Talk to Me (10 page)

‘What? To inspect the damage?’ replied Daniel, his words ringing with scorn.

Then he lowered his voice and I didn’t quite catch what he said next. It sounded like, ‘Probably his wife’. What was he talking about? That TV programme must have fired his imagination.

Raising his voice again, he carried on, ‘If you’re worried, why not ring the police? You’ll have to anyway for insurance. That window will have to be replaced.’

‘Fine,’ said Emily petulantly. ‘Don’t worry about me. You’d better get precious Olivia to hospital.’

As Daniel’s car pulled into the hospital car park I began to shake again and then I started to cry. Not gentle sniffs and delicate tears – no, they were great, strangled gulps and guttural sobs accompanied by a runny nose. Very unattractive, but I couldn’t help it.

‘Hey, come on, Olivia,’ said Daniel, as he pulled deftly into a parking slot. ‘It’s all right.’

‘S-s-sorry,’ I gasped. ‘I c-c-can’t …’

He leaned over, pulling my head onto his chest. Gradually my tears subsided. I gave my nose an elephant-blow into the pristine white hanky he’d pressed into my hands. With one eye I tried to assess the damage to his sweater. There was bound to be a snail trail of snot and yesterday’s mascara down it, but there were extenuating circumstances. I made the most of the situation and snuggled in to his broad chest. I could feel his heart beating, strong and steady under the soft lambswool.

As I grew calmer, he shifted, cupping my chin in his hands to wipe away the tears with his thumbs. Instantly my heart took up a salsa rhythm. Adrenaline rush, I told myself. Just shock. I can handle a 300 bpm heart rate. Deep breaths. That would help.

Unfortunately I over did the breathing and started to hyperventilate. At which point Daniel started stroking my back, his arms around me, as if soothing a highly strung racehorse. The last thing I needed.

It was a relief when he finally opened his car door and said, ‘Come on, sweetheart. Let’s go and get you sorted out.’ From the back seat he pulled out a blanket, which he tucked gently around me.

Sweetheart? Could my heart stand any more havoc? Had he really just called me that?

Calm down, he’s just being kind because you’re injured. If I wasn’t careful I was about to make a terrible fool of myself.

We passed a few diehard smokers just outside and as we stepped through the automatic doors of A & E, the harsh institutional strip lighting stung my tear-stained, swollen eyes. Although it was the middle of the night, there was still a sense of efficient purpose about the place. Soft soled shoes squeaked on the shiny vinyl floors as medical staff strode by.

Daniel escorted me to a grey plastic seat, arranging my blanket around my shoulders before going to speak to a middle-aged lady sitting ramrod straight behind the bare reception desk. No pictures or flowers just dismal public health warnings about smoking and heart disease. Their low voiced conversation washed over me as I closed my eyes drowsily, happy to let him take charge. He managed to get so far, remembering my date of birth and postcode but had to come back and rouse me for my GP’s details.

Eventually, all paperwork completed, Daniel returned and sat down beside me. It seemed completely natural when his hand took mine. He squeezed my fingers.

‘You OK?’

I nodded, not daring to move, conscious of his warm fingers wrapped around mine.

‘They’re going to get a nurse to take a look at you, but they don’t want you to eat or drink anything until you’ve been seen.’

‘That’s OK. I don’t want anything.’

‘How are you feeling?’

‘Tired. A bit spaced out.’

‘Here put your head on my shoulder.’ He put his arm around me. I snuggled in. Just as I drifted off I thought I felt the graze of lips on my hair as he shifted position or was that wishful thinking?

My first thought when I woke was that my bunny slippers looked decidedly out of place in A & E. However my bloodstained arm fitted right in with the beaten up survivors of a brawl who were sat opposite. Both had black eyes, split lips and long ladders in their tights. Propping each other up, they were swaying slightly. One kept nodding off, her head slipping down the other’s shoulder, at which point she would start awake before her head began to droop again.

I checked the clock. We’d been there for over two hours. Lifting my head, I checked I hadn’t dribbled down Daniel’s sweater. No, all clear. No damp patches. He unhooked his arm, stretching and wriggling it.

‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to go to sleep.’

‘You’re fine. How are you feeling?’

‘Better. I’m not going to be—’

Our attention was diverted by a short dumpy nurse in a crumpled and stained blue uniform. ‘Shannon Cripps,’ she called briskly.

One of the two drunken girls twitched, recognising her name and lurched unsteadily to her feet. The nurse went over to offer her an arm.

‘Wot you looking at?’ hissed the girl belligerently, spittle flying from her mouth, spraying the nurse who grimaced slightly.

‘It’s my job to look at you. I’m a nurse,’ she said ultra-politely. Her teeth must have been so firmly gritted she could have ground peppercorns with them.

‘Fuck off. You ain’t lookin’ at me,’ slurred the girl.

Her friend, a blonde with three-inch black roots, muttered. ‘Thas right, Shan. You tell ’er, Shan. You wan’ me to ’it ’er?’

The nurse discreetly flicked her eyes up to the ceiling. You could see her summoning up every last reserve of patience.

‘Do you want treatment or not?’ she asked in a very reasonable tone.

‘Go on then. Bin waitin’ bleedin’ long enough.’ Shannon moved with exaggerated care.

It crossed my mind that surgery without an anaesthetic was too good for Shannon. The nurse caught my eye. I gave her a sympathetic smile. She smiled back saying, ‘You’re next.’

The blonde girl who had roused herself long enough for this exchange, dozed off again and, without Shannon’s shoulder, slid to the floor, her plump thighs splayed in front of her like a pair of outsize sausages.

I looked at Daniel. He grinned. ‘Ah, the fairer sex.’

‘God,’ I sighed. ‘It’s only midweek. Can you imagine what it’s like in here on a Friday and Saturday?’

He shuddered. ‘I dread to think. Feeling OK?’

‘A bit sick. More the thought of what they’re going to do to me in there. How will they get that glass out?’

‘Don’t worry. They’ll numb it first … with a very big needle. One jab in your bum. You won’t feel a thing.’

I wrinkled my nose at him. ‘Daniel,’ I protested. ‘You’re supposed to be reassuring me. Anyway … I don’t mind needles.’

‘You haven’t seen this one.’ He grinned.

At last I was called. Just as I went to follow the nurse, Daniel caught my good arm. ‘Do you want me to phone anyone for you?’

‘Thanks. It’s OK. I’ll call my folks tomorrow. There’s no point worrying them tonight. They can’t do anything.’

‘Sure there’s no one else you want me to ring?’ he said, his face looking fierce for a brief second.

‘No,’ I said wearily. Who else was I going to phone at that time of day?

He gave my hand a brief squeeze and with a regretful smile said, ‘That’s sad.’ At least I think that’s what he said. It made no sense to me.

My doctor looked weary; his skin tone matched the institutional grey walls.

‘What have we got then? Another stabbing?’ he asked unsympathetically, looking at my bloody arm.

I glared at him and his grubby white coat. You never saw that on
Casualty
.

‘No,’ I said angrily. ‘Someone threw a brick through my window and I’ve got glass in my arm.’ I enunciated every word carefully to make sure he knew I wasn’t a mate of Shannon’s.

‘Ah.’ He looked chastened. ‘Let’s have a look then.’

The next hour was something I’d rather not dwell upon. Despite a hefty injection of something – in my arm, not bum – I felt every move that doctor made and it wasn’t pleasant.

Five-thirty and London was sluggishly waking up. Following the milk float down the street, he pulled to a halt in the nearest parking spot and turned to watch Olivia dozing next to him. She didn’t wake when he switched off the ignition. The painkillers must have kicked in.

Studying her face in the early morning light, he traced the outline of her chin, the high cheekbones and long fair lashes resting on her skin. He’d known her for so long, he took her attractiveness for granted but now looking at her uninterrupted, he realised how gorgeous she was. That bastard, whoever he was, had better appreciate her. It should have been him there last night, holding her, wiping away her tears, distracting her from the pain. Did Olivia realise that she’d settled for second place and that it would always be like this? A wave of sadness gripped him and he wanted to scoop Olivia up into his arms and hold her, tell her that he would look after her. Like he had last night.

She stirred, her face screwing up with pain and muttering. He gave a self-derisory half-laugh at his stupidity. Strong, capable Olivia, she always knew what she was doing. Who was he kidding? She didn’t need rescuing.

He gave her a prod, perhaps harder than necessary and she jolted awake. Yes, he was a jerk, an out of sorts jerk. Lack of sleep probably. It had been one hell of a long night. Glancing at his watch, he figured he could grab an hour and half’s kip before having to get up. Being his own boss might mean he could pick and choose his hours, but it also meant that too many people were relying on him. Since taking over the organic nursery from his dad, business had gone from strength to strength and they were now supplying a couple of supermarket chains with salad produce. A slew of meetings today meant he had to go in. He could have delegated but at this short notice it was hardly fair.

‘Come on, sleepy head. Let’s get you inside.’

With dopey eyes and drooping eyelids, she looked at him, confusion clouding her expression. Sleepy, adorable and totally trusting. God, he was a sucker.

He got out of the car and stomped round to the passenger door. Olivia all but fell out. Sighing to himself, he scooped her up into his arms and carried her down the street to the front door. Her hair tickled his nose as her head snuggled into him. It smelled of apples and sunshine. Just shampoo, he told himself.

‘Mmm … D’nel … thaaa …’ she slurred, her breath warm on his neck. She felt limp and soft and he tightened his grip, worried she might slip right through his arms. Holding her as he reached the door, he realised neither of them had a key. Tough, he’d have to wake Emily to come down and let them in. At least she’d had some sleep.

There was nowhere to put Olivia but on the sofa, bundled up in an old sleeping bag that Emily managed to sulkily produce.

He gritted his teeth as he stood in the doorway of Olivia’s bedroom looking at the blood-soaked bedding. Shit, what a mess. Some, but not all, of the dark red stain had faded to brown. Exasperated he rolled up his shirtsleeves. Why should he have expected Emily to sort it out?

He strode to the kitchen and grabbed a couple of black bin bags.

‘What are you doing?’ asked Emily in a plaintive voice. ‘It’s nearly six in the morning. Come to bed. I’ve got to go to work soon. I need some more sleep.’

‘We can’t leave Olivia’s bedroom like that.’

Emily shrugged, her hands fluttering as if that might make the mess magically disappear. ‘I don’t see why not. It’s not going to make much difference now.’

He closed his eyes and counted to ten. It would have made a difference if someone had at least stripped the bed a couple of hours ago instead of letting the blood seep into the mattress. He stomped back to the bedroom.

He stuffed the sheets straight into the black bags. No point trying to save them or the double duvet. Hopefully Olivia wasn’t too attached to them. If it were him he’d want new. These were stained with nasty memories and you couldn’t be sure you’d get all the glass shards out. The glass in that window must have been quite old.

He could order her a new duvet today and it could be delivered tomorrow. The mattress he’d sponge as best he could and then she could always turn it over and she had spare bed sheets.

He hoisted the black bags over his shoulder and took them down the fire escape steps and through the shared yard at the back of the junk shop, to the wheelie bins arranged in a neat row like sentries on guard. He didn’t hang around, the enclosed yard was full of dark corners and shadows.

Olivia had fallen asleep again, scrunched up on the sofa, her head at an odd angle. He went over and shifted the cushion under her head. She didn’t stir but she looked a bit more comfortable now.

Half past six. No point in trying to go to sleep and he didn’t want to disturb Emily again … no, not strictly true, he wanted to avoid her, avoid saying something that would upset her. His hands clenched, tension rocking up his arms into his shoulders. Tiredness had scoured out his eyes and they felt gritty and sore.

Making a cup of tea, he sat in the kitchen staring out of the window. How had life suddenly got so complicated? He rubbed at the stubble on his chin, things felt different but he couldn’t quite figure out what it was that had changed.

‘Olivia? Do you know where my house keys are? I can’t find them.’

These were the first words Emily addressed to me the following morning as I lay on the sofa, bundled up in a sleeping bag. Had she forgotten I’d been at the hospital half the night? Of course I hadn’t seen her bloody keys. She was always losing them.

‘When did you last have them?’ I asked patiently. Irritatingly, she stared at the ceiling as if mentally retracing her steps.

‘Can’t remember. You used your key last night after work. The night before that I was home after you – so you let me in. I thought they were in my handbag.’

‘Tried your coat pocket? Changed handbags?’

‘No, they were definitely in my bag. My new one.’

She wouldn’t have changed that then, not her limited edition special.

‘You’ll have to let me in later. I can’t be bothered to look for them now. It’s not as if you’ll be going anywhere?’ She nodded towards the swathe of bandages around my arm. ‘How did you get on? Daniel said the cut wasn’t too bad after all.’

Thanks for the sympathy.

‘Actually, it wasn’t the best evening of my life. They’ve Steri-Stripped it. Luckily I didn’t need any stitches. I was—’

‘It wasn’t much fun here, either.’ She glanced over her shoulder down the hall to the bathroom where Daniel was taking a shower. ‘I was terrified. I think Peter threw that brick. Who else could it have been? It must have been him on Tottenham Court Road yesterday. Do you think he followed us home?’

‘No,’ I said, rubbing my eyes. ‘You’ve been watching too many films.’

That sort of thing didn’t happen in real life.

Now in broad daylight, fear had receded and my imagination was back under control. As if anyone was going to chuck something through a window just because someone wouldn’t go out with them! That was
Coronation Street
not Earlsfield Road. That brick was just a random act of vandalism.

‘What if it was Peter?’ asked Emily, her words running into each other she spoke so quickly.

‘It can’t have been,’ I said, shaking my head with a confidence I didn’t feel.

‘Even so, he’s still odd. You should tell your cousin that one of his hand-picked candidates is a bit dodgy. Did you get hold of him?’

‘Yes, he said he’d vetted him.’ I crossed my fingers under the sleeping bag, not wanting to go into the detail of my conversation with my cousin. ‘But I’ll speak to him again.’ Although what was I going to say? Again, I had no proof that Peter was behind the incident.

‘See you later,’ trilled Emily, as she sailed through the lounge. ‘Come on, Daniel. Have you seen the time?’

Her tone had changed considerably since our earlier conversation about Peter.

Daniel came into the lounge. ‘Feeling better?’ he asked, with a diffident, almost shy smile, looking quickly at his watch before pulling a pristine white cuff back over his wrist, the crisp cotton emphasising his slight tan and the blond hairs on his arm. My stomach lurched with longing.

‘Thanks, Daniel. For looking after me. You must be shattered.’

‘Yes,’ he said, making no move to leave and suddenly finding his shoes of great interest.

‘I … em, really appreciate you taking me to casualty and waiting and … you know everything …’ God, I sounded a complete idiot. My tongue was well and truly tied in knots. ‘I don’t know what I’d … have done, if em … you hadn’t been, you know… here.’

‘Phoned an ambulance?’

Did I detect a trace of amusement?

‘You might have picked up a paramedic,’ he quipped, although from his tone I don’t think he was trying to be funny.

I decided to follow his lead. ‘What covered in blood and wearing my best bunny slippers? I don’t think so.’

His face creased into a broad smile. I felt a small, golden glow inside, as if the sun had come out.

‘You have no idea what those bunnies do to a man,’ he mocked.

A little voice inside me was dying to say, ‘No tell me’.

‘Right then …’ I said awkwardly.

‘Yes … I, um, need to get going.’

In my head The Three Degrees had burst into song with a rousing rendition of ‘When will I see you again?’

I got up, took a tentative step forward and laid my hand on his arm, about to kiss him on the cheek. Just to say thanks, of course.

‘Daniel. Hurry up.’ Emily’s voice was shrill, as she appeared at his side, threading her arm through his and marching him off to the front door.

There was a lot of faffing about downstairs with Emily snapping that she needed an umbrella. With an almighty slam that made the letter box rattle, the door closed on her strident tones.

I let out a sigh and waited for my heart to slow again.

Looking round the empty flat, I decided there was no point in being a wounded soldier and not making the most of it. Selecting a large bar of Dairy Milk from my secret stash and with a mug of tea, I switched on Radio 1, slipped back inside my sleeping bag and settled down.

The night’s disturbed sleep caught up with me and succumbing to the soft-edged focus of the painkiller, I dozed off.

I woke to the sound of a key in the lock and started. Was that Emily coming home already? Had I been asleep for the whole day? It didn’t feel like it.

No, the clock on the wall said it was only quarter past ten. Puzzled and still half asleep, I called out. ‘Emily?’

No answer. Dopily I swung my feet, still in the sleeping bag, onto the floor. She’d found her keys, then. I called her name again. What was she doing home at this time?

Not coming back to play Florence Nightingale that was for sure.

She still hadn’t answered. I waited and listened. A faint click. The front door closing. My heart lurched.

‘Emily.’ I yelled it louder this time – as if sounding confident and a touch belligerent might scare off whoever it was, if it wasn’t Emily.

Still no sound. Making as much noise as I could, I shuffled across the lounge to the top step, bent and looked down. From there I could see the bottom of the stairs but not the front door at the end of the passage.

‘Hello,’ I called, feeling daft. As if a burglar was going to answer me!

Disentangling myself from the sleeping bag, I crept down the top six steps protectively holding my injured arm and paused. From here I could see the glass front door. There was no one there. I hesitated. It wouldn’t do any harm to put the chain on.

As soon as I reached the bottom step I scooted to the front door. Like a child running and jumping into bed, frightened of a monster lurking underneath. I was about to shove the chain in place, when I spotted the black bundle leaning against the glass on the other side of the door. I opened the door carefully. Charlie, the junk shop cat, was curled up in a ball, meowing piteously.

‘Hey, puss,’ I murmured softly, worried by his obvious distress. Gently stretching out my hand, I tried to stroke him but to my surprise he hissed, jumped up and ran off up the street limping. Strange, he was normally so friendly.

I slid back the chain on the door and turned to go back upstairs. That was when I stepped into a cold damp patch.

Looking down, my foot seemed small in the centre of the large sodden footprint outlined on the carpet. Far larger than Emily’s delicate size fours.

Emily’s keys! My mind raced, making terrifying connections. Had her keys been missing since the day of Peter’s visit to the office? I tried to remember the scene. Emily had taken everything out of her bag that day. Had Peter taken them?

Heart racing, I fled back up the stairs, grabbed the phone and bolted myself into the bathroom.

Fingers shaking I tried to call Emily’s work number, stabbing and missing the buttons on the phone. My heart was pounding double time and my injured arm was throbbing.

‘Emily! It’s me. Olivia. He’s been here … he’s got your keys,’ I burst out. ‘He’s—’

‘Olivia, slow down—’

‘He’s been here … he must have your keys. He got in.’

‘Who’s been there?’ asked Emily impatiently. ‘What are you on about? I’ve got my keys. ’

‘You’ve got your keys?’ I repeated stupidly.

‘Yes, they were at work all the time. At reception. I must have dropped them here.’

‘Thank God.’ I sighed with relief, my heart immediately slowing but still thudding furiously. ‘Sorry, Em, I really thought … I thought … Doesn’t matter. I must have been dreaming. Lack of sleep.’

‘I bet the painkillers have confused you as well. It was a bit of an eventful night. No one can believe it here.’

Emily would have embellished the tale, no doubt exaggerating the copious quantities of blood I’d shed.

Putting down the phone and unbolting the bathroom door, I gave myself a stern talking too. You’re tired. Overwrought. It was a bad night. Lots of painkillers. Your imagination is racing.

That wet patch could have been made by Emily or Daniel leaving this morning. It was raining. There were hundreds of reasons why they might have stepped outside and then stepped back in. The carpet was cheap nylon; it probably would have retained the wet for ages.