The Startling Inaccuracy of the First Impression

by A. E. Radley

  She lifted enough of the padded gauze to be able to see down and into the wound. Her eyes widened, and she felt sick. It was red, angry, and pieces of black thread mingled with flecks of dried blood. It looked like it would never heal.

  “Katie? Oh!” Verity stopped dead in the hallway.

  Katie belatedly realised she’d left the bathroom door open. She always did; living on her own it felt superfluous to close the door.

  She hadn’t heard Verity return, too caught up in the crime scene that was her torso.

  Verity held a Tupperware container of warm soup, a tote bag hanging from the crook of her arm. She was looking away, her cheeks a deep red.

  “I’m sorry, you weren’t in bed and I worried. Should I leave you alone?”

  Katie leaned to one side so Verity could see the wound.

  “Should it look like this?”

  Verity turned to look at her. She took a step forward and peered over the gauze that Katie held open.

  “Yes, you had surgery less than twenty-four hours ago,” Verity said. “You’ll be amazed how quickly it heals. As long as you rest.”

  Katie sighed. She put the gauze back and ran a finger along the surgical tape to help keep it in place.

  “I’d rather eat in the dining room,” she said.

  It wasn’t entirely true. She was exhausted, and the dining room was much closer than the bedroom. She didn’t want to admit to Verity that she’d overdone it.

  “Very well.”

  Katie slowly walked into the dining room and sat down, relieved to be off her feet. She was shocked, and horrified, by how quickly her energy had left her. She wondered how long it would take to get back to her usual self. Katie wasn’t used to sitting around; one of the reasons she had such an active job was because she liked being out doing stuff.

  A shiver ran through her.

  The idea of being out on her bike used to fill her with excitement; now she only felt fear. She hoped that would change.

  A bowl of soup and a spoon appeared in front of her.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  She picked up the spoon, eager to prove to Verity that she was now beyond that whole ‘not able to feed herself’ incident from before. The cuts on her hands were already starting to feel better than they had, and the drowsiness from the surgery was fading.

  Verity placed another bowl of the soup on the table, sat down, and started to eat.

  They ate in silence, Katie not sure what to say. She didn’t know the usual procedure for such strange situations.

  The soup was good, warm but not too hot, and filling. It was flavourful in a way that Katie couldn’t remember chicken soup being. She wondered if this was an expensive country kitchen brand rather than the ordinary tin of Heinz soup that she would normally grab.

  She made a mental note to give Verity some money for the food, petrol, errands, and everything else.

  “I’m okay now, you know,” Katie said. “If you have things to do.”

  Verity shook her head gently. “No, not really.”

  Katie chuckled. “I’m sure you have lots going on. Probably skipping out on a hot date to eat soup with me.”

  Verity snorted a laugh. “No. Definitely not.”

  “I don’t mean to be nosy, but didn’t I see you with a guy at Whitely’s?” Katie asked.

  “You did, but he’s… just a friend.”

  “Do you want it to be more?” Katie asked at the hesitation.

  Verity laughed softly. “No, heavens no. I’m, well, I’m not interested in men. I mean… I’m gay.”

  Katie didn’t know why that statement surprised her, but it did. It took a few seconds for her brain to catch up with what had been said and come up with an appropriate response.

  “Me too,” Katie replied. “Well, I’m bi. I had no idea you were gay.”

  “Well, I didn’t feel the need to announce it,” Verity said. She took her empty soup bowl into the kitchen to rinse.

  Katie realised she’d touched on a sensitive issue. She needed to smooth things over and get things back to the way they were.

  “No, my gaydar should have picked up on it. It’s usually very good. I’ll have to get it checked out at the shop,” Katie joked.

  Verity didn’t reply, but Katie saw the slightest smile curl at her lips. It was obvious that Verity wasn’t comfortable with coming out. Katie could understand that; it was never easy.

  “So, want to play Scrabble? I can guarantee that you’ll win,” Katie offered.

  “Do you even have a Scrabble board?” Verity asked.

  “No. But Callum told me that you do.”

  Verity looked at her and smiled. “It would be terribly unfair. How about Monopoly? A game of chance.”

  “As long as I get to be the racing car,” Katie replied, grinning widely.

  18

  Sliced Fruit

  Verity pulled the bread knife out of the block and cut the sandwiches into quarters. Katie mocked her for it endlessly, but Verity liked little sandwich triangles. Somehow they tasted nicer. Not that she’d tell Katie she thought so; that would just lead to more teasing.

  Not that she minded. Katie’s teasing was gentle and playful, and deep down, Verity enjoyed it a little. Not that she’d ever tell Katie that either.

  She plated the sandwiches and put them on the tray she had brought down from her apartment. She’d brought down a great many things from her apartment, and now Katie’s home was looking a lot more lived in.

  It had been four days since Katie had come home, and a pattern had easily formed. Verity spent most of her days in the downstairs apartment with Katie. She cooked three meals a day, and they ate together. Katie had resisted a little at first, but once Verity had rightly pointed out that Katie had no food in the house and no strength to go out and get any, she soon agreed.

  Not to mention that Verity had a suspicion that Katie was actually enjoying the company. Verity certainly was.

  Katie was so very different to her other friends. She was funny, opinionated, liked to debate things, and felt like a complete mystery to Verity. There was a veneer of acidic jokes that quickly melted into kindness, almost like a defence mechanism that Verity had to punch breathing holes into.

  Discussions had sometimes been challenging, but that didn’t mean they weren’t also fascinating. Katie had said very little about herself, and Verity was quite sure that was deliberate. For all Katie’s bravado, she seemed to be an extremely private person.

  “Can I help with anything?” Katie asked, shuffling into the kitchen area.

  She was looking better each day. Her dark, sunken eyes were starting to shine a little more, and her stilted movements were becoming slightly less stiff. But that didn’t mean there wasn’t quite the way to go before her full health was restored.

  “I’m fairly sure I told you to stay in the living room,” Verity chastised her gently. “Now you’ve taken twenty minutes to walk all this way and you’ll just have to walk back again.”

  They took breakfast and dinner in the dining room and lunch in the living room. Verity didn’t know why; it was just one of those patterns they’d fallen into.

  “Twenty minutes?” Katie chuckled. “I’m not that slow.”

  She picked up a slice of apple from a plate and put it in her mouth.

  “Surprising that those who complain about having their fruit sliced are so quick to steal from the plate,” Verity said.

  “I didn’t complain that the fruit was sliced, I just pointed it out,” Katie argued playfully. “You’re all sandwich triangles and sliced fruit. It’s cute.”

  “Cute?” Verity barked a laugh. She opened the fridge and got some orange juice.

  Katie reached for a sandwich, and Verity gently slapped her hand away.

  Katie sighed. “Let me carry something at least.”

  Verity tore a single piece of kitchen paper off the roll and handed it to her. “There, now go.”

  Katie dramatically rolled her eyes and then slo
wly walked back to the living room. Verity lifted the tray and followed her. In the living room, she placed the tray on the small coffee table she had brought down from upstairs.

  She handed Katie a plate and watched in satisfaction as Katie picked up a couple of sandwiches and some slices of fruit. She served her own plate and sat on the leather armchair that she was rapidly thinking of as her own.

  “So, how goes the insurance claim?” Verity tilted her head towards the laptop that was set aside on the sofa where Katie was set up.

  Katie had attempted to get up and sort out the insurance claim on her bike almost immediately, but her injury had complained bitterly and she’d soon agreed to give herself a couple of days to rest. But today Katie had been determined.

  “I started the process,” she said. “It’s all online, so it’s easy enough. Just need to get the police file number and then wait and see what they say.”

  Verity detected a hint of nerves. “There’s not a lot they can say, surely? The bike was stolen; they’ll have to pay your claim.”

  Katie half shrugged. “You hear stories of insurance companies doing anything to not pay out on a claim.”

  “Only because stories about insurance companies paying claims in full and on time are woefully boring, I’m sure.”

  Katie took another bite of her sandwich, her brow furrowed.

  “I’m sure you’ll get the money no problem; you’ll have a new bike in no time,” Verity reassured her.

  The furrowed brow remained, and Verity knew something was up but had no idea what.

  “Katie?” Verity pressed.

  The younger woman let out a sigh. “I don’t know if I want another bike.”

  Verity swallowed her immediate response to jump with joy. She didn’t want to influence Katie’s decision in any way, it wasn’t her place, but the thought of Katie not getting another bike filled her with relief.

  Since the accident, in the periods of time she wasn’t with Katie, Verity had researched bike crime in London. Katie hadn’t been exaggerating the figures. It was an epidemic. Owning a bike in London put a target on your back, and Katie had been lucky. Many bike owners were not so fortunate.

  “No?” Verity asked, attempting to sound casual.

  “No, I… I don’t know. It’s a big decision to make.”

  “Yes, it would require you to find a new job, for one,” Verity said. The realisation that this would cut into their time together, and potentially require Katie to move away at some point in the future, caused her to shift uncomfortably in her chair.

  “Oh, I only do that part time anyway,” Katie explained.

  Verity raised an eyebrow. “You do?”

  Katie nodded and rested her hand on her laptop. “Yes, food delivery is about a third of my income; the rest is writing.”

  “Writing?” Verity knew she sounded shocked. She was.

  Katie chuckled at Verity’s confusion. “I write articles; I ghost-write for people, too, sometimes.”

  “Who do you work for?”

  “Me.”

  Verity opened and closed her mouth; she had no idea what Katie meant by that.

  “I’m freelance.”

  “Oh.” Verity had never really understood freelance work. When she’d been employed, she worked in an office with her colleagues, took home a set wage, and had a contract. The whole freelance movement was growing and growing, and she had little idea about what it entailed.

  “I’ve never liked the structure of full-time work. Or just doing one job,” Katie explained. “I get bored. So, I pick up jobs here and there and make a living that way.”

  “Forgive me for sounding incredibly old, but is this the ‘gig economy’?” Verity asked, hating that she had a void in her knowledge.

  “Yes, exactly,” Katie said without judgement.

  There was a moment of silence; both continued to eat lunch while Verity considered asking what she so desperately wanted to ask.

  “So, what does that actually mean?” she finally questioned.

  “It basically means I work for myself and I take individual gigs—projects—to earn a salary. Like, I’ll go online and grab a couple of articles and I’ll get paid for those. And then maybe I’ll be working on a larger project that may take me a week or so. I’ll get paid more for that, but it takes more time. And then with the deliveries, I get paid a small amount for every task I do.”

  “And you make enough to live off that?” Verity asked.

  Katie nodded. “Yeah, sure. You have to know what your time is worth and go out there and find the gigs, but it works. There are plenty of people who would like to pay you well under the going rate for a piece of work. You just need to ignore them and make sure you’re only accepting work from reputable people.”

  “It sounds exhausting, not knowing where your next job is coming from. Having to go out and find it,” Verity said.

  Katie bit into a slice of fruit. “Not really. It’s just different.”

  “But you don’t get paid for holidays? Or time off sick?” Verity asked.

  “No, but I have the freedom to earn what I want when I want. So, if I’m careful and I plan things out properly, that isn’t a concern.” Katie carefully leaned forward and put her empty plate on the coffee table. “There’s a lot of bad press about the gig economy, but, for me, it works. I have a pension; I plan properly. I have freedom.”

  Verity licked her lips and looked around the room. She wanted to say something, but she desperately didn’t want to insult Katie.

  Katie laughed. “Go on, out with it.”

  Verity grimaced at how transparent she obviously was to Katie. “I’m sorry, I don’t want to be rude, but…” She gestured to the sparsely decorated room. “You don’t look like a person who is doing well financially. You hardly have any belongings. Not a scrap of furniture that didn’t come with the apartment.”

  Katie looked around, nodding her head in agreement as she did. “That’s true. But this isn’t anything to do with money. It’s me. I don’t like to have a lot of stuff. Never have. Well, I suppose I just don’t see the point in it. And my partners have always kind of gotten there before me.”

  Verity frowned. “What do you mean your partners have gotten there before you?”

  “By the time I start thinking that we might need a dining table, for example, they’d thought about it and gone ahead and got it. It’s like I don’t see what I’m missing. I grew up in a pretty unconventional house. I don’t really know what it takes to make a home.”

  Verity didn’t know what to say to that. She didn’t want to pry into Katie’s upbringing, or question too much what she meant. It seemed sad that Katie had that hole in her world, the inability to make a house a home.

  “Well, I’m sure you’ll figure it out one day if you want to. Besides, you don’t need a lot of things. If you’re happy and you have everything you need, then I think you have it right,” Verity said.

  Katie shrugged. Not an agreement nor a disagreement, but Verity took it as the latter.

  Katie picked up her laptop and looked at the screen, her fingers grazing over the touchpad. Verity took the opportunity to look at her. She seemed healthier, but it was obvious that she was still in a lot of pain. She was on strong pain medication, which left her a little dazed and confused sometimes.

  It was quite obvious that she wouldn’t be able to take care of herself. Verity was a little frustrated with the hospital, releasing Katie when she was still clearly unable to cope. Thankfully, Verity was there to step in, and, better still, Katie let her.

  Even so, Verity had bulldozed her way in and pushed Katie to accept help every step of the way. It was painfully obvious that Katie wasn’t used to accepting assistance.

  “Is that robe a family heirloom? Did your great-great-grandmother wear it into battle?” Verity joked to lighten the mood.

  Katie’s narrowed eyes looked at her over the top of the laptop. “You’re not funny, you know,” she said through a smile.

&nb
sp; “Oh, but I am. Seriously, how old is that thing?”

  “Pretty old,” Katie admitted half-heartedly.

  “Does it have sentimental value? Or has it developed sentience?” Verity asked, sipping at her orange juice.

  “Neither, I just never got around to replacing it.”

  This was something Verity was hearing more and more, Katie never getting around to things. It didn’t seem like she was running out of time to buy new shoes, a robe, or to think about purchasing furniture. It was more a fact that it didn’t even occur to Katie that she needed these things.

  Verity wondered why that was. Most people enjoyed shopping and treating themselves, and Katie didn’t seem to have an aversion to shopping.

  A text message came in on her phone. She leaned down to pick up her handbag which now seemed to reside to the side of the armchair.

  “It’s cute that your phone has the factory setting text alarm,” Katie said without looking up.

  Verity didn’t have to admit that she had no idea how to change it; she suspected Katie knew that already. She unlocked the phone and saw a text from her niece.

  Mary had agreed to find someone else to pick Callum up from school and watch him until she got out of work, but apparently plans had fallen through.

  Verity let out a long sigh. She didn’t know how she’d manage Katie and Callum; something had to give. Surely Mary had someone else who could pick Callum up and watch him?

  “Bad news?” Katie asked.

  “Just inconvenient,” Verity replied. “My niece wants me to pick up Callum. She said she’d find other cover, but apparently something’s happened. Don’t worry, I’ll tell her to find someone else.”

  “Don’t do that,” Katie implored. She closed the lid of her laptop. “Family comes first.”

  Verity paused in typing her reply to Mary and looked at Katie. She realised she must seem callous and uncaring, especially to someone who had no family.

  “She has a hundred people she could turn to,” Verity reassured her. “When I first agreed to take Callum, it was supposed to be whenever the childminder was sick. Then it was every Monday, and then every Monday and Wednesday, and before I knew it… almost every day.”