“Are you okay?” Kathy slowly comes into the tiny bathroom, carrying a small torch.
“Yeah. I’ll be done in a minute,” I tell her with a sigh. I know they’re probably desperate to get out of here, but I have to admit it’s the best night I’ve had in years. It’s also a lot warmer here than out on the streets, even without the power on.
“There’s no rush,” she says with a shrug.
I use some epoxy, smearing it on with a flat putty knife.
“Haven’t you got someone waiting for you at home?” I ask, as she crouches next to me on the hard floor.
She shakes her head. “No, it’s just me. I’m not even allowed a pet as I’m renting, so no-one’s missing me.”
“Would you like a pet?”
She nods. “Yeah. We get so many cases in here I’d love to take home, but my landlady would have a fit.”
“What about this place?” I ask, looking around the shadowy room. “Surely your boss could rent this out to you once it’s done up?”
“When is a big word.” Joe suddenly appears in the doorway. “I’d be only too happy to have Kathy living above the shop but it’ll cost a small fortune to get this place habitable — especially now. My brother’s an architect so buying up old places is just a hobby for us. I’m not qualified or anything, I just pitch in with a bit of painting and decorating when I get time — which isn’t that often with everything going on downstairs.”
“Business is good, then?” I ask, wrapping some rubber around the pipe.
“Yeah, much better than we expected, in fact. Only trouble is, we’ve got this one and couple of other properties that we’re trying to do up and right now I haven’t got much time. I suppose we should’ve thought about it before and got them sorted before the weather got so bad, but we hadn’t even considered burst pipes and stuff until this happened.” He tuts at himself.
“Well, I’ve got plenty of time on my hands if you need any help?” I offer. I feel quite excited at the idea.
“Yeah, that would be great.” Joe sounds excited, too. “There’s plenty of work needs doing, and if you’re up for it, we could use a handyman for our other properties that we’re renting already?”
I feel hope burn inside me for the first time in the two years since I’ve been on the streets. “I’d love to.”
“In that case the job’s yours.” He grins, reaching out a hand to shake mine.
“Thanks, boss,” I say with a snigger.
“Do you think that’ll hold now?” he asks, nodding at the pipe as I attach a couple of clamps.
“You can always sack me if it doesn’t,” I tell him, cheekily. “It needs to settle like that for about an hour before I can put a waterproof seal over it – unless you want me to come back tomorrow? Then I’ll need to check it for leaks before we can trust having the water switched back on.”
“Well, I’ll be here anyway as we’ve got animals staying overnight, so you’re welcome to join me if you want a roof over your head for a change?” Joe offers. “Normally I’d have the TV on and a warm drink but you can see how we’re fixed.” He grimaces.
“It’s okay. Why don’t you get on home? I can stay here tonight. It’ll save me having to walk back to the Tube on my own anyway,” Kathy offers quickly.
My heart lurches.
“Well...” Joe doesn’t look too sure.
“When did you say that baby’s due?” I check.
He gets the message loud and clear. “You’ve got a point there, mate. Well, if you two are sure?”
“Yeah, we’ll be fine. You get going, I’m sure Caroline’ll be relieved to have you home tonight,” Kathy says, clearly not taking no for an answer.
I smile, pleased to see she can be quite assertive when she’s got her heart set on something – and I’m hoping that heart of hers is set on me.
Chapter 5
“As Joe said, usually have the little TV on when we stay over,” Kathy explains. ”I hope it won’t be too boring for you without it.”
“I haven’t watched any telly for a couple of years,” I tell her. “I don’t miss it.”
She smiles. We’ve got the large torch on the coffee table in front of us, acting like a lamp. “It must be horrid being out in all weathers,” she says, “does it make you feel vulnerable?”
I shrug, stoking Muttbags, who’s curled up at my feet as I sit next to her on a padded sofa in the reception area. “Sometimes, I suppose, when we get rowdy drunks wandering the streets, but we can look after ourselves.”
She nods. “It’s a good job. I’d hate to be out there all night.”
“You took a risk, approaching that man with the dog,” I tell her.
Even in the limited light I can see her blush.
“I was just concerned about his dog. He looked like he was starving and he was whining,” she tells me. “And the man was okay about it until I felt the poor mutt’s ribs, then he yelled at me and swiped me across the face.” She rubs her forehead, as though remembering the pain.
“What did he look like?”
She bites her lip. “He had a black beard and moustache. Much thicker and bushier than yours. And he was wearing a dark green coat. The dog looked really skinny — you’d have thought it was a whippet or a greyhound or something, but it wasn’t. I think it was part lab, judging by its face. Poor thing.”
I nod, anger roiling in my stomach. Definitely the guy I saw this morning by the subway. I’d thought — or rather, hoped — that the dog was one of those lean racing-types because of the way it looked, but it seems my suspicions were right. It was just malnourished. What makes the situation worse is knowing that when passers-by leave money it’s usually for the dog, not us humans, so that bastard was clearly keeping it for himself. Shithead! Looks like he just uses the mutt to earn himself a good meal.
“Are you from around here?” I ask, trying to cheer her up a little. She’s so sensitive; I can see that just thinking about that poor animal has brought her down.
“No, I came to London for my veterinary studies,” she says. “Then I got the chance of this job so I took it. My family are down in Kent. How about you?”
“Yeah, I was brought up in Hammersmith,” I tell her. “My parents moved up north, though, so I don’t see anything of them. When I left the Army I thought I’d have a better chance of work down here so I came back.”
She doesn’t ask, but I go on to explain how I ended up on the streets anyway. That girl certainly wears her heart on her sleeve, as she looks like she’s going to cry when I tell her how Fiona threw me out.
“I’d better go and see how that pipe’s doing,” I say after a while. I’m enjoying chatting with her — she’s so easy to talk to, but I have to remember the reason why I’m here.
“I’ll hold the torch,” she offers, following me up.
The pipe’s still dry and the rubber’s set securely, so I bind some water resistant tape around it.
“And now for the moment of truth.” I slowly turn the water valve back on and wait with bated breath. It’s the first time I’ve actually done this job for real and I feel a flutter of excitement as I run my hand over the pipe and note that it’s still bone dry.
“You did it!” Kathy flings herself into my arms, and I automatically hold her, stunned but not disappointed at her reaction. “You’re a genius!”
I chuckle. “Well, I wouldn’t go that far,” I assure her, flattered. I don’t think I’ve ever been called that in my life, and I’m thrilled that such a compliment is coming from someone as lovely as her.
She feels soft in my arms and I’m surrounded by the scent of her floral perfume. I hope I smell okay, and remember it’s been a while since I had a shower. I slowly let go of her in the pretence of gathering up the equipment.
“Joe’ll be really pleased,” Kathy goes on, excitedly. “He was horrified when the ceiling came down. He was talking about having to close for a few days while we got it all sorted, and we just can’t afford to do that with all the bookings
we’ve got. It’d be a shame to lose all the customers when we’ve only just got them.”
“I’ll check the electrics in the morning,” I tell her, following her downstairs. “As long as the sockets and fittings aren’t flooded we should be okay to get the power back on. If we clean up the mess in the waiting room, do you think he’d mind cordoning off the part below the hole in the ceiling, just while I fix it? That way it’ll be business as usual.”
She turns around to beam at me. “He’ll be so relieved. He was worried he might have to tell the kennel maid not to come in tomorrow — she’s only part-time and needs the money. If we had to close down, even for a few days it would be awful for her.”
I smile at her. She obviously cares a lot about this place and the people she works with. We go through to the back of the surgery where I leave the equipment on top of one of the work-surfaces.
“I’ll just check on our patients,” she says. “The other torch is on there if you want to go and get comfy again.”
She shines the large torch on a smaller one which is lying on top of Joe’s toolbox and I pick it up along with a screwdriver and go back through to the reception area. Muttbags has made himself at home on a dry patch of carpet and is splayed out, snoring his head off. While Kathy sees to the animals I quickly stand on a chair and unscrew the rosette in the centre ceiling light. It’s bone-dry. The wall-sockets are dry, too, when I open them up. It’s good to know the electricity should be safe to go back on, but I think I’ll keep quiet about that for now. We don’t need the TV on and it’s much more romantic doing everything by torchlight.
Joe was right about Kathy doing a good job in furnishing this area. It’s pale shades of mint and peach with warm wood on the table and ends of the large sofas. Everything has clean lines and looks comforting yet smart. The middle of the floor is taken up with a large, square deep brown carpet with a thick pile, but all around it the parquet floor has been polished up — I can just see the light of my torch bouncing off it. Practical, yet warm. A bit like the girl herself!
“They’re all fine,” she announces, coming into the room with a packet of chocolate biscuits and a huge quilt. She places the large torch on the coffee table again and sits back on the sofa next to me.
“Are you cold?” she asks, holding up the quilt.
Normally I might have quipped back with something snarky like ‘you don’t know what cold is!’ but with her I don’t want to be like that. She deserves better. And she’ll get it, I’ve decided.
I’m not really chilly, but I can’t deny that the thought of cuddling up with her under that quilt is making my insides melt.
“Yeah, want a hand?” I reach out and help her arrange it over us both. We kick off our shoes and get comfy, my arm around the back of the sofa, ready to drop onto her shoulder at any given moment.
Her body’s warm and soft against mine and I’m smothered in that pretty perfume once again. We chat about our families and I’m surprised at how easy it is to open up to her.
“I was afraid I’d disappointed my folks when I had to leave the Army,” I tell her, ruefully. “A lot of us left after our tour of Afghanistan with PTSD — some worse than others. It didn’t really affect me, but they diagnosed me anyway.”
“They must have had reason to think you had it,” she says, clearly puzzled.
I shrug. “I suppose I was bit quick-tempered, and I had nightmares like you wouldn’t believe, but that’s about it.” I grimace. “I’m not loopy or anything.”
She giggles. “I know that.”
I’m surprised how relieved I feel. “I went to counselling, too.” I’m keen to assure her that she’s got nothing to fear from me. I’m not some crazed lunatic or anything. In fact, I’m surprised that she’s happy to stay with me tonight, being as she doesn’t exactly know me — and especially after getting hit by that fuckwad the other night!
“Did it help?”
“I dunno.” I shrug again. “I suppose I understood better why I felt the way I do. It doesn’t stop me being guilty thought, does it?” The thought gives me that sinking feeling in my gut again. It always does that.
“I don’t think you’re guilty,” she says matter-of-factly. “There was nothing you could’ve done to help those men, but you were able to help the ones in the other platoon. You saved their lives. I think that’s wonderful.”
She doesn’t sound like she’s trying to flatter me; she’s just telling it how she sees it. The thought makes me snigger. Usually people tell me what they think I want to hear, or ask me probing questions to make me try to look at things differently, but not her. She just comes out with it, blunt as you like. It’s all black and white with her and I can’t help loving her attitude. I’m reminded how she reacted to me when I was suspicious of her the other night when she stopped by to help Muttbags. She shrugged it off when I misunderstood what she was there for, despite how rude I was. She only looked hurt when I got a bit personal. I hate myself for doing that.
Warmth floods my stomach. She’s called me a genius and wonderful all in the space of a couple of hours. I never thought I’d be able to impress a girl this much in a million years. And I’m really glad it’s her that thinks so highly of me.
Her head leans onto my shoulder and I hear her soft breathing right next to my ear. I allow my arm to sink down onto her as I drift into the most peaceful sleep of my life.
I’m not sure how long I slept before I feel a nudge. My befuddled brain is confused that it’s not a wet nose that’s stroking my face, but the soft hand of a beautiful woman. At first I think I must still be dreaming, but her soft voice permeates my mind and I quickly open my eyes.
“Chris, wake up.” Kathy’s smiling at me in the dim light of the torch. We must have left it on last night as it looks like the battery’s running down. “I need some help.”
I spring into action, suddenly getting my bearings. I don’t remember ever waking up so warm — I’d been wearing my coat under the quilt and now I’m quite sticky. “What’s up?”
“It’s Lady. She’s having her pups,” Kathy says quickly. “I think she’s okay, but I could use a hand.”
“Of course.”
I follow her into the back of the surgery where the large cages house the animals staying overnight.
“Can you grab some of that newspaper?” Kathy points to a large stack of the stuff behind the door and I grab what I can.
We spread it out around the pen, where a large bitch is quietly getting on with the job of giving birth. She’s lying on a soft blanket and the pups seem to be slipping out quite easily. The newspaper is for the area around the blanket, just to catch the mess.
“I’ll change the blanket when she’s finished,” Kathy explains, “this is just to make the clearing up a bit easier. The mess tends to spread a little.”
Fascinated, I watch as the tiny, bald creatures emerge from their mother, blindly following the scent of her milk and latching on to feed as soon as they can.
“We won’t touch them for a while, let them bond with her first,” Kathy says softly. “But can you just pass over that bottle of water? Mum looks like she could do with a good drink.”
I do as she asks, mesmerised by the sight before us. I’ve never witnessed anything so incredible. The gas heater’s giving off a little light, shrouding the room in a pale, orange glow, and I remove my coat before settling back down on the floor beside Kathy. We keep our distance, just staying close enough to intervene if necessary, although Lady seems to be doing just fine without us.
Muttbags wanders through to take a look at what we’re up to, but then meanders back to the reception area. I can’t blame him. I’ve often wondered what use males are at a time like this.
Eight puppies later, we can’t stop smiling as we watch them all fighting for space on their mother’s stomach. She nuzzles them all lazily, and then sighs as she closes her eyes.
Kathy strokes Lady’s nose, whispering words of encouragement, before turning back to me.
I grab a bin-bag and stuff the soggy paper into it while Kathy lays out the dry sheets and then we quietly go into the kitchen.
“Sorry I can’t offer you a cup of tea,” she says, after washing her hands thoroughly.
“Actually, you might.” I remember the situation with the electrics and check the sockets again, which are still perfectly dry.
I look around for the master switch and reinstate the power. Immediately the lights flicker on and the red dot on the microwave flashes into action.
“Great!” Kathy beams and grabs the kettle.
I remove my jumper, conscious of the stench of sweat, which embarrasses the hell out of me. Kathy doesn’t seem to notice, though, and soon hands me a large mug of hot tea before grabbing more biscuits from the cupboard.
It’s been two years since I did anything as ‘normal’ as sit in a kitchen drinking tea as the sun rose through the open blind. I sigh with contentment, wishing it could be like this every day. Kathy’s very sweet and chatters quietly about how they found Lady on the street and brought her in, worried that she was malnourished and about to give birth. She talks enthusiastically about the other animals in the surgery’s kennels and I’m touched at how much love she has for the helpless critters. I wonder if any of that devotion could ever be lavished my way.
Chapter 6
A while later we return to clean the pen where Lady and her pups are nudging and licking at each other. They seem a little more awake now, and more conscious of each other, which is lovely to see.
“I might need a hand moving Lady onto a clean blanket,” Kathy explains as we remove the newspaper again.
I strip off my shirt and tee-shirt, hoping I don’t smell too bad, and take the dog’s weight as Kathy slides the dirty blanket from beneath her and replaces it with a clean one. Lady hardly seems to notice, still fussing over her pups, and we leave them in peace once we’re happy they’ve got everything they need.
Help Our Heroes: A Military Charity Anthology Page 71