My cell sits on the bedside cabinet. Hastily, I retrieve it and turn it on. No messages on the screen. No missed calls. The blank lock screen may as well spit in my face.
The boiler, I remind myself. Right. It’s not working.I flick through my contacts until I find the one tagged Boiler Repair Man. Luckily, I saved it after the last time the bloody thing broke down. He was a kindly older gentleman, if I remember correctly. Hopefully, he will be available today.
“Good morning, Austin’s Boiler Repair,” the old man says.
“Hello, this is Amy Trodden from Willow Court. You repaired our gas boiler some time ago.”
“Ah, Mrs. Trodden,” he replies, “lovely to hear from you. But I assume your call isn’t to trade pleasantries.” He chuckles. I wonder how many times a day he uses that line. “How can I help?”
“My boiler has stopped working and is showing an error code. Are you able to come out and have a look?”
“Oh, Mrs. Trodden, I’m very sorry, but I’m fully booked today. I can see if my nephew, Malcolm, can squeeze you in. Just give me a moment.” There’s a rustling and mumbling voices are heard before he speaks again. “Yes, Malcolm can be with you within the hour.”
“Perfect,” I say. “Do you need my address?”
“No, no. I have it all here,” he confirms, and we both hang up.
After staring at myself in the bathroom mirror, I resolve to survive a cold shower. My scalp goes tight; my skin pebbles. I wash my hair in record time before slipping into my comfiest velvet tracksuit. It’s ten years out of date with the wordshot stuffprinted across the butt, but it’s what I wear when life is shit. My triage uniform.
It's the only thing holding me together, both soft and ridiculous. I stare at my reflection, puffy eyes and hollow cheeksstare back. My world has shrunk beyond recognition, and I’m alone.
Terry’s gone. The house is empty. And somewhere along the way, everyone else has drifted. My friends, they’ve all but disappeared. The thought lands like a punch. Katie’s miles away. Bex even further. Ben is juggling a broken heart and grieving kids. And Trey, well, he’s part of the gym, not my history. He doesn’t need this mess.
A knock at the door interrupts the spiral, and I go to open it. Behind it is a tall man in his early thirties. His hair is long and dirty blond, tied back in a loose knot at the base of his neck. He gives me a soft smile before introducing himself.
“Good morning, ma’am,” he says in a strong cockney accent. “I believe you’re having some issues.” Unable to speak, I move to the side and signal for him to come in.
“I’m Malcolm.”
I nod as he walks past me. His bright-green eyes focus on my toes, then rise again, hesitating on my breasts. No bra. Right.
“This way,” I mumble. “It just stopped working.”
“Don’t worry, ma’am. I’ll get this bad boy up and running before you know it. Can’t have you too cold, now.” He smirks, his eyes lingering for a moment on my nipples before returning to the boiler. “It’s freezing in here. Is your husband home?” he asks, changing the subject.
“Um,” I stammer. He gives me a funny look.
“My uncle said your husband was quite the comedian,” he continues.
“Terry left,” I say. “He walked out on me. Last night.”
He stops what he’s doing and turns to face me. “I’m sorry,” he says. “He must be an idiot.”
I shrug, not knowing what to say and certainly not expecting this conversation with Malcolm, the boiler repairman.
“Are you all right?”
At that moment, I split open. My carefully threaded stitches on my heart ripping wide. The dam breaks, and every emotion spills from me. Tears fall, and I scream. Not words, only sounds. A wounded animal in my own home.
Malcolm doesn’t move away. He steps forward and wraps his strong arms around me, placing his chin on the top of my head. “Let it out,” he whispers. “Let it all out.” I sob into a stranger’s chest. We don’t speak; he only shares his warmth with me. After a few minutes, I wriggle from his grip, then peer up at him. He’s tall, much taller than me. Slim-built but strong.
“Can you help take the pain away, Malcolm?” I ask. Slowly, I lift my top over my head, exposing my bare breasts. He gulps. His growing erection strains against his jeans, and I run my fingertips across the surface. “You like what you see. How do you feel about an uncomplicated fuck? Just you and me. No rules, no commitment. I need to feel something, and you need to shoot your load.” I step forward and go up on my tiptoes to place a kiss on his lips. “I’m going to go into that room there.” I point toward my bedroom. “Come and get me if you want to help me forget.”
With that, I saunter away, swinging my ass. I don’t look back. Once in the bedroom, I undress fully and then lie on the bed. Silence answers. After what feels like an eternity, I get up and go back to the kitchen. His tools are gone. So is he. The front door lies wide open.
Fucking great, now there’s no mindless anything, and the boiler’s still broken. What a crock of shit. I pull my top back on with shaking hands and shut the damn door.
***
