Making and Mending

Joyous news.

Kip reported that Wayne was driving her nuts.  Perhaps I shouldn't be  broadcasting  it  (and forgive me for doing so Kip and Wayne) but she agreed that this is  a wholeheartedly elating, deliriously happy fact - the happiest of developments in his recovery - and it must be shouted from the top-most deck.

Other thoughts have been unthinkable.   Other words unspeakable.

That such an appalling thing should have happened in my home, where my treasured people should be safe.

Hating my home for something that was not Davenham’s fault. 
Angry with my stupid, thoughtless, irresponsible self; a bloody great hole in the floor and no banister.
How could I not have foreseen the danger?

My fear for him is a physical pain but it is selfish.  His hurt is immense and actual.

I have to believe in the miraculous.  There is no other explanation.

 “As soon as I can I ’ll come and build you a banister.”

“No you won’t!  You’re not coming aboard until I’ve had one made.”

One has been made. 
Our lovely neighbour, Genevieve, took me to Wicks.  She constructed it in less than an hour.   

Simple, solid.  Safe.

“A week too late.”  I tell him.

“No, no!  Stop worrying - I’ll be fine.”

“As soon as I can I’ll come and finish the gangplank.”  He says down the phone.

Panic fills my throat.  “Stop thinking about it and put your energies into getting better.”
"I’m going to finish it now I’ve started! " He laughs.
I visualise him heaving and hammering and drilling.
“Good.”  I say. 

Come as soon as you can to do anything or nothing.   Come healed, skull unfractured, the nerve in your neck untrapped.