‘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.
* * *
When I got off the phone from Mum, who gave me oodles of sympathy, offering to drop everything and come and take charge, I felt a bit better. Tempting as it was, I knew she needed the time in her studio. With some big exhibitions in major galleries under her belt, she was well-known in the ceramics world and I knew she was working on a special piece which she was hoping would ‘blow the pants off’ the owner of a famous ceramics gallery in North London.
The arrival of a very garrulous glazier from The Glass Brokers — ‘The people who take the pane out of shatteredglazing’ — later that afternoon did a lot to reassure me. Phil was a big fan of antisocial behaviour because it kept him in business. My little broken window was, ‘Nuffink’. He got ten of these every week, more when the weather was warm. Apparently the real money was in the commercial stuff.
‘Triple time, between nine and midnight — after that licence to print money.’
Grumpily I reflected, as I made him a mug of tea, one person’s tragedy was another’s silver lining — Phil’s was made of £50 banknotes.
After he’d gone, I rattled around the flat growing steadily more irritable. I’d had enough of smug daytime presenters, I didn’t have the energy to tackle any job in the flat and I was too tetchy to read. My arm was itching and the pinprick scabs looked unsightly. I was fed up. Fed up and bolshy.
I knew what was wrong and it had nothing to do with my arm. Determined to take my mind off things, or rather one person, I logged on to my laptop. No joy there either. No new emails apart from the ones from complete strangers offering me Biggadik penis enlargement patches.
A good time to tidy up my inbox. Get rid of all those emails going back six months. My eyes were drawn to the name Ned Hillard. I re-read his email. It was funny. Was he the answer to all my problems? Perhaps he could take my mind off Daniel?
Kate put paid to any more dithering when she called.
‘Olivia. It’s me. I just heard what happened. Are you OK?’ Her voice oozed concern and sympathy down the phone line.
‘I’m fine. Bit of an exciting night, though.’
‘Well, that’s a first,’ she mocked.
‘Ha, ha.’
‘Bloody yobs. It’s the same everywhere. Even here. Last weekend someone in the village had his car covered in paint. Some lads found a can on their way home. Bet your window wasbroken by some lagered-up louts. In that state they don’t give a toss if they damage something.’
‘Well, that something was me,’ I said crossly. ‘And I mind a lot!’
‘How are you feeling?’
‘Crap.’
Kate didn’t deal well with other people’s problems. Her own life ran so smoothly that she hadn’t had the practice. I wasn’t surprised when she changed the subject.
‘So have you arranged to see Ned yet?’
What! Was she psychic or something?
‘No, not yet.’ Why do I have to be so honest? It was the last thing I should have said, to Kate of all people.
‘You’re joking. He’ll think you’re not interested.’
‘I don’t know that I am.’
‘Of course you are.’ He sounds a laugh.
I rolled my eyes even though she couldn’t see.
’I’m not sure...’ my voice trailed off. The painkillers were wearing off and my arm was throbbing. Where was my magic bottle of pills?
