Free Candles in the Storm by Rita Bradshaw

the roaring fire with the hot water bottles at his feet.
     
    Nellie, who had patently relished every moment of the unexpected drama, had sent forth a spate of endless advice from her platform bed which Daisy and Enid had borne with fortitude at first until Enid had finally snapped, barking at her old friend to be quiet . Daisy had actually felt sorry for her grandmother who had only been trying to help in her own way, but she had to admit the silence which had followed had been golden.
     
    Now it was pitch dark outside and she was tired, so tired, but with a weariness that was in her mind as well as her body. Her da and the others . . . the thought of them was there like a constant drumming in her head and the worry had caused a physical ache in the middle of her chest which she actually rubbed a few times to try to alleviate it. She knew her granny was fearing the worst too now, since the other boats had returned. Not that she had said anything, but with her granny it was more what she didn’t say. Peter’s wife, Tilly, had come along to see them once she’d put her bairns to bed, and she was worried out of her mind. Five bairns, Peter and Tilly had, and the youngest only six months . . .
     
    A mumbling from the figure on the mattress brought Daisy jumping to her feet again, causing her grandmother to say from the shadows, ‘Easy, lass, easy. Looks to me as if it’s goin’ to be a long night so pace yerself.’
     
    Daisy had thought her granny was asleep. Now she said, ‘Do you want anythin’, Gran? A drop of Mrs Hardy’s ginger beer? There’s plenty.’
     
    ‘No fear, lass. Thanks all the same. The last time I had a glass or two of Enid’s ginger I turned inside out if you remember, had the skitters for days. Me backside wasn’t me own for sure. No, the odd sip or two’ll do the lad down there the world of good, but no one in their right mind would drink it for pleasure.’
     
    Oh, dear, her granny still hadn’t forgiven Enid for being a bit short with her, thought Daisy, as she knelt down by the mattress after taking the small pot of warm ginger from the side of the range. She raised the man’s head slightly, supporting it with her arm as she trickled a tiny amount of liquid between the half-open lips.
     
    Oh, but he was beautiful. The same thought that occurred every time she looked at him brought a pink tinge to her cheeks which had nothing to do with the heat from the range. She had never seen anyone so handsome. Her eyes moved to his hair, fair and silky and longer than the fishermen wore theirs, and then over his face to his throat and the wide broad expanse of his shoulders. She wished he would open his eyes and say something so she’d know he was going to be all right.
     
    She dribbled a few more drops of liquid into his mouth, watching him swallow with a feeling of thankfulness. He couldn’t be that bad if he was still swallowing, could he?
     
    She shut her eyes, squeezing them tight for a moment as the enormity of it all - her da, Tom and Peter missing, and the sudden appearance of this disturbing stranger who was so utterly helpless - swept over her anew. Life was suddenly all topsy-turvy and fragile, and it frightened her.
     
    When she opened her eyes again the sky-coloured gaze was waiting for her, its blue light even more concentrated in the soft glow from the fire in the range. Daisy stared back mesmerised for a second or two, and then she pulled herself together enough to say gently, ‘Everythin’ is all right, you’re quite safe,’ as her heart thudded hard against her ribcage.
     
    ‘My . . . my head. The pain . . .’
     
    ‘You’ve had a nasty bang on the head but don’t worry about it, just rest now.’ His had been a cultured voice, accentless, which went with the fine clothes. He was from the gentry, no doubt about it, and people would be looking for him. ‘What’s your name?’ she asked very softly. And when he just continued to look at her, she repeated, ‘Your