on the bedside table beside the lamp.
She wrinkled her nose at the smell of burnt toast. “You cooked?”
He shrugged his shoulders. His voice sounded constrained and hoarse. “Not very well, I’m afraid. There’s ham, compliments of Lindy’s mother, and I’ve done up some eggs. Bread’s a mite singed at the edge, but there you are. Tea’s good and hot.” Not once had he looked up.
They stood close enough to touch. Elizabeth reached out. She couldn’t seem to help herself. It was the first time in memory that anyone had given a thought to her comfort who hadn’t been paid to do so. Even her father had ignored her for the most part after her mother died. Now Neil, despite his suffering, worried that she might be hungry.
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