Free New Lease of Life by Lillian Francis Page B

the hideously ugly prop. Except he hadn’t asked Colby for his personal number—too scared of rejection—and the shop’s number was pinned to the board in the kitchen, next to the appointment card for his physiotherapist.
    Colby must have been the one to pick up his crutch, but where could he have put it?
    Pip had gone straight from throwing the damn thing to tossing abuse at Colby for not being a cripple—as if he would wish that on anyone else—before collapsing in a sobbing mess against the strong body he’d not moments before been cursing.
    He swept his gaze around the walls of the room, stopping briefly in the corner where his tailor’s dummy had once stood. I want everything to do with the clothes gone. Colby had taken him at his word. He twisted toward the side table, his heart skipping with a sporadic stop start rhythm as his eyes searched the surface.
    Pip let out a long breath in an attempt to calm himself. They were still there. His box of photo albums. Just as Colby had left them, one open and propped up against the box. Why had he thought Colby would have wanted those for his shop? The panic that had gripped him moments before now seemed ridiculous.
    Freddie, the tailor’s dummy, had gone, he still had his photos, and there was no sign of his crutch anywhere.
    Surely Colby wouldn’t have…? Pip eyed the door to the dressing room. It stood slightly ajar as though calling him over, but Pip had no desire to look into what must now be a dead and empty space. No, Colby wouldn’t have been so thoughtless to leave his crutch in there.
    It must be in the spare room, and Pip had just missed it in the darkness.
    Fifteen minutes later Pip stood on the landing, gripping the banister rail tightly. His search of the spare room had yielded no results, and he’d even checked the bathroom, to no avail.
    The stairs stood between him and the phone, although who he planned to phone at quarter to eight in the evening Pip had no idea. The chance of finding Colby at the shop seemed unlikely at this time of night, but then, his collection would take a while to unload, and Pip didn’t imagine Colby would leave such a precious cargo in the van overnight.
    It’s only precious to you. To him, it’s just stock.
    Good quality stock, though. No, Colby wouldn’t leave it in the van. But if he stood pondering the stairs for much longer, Colby really would’ve gone home.
    Despite a sturdy banister, without the support of his crutch Pip wouldn’t even attempt the stairs. Only one thing for it. He lowered himself down to sit on the top step and—thanking his lucky stars there was no one present to witness his reversion to childhood—bumped his way down the fifteen steps in his staircase until his feet hit the hallway floor. There had been a temptation about halfway down to push off and see if he could make it all the way to the bottom as he had when he was a kid, teeth clattering in his head, bashed elbows, and a wedgie to show for the exhilarating ride. But his parent’s house had a wide marble staircase, while his was made of polished wood and had a carpet stair runner, which would slow down his journey and result in difficult to explain friction burns.
    Not that he had anyone to explain them to.
    That thought shouldn’t have conjured up images of Colby, but it did.
    Just to be certain Colby hadn’t brought the crutch downstairs without thinking, Pip checked the rest of the hallway and then poked his head into the lounge. The wheeled clothing rails that earlier in the day had cluttered up the room were long gone, and still Pip could find no trace of his crutch.
    The next stop on the way to the kitchen—and Colby’s shop number—was the study to collect his phone. On the antique, slope-front writing desk, Pip’s laptop remained as he had left it all those hours earlier, the screen flipped open but black now. Pip couldn’t resist giving the touchpad a little rub just to see if the laptop was in sleep mode or the battery