Thursday

Two things were ruined last night. One was the rug that the roll top bath stands upon; now sodden because our inability to keep our hands off each other lapped water over the side. The other was dinner being left in the oven for too long. 

My pouted words to Harry about his culinary efforts being dried out were met with his cheeky grinned response that he was relieved it was only dinner that was dry! Amusingly shocked, I swatted his arm but he just burst out laughing and tickled my sides as he snuggled his mouth into my neck and peppered it with kisses.  The end result was more slopping water!

There is no doubt that Harry was the spark I needed to reignite my touch-paper and fade away the anxiety from earlier in the week. I am in no way counting my chickens that all aspects of that anxiety are gone, after all I am still taking the offending meds. However, thanks to him it was an incredible part-coming back together in our relaxed tub soak.

Afterwards, we relished each other in silence again amongst the floating flowers.  Tightly wrapped around one another, the only sound was the occasional sloshing of disturbed water caused by the gentle movements of our bodies from caresses of lips, strokes on skin and squeezes of entwined limbs.

Only when the bath was too cold to suffer any longer did we unravel ourselves.  I was so tired that Harry lifted me out and we quickly dried to resume our togetherness in bed. He wore his boxers again and threw me his treasured vintage Rolling Stones t-shirt, complete with age holes and comforting Eau d'Harry.

Such is our complete and satisfied snugness, we wake in exactly the same tangle that we drifted off to sleep in. Harry's bath-floral perfumed skin is soft beneath my cheek and mixed with the scent of us, woven into crisp freshly laundered sheets, arouses my senses before I even open my eyes. This is truly a contentment that I am beginning to wish could welcome my every new day.

As promised, Mum arrives to pick me up for my hospital appointment at exactly 10am. Much to his amusement, I have been kissing Harry goodbye since 9.30am. My excuse is that I need to give him four days worth of kisses to tide him over. As I have my wicked kissing way with him, he certainly does not protest.

We drive towards the hospital and a nervousness churns around my stomach at the thought of being back there again. However, I need not have worried because the outpatient department is located in a totally different area to ICU.

As much as I intend to say thank you to all the wonderful people that cared for me, so far that has only extended to cards and chocolates taken in on my behalf by Dad. I will visit in person but I am not quite ready for it at the moment.

Mum and I grab a coffee and sit patiently in the waiting room to be called. We catch-up about my time with Harry and she tells me all about her week back at work.

The physio is pleased with my ankle recovery and much to my relief declares the crutches can finally go, on the proviso that I continue religiously with my exercise regime. Due to an emergency, my Consultant has to reschedule my appointment until tomorrow afternoon.

Later that day, I speak to Harry at length. He left for Cheshire shortly after Mum picked me up and made Holmes Chapel in time for lunch. He chats effortlessly, relaying a dirty joke his friend Grimmy told him during their telephone conversation on his journey. I adore the way he laughs uncontrollably, knowing the upcoming punch line but making me wait while he tries to compose himself.

His cheerful and upbeat disposition is energising and when I mention his jovial mood and that Anne must be pleased to have him home, he laughs and confirms, "I'm simply just happy, Beautiful."

That evening I decide to treat myself to a little pampering. I chat to Olive on the phone as I do a quick pedicure and paint my toenails, then reward my hands with the same luxury.

Relaxing in bed and waiting for the polish to dry, I recall fondly my previous night with Harry.  My body feels lighter. I actually glanced at myself in the mirror when I was getting ready for bed earlier. Since my accident, this is something I have not been able to even contemplate of myself without getting upset.  He gifts me that confidence and acceptance of myself that I very much need at the moment and I treasure it wholeheartedly.

Indulging in a jumbo bag of Malteasers, I pop one in my mouth and my fingers linger against my lips. They are still tingly swollen from my Harry kissing onslaught this morning.

I scroll through my camera roll admiring all the pictures of him I snapped this week. When I realised I hardly had any photos of him or us together, I became a bit 'click' happy. Each time I held my phone up in his direction, he was unable to stop himself pulling faces. My photos are full of multiple shots of what look like the same photo but each contains a different side to his personality that shines through.

Despite my best efforts at persuading myself to delete some, I cannot bear to get rid of any of them.  The man who told me he never takes selfies seemed more than happy to oblige me in mine!

I text him a silly faces photo of the two of us with goodnight kisses and he replies 'goodnight, missing you Beautiful x'.

For the first time in a long time, I drift off to sleep feeling cherished and thankful for everything I have around me.

Friday

Friday morning my parents go off to work, Thomas goes off to school and my sister remains in bed so I decide to take my laptop down to the studio and start some serious business planning.

Reading my business plan, my mind reels with the amount of work I have ahead of me. From business cards, to local advertising, to agreeing terms with possible suppliers, to business insurance and the list goes on and on. I have some money already set aside that my grandparents left me and also some savings from my job at the florist but that will not last forever.

Contemplating it all, I work myself up into a stew until I recall Harry's 'one thing at a time' words again. I close my eyes and regulate my breathing just as he showed me during our yoga relaxation sessions. It calms my fidgety insides sufficiently just as my phone rings. Speak of the devil; he must have a sixth sense.

Despite it being only 14 hours since we last talked, we have no problem filling half an hour with non-stop chat. I finish the call smiling and he asks me to ensure I call him straight after I have seen my Consultant.

Renewed, I order the canvases of my exam pieces that Harry suggested to brighten up my studio. I rough draw a design of a business logo to show him later for his input and think about a project I have with him in mind. He is consuming my every thought today and although it is a giddy feeling, it sits perfectly balanced between my head and my heart.

It suddenly dawns on me that I have no car. Up until this point, Dad has been handling everything to do with my insurance company but I must take the responsibility back. I consider that it probably makes more sense to buy a small van instead of a car. Then I panic about driving. Then my head swims with the fact that I probably need to contact the Driver & Vehicle Licensing Agency about my injury. Calm Lily, calm.

Mum takes a late lunch to drive me to the hospital, whereupon we meet Dad in the waiting room. My Consultant is pleased with my progress and reduces one of my meds.

I ask him about driving and he confirms that as I had no blood clot to the brain, skull fractures, surgery and no seizures (my confusion on waking over Percy was a panic attack) that in time I should be able to drive again. He informs me that I must tell the DVLA about my injury and obviously my insurance company should already be aware. It is likely that my licence could be revoked for up to six months. This makes my heart sink but then I look on the brighter side that it has already been a couple of months.

Pulling out of the hospital car park, Mum asks me about the letters from Summer Haze. I frown because I forgot them. I am sure Harry put them on the table in the hall so I am not sure how I missed picking them up.

She suggests she would like to swing past to collect them as some have been there since before Harry returned from LA. Confused about how we are going to get access to the house, Mum confirms she still has the keys in her bag because she interviewed the gardener when I was in hospital and Harry was away in the States.

I text Harry to check he is happy for us to go into the house and receive an immediate 'yes of course' response from him. He is keen to hear about my appointment but I confirm I will call him when I get home.

We pull up outside and Mum says she will only be a moment; I might as well stay in the car. I become totally absorbed with Twitter and Instagram before I notice Mum has been inside for nearly 10 minutes. I glance towards the front door but it is firmly closed.

A little concerned, I get out of the car and knock on the door. No reply. I shout a few times but receive no response. With a sigh, I hobble around to the side gate to find it is open. I limp slowly towards the back door and it is then that I hear tyres moving over the gravel driveway. I shoot my stare back to see Mum's car disappearing and her hand waving ferociously out the window.

Frowning in annoyance, I reach for my phone in my pocket but as my glance looks towards the back door, I see there is a gold envelope pinned to the wood. 'Miss Liliana Jefferson' is written in gorgeous calligraphy across the front.

Intrigue with a hint of a knot fills my stomach as I carefully open it and pull out a crisp white card with familiar handwriting upon its surface.

You, my Beautiful,

Have a special birthday.

You thought I didn't know

But hospital notes gave it away!

So as you can see, I'm not with my Mum,

Instead waiting for you amongst the orchard plums!

Hanging inside is your party dress and shoes,

Don't be too long now, we've no time to lose.

Your Harry x