Spirit

by Ashe Barker

  “I know that.”

  I shake my head. He hasn’t understood. “I don’t mean money. I mean, I don’t have any cash, but I won’t, I won’t… I don’t want to pay you in any other way. I don’t do that.”

  “Me neither. The offer’s there though, spare room, no strings.” His tone is low, a seductive murmur. It would be so easy to believe him, so tempting. I take a massive risk and open my eyes.

  He is still there, crouching before me, at my eye level. His features are handsome, but I’d already registered that somewhere in my brain. More important, he has a kind expression, more gentle than I imagined at first. It’s something about the eyes. A deep blue, quite stunning. But are they honest? Truthful? Can I trust him?

  The truth is, I have no choice. I might be able to stand and make it across the lobby under my own steam, get back outside… I doubt somehow that he would try to prevent me leaving if I was determined on it. But then what?

  Where did he say we were? Headingley? That’s the posh part of north Leeds, miles from the city centre where he picked me up. I don’t know this part of the city, wouldn’t have a clue where to head for. And without my missing stuff I’ll freeze. I might anyway.

  I drag in a long breath, wincing as I attempt to swallow. My throat feels to be on fire, my head aches, and I really don’t think I could manage another step.

  I look at him, hold his gaze this time, though eye contact feels quite unnatural to me, and I nod.

  The man smiles, and it lights up his entire face. He is beautiful, and not just because he offers me some hope for making it though this night. He’s gorgeous, in a masculine, angular sort of way.

  He stands and offers me his hand.

  “I’m Matthew Logan. Matt. Shall we go up?”

  I take his hand and manage a brief shake. When I would have let go he holds onto me though and helps me to stand.

  “Can you manage or would you like me to carry you?”

  The thought of him picking me up again, me in all my filth and grime accumulated over months of unwashed trudging the streets and parks of Leeds, revolts me. I’m embarrassed to be too close to him even if he might manage to suppress his gag reaction. I smell. I’m dirty, my hair is lank and greasy. My clothes are grey, shapeless and threadbare, and have belonged to at least two other owners before I got my hands on them. The prospect of getting up close and personal with this specimen of male perfection is just too much to contemplate.

  I dig deep, then deeper still to find the inner resources to get to my feet one last time. Upright again, I shuffle in the direction of the lift.

  The man—Matthew Logan—is there ahead of me and presses the call button. The seventh floor.

  “Wait there. If the lift comes hold the door till I get back. I’ll just get your bag from my car.” He doesn’t wait for a reply. I hear his footsteps behind me as I peer at the metallic planes of the lift doors six inches from my nose.

  There’s a shrill ping and the doors whirr apart. The lift car is small but well lit, mirrored on the back. I catch a glimpse of my reflection, the first time I’ve seen myself clearly for a while, and I’m shocked. I never look any great shakes, but tonight I look quite ghastly. Unkempt, yes, as ever, but it’s more. My skin is sallow, grey almost. My features are sharp, my cheeks sunken. I look so small, insignificant. Was I always so pathetic? I suppose I must have been. That’s how I ended up in this mess.

  “Hold it, don’t let it…”

  Matt’s voice echoes across the foyer and his footsteps are behind me again. The doors glide shut, the apparition which is me disappears as the lift starts its sedate journey skywards.

  “Why didn’t you hold it?” Matt sounds puzzled, maybe even a little exasperated.

  I bow my head and stare at the floor. Would he even believe me if I were to say I simply forgot how?

  “Not to worry, we’ll get it back again.” He hits the call button again and takes up his position at my side to wait.

  “So, will you tell me your name, then?”

  My name? What is my name?

  “Beth Harte.” There, that’s it. Or very nearly.

  “Beth? That’s nice. Suits you. Shall we?” He gestures me to step into the lift in front of him. I’d never even registered that it had returned. I take a step, then stagger as a wave of absolute fatigue hits me. Matt flings my tattered holdall into the lift and wraps his spare arm around my waist. He hauls me in front of him, keeping me upright whilst he presses the button for the seventh floor and the doors close behind us.

  “You’re dead on your feet, Beth. How long is it since you last ate?”

  I don’t answer, preferring to sag against him. My humiliation seems irrelevant now, I suppose this is what it is to be past caring.

  The lift stops, the doors open, and Matt pretty much carries me out. He kicks my bag out onto the landing and lets the lift go.

  “This is my place.” He manoeuvres me across the landing and slips a key card into the slot of a door opposite the lift. The mechanism clicks and he opens the door, then helps me inside.

  Not for the first time I find myself slumped against a wall in a small entrance while Matt nips back out into the corridor to retrieve my bag. He dumps that just inside his doorway, then makes no more ado but picks me up. He marches through the open plan living and kitchen area and heads for one of several doors leading off it.

  “My spare room. Yours for now.” He opens the door with his elbow and carries me inside, finally depositing me on the double bed. “Wait there a moment. Do not move.”

  Obedient, I do exactly as he instructed, not even lying down in case I spoil his lovely pale blue duvet cover. Less than a minute later he’s back, and this time he’s carrying a bright white T-shirt.

  “Can you get undressed on your own or do you need me to help?”

  “I…” It’s been a while since I properly undressed. You don’t tend to when someone is likely to steal your clothes. I start to fumble with the buttons on my grubby overcoat.

  “Here, let me.”

  I abandon the effort and allow him to unfasten my coat and slip it off. He does the same with the jacket under it, and the sweater under that. Despite my layers I’m still frozen. When he has me down to my own grimy, threadbare T-shirt he starts on my pants. Two pairs of jeans are peeled off and dumped in a pile with the rest of my stuff, as well as my thick socks. I’m particularly fond of those socks, I nicked them from the Rohan shop. Thermal lined, the works.

  Matt stops and stands over me. “Do you want to do the rest yourself?”

  I nod, and watch him as he crosses the room towards the door. He’s leaving me to it.

  I cross my arms under my breasts and try to heave my tatty T-shirt over my head. I can’t manage it. I can’t even lift my arms as far as my shoulders.

  There’s a low curse, then Matt is back. He eases the hem of my T-shirt from my fingers and pulls the garment over my head. I have no underwear on. I am naked, shivering with a mix of fever-induced chill and apprehension. Despite all I said downstairs, I have still allowed him to undress me without so much as a protest, and now…

  The white cotton of the new, clean T-shirt slips over my head. Matt eases my arms through the sleeves and draws it down to arrange it around my hips.

  “There, all clean and dry.” He reaches across me to pull back the duvet. “Get in.”

  I do, and he tugs the quilt back up to my chin. I close my eyes, savouring the simple, blessed luxury of it.

  “Would you like something to eat? A warm drink?”

  I shake my head, but he seems not to want to take that answer. “I’ll get you some tea.”

  He stands, and this time he does leave the room. The door clicks shut behind him, and I close my eyes again.

  Chapter Two

  “Beth? Are you awake? Beth?”

  The voice sounds to be coming from a long way off, and in any case it’s not me they want to talk to. I’m not Beth. I’m…<
br />
  “Beth, wake up. The doctor’s here.” This time the words are accompanied by a touch. A gentle shake on my shoulder.

  I roll over onto my other side, hope to ignore the persistent tone seemingly hell-bent on disturbing me.

  “Beth, we just need to make sure you’re alright.”

  “Leave me alone.” Irritated, I mutter my reply into my pillow.

  “Soon, love. You can go back to sleep. Just let Sue check you over first.”

  Sue? I burrow farther under the warm quilt, determined to remain where I am. How long has it been since I’ve felt both warm and comfortable? And safe? All at the same time? No way am I coming out any time soon.

  “Miss Harte? I need to examine you. Would you prefer me to come back later?” A softer voice, feminine this time.

  “No, you should check her now. She was pretty out of it when I found her and she’s been coughing all the time she’s been asleep.” Matt is not about to give in. I hardly know him but already I recognise that tone. He won’t be letting me sleep. Not yet.

  “Okay. Miss Harte? Beth?” The female voice again, but hardening a little.

  I know when I’m beat. I prise open one eye.

  “This won’t take very long, then you can get some more sleep. I just want to check you over. Is that alright with you?”

  The doctor, Sue, is young, mid-twenties by the look of her. She’s wearing jogging pants and a skinny vest, and her hair is dragged up into a pony tail on top of her head. Despite her casual appearance though, her medical bag looks the business. I peer over the edge of my bed to see her rummaging in it. She pulls out a stethoscope.

  “Can you sit up for me, please?”

  I start to comply, but find matters taken out of my hands as I’m propelled into a sitting position by Matt who has taken up his position on the other side of me. He props a pile of pillows and cushions behind my shoulders. “I’ll go get you some tea. Your last cup went cold. Do you take milk and sugar?”

  “What?” I turn towards him and spot the full cup of cold tea on the bedside table. He must have brought it for me, but by the time he got back I was spark out. And soon will be again if I have any say in it. I gather my wits enough to answer his question. I am not yet so far gone that I would turn down a cup of tea, “What? Yes. Milk please. And two sugars.” My reply comes out as a rasping croak, but it’s the best I can summon up.

  Matt gives me a curt nod and leaves the room. Now it’s just me and the good doctor.

  “Just a few quick checks, then we’ll see what we need to do about you. Could you just lift your T-shirt at the back please and breathe in ?”

  I do as she has asked and the medic places the business end of her stethoscope behind my left shoulder blade, then moves it to the right. She continues to listen to my breathing, repeating the checks several times before moving round to my heartbeat. She smiles at me as she checks my temperature, then my blood pressure, an attempt to reassure I expect. I’m impressed at the effort the doctor is making over her bedside manner. I daresay I’m not the most sweet smelling patient she’s dealt with recently but she manages to conceal any distaste.

  We both glance up as Matt returns carrying a steaming mug which he places on the bedside table. I manage a smile, by way of thanking him.

  “Are you asthmatic, Beth? Or any history of it in your family?” The doctor is keen to press on.

  “No.”

  “And how long have you been feeling unwell?”

  For ever. “A few days.” It’s hard to tell sometimes, because I defy anyone living rough to ever feel ‘well’ exactly. I don’t bother to try to explain that. These more acute symptoms began perhaps a week ago.

  “You have a persistent cough, I can hear that. Sore throat?”

  I nod.

  “What else?”

  “Headache. In fact, everywhere aches. I feel cold all the time, shivery. And tired. I have no energy at all.”

  “Right. I see.” The doctor looks concerned, uncertain.

  “Do you know what’s wrong with me, Doctor?”

  “I’d say you have the flu.”

  “Right, so not too serious then?”

  “Well, in your circumstances, it could be. The illness has already triggered a chest infection which is affecting both sides, upper and lower. I bet you’ve been feeling pretty poorly for the last few days, haven’t you?

  I shrug, but don’t deny it.

  “The chest infection should respond to antibiotics. I’ll write you a prescription.”

  “Okay…” So what’s she not telling me?

  “I could get you admitted to LGI.”

  “LGI?” This from Matt, lounging against the wall on my other side and showing no sign of leaving me to talk to the doctor in private.

  The doctor is repacking her medical gadgetry. “Leeds General Infirmary. I could get Beth onto a ward there for the next week or so, just until the lung infection is settled down again.”

  “I thought you said antibiotics would do it. Does she need nursing care too?”

  “Not as such. But in Beth’s circumstances…” She turns to me again. “I understand you’ve been sleeping rough?”

  I nod.

  “That’s why we’re seeing these complications. You need the antibiotics, but you also need bed rest, warmth, some decent food. You need a bit of TLC, Miss Harte, and you won’t get that sleeping in shop doorways in the middle of December.”

  “I see.” I do indeed see, but that won’t make any difference. When I leave the cocoon of Matt Logan’s spare room it will be the shop doorways for me again, if I’m lucky.

  “In hospital they would monitor your condition, but the main thing is you’d be warm and dry and properly fed. If you go back out on the streets before you’re fully recovered you’ll just get ill again.”

  “I…”

  “She doesn’t need to go back out, not for a while.”

  Both the doctor and I turn to look at Matt.

  “Beth can stay here. This room does nothing most of the time, she can rest and recover, then leave when she’s well enough.”

  “Are you sure? That’s quite an undertaking. I thought you said you didn’t know Beth, that you only met her yesterday?” The doctor seems surprised. I’m a little short of astonished.

  Matt shrugs. “Like I say, the room’s empty. Beth may as well use it.”

  “It could be a week or two, possibly more…”

  “We’ll be fine. Did you say you’d be writing a prescription?”

  The doctor reaches into her bag for her pad and scrawls the details of the medicine that will apparently alleviate my condition. “Right, I’m giving her antibiotics for the infection, and some paracetamol for the fever and aches and pains. She’ll need plenty of fluids too, and rest. A lot of rest. I’ll come back in two days if that’s alright and see how things are going.” She turns to me, her expression firm. “And you, don’t even think of wandering off until I or another doctor tell you you’re fully fit. You’re just a fraction off pneumonia right now, and I’m not sure you would have survived another night out. You’re lucky Matt found you.”

  Yes, I tend to agree.

  The doctor picks up her bag. “Right, I’ll get off to the gym then. And we’ll let you get back to sleep.” She turns her attention from me to offer a grin in Matt’s direction. “Next time you need medical assistance, do please try to remember I have a surgery and usually my patients come there. In working hours.”

  Matt slings an arm across her shoulders, the gesture casual, and a little more intimate than I like, though why I should care is beyond me. “What are friends for? And you know I appreciate it, Sue. I don’t somehow think Beth would have come to the surgery, do you?”

  “Probably not. Well, now you owe me a favour. I expect you to feed Oscar without complaining next time I go skiing. And I’ll see you the day after tomorrow, Miss Harte.”

  I grunt my reply, already sliding back down in
to the soft warmth of Matt’s spare bed and wondering who Oscar is.

  And who are they to say whether or not I might have gone to the surgery? I probably would. If he asked me.

  * * *

  “Beth, wake up love.”

  I murmur my protest, but it’s half-hearted at best. Even on such short acquaintance I know there’s no point arguing with Matt Logan. I force my eyelids apart, but I don’t lift my head from the pillow.

  An arm under my shoulders soon puts a stop to that nonsense as I’m lifted into half sitting position.

  “I need to go. I’m working today.”

  I blink against the sudden onslaught of light, covering my eyes as he opens the curtains behind the bed. “Yes, you have a meeting. His plane gets in at ten.”

  “What? How did you know that?” Matt sounds astonished, and maybe a little suspicious.

  “I heard you talking. You and that woman who drove away in the sexy car.”

  He frowns but accepts my explanation with a quick nod. “Right. Well, yes, that’s the one. I’ll be gone all day probably.”

  “Okay.” Is he going to tell me to leave after all?

  “I went to the all night pharmacy and got your antibiotics and other stuff. It’s all there.” He tips his chin in the direction of the bedside table where I spot a small bottle of tablets, and a pack of soluble paracetamol. “And here’s a glass of water to take your first dose.” He hands me the glass, and a white tablet. I swallow my medicine quickly, grateful for anything that might help. Fully conscious now, I feel truly awful.

  “That’s good. Your paracetamol is here. Take this and go back to sleep. You’ll feel better later probably.”

  He hands me another glass, this one containing a white, fizzy liquid. I swig that down fast, despite the bitter taste. My throat feels like sandpaper, I so need the pain relief.

  “Right. I’ve left a thermal cup on the bedside table as well. It has tomato soup in it. Nothing fancy, just out of a tin, but it’s warm and you might like it if you get hungry later. The toilet and shower are through there…” He points to a door in the opposite corner of the room that I hadn’t noticed before. The mention of a toilet reminds me my bladder needs attention.