by D A Latham
I scurried back to the recovery room, an involuntary blush covering my cheeks as a result of a guilty conscience. Thankfully, Bessie woke up shortly afterwards, so I was able to concentrate on her, taking my mind off my traitorous behaviour. As I gently cleaned her up, I mused that maybe I'd done the right thing. My colleagues were all working unpaid overtime too, which was unfair, and if they were also being paid less than the law allowed, then my actions would do us all a favour. In the meantime, I had a pen to clean out and some medication to administer.
The suit was still in the office with the practice manager when I left, so there was no way of telling what was going on. I handed Bessie over to my colleague, Maria, who was equally conscientious about caring for our charges, clocked out, and made my way home.
I walked in to find a couple of letters in my pigeonhole. One was from the legal firm confirming that they'd received my direct debit mandate and would be in touch in six months to see if my circumstances had changed. The other was from the benefit office, telling me I was entitled to something called universal credit. I would get almost a hundred pounds a month towards my living expenses. It would be paid into my bank account on the same day as my salary. It wasn't a fortune, but would help an enormous amount. I practically did a dance around my room.
As I ate my beans on toast, I fired up my elderly laptop to email Andy with the good news. As soon as I clicked onto my emails, I saw I'd received one from him already, asking if anyone had turned up at my work that day, followed by a winking smiley. A plume of excitement rose in my belly at the thought of uptight Andy sending such a fun email. I immediately replied to him, sharing the news of my benefit award and the arrival of a tax inspector at the practice. I added in a couple of smileys myself, partly to be friendly and partly to show that I wasn't depressed and liable to fling myself under anything that might squash me.
All evening, I kept one eye on my laptop, hoping he'd reply. By ten, it was abundantly clear that he wouldn't. Disappointed, I closed the computer and set it on the floor. I pulled the duvet around me and nodded off.
The buzzing sound permeated my dream, relentless and insistent. I came to and realised it was my front door buzzer being pressed almost continuously. I pulled my dressing gown over my pyjamas and padded down to the front door. I didn't want to just let whoever it was into the building. "Who is it?" I called out.
"S'Andy, let me in," a voice called back. Gingerly, I opened the door to find a clearly rather drunk Andy, glassy-eyed and swaying slightly.
"What are you doing here?" I asked.
"You should be out celebrating," he slurred, before lurching forward into the foyer. I closed the door quickly; it was freezing out. "I wanted to buy you a drink, to celebrate, but I couldn't phone you," he rambled. "You need to get a phone, little poor girl."
I froze. He actually called me “little poor girl.”
"I think you've had too much to drink," I said. "Please tell me you're not driving?"
"Carsathome," he slurred.
"Good, well give me your phone, and I'll sort you a taxi," I said.
"I wanted to see you, to celebrate," he insisted, before lumbering up the stairs towards my room.
"Andy," I hissed, "you can't go up there."
"I came here before. When I saved you," he mumbled before resuming his unsteady climb. Huffing somewhat, I stood behind him, worried that he'd lose his footing and fall down the stairs. A dead lawyer in my building was all I was short of.
The heat in my room seemed to subdue him. He ignored the chairs and sat on the side of my bed. I decided to make us some tea. "So why did you come round?" I pressed. I was secretly quite pleased to see him, having convinced myself that he'd simply done his good deed and would disappear out of my life.
"I went out with the boys. Phil got a new job. You should celebrate too. You need a new job." He was incoherent.
"Is there someone I can call to come and get you?" I asked. He looked up at me with unfocused eyes.
"No," he shook his head violently from side to side. The movement made him topple slightly. I heard a sickening crunch as his foot came down on my laptop.
"Sorry," he looked like a contrite drunk. "I don't know what that was, but I'll fix it."
"I doubt it," I muttered. I turned back to our teas. By the time I'd poured it, Andy had passed out on my bed.
I debated what to do. He was far too heavy for me to lift and was still wearing a jacket. Sighing loudly, I placed the bowl from the sink beside him and assessed how to at least remove his shoes and coat to make him more comfortable.
I stared at him for a while; his face was angelic and serene in sleep. A small dimple on his chin, coupled with his perfectly-square jaw, gave him the appearance of an old-fashioned movie star. He was too beautiful, too successful, and too clever for someone like me. I knew that he felt sorry for me, even had some kind of Sir Galahad complex towards me, but I'd bore him after a while. He'd get frustrated at my fuck-ups, and I had no clue as to whether he actually fancied me or not. I wasn't bad-looking, apart from my scar, which I kept carefully covered. Men had liked me in the past, chased me even. For some reason, I'd always attracted the wrong 'uns, the losers and users. Men had wanted me for just sex, for a shoulder to cry on, or just an emotional prop when the world was punishing them for their own poor choices. Andy was different. He was a professional man, educated and clever. Looking at him sleeping, I wondered what had driven him to get so drunk, or whether it was a regular occurrence.
I began with his shoes, unlacing them carefully and sliding them off. He didn't even stir, so feeling braver, I tackled his jacket, rolling him into the middle of the bed onto his front in order to peel it off his broad shoulders. Even when I had to tug a bit to get the sleeves off, he barely moved. He was most definitely out for the count. He was also sprawled across the middle of my bed, which wasn't large by any standards.
I glanced at my poor laptop, which now had a large dent in the lid. From the crunch it'd made, I suspected that the screen was broken inside. It had been my only means of communication. I'd have to sneakily log into my emails at work, which was against the rules, but until I could save up for a second-hand computer, it was my only choice.
Sighing loudly, I pulled the seat cushions off the two armchairs and made myself a makeshift bed on the floor. I yanked a pillow off my bed and pulled an old throw out of the cupboard. It wasn't terribly comfortable, but better than nothing. At least I wasn't working the next day, so lack of sleep wouldn't be an issue.
"Where am I?"
His voice woke me up. I shifted slightly on my temporary bed; unleashing stiffness from Hell as my poor shoulders objected to the hard floor I'd subjected them to. I struggled up onto my elbows to peek over the side of the bed. Andy's eyes were open and he was looking around. Daylight was streaming in the window, illuminating my little studio.
"You're in my bed, in my flat," I said. My voice made him jump. He turned to look down at me.
"How on Earth did I get here?" He asked.
"You turned up here last night and passed out on my bed. You were as drunk as a skunk."
"Why are you on the floor?"
"Because you passed out sprawled across the middle of my bed."
"Jesus, my head hurts," he complained, flopping back down.
I got up to make us both some tea. It was only eight in the morning. He was probably still a bit drunk from the night before. At least he hadn't puked in my room, unlike my ex. It'd taken weeks to get rid of the revolting smell. I rinsed out our cups from the previous night and made two fresh teas, making sure that they were nice and strong. I wandered back over to the bed where Andy was laying quietly, his arm across his forehead. He sat up to take the mug from me. I perched on the end of the bed to drink mine.
It was all a bit surreal, me in stripy pyjamas, drinking tea with a rather hung over Adonis. I checked that my fringe hadn't scrunched up during the night.
"We didn't? I mean… I wasn't inappropriate was I?" He asked.
I shook my head. "You were way too pissed for any of that. You just rambled on for a bit, trod on my laptop then passed out," I told him. He had the grace to blush, which was adorable.
"I'm sorry. I don't normally drink that much. My younger brother, Phil just got a new job, so a bunch of us went out for a drink. God only knows how I ended up here. I must've been trying to walk home. Dunno where Phil ended up. Can I borrow your loo?"
I tipped my head towards the door to my bathroom. Andy heaved himself off the bed and staggered over. I sipped my tea while I waited, wondering what would happen next. When he returned, he sat back down on the bed and picked up my laptop. "I did this?" He asked. He shook it slightly, unleashing the rattle of a broken screen inside.
"Yeah, you trod on it. It was my only means of communication," I stated. Good manners would have meant me telling him that it was nothing, easily replaced, but I was over being a nice girl.
"I'll replace it," he said, placing it back on the floor. "Was there anything else I broke or damaged?" I shook my head.
"Why did you get so drunk?" I was curious.
"The boys were doing shots, so I joined in. I'm not good at holding my beer." He looked sheepish. "Have you got to work today?"
"No, it's my day off."
"Got anything planned?"
I shook my head. He seemed to forget that I was perma-skint. "I might take a walk up to the library later. I need to take some books back and get new ones."
"I need to go home and get a shower. Maybe I could pick you up and take you for breakfast? I need a full English to shift this hangover."
"OK," I said. I was a little wary, unsure of his motives. He seemed to want to be friends, but I wasn't sure. It was, of course, possible that he thought I needed feeding up and breakfast was part of his plan to make sure I wasn't malnourished.
"Excellent," he said, before striding over to his jacket and pulling his iPhone out of the pocket. He jabbed at the screen and ordered a cab, telling them he was going to Yester Park in Chislehurst. "Give me about an hour," he said, "and I'll come and get you. I know a great place that does organic fry-ups. We'll go there."
With that, he was gone.
I tidied up, puzzled that he wanted to spend the morning with me. Regardless of whether he was only doing it because he felt sorry for me, I was determined to enjoy myself and not play the part of the tragic pauper.
I did my hair carefully, blow-drying it as smooth as I could. I added a touch of makeup and dressed in my favourite black jeans and a loose pink sweater. Shoes were more of a problem. I'd dried out the leaky heels, but they didn't go with jeans or feel right for a Saturday morning breakfast date. In the end I had to settle for a pair of trainers and socks. They might be too casual, but at least my feet would be warm and dry.
I grabbed my jacket and bag when I heard the buzzer go, skipping down the stairs happily. Andy smiled as I opened the door, making my stomach jump. The man had a smile that could corrupt a nun. He was fresh from the shower and had a little more colour in his cheeks. I was also delighted to see that he was also wearing jeans and trainers, coupled with a rugby shirt and his leather jacket. He looked almost edible.
He glanced down at my feet, "I meant to warn you to wear flats. It can get a bit muddy where we're going."
I was intrigued. He led me to a shiny, silver BMW and opened the passenger door for me. I slid into the luxurious soft leather and surveyed the interior. It smelt like a new car, and I could see that Andy liked to keep things neat and tidy. "Is this car new?" I asked when he'd hopped into the driver's seat.
"Fairly new, I bought it about eight months ago," he said absentmindedly as he started the engine.
"It smells new," I commented. He didn't reply, just concentrated on pulling out of Freelands Road, across the traffic heading towards Bromley Town Centre. Once out on the main road, he switched on the radio, which was tuned to Smooth FM, which I felt was rather predictable. He drove carefully but confidently, precise in his movements. "Where are we going?" I asked as we headed down the A21 into Kent.
"There's a little organic café in a country park not far from here. They do the best breakfasts around. We can walk through the woods there too. It's a lovely place."
We drove for about twenty minutes before he pulled into a wooded car park, just off a little lane. "We're a little early yet, it doesn't open till ten. Shall we walk first? I need to clear my head a bit."
"Sure."
We walked along a little path, across an open space, towards the woods. Andy seemed a little quiet, maybe lost in his own thoughts. I hoped he didn't regret asking me. "How's your hangover?" I asked, hoping to break the ice a little."
"A bit better," he said, flashing me his lovely smile. "Fresh air always helps doesn't it?"
"I find spending a day under the duvet works for me," I replied.
"I can't imagine you drunk."
"I've been drunk a few times. Why can't you imagine it?"
"Because you're so reserved," he said, surprising me. "OK, I bet you're one of those girls that gets upset and cries when they've had too much."
"Wrong," I laughed, "I get giggly and chatty and flirt shamelessly."
"Really? Now that I'd like to see," he said.
"Why's that?" I asked. I found him impossible to fathom out. I needed to find out if he was actually interested in me or just felt sorry for me. If I was just a charity case to him, I'd stuff my face at breakfast, then be on my merry way. If he was interested, then I'd be a bit more reserved.
He just shrugged. "I think you'd be fun." He paused, as though he wanted to say more. I waited. "It'd be nice to see you having a good time, loosening up. I suppose I met you on the worst day of your life, so I think of you as being sad and depressed."
I felt quite offended. "I'm not a sad or miserable person at all, and I can assure you that it most certainly wasn't the worst day of my life. I don't think anything will ever top that day." I sounded fiercer than I meant to, but he'd made a lot of assumptions about me. I decided that he was being kind out of pity or charity. I'd eat the bastard out of house and home, then not see him again.
"Tell me about your family," I said to change the subject. I liked hearing about intact families, it was a kind of masochistic pleasure I had.
"It's quite a big family. I've got an older brother then two younger ones. My dad was a lawyer and my mum doesn't work. We all get along pretty well. What about you?"
"My parents died when I was eight. No brothers or sisters. I have an uncle though, who I last saw just after the accident. Think he was scared he'd get lumbered with me."
"I can't imagine not having a family. No wonder you felt all alone that day."
"I'm used to it," I said. As we strolled along, I tried to visualise what it must have been like having three brothers, all the noise and games that they'd have played. Having a mum who was there when you got in from school, possibly with home-baked cookies waiting, was a regular fantasy of mine, as was a dad who wore slippers and told amazing bedtime stories. My own dad had been a rather distant character, who'd worked a lot and got home too late most of the time to read stories. My mum hadn't been the earth-mother type at all, happier to go out to work than stay home and bake. I'd been farmed out to childminders a lot.
I smelt the bacon before I even saw where the café was. It permeated the trees, making my stomach growl in anticipation. It was set in an old walled garden, part of the remains of a formal mansion that had once stood on the site. Andy led us inside, and sat at a small table. He handed me the menu. "I'm having the full English, super-sized. What would you like?"
"I'll have the same thanks," I said, before confirming that I'd also like a latte. I watched him as he went up to the bar to order, noting how a group of women seated at another table all followed him with their eyes. One of them glanced over at me, and then whispered something to the group. Instantly my feelings of inadequacy flooded back. I picked up the menu to read it in its entirety, so I didn't have to look
at them.
"Sally!" Andy called out, interrupting my studious appraisal of the menu, "Tomato or beans?"
"Tomato please," I called back, "and white bread for my toast." He smiled and turned back to the server.
"Yes, he's with her," I overheard one of the women say. "You can tell by the way he looks at her."
I allowed a small smile to play across my lips at her remark.
"There you go," Andy said as he plonked a cup of latte in front of me. "Our food won't be long."
"I can't wait, just the smell in here is making my tummy rumble," I admitted.
"Me too. You must need feeding up a bit," he said.
I think as soon as he said it, he regretted his comment. I saw a flash of “Oh, shit” cross his face. "Andy," I said. "Are you only doing this because you feel sorry for me? I'd really like to know."
"Of course not," he looked affronted, "I'll admit that I felt guilty in the train station, and that I'm happy I could help you, but it's not out of pity or anything like that."
"And how does your wife or girlfriend feel about you helping me?" It was a sneaky way of getting the question in, but asking outright if he had a girlfriend seemed a bit awkward.
"I don't have a girlfriend and I certainly don't have a wife. Why did you think I was married?"
"I just didn't expect you to be single I suppose."
"Why?"
"Well you must be around thirty."
"Thirty-one actually."
"Right, and you have a good job, and you've not been hit with the ugly stick..."
"I see. Well in answer to your question, I split up with my long-term girlfriend last year."
"I'm sorry." I wasn't really. Inside I was delighted.
"It's OK, it was a mutual decision."
"Were you together long?"
He nodded. "We met at uni, Cambridge. I was reading law, Charlotte read physics."
I did a quick mental arithmetic. "Ten years then?"
"Yeah-- too long really. My career path is rather slow and steady, while she got snapped up by an international investment bank. She's your typical high flier, travelling ‘round the world all the time, gathering promotions and accolades. We wanted different things in life."