Page 18 of Summer At Willow Tree Farm

Batman himself charged into the kitchen holding his hand aloft, blood dripping down his forearm and splattering Dee’s sand-blasted stone.

‘Move,’ he said as he nudged her aside at the sink.

‘What happened to your hand?’ Ellie asked, as he thrust his hand under the tap.

‘I was sharpening one of the rotary blades and I nicked myself.’

Cold water gushed out, and ran red into the sink.

‘That’s more than a nick.’ Ellie leant over his shoulder – the deep ten-centimetre gash bisected his palm and sliced under his thumb. So much for Art’s useful skills, the guy couldn’t even sharpen a rotary blade without sawing off a hand.

He shot Ellie a caustic look over his shoulder, then shifted to block her view. ‘Get me a tea towel. It’ll be fine once it’s wrapped up.’

‘You’re going to need more than a tea towel,’ she said, as she checked the drawers, finally finding a pile of clean towels and fishing out a fistful. She lifted one from the top of the pile – ominously decorated with pictures of Druid worship at Stonehenge – and handed it to him, the metallic smell of fresh blood making her head swim.

Art wound the towel round his hand, tying the makeshift bandage off with his teeth. The blood started to seep through the fabric.

‘You are not serious?’ Ellie stepped into his path as he went to leave. ‘You need to get that stitched to stop the bleeding.’

‘It’s fine,’ he said through gritted teeth, the mutinous scowl reminding her of Josh when he’d been a fractious toddler. Josh, though, had never been this stubborn, or this stupid.

‘Plus it could get infected,’ she added. ‘And then you’ll lose it.’

‘Get a grip, Princess Drama.’ The old insult might have had more impact if she couldn’t see the greasy pallor beneath his scowl.

‘No I won’t, Captain Dickhead,’ she replied.

What was the guy trying to prove? That he could saw off his hand and keep on going? This was beyond ridiculous.

‘I’m not kidding,’ she continued. ‘You need to go to A and E.’

His face paled even more.

Whipping another tea towel off the pile, she took his hand and bound it more tightly in a vain attempt to stem the blood flow. His breath gushed out against her forehead. She tied two more towels together to create a makeshift sling.

‘Keep it elevated,’ she said, as she knotted the towels at his nape. ‘Until we get to Gratesbury.’

If she remembered correctly, there was a minor injuries unit there. Hopefully it was still there or they’d have to carry on to Salisbury, which was at least an hour away.

‘I’m not going to a hospital,’ he said.

‘Yes, you are, because I refuse to let you bleed out all over my mum’s kitchen.’ Taking his elbow, she led him towards the door. ‘Getting the stains out of these flagstones would be a total bitch.’

He shrugged out of her hold. ‘If I’ve got to go, I’ll drive myself.’

‘With one hand? I don’t think so.’ She grabbed his elbow again and tugged him towards the door, her temper riding roughshod over the ego slap.

So Art would rather lose a hand then spend twenty minutes in a confined space with her.

‘Wait there.’ She left him standing in the hallway, as she took the stairs two at a time to get her car keys. ‘And stop being a douche canoe.’

‘What the hell’s a douche canoe?’ he shouted after her.

‘A guy with way too much testosterone and not nearly enough common sense,’ she shouted back, taking a wild guess.

CHAPTER SIX

‘For Christ’s sake, slow down. I’m not going to bleed to death in the next ten seconds.’