mum.” Toby was looking at her oddly. “Nick’s been here since I called him last night – I couldn’t get you off the bathroom floor and he helped you to bed. He washed you when you were stinking of vomit,” Toby continued innocently as Caro died fifteen deaths and the visual of “what went down” last night played on speed in her brain.

  He. Cleaned. Her. Vomit.

  Caro dropped her head in her hands, mortification staining her cheeks hotly. She groaned and peeped through her fingers as a chuckle sounded from the one person she pretty much never wanted to see again, starting now!

  “It’s not funny,” she wailed, “it’s embarrassing as hell.”

  “It is kinda funny,” the handsome, non-vomit spewing bastard said, “and you were extremely ladylike throughout.”

  “Ha! Nobody is ladylike while their body contents is appearing from its depths in violent bursts. Nobody. Oh . . . !” Toby’s words appeared like flashing lights in her admittedly soggy brain. “Jesus! and you washed me?”