When I awoke in the morning, I was alone. James’s coat was over the chair, however, and his walking stick was next to my crutches. Wherever he was, he hadn’t gone far.
As I hitched myself up in the bed, the door opened, and he walked in with a breakfast tray.
“Ah, you’re awake. Do you need some help getting to the toilet?”
“Just hand me my sticks. I won’t be a mo.”
By the time I returned, slightly out of breath and regretting I hadn’t accepted his offer of help, he’d laid out a plate with a couple of boiled eggs and soldiers, and poured two cups of coffee. On the bedside locker was a small glass of apple juice.
He was munching on a soldier, his own eggs decimated.
“Up on the bed, there’s a chap, and get this inside you.” He helped get my casted leg back on the bed without banging it
