Free New Lease of Life by Lillian Francis Page A

the dark, Pip would have given anything for the bite of plastic against his palm, the cold metal on the underside of his forearm, and the cage of the cuff above his elbow.
    Luckily, a sliver of light from the doorway provided enough illumination to guide Pip from one solid object to the next until he could maneuver his way from the room.
    He pulled on the door handle, flooding the area with light from the landing, where the bulb shone brightly overhead, and rested for a moment against the doorjamb. Normally he would have cursed the audacity of a tradesman for leaving the light switched on, especially when it had probably been barely dusk when Colby had left. Yet Colby’d had the foresight to think about how Pip would get around in the dark and cared enough to do something practical to combat the problem.
    A tingling started in the soles of his feet, and he raised his injured foot from the floor and started to rotate it in a way that sometimes eased the ache in his ankle before he realized the feeling had nothing to do with pain. In fact it wasn’t a physical sensation at all, more a warmth that spread until it engulfed him in layers of memories from the last few days: Colby’s touch, his thoughtfulness, the easy way he laughed, his concerned questions where anyone else would have eagerly whipped his collection away. Soft, sincere blue eyes, the broad span of his shoulders, Colby’s casual way of jogging up and down the stairs, the intense concentration and appreciation when cataloguing Pip’s treasures, the genuine sorrow in a gaze that never once shifted uncomfortably away while Pip relayed his story.
    So many memories in such a short number of hours.
    Now, where did he leave that bloody crutch?
    Anger. The dull thud and clatter of rubber and metal hitting a wood floor.
    The brief flashback of sound and emotion left a flush of embarrassment in its wake. He’d thrown the crutch across the room in a tantrum. Again.
    Using the wall for balance, Pip shuffled slowly to his bedroom, sliding his socked feet across the smooth flooring rather than taking the effort to lift them.
    He paused in the doorway, expecting to notice the gleam of metal winking accusingly at him from the rug by his bed. Nothing. Just the toe of his bedroom slippers peeking out from where Pip had pushed them under his bed that morning. Just to keep things tidy. Nothing to do with Colby’s visit. Or hiding the fact that he wore slippers like an old man to stop the chill from the floor seeping into his ankle.
    Two teetering steps took him to the bed, and he gripped the wooden footboard until he’d regained his equilibrium.
    Could his crutch have slipped under the bed? It seemed unlikely, but he lowered himself to a sitting position on the floor, then stretched out to survey the area under his bed.
    Nothing, except some dust bunnies he’d need to speak to his cleaner about and his slippers. He pushed himself back up and snagged his slippers before pulling himself up onto the bed.
    Slipping his feet into the plush embrace of sheepskin, Pip allowed a satisfied sigh to escape from his lips. He took a moment to enjoy the sensation, an appreciation he would never confess to a living soul, especially his mother, who had bought them for him. After the fight he’d put up trying to reject the gift, he couldn’t now admit that they had been the most thoughtful thing she’d ever given him in his adult life.
    God, what sort of a crap son did that make him? That he couldn’t admit that he’d been wrong. Crabby, in pain, and in a dark place, the slippers had been the right gift at a time when gracious acceptance hadn’t been on the agenda. He owed someone an apology, but Thursday was bridge night, so the call to his mother would have to wait.
    Anyway, his phone was downstairs next to the laptop, and until he could find his crutch, he wasn’t getting that far. If he’d had the phone with him, he could have called Colby to see if he remembered what had happened to