By the middle of October, Daniel could lift a full mug with his left hand if he thought about nothing else.
The trouble was needing to drink from it.
He stood at the kitchen counter and watched tea spill over the rim because he'd turned towards the window. A woman was walking past with a child balanced on her hip. Nothing more interesting than that.
He set the mug down.
For a few seconds he kept hold of it, as though making the hand finish the task might teach it something.
The knife on the board was sharp enough to go through the squash without much force. He had chosen a small one because it fitted more readily into the work he could still do. A larger blade wanted him to keep a thing steady with the hand which couldn't promise that.
Leah would be late. He'd begun cooking early, then lost interest, then begun again. The squash had waited through all of it.
The doorbell rang.
He didn't go at once.
A second ring.
Through the glass he saw Silas's coat.
“No.”
The answer came before the question. He hadn't opened the door yet.
“Leah asked me to come.”
Daniel stood on the other side.
“No, she didn't.”
“She wanted to talk about something.”
“She's not here.”
“I'll wait.”
“Not here.”
Silas moved so Daniel could see more of his face through the narrow clear pane at the side.
“Will you at least open it? I'd rather speak to you than a door.”
Daniel looked towards the kitchen.
The pot was on low heat. He had nothing else waiting, no reason to end the encounter except the one which should have been enough.
He opened the door with the chain still across it.
Silas looked down at the chain.
“That's new.”
“Yes.”
The man's eyes went to Daniel's hand.
“Better?”
“Some.”
“Good.”
Daniel shut his eyes briefly.
Silas waited, then said, “You won't let anything be ordinary, will you?”
“What?”
“A question. An answer. I can't ask if you feel better without—”
“You can leave.”
The man's expression tightened.
“She doesn't hate me.”
“I didn't say she did.”
“You act as though that would solve it.”
Daniel looked at him.
Silas took hold of the edge of the door.
“Don't.”
“Then stop closing it while I'm speaking.”
“Let go.”
For a moment the man didn't.
Daniel felt the wood beneath his right palm, the resistance from the other side. His left hand was on the frame because he'd needed it there to steady himself.
Silas looked at it.
Then he let go.
Daniel began shutting the door.
“Ask her,” Silas said.
He stopped.
“Go on. Ring her. Ask whether she wanted to talk to me. Then decide who gets to wait.”
Daniel could ring. Leah would answer if she wasn't beneath something, and she would tell him exactly what she'd said. Silas would remain on the path, watching him discover a small permission he hadn't been part of.
Silas turned his head towards the street, as though the conversation was over.
Daniel unfastened the chain and opened the door far enough to step onto the path. He wanted the man off it, wanted to see him go rather than stand listening through the glass again.
“I'm asking you to leave my house.”
Silas stepped forward.
“I'm not in it.”
His foot reached the sill.
Daniel moved to stop him.
It was a clumsy movement, more shoulder than hand. Silas caught the left wrist to move him aside. The fingers closed directly over the place where the scar ran back from his thumb.
Pain took the breath out of Daniel.
“Let go.”
Silas pulled him towards the door.
“Look at me.”
Daniel pushed with his right arm. It didn't move the man far enough. His thigh struck the edge of the little table beside the door, a bright flash of pain where the September cuts had been.
He couldn't get the hand back.
Silas looked suddenly concerned.
“Daniel—”
“Let go.”
He wrenched himself sideways.
The kitchen doorway was close. He reached for the counter, found the knife because he'd put it there with the squash still on the board.
Silas followed him.
Daniel turned.
The man's right hand came towards him, fingers open now. Daniel moved the blade across it without aiming, wanting the hand away.
Silas cried out.
Blood appeared along the forearm, a dark line turning wet almost immediately.
Both men stopped.
For a second Daniel couldn't hear anything except the fan above the cooker.
Silas looked at his arm.
Then at the knife.
Daniel held it too tightly.
“You cut me.”
“You wouldn't let go.”
The man lifted the arm. Blood ran towards the wrist.
Daniel's anger changed shape. Not gone, not improved, but joined by the practical horror of blood on his kitchen floor.
He put the knife on the counter, out of Silas's reach.
“Sit.”
Silas stared at him.
“Sit down.”
The man backed towards a chair and lowered himself into it.
Daniel fetched a clean towel. Held it out rather than touching.
Silas pressed it against the arm.
The door stood open. Cold air moved through the hall.
Daniel went to it, stood where he could see both the path and the man, and took out his phone.
“I'm getting help.”
Silas said, “It doesn't need—”
“I'm getting help.”
He spoke to someone, gave the facts badly, then more clearly when asked again. A man had entered against his wishes, grabbed his injured wrist, and he'd cut him trying to get free. The man was still there, bleeding, awake.
His own voice sounded distant.
Silas kept looking at the towel.
They were told what should happen next. There were people to attend, further questions, care to arrange. Daniel didn't put the phone away until he understood what he was to wait for.
Leah arrived before the waiting ended.
She saw the open door first.
Then Daniel.
“What?”
“Silas.”
She looked past him.
The man sat at the kitchen table with the towel against his forearm. Blood showed at one edge.
Leah went towards him.
Daniel moved without meaning to.
“Don't.”
She stopped.
He couldn't work out whether he'd been warning her or refusing something he couldn't bear to see.
“He grabbed me,” he said.
She looked at his wrist.
The old scar was red around the edges. His hand shook.
Then she looked at the knife on the counter.
“Have you called?”
“Yes.”
“All right.”
She stayed in the doorway.
Silas said, “I'm sorry.”
Daniel looked at him.
“Which part?”
The man tightened the towel and winced.
“I didn't mean to hurt your hand.”
“You meant to hold it.”
Silas looked down.
Leah asked Daniel what he'd been told. He repeated it. She put her bag down, checked the address he'd given and made sure there was room for whoever came through the hall.
Small, useful actions.
He wanted her to come to him.
Instead she took another clean cloth from the drawer and put it on the table near Silas. She didn't touch him.
“Keep that there,” she said.
The man nodded.
Daniel looked at the arm beneath the towel.
It remained cut.
No edges drawing together. No injury appearing on him while the man breathed easier. The film had made his body believe Silas could undo damage by deciding where it belonged.
Here the blood stayed where it came from.
Leah stood beside Daniel at last.
Her hand touched his shoulder.
He flinched because he was still listening for the next grab.
She left it there, lightly.
Later there were people in the house. Silas's wound was seen, his account taken, Daniel asked questions which forced him to return to each movement rather than say he'd been frightened and let that stand for all of it.
The knife wasn't part of dinner any more.
Neither man was allowed to finish the encounter as if the argument had merely gone badly. There would be more questions. Daniel gave the recording again where it was needed and kept the facts of this afternoon separate from what happened in his bed.
Leah stayed nearby.
Silas left to receive further treatment, his arm dressed for the journey, his coat draped over the other shoulder.
At the door he turned towards Daniel.
The face was pale now. Ordinary pain had taken the charm from it.
For one moment Daniel was glad.
Then Silas said, “You could have told me to wait outside.”
Daniel stared.
“I did.”
The man looked away.
After everyone had gone, Leah closed the front door and put the new key on the hook.
Daniel sat at the table.
The squash was still on the board. A piece he'd cut earlier had dried slightly at its edge. The kettle had gone cold.
Leah sat opposite him.
“I didn't ask him here.”
Daniel looked up.
“What did you ask?”
“About a thing he said he'd seen once. A boat repair. Cass said I should ask where. That's all.”
“He said you wanted him.”
“I wanted an answer.”
Daniel rested his right hand over the injured left.
“I'm sorry.”
“For what?”
He looked at the floor.
“I don't know yet.”
Leah nodded. Her face was tired.
“I'll make something.”
“There's food.”
“Not that.”
She took bread from the cupboard and put a pan on. Eggs, the last tomatoes, things that could become dinner without them having to look at the board.
Daniel watched.
She broke an egg with one hand, casually, and he hated that he noticed.
When she set the plate in front of him, he ate.
Later she helped him loosen the support round his wrist. His fingers moved, not well, but in the same difficult way they had before. He would have it checked again. He knew that. Tonight he wanted the touch to end without something opening.
Leah looked at the scar.
“He shouldn't have done that.”
“No.”
She laid her palm beneath his hand.
He placed it there.
This time it belonged to someone whose next movement he didn't fear. He sat very still and tried to let that be enough.