by Cathy Glass
He sat on the ground, using a skip as a backrest until the pale-blue Fiat came into sight. He watched it slow as it entered the uneven road of the disused depot, before he carefully stood up. Why she’d chosen such a pathetically small car and in pale blue he couldn’t get his head around. He’d laughed when she’d told him what she’d bought, and had quipped that it was a woman’s or old person’s car. She’d gone quiet and said defensively it was the newer version of her previous car which she’d loved, so he hadn’t said any more. But just as well it was dark now and the area was deserted or he wouldn’t have been seen dead getting into it. As the car drew to a halt he came out of the shadows and hobbled towards it. The door opened and Rosie ran to him.
‘We must get you to the hospital,’ she said, breathless with worry. ‘Look at you.’
‘No, I’ll be OK after a shower.’ She linked her arm through his, peering at him with concern, then helped him into the passenger seat. He slammed the door, then shunted the seat back as far as it would go to make room for his legs. Flipping down the interior mirror he inspected his face.
‘Not a pretty sight, am I?’ he said as she got in.
‘I think you should see a doctor.’
‘No.’
‘Where am I taking you then?’ she asked. The interior light dimmed and went out.
‘To your place. I can’t let my parents see me like this. I won’t give you any trouble, I promise. I’ll sleep on your sofa or in the bath.’
Only the briefest of hesitations, then, ‘OK.’ She slid the gear into first and the car slowly pulled away. He’d never normally let his girl drive him, it felt effeminate, a loss of power and control, but needs must on this occasion. It would be the first and last time.
‘I’ve got another favour to ask you,’ he said as she drove. ‘I haven’t got my meds with me. I need the tablets quickly or my heart will start to reject.’
‘Oh no,’ she gasped. ‘We can get them now. Where are they?’
‘At my parents’ house. It’s over an hour’s drive each way, which is too long. But if I phone my mother I could ask her to meet you halfway. Sorry, but it really is a matter of life and death.’
‘Yes of course,’ she said, even more worried and appreciating the urgency. ‘We’ll go there now. Which way?’ She eased her foot off the accelerator, awaiting his directions.
‘I can’t let her see me like this, it would be too upsetting. Can you drop me off at your flat first and then go and meet her?’
Again, only a small hesitation, then, ‘Yes. If that’s what you want me to do.’
‘Thanks. I’ll call her now. She’s been wanting to meet you!’ He knew this would please her.
‘You told her about me?’ Rosie asked, her face full of hope and expectation of a future together. Women were so predictable.
‘Yes of course. It’s just a pity you couldn’t meet in better circumstances.’ He smiled. ‘We’ll have to make that another time.’
His mother answered immediately as he knew she would. ‘Jacob, your tablets,’ she said anxiously. ‘Have you got them with you?’
‘No, that’s why I’m phoning. I hadn’t planned to stay out. I’m in town with my girl, Rosie. She’s offered to meet you halfway to collect them.’
A pause. ‘Wouldn’t it be better if you came home?’
‘No, and it will take her longer to get the tablets to me if she has to drive all the way there and back.’ He could see Rosie out of the corner of his eye glancing at him as she drove.
‘All right. Where?’ his mother asked.
‘Dunsford Bridge. You know the lay-by there?’ Everyone in the area knew the historic Dunsford Bridge.
‘Yes.’
‘Bring enough tablets for tomorrow as well,’ he said. ‘Just to be safe.’
‘What time shall I meet her there?’ she asked.
‘How far to your flat from here?’ he now asked Rosie.
‘Five minutes.’
‘She’ll be there in half an hour.’
Chapter Thirty
Elizabeth concentrated on the road ahead. She knew she was driving too fast, but there wasn’t much on the road this late and Jacob needed his medication quickly. Anger and concern rose in her in equal parts. How could he have been so silly as to leave the house without his medication? It had been drummed into him by the doctors and nurses at the transplant centre that it was essential he took the immunosuppressants every morning and night or the consequences could be fatal. Andrew had said he’d gone off in a taxi mid-afternoon so he’d only had his morning tablet. It was irresponsible of him to cause them so much worry on top of everything else they were having to deal with.
And where was Jacob staying tonight? Elizabeth wondered uneasily as she drove. She hadn’t felt able to ask him on the phone and doubted he would have told her anyway, but she assumed it was with his new girlfriend Rosie. Elizabeth appreciated Jacob wanted to move on after Eloise, but she knew she’d struggle to accept anyone as dear and close as Eloise had been. And what was this Rosie like? Who would be attracted to Jacob as he was now? She couldn’t begin to imagine. Someone like him? Birds of a feather … Jacob had said she was a nice girl with a good job in the bank, but Elizabeth doubted his perception of nice right now. Then she caught herself again. This was her son she was thinking about in this manner. Perhaps Rosie was a truly nice girl and would have a good influence on Jacob. Dare she hope? It was decent of her to drive all this way at night to collect his meds.
Elizabeth concentrated harder on driving as she left the main road and began along the poorly lit B road which would take her to Dunsford Bridge. Her thoughts turned to Andrew, who hadn’t wanted her to come to this deserted spot alone at night and had offered to come too. But he’d already been in bed. Having not felt well in the evening, he’d had an early night. She’d promised to call him as soon as she arrived at Dunsford Bridge or if there was a problem. He hadn’t looked well. He was drawn, tired, pale and very quiet, so she hadn’t told him what she’d found on the internet; she’d wait until he was better.
She flicked her lights from full beam to dip as a lone car approached, and then onto full beam again after it had passed. A few minutes later the sign for Dunsford Bridge appeared; she knew the lay-by was just before the bridge. She slowed, and then pulled over and into the lay-by. There were no other cars here unlike during the day when sightseers parked and walked to the bridge to admire the view over the valley. Switching off the engine, she pressed the internal locking system. There wasn’t a house in sight, just meadows, trees and the valley. She picked up her phone to call Andrew but he beat her to it.
‘Have you arrived?’ he asked anxiously.
‘Just. She’s not here yet.’
‘Stay in your car and let her get out and come to you,’ he warned. ‘It might be a prank.’
‘Prank?’ she asked astonished. ‘What do you mean? Jacob hasn’t got his medication with him.’
‘I know. Sorry,’ he flustered. ‘Forget I said that. Just be careful, Liz.’
‘I will. Don’t worry, I’ll phone you as soon as I’ve given her the tablets.’ She ended the call before he could say anything else that might worry her, for she could appreciate that Jacob was capable of playing a prank. He was capable of anything right now, including making her drive out here in the middle of the night as part of some perverse joke, or worse. She shuddered and drew her jacket closer around her.
A car’s headlights appeared in the distance and then disappeared and reappeared as it made its way along the winding road. It finally came into full view as it slowed to cross Dunsford Bridge, and once over continued past the lay-by. Elizabeth looked in and could make out a man driving and a woman in the passenger seat. She set her gaze to the front again, staring through the windscreen into the dark cloudless night. A breeze stirred outside, whipping up some fallen leaves; it was always windy up here. A couple of minutes passed and then another set of headlights appeared in the distance, the lights on full beam, flickering
in and out of view as the driver took the road slowly, unsure of where the bends were.
Elizabeth straightened in her seat, her pulse quickening, and her eyes straining as she charted the car’s progress. Rounding the last bend before the bridge it finally came into view. Then it slowly crossed the bridge and indicated to pull in. She watched carefully as the car drew to a halt and parked a little way in front of her. The headlights were still on full beam so she couldn’t see inside until they were switched off. She peered through her windscreen at the occupant: there was only one person in the car, and slightly built, possibly female. The interior light went on so that she could see the outline of the driver more clearly, and the passenger seat was definitely empty. She waited, her breath coming fast and shallow, until a girl got out and looked hesitantly in her direction. Elizabeth opened her car door and called out, ‘Rosie? It’s Liz, Jacob’s mother.’
‘Yes, hello,’ she returned, her voice slight.
Relieved, Elizabeth took the packets of tablets from the passenger seat and went over to Rosie, offering her hand for shaking. ‘Hello, nice to meet you.’
‘Nice to meet you too,’ she said shyly.
‘Thank you for coming all this way and so late.’
‘It’s OK. Jacob needs his tablets.’
‘He certainly does. He’s told you about his transplant and how important these tablets are?’
‘Yes.’ Rosie smiled self-consciously.
‘Good. Is he staying with you tonight?’
‘Yes,’ she said quietly and glanced away, embarrassed.
‘As long as he’s safe,’ Elizabeth said. ‘Here’s his meds.’ She handed her the packets of tablets. ‘He knows when to take them.’
‘Thank you.’ There was a brief awkward silence. Then, ‘I’d better be off. Get these to him as soon as possible.’
‘Yes, of course. Well, thanks again. I hope to meet you again before too long. Perhaps you’d like to come for dinner one time?’
‘Yes, I would. Thank you.’ With a small, self-effacing smile Rosie turned and headed back to her car.
Elizabeth returned to her car and pressed the central locking system again. She watched as the pale-blue Fiat swung around in the road and headed back across the bridge. She had to admit she might have been wrong about Rosie. True, she’d only met her briefly, but you could tell a lot from a first impression, and Elizabeth prided herself on being a good judge of character. Rosie didn’t appear to be the brash, loud girl she’d imagined her to be smug about having her son. She was quietly spoken and came across as shy and kind, and not at all worldly wise. She’d prejudged her – something she hardly ever did and wasn’t proud of – and her assumptions had been false. She appeared to be a nice girl, as Jacob had said, and this worried Elizabeth for reasons she couldn’t quite put her finger on.
She was about to text Jacob to tell him to treat Rosie well, but stopped herself. Whatever was she thinking of? Of course he would treat her well. Why shouldn’t he? She texted Andrew instead: Everything ok. On my way home. See you soon. xx.
Chapter Thirty-One
Jacob lay in Rosie’s bath, the hot water lapping around his shoulders, feeling much better. He’d put his clothes in her washer-dryer and had made himself a cup of coffee, which was on the bath side within his reach. It was a pity there wasn’t anything stronger in the flat, not so much as a can of lager – he’d had a good look – but that could be sorted in time. He liked Rosie’s flat; it was on the small side but comfortable with a decent-sized double bed, which he had every intention of spending the night in, not on the sofa as he’d said.
He felt relaxed and at home as if he’d lived here for a while. Strange the way things worked out, he thought. It was almost worth being mugged for, although if Chez thought he’d got away with it he was in for a nasty surprise. But all in good time. First things first. Tomorrow he needed to get himself wheels and find a new dealer, fast. He was right out now and feeling the effects of withdrawing. Twitchy, nauseous, on edge. There’d be plenty of dealers in other towns away from Chez’s boss’s patch, he was sure, and they shouldn’t be difficult to find now he knew the ropes and once he had a car.
As the water started to cool Jacob climbed out of the bath and began slowly towel-drying himself, examining the damage to his body as he went. They’d felled him from behind as he’d run so he’d taken most of the blows on his back and shoulders. That was where the pain and bruising were worst. He turned his back to the mirror so he could see. Angry welts where the metal bar had struck him or they’d kicked him ran the length of his back, his buttocks, the top of his legs, and a little round his sides. Facing the mirror again he looked at his chest; apart from the transplant scar being crimson from the hot bathwater, his front had largely escaped injury. Just as well. And his face – he leant closer to the mirror – now the dried blood had gone it didn’t look too bad. None of his teeth were missing or loose and the swelling to his lip and cheekbone had been helped by the bag of peas Rosie had taken from the freezer to use as an ice pack. It now lay defrosting on the floor by the bath. His head was still aching, although the paracetamol Rosie had given him had taken the edge off it and he could take some more later.
Knotting the towel around his waist he left the bathroom and sauntered into the kitchen to check on his clothes. The dial showed the machine had finished the wash part of the cycle and was now on dry, but still had forty minutes to run. He’d forgotten how long these things took. The last time he’d used a washing machine had been at university. Once he’d returned home his mother had taken over his laundry again. Weird to think he’d actually been to university. He couldn’t picture himself doing that, it seemed like a different person. Not just the passing of time, but why would he have ever wanted to attend university and read business studies? He couldn’t imagine it, any more than he could imagine returning to the office where he’d worked. Picking up the remote for the television, he settled on the sofa, put his feet on the wooden coffee table and began flicking through the channels. All he needed now was a drink and a joint but that wasn’t going to happen tonight.
A few minutes later he heard the door to the flat open and close. Then Rosie’s voice, bright and sparkly despite the hour. ‘Hi, I’m back. Got your tablets!’
She appeared in the living room and stopped dead. ‘You’ve made yourself at home then.’
He looked at her. ‘Yes, was that all right?’ He wasn’t sure if she was niggled. You couldn’t tell with women, so he took his feet off the coffee table, switched off the television and, standing up, kissed her. ‘Thank you so much. I don’t know what I would have done without you.’
‘I’ll get you some water so you can take the tablets,’ she said, appeased, and went into the kitchen.
‘How was the dragon?’ he called.
‘Jacob! She was fine.’ She returned with the glass of water and sat beside him on the sofa. ‘She’s asked us to dinner.’
‘God! You’re in favour. She’s spotted a future daughter-in-law.’ She smiled, pleased, as he knew she would. It was exactly the sort of thing women liked to hear.
It was easy to get her into bed after that. Of course he let her go through the motions of bringing a pillow and cover to the sofa, but when he groaned and said he couldn’t get comfortable, she relented and said he could sleep in her bed.
‘But just sleep,’ she emphasized.
‘Of course. I promise I’ll keep to my side of the bed. It’s late and we both need some sleep. You look exhausted. Thanks again for letting me stay and collecting my pills.’ He could be so fucking reasonable.
Then once he was in her bed wearing only his freshly laundered boxer shorts it was a short step to reaching out and touching her and then she was putty in his hands. He knew it was months since her last relationship – she’d told him – so underneath her initial prissy reluctance she was gagging for it. She couldn’t come fast enough, and, for him, ejaculating gave him some relief from the twitchiness and irritability of withdrawa
l.
The following morning to his relief he found he didn’t have to spend long gazing lovingly into her eyes and telling her what she wanted to hear as she had to be up early for work. One quick fuck and he let her go. She brought him coffee in bed as she got ready and told him to help himself to breakfast, then kissed him goodbye and left.
‘Goodbye, see you later,’ he called after her. ‘Thanks again for everything.’
Alone in the flat and with time to kill, he felt obliged to check her wardrobes and drawers to make sure she was telling him the truth and there was no sign of another bloke. You couldn’t be too careful with women, especially independent ones like Rosie who were self-sufficient, with a job and a flat of their own. But he couldn’t find anything to suggest there’d been a guy here so leaving everything as he’d found it he showered, dressed and then booked a cab for 9.15 a.m.
He was feeling good, despite the soreness from the beating; in control again and more at ease in this flat than he’d ever felt at Eloise’s house. In the kitchen he threw some eggs into a frying pan with a large lump of butter. There wasn’t any bacon or sausage – Rosie didn’t eat much meat – but he found a can of baked beans and emptied that in too. He made toast in her toaster, some more coffee, and then, pleased with his effort, carried the plate and mug into the living room where he settled on the sofa in front of the television.
He’d just finished when a text came through saying the cab he’d booked had arrived outside. Leaving his dirty mug, plate and cutlery on the coffee table he picked up his jacket and with a mounting feeling of well-being left the flat.
‘I need to stop off at a cash point on the way to Grange Motors,’ he told the cab driver as he got in.