Page 14 of Sweet Dreams at the Forever Home on Muddypuddle Lane (The Forever Home on Muddypuddle Lane #2)

Nora gazed at the menu in dismay, trying to find something tasty that wasn’t either loaded with carbs or wasn’t a sodding salad.

And she was sick to bloody death of vegetables.

Right now, she didn’t think she could eat another stick of celery or floret of broccoli without throwing up.

Yet here she was, sitting around a table with Trinny and some of Trinny’s friends from work, in a gastro pub in Thornbury on a Saturday evening, contemplating an effin’ bowl of leaves.

It made her stomach churn. It also made her want to cry.

‘Go on,’ someone urged. ‘Let your hair down. You can go back on the diet tomorrow. Aren’t you allowed cheat meals?’

Nora kept her eyes glued to the menu and muttered a non-committal, ‘Hmm.’

Trinny said, ‘You can eat anything in moderation, Nora.’

Nora glared at her. Trinny should know better, since she knew the reason.

‘It’s true,’ Trinny insisted. ‘I’ve been reading…’ She ground to a halt and bit her lip.

‘I’ve heard that the keto diet is the way to go,’ someone else said. ‘I keep meaning to try it, but I like bread too much. I’d die if I had to give up bread. And pasta. I couldn’t live without pasta.’

‘What about chips? Hot, salty, vinegary chips. Mmm.’

‘Oh, yes, chips. I forgot about those. You can’t not have chips.’

You can, Nora thought, when you don’t have any choice. And surprisingly, people don’t die if they don’t eat bread or pasta. She was proof of that – although, right now, she felt as though life wasn’t worth living. She couldn’t go on like this.

Scanning the menu again in the hope of finding something to get her tastebuds tingling, Nora wished she hadn’t agreed to come out this evening. She just about had a handle on her boring food at home, but being here was testing her resolve.

No matter how often she read that getting a grip on diabetes was a marathon and not a sprint, and that she needed to be kind to herself and not to make too many changes at once, she was terrified what might happen if she didn’t get her blood glucose under control.

‘Imagine a life without chocolate?’ the woman on Trinny’s left said, and Nora felt like pushing her off her chair – because Nora wasn’t imagining it, she was living it, and chocolate was the thing she missed the most.

Maybe she’d have the butternut squash soup? But that was a starter, so would it be weird if she ordered it for her main? And was butternut squash considered a carby vegetable?

Oh, sod it. One meal wouldn’t hurt, and she’d been really good since her diagnosis.

‘I’ll have the focaccia with balsamic vinegar, olives and sun-dried tomato to start, followed by the burger with Monterey Jack cheese and triple cooked chips,’ she decided.

She’d even have a dessert after, if she felt like it.

If she was going to fall off the healthy eating wagon, she may as well do it in style: there was no point in half-measures.

And when Trinny offered to top up her wineglass, Nora didn’t object. She would simply have to go on an ultra-long walk tomorrow to burn off all the extra calories she would consume this evening.

The hangover (if that’s what it was) began even before Nora arrived home that evening. Or maybe it was something she’d eaten? The burger, perhaps?

It started with feeling nauseous, then a stomach ache followed, accompanied by a headache.

Wearily, feeling like death warmed up, Nora collapsed into bed, exhausted.

Then she felt so thirsty she could drink the Atlantic dry, so she had to fetch another glass of water.

But of course, what goes in, must come out, so she couldn’t get to sleep because she needed to pee every five minutes.

Not only that, she seemed to have been lying awkwardly, because she kept getting a kind of pins and needles in her toes, like a burning sensation, which saw her stick both feet out of the bottom of the bedcovers in the hope it would cool her trotters.

Things finally seemed to settle down after a while, and she was gratefully drifting off to sleep and thankful she didn’t have to get up for work in the morning, when an odd and uncomfortable fluttering in her chest made her sit up.

Bloody hell, that was all she needed – palpitations. She used to get them quite often, but since she’d stopped drinking so much cola and coffee, they’d eased off.

Come to think about it, she hadn’t had any for a couple of weeks, so why was she having them now when she hadn’t consumed any caffeine at all this evening?

Nora switched on the bedside lamp and took a deep breath. Then realised that the vision in her one eye was blurry again.

Oh hell; she had a feeling she knew what was going on, but without being able to test her glucose levels (should she invest in a monitor?) she couldn’t be a hundred per cent certain.

This wasn’t a hangover, she suspected, but it was probably due to what she’d consumed, because she’d dumped a shed load of carbs into her system.

Panicking a little, she squinted one-eyed at her phone as she typed in what she could do about it.

Drink loads of water to try to help flush the excess sugar out of her bloodstream and do some exercise was the advice, so Nora got dressed, slipped her feet into some trainers, grabbed her water bottle, and headed out the door.

This was ridiculous, she thought, as she marched through the dark streets. This wasn’t what she should be doing at one o’clock in the morning. And on her own, too. If she’d had Biscuit with her, she wouldn’t feel quite so ridiculous. Or nervous.

Despite having lived in Picklewick all her life and knowing most of its residents (by sight, if not personally), Nora was tense and jittery.

Anyone could be about. And as she walked around a corner, she realised how true that was, when she saw the unmistakable figure of Elijah Grant running towards her.

Startled, she stopped walking and her mouth dropped open. Elijah was almost upon her before he realised she was there and, equally surprised, he skidded to a halt.

‘What are you—?’ she began, at the same time he said, ‘Why are you—?’

‘You first,’ he said. A streetlamp illuminated his face, and as he flexed his leg, she noticed him wincing.

‘I didn’t think you were supposed to be running,’ she accused, suspecting he’d been playing her, because, unless she was very much mistaken, running was precisely what he was doing.

‘I’m not.’ His expression was sheepish. ‘I couldn’t sleep, and I got to thinking…’ He trailed off.

‘You wanted to see if you still could?’ she guessed sympathetically. Hadn’t she kind of done the same thing herself tonight?

He nodded.

‘It looks like you can,’ she said, a seed of hope beginning to germinate. If he could run again, would that mean he’d no longer want to adopt Biscuit?

‘Yeah,’ he agreed. He didn’t seem happy about it, though.

‘But?’

‘It hurts.’ His admission was stark, accompanied by a tightening of the lips.

‘Does that mean…?’

‘That I definitely won’t be running anymore? I’m afraid so.’

‘You were hoping they’d got it wrong, weren’t you?’

‘Wouldn’t you?’ His gaze was level.

That was exactly what she was hoping when it came to her own diagnosis, but she hadn’t been prepared to take the risk.

She was due another blood test in a little over two months, and she was praying that her “number” would have gone down, and that her diabetes would be in remission.

Maybe she was also hoping that her GP would say, ‘Sorry, we made a mistake, you’re not diabetic after all’, even though she knew that would never happen,

‘Anyway,’ Elijah said, ‘why are you walking the streets in the middle of the night?’

‘Couldn’t sleep,’ she replied truthfully. ‘I ate a really heavy meal earlier,’ she added, also truthfully.

‘Been out long?’

‘Ten minutes.’

‘How much longer are you planning on staying out?’

Probably until she needed another wee. She shrugged. ‘Until I feel tired.’ Not true: she felt tired now, but she couldn’t work out whether it was genuine tiredness or because her body wanted to slip into a food coma.

‘Fancy some company?’ he asked.

‘Shouldn’t you go home and rest your leg?’

‘Maybe, but I don’t want to. I’m still wide awake.’

‘Okay, then.’ She carried on walking, and Elijah joined her.

The streets were empty and quiet, with few lights on in the houses they passed, and no cars or people.

There was a cat, a ginger tom who stood his ground on the pavement, forcing them to walk around him, and Nora silently acknowledged that the night was his domain, not hers.

As they passed underneath a streetlight, a bat flitted overhead chasing down the moths drawn to the glow.

In the distance a fox barked, and she shivered.

She was glad to have Elijah by her side and they walked in companionable silence for a while, until Elijah broke it.

‘What did you eat earlier to make you so restless?’ he asked.

‘A three-course meal with wine. Since I’ve been… on this diet, I’m not used to eating that amount of food.’ She’d nearly slipped up there, but caught herself in time.

‘You can’t fool me,’ he said, giving her the side-eye. ‘I know what’s really going on.’

‘Oh?’ Nora tensed. How could he – unless Kendra had blabbed?

‘You’re getting into training ready for walking Biscuit.’

Some of the tension flowed out of her. ‘Can’t resist a dig, can you?’

‘It wasn’t a dig. I was teasing.’ He paused. ‘Sorry.’ Another pause, then he said, ‘Where did you go for your meal?’

‘A gastro pub in Thornbury.’

‘Was it any good?’

‘It was lovely.’

‘I’ll have to try it sometime, though to be honest, I don’t eat out often.’

Neither would Nora from now on. ‘Do you get fed up of food, since you’re surrounded by it all day?’

‘Not really, although I wouldn’t usually order a pastry out. Too much like a busman’s holiday.’

‘You’re from Thornbury originally, aren’t you?’

‘That’s right.’

‘How do you like living in Picklewick?’

‘I love it.’

‘We don’t see you around much.’

‘We?’ He raised his eyebrows and Nora blushed.

‘It’s a turn of phrase,’ she said. ‘What I mean is, I never see you in The Black Horse, or in the shop, for that matter. You’re always out the back.’

‘That’s where the magic happens. You said you’re one of my best customers?’

Nora hesitated. ‘I was.’

‘But not anymore?’ His expression was teasing. ‘What can I do to tempt you back?’

‘I’m on a diet, remember?’ Her tone was sharper than she’d intended, but she was getting a little fed up with people trying to persuade her that “one won’t hurt”.

‘You’re really serious about losing weight, aren’t you?’

‘So?’ she retorted belligerently.

He said softly, ‘I think you’re perfect as you are.’

The way he said it made her heart flutter, an entirely different sensation to the one that had driven her from her bed earlier. But no less disturbing.

So it was fortuitous that she was almost home.

Hurrying to her front door, she said, ‘This is me. Thanks for keeping me company.’

‘My pleasure.’

The problem Nora had when she gently shut the door as he strolled away, was that he’d sounded as though he’d meant it.

And she’d enjoyed it, too.