Page 22 of Under a Spanish Sky

They stayed at the Hostal Somport for three nights.

The first night Luke was sicker than he had ever been in his whole life.

Finally, around four o’clock when he had nothing left inside him, he dragged himself to bed.

He was feeling very cold at this point; in particular around the stomach and kidneys.

He wrapped himself in all the blankets he could find and collapsed onto the bed, feeling as weak as a kitten.

He didn’t hear Amy come into his room until her voice whispered in his ear and her hands landed on his shoulder.

‘Is there anything I can get you?’ He felt so weak, he didn’t even jump at the sound of her voice. He tried to reply normally, but the words he produced seemed a million miles away.

‘I think I’d better just sleep.’ The effort of speaking these few words exhausted him. He lay back, pressing his hands onto his stomach to try to warm it. She felt the movement.

‘Are you cold?’ He made no response but he obviously was, even to the point of shivering.

She went off and stripped the spare bed in her room, returning with a blanket and a quilt.

She folded the blanket and laid it over his stomach, pressing it tightly around his waist. Spreading out the quilt on top of him, she tucked him in as best she could.

His forehead felt wet with cold sweat so she rubbed it dry with the sleeve of her pyjama jacket and knelt beside him for quite a while, her hand lying lightly against his cheek, until she felt sure he was finally asleep.

Only then did she get up and creep quietly back to her room, leaving both his door and hers slightly open in case he might need something.

She lay in bed, unable to sleep, and found herself reviewing the events of the last few months in her mind.

The idea of following the pilgrimage route to Santiago de Compostela had been suggested to her by their mutual friend, Father Tim.

And he really had been a good friend to her, she thought warmly.

She wasn’t a regular churchgoer, wasn’t even sure if she was a believer, although both her parents had been, but that hadn’t mattered to him at all.

He, more than anybody else, had helped her through the desperation of the first years of her plunge into darkness.

Having lost father, mother and younger sister in the accident, she had been overwhelmed.

In a few short hours, she’d found herself having to face the twin shattering blows of being orphaned and blinded.

Throughout the grim months that had followed, she had been deeply touched by the care and support she’d received from him.

He had encouraged, helped and sometimes bullied her to do her history MA.

When she’d got the result, his had been the very first number she had called.

She was very fond of him and he had, in many ways, taken over the role of father in her life.

So when he had suggested this practical project, as a first step towards getting her out into the wider world, she had considered it very seriously.

Indeed, she thought with a wry smile, she probably listened to him a lot more than she had ever listened to her father.

Being a very practical person, she had queried the logistics of the trip. He had been ready with his reply.

‘We’ll need to get you a travelling companion.

No…’ He had read the expression on her face correctly.

‘No, I don’t mean a chaperone like something out of A Room with a View .

I mean a practical person with a knowledge of the subject who can get you there, and that means driving.

You need somebody who can help you get the most out of it. ’

Amy had protested that the chances of a chauffeur knowing enough about medieval history were slim to say the least. Then, even without being able to see the smug expression on his face, she had realised that Father Tim had already got somebody in mind.

‘All right, I know you well enough by now. Spit it out.’

He had made a half-hearted attempt to appear unaware of what she’d meant, but soon he had capitulated and told her about this friend of his.

It had been quite clear from the first that this was not just any friend.

This Luke Patterson was clearly a very close friend.

So Amy had listened with interest to the sketchy and downright vague description without comment.

She had finally agreed to see Luke, as she had known all along she would.

However, as the day of the encounter had approached, she had found herself becoming more and more apprehensive and, as a result, prickly.

Fundamentally what had bothered her, she now thought to herself analytically, wasn’t just the fear of rejection, as she had told him.

It wasn’t just the thought that, after she had finally taken the decision to get out of the house and try to restart her life, her efforts might be thwarted before they had even started.

The fact was that the only way she would be able to accomplish this journey was by putting herself into another person’s hands.

She felt the frustration of handicapped people the world over: not being able to just do it, whatever it might be, without help.

Consequently, his reception by her had been pretty frosty.

And now? She allowed herself a smile at the thought of her tucking him in like a baby and waiting at his bedside until he had fallen asleep. So who was looking after whom now?

It felt good to be able to help someone for a change.

And it felt doubly good that Luke was the person being helped.

She had grown to know him really well in such a relatively short time.

And along with this developing acquaintance had come other emotions, feelings that hadn’t stirred in her for years.

The accident had happened just over five years previously and the deaths of all her close family had so completely drained her emotions that it was hardly surprising that her few hesitant attempts at forming relationships since then had come to grief.

Now here she was, confronted with a constant companion, every bit as constant as if she were married to him.

Almost as constant, she told herself pragmatically, thinking of him lying in the next room, cold and sick, while she lay here comfortable and warm, but alone.

She wrapped herself tighter in the thick quilt and tried to think rationally.

Before the accident she had had a series of relationships, some deep, some superficial.

Some had given her a lot of pleasure. Since then, her freedom to meet people and enter relationships had been blown out of the water.

The accident had robbed her, not only of her sight, but also of her independence.

Her mind strayed to the Welsh nurse. What was her name?

Nicky? Jackie? She couldn’t remember exactly, but she recalled the occasion.

It was when she was sent home from hospital.

Or, more precisely, when she was sent back to a near empty house, echoing with the memories of her family who would never again share the house with her.

There she found herself alone but for her aunt, who would no doubt have been happier on the Promenade des Anglais, and the new housekeeper, who had only just been engaged.

The visiting nurse told her the problems she was encountering with her boyfriend, Wayne or Duane or some such.

Throughout the whole sad story, Amy had listened sympathetically, while deep inside her she would have given a lot for a Wayne or a Duane of her own.

But when you’re blind – or at least recently blinded – there are very few occasions to meet Waynes and Duanes.

And even if you ever did, the chances of them treating you as a normal girl are as good as non-existent.

The chance meeting, the casual coffee, the proverbial glance across the crowded room were all things of the past. And as for a casual affair…

Being visually handicapped, she had learnt early on, could also mean being physically handicapped in other ways.

So now here she was with a big, strong and mysterious man all to herself.

All right, she thought, he was with her because he was being paid to be there.

Nevertheless, he was under no obligation to be as nice to her as he had been.

And yet she could feel his hesitation. She wouldn’t have been a woman if she hadn’t felt that.

What it was all about was difficult to guess.

Maybe he was just trying to keep things on a professional basis.

Maybe he was already involved in a relationship although, if he was, he hadn’t so much as hinted at the possibility.

Maybe there was some deeper reason. In spite of herself, she wondered if indeed the truth was quite simply that he didn’t want to get involved with a handicapped person.

Warm and comfortable or not, she shivered at the thought.

Her waking dream was suddenly interrupted by a fit of coughing from the next room.

She was out of bed and into his room before he finished.

She ran to his bedside and reached out a hand, feeling whether he was still in the bed or not.

Had the noise of the coughing in fact been yet another attack of nausea?

Her hand reached his shoulder and she felt immediately relieved.

Her fingers reached down gently until they touched his face, running lightly up his cheeks and brushing his eyelids.

She was pleased to feel a movement and bent closer to him so as to speak quietly into his ear.

‘Are you awake? Can you hear me?’ She leant closer to him and waited. His reply was unexpectedly clear, if faint.

‘Is it my imagination or is it getting warmer?’

She reached for his shoulder under his covers and felt him bathed with sweat. Raising herself to her knees, she stripped a couple of layers off the bed. ‘Is that better?’

‘Much.’ He sounded much more his old self. She felt such a wave of happiness sweep over her that she kissed him on the cheek. This elicited a muffled reaction, but whether of reciprocation or of protest was difficult to tell.

‘Is there anything you need?’

He replied quietly, but quite clearly. ‘A drink of water would be really good. I think I must be dehydrated.’ She easily located the untouched bottle of mineral water on the bedside table and twisted the cap off. With her assistance he raised his head enough to be able to drink from the bottle.

‘Small mouthfuls.’ She remembered her mother’s words from her childhood days.

Obediently, he sipped slowly and, after a few moments, slumped back onto the pillow.

She laid the bottle back on the table and touched his forehead once more.

This time it felt warm and dry and this cheered her.

His hand reached up to her head. Gently, he pulled her down until his lips almost touched her ear.

Only then did he murmur so softly that it was all she could do to make out his words.

‘Thank you.’

She felt what might have been the lightest of kisses on her ear and then he released her, lay back and breathed out deeply.

She sat back upright again, delighted that he seemed to be feeling better now.

She also found herself debating whether he had really kissed her, or whether it had been no more than a movement of his lips.