Please Release Me by Rhoda Baxter Page A

make-up for more than a few minutes.
    Thinking of Sally drove a splinter of sadness into his thoughts. This was closely followed by guilt. He shouldn’t be looking at another woman. His wife was down the corridor. He quietly took the paint brush Harry gave him and got to work.
    Grace risked glancing across the room to where Peter was on his knees, painting the skirting boards. If she’d known he was going to be there, she would have worn something a bit more flattering than her father’s old shirt and jeans that she’d had since uni. Next to him, Harry was telling him one of his interminable jokes. Peter seemed to be listening and smiling. He seemed less bowed down by life already. Harry had that effect on people. Good old Harry.
    The redecorating was going well. Grace had been sandpapering the old wooden window frames all morning. Her arm was starting to ache. After the tea break, she’d swap with someone. She stopped to drag a forearm across her forehead and lowered the paper mask that was keeping the dust out. The air that rushed through was surprisingly cool. She stood up and inhaled deeply. These masks certainly retained the heat. She thought about her mother in the last few weeks of her life. How uncomfortable she must have been with the mask over her face and the tube down her throat. The memory squeezed her heart. She had done what was best for her mother, for as long as she could. When her mother died, there had been a lot to do — the funeral to organise, the various people to be informed, so many people to thank. She had handled it all by herself, just as she handled everything that went before. She was used to having no extended family to lean on, but seeing the small gathering at the funeral, which consisted of mostly nursing staff and a few old colleagues of her mothers, had saddened her. Still, that was the price of independence. Grace pulled the mask on and got back to scrubbing.
    She was so focused on her task that she didn’t notice Harry until her tapped her on the shoulder.
    ‘Time for tea my darling,’ he said.
    ‘Oh, cheers.’ Grace removed her mask again and let it hang around her neck. ‘Give me a minute, I’ll go wash my hands before I take that.’
    When she got back, Harry was inspecting her window frame. ‘Good job there, Grace.’
    ‘Thank you.’ It was satisfying seeing the old wood clear from the horrible lumpy varnish that had been on before. A feeling of accomplishment. It made a change to do something which bore such immediate effects. She gratefully took the cup of tea and biscuits that Harry gave her, and sat down on the floor. ‘I wouldn’t mind a change of job though,’ she said.
    ‘I thought you liked being a scientist.’
    ‘Ha, ha, very funny. I meant, my arm’s aching from sandpapering.’
    ‘I’ll swap with you,’ he said. ‘The view’s better over there.’ He nodded over to Peter.
    ‘Harry!’ said Grace, in a shocked whisper. ‘You’re a taken man and so is he.’
    Harry grinned. ‘He keeps glancing at you, you know. When he thinks no one’s watching him. I think he might have a thing for you, my darling.’
    Grace felt her heart thump louder. ‘Don’t be silly,’ she said. ‘He just doesn’t know anyone else, that’s all.’
    ‘Well, the elusive Peter Wesley, never comes to any events, until
you
ask him and suddenly, there he is. The man’s wife’s been out of action for a while now …’
    ‘Don’t be horrible.’
    They both turned to look at Peter, who seemed to sense being stared at and looked up.
    ‘Tea break,’ Harry called over. ‘Want one?’
    ‘Oh, yes please.’ Peter stood up and dusted himself off. He took his glasses off and blew on them to get the dust off. He looked different to normal. Grace realised it was the first time she’d seen him without a preoccupied frown on his forehead.
    Peter walked across to her, stretching his arms as he walked. ‘How’s it going?’
    ‘Not bad. You?’ She gave him a smile, hoping