Beep.
“Uh… hi. It’s Ceri. Ceridwen. Um… I just wanted to… um… oh bollocks, this is ridiculous. Thanks for getting me home safe. I hope you made your rehearsal. Um… see ya.”
“Smooth,” I muttered to myself. “Great poise. Stellar achievement.”
Bronwyn stuck her head around the door. “You sounded like a randy spastic sixteen year old, just so you know.”
I stuck my tongue out at her. “Eavesdropper.”
“I’m bored and single, your love life is showing signs of getting amusing, I’m a nosy parker, quod erat demonstrandum.”
“What love life,” I snorted, tossing my phone aside. “I just wanted to thank him again.”
“Uh huh. Ceri Jones, I’ve seen that look on your face before. You want him.”
“Oh fuck off, Bron. It’s been a shitty day. I don’t need more abuse.”
“Mm.” She leaned in, planting a gentle kiss on my forehead. “Listen, Ceri, I’m heading out to meet some mates. Are you going to be OK here by yourself?”
“Yeah, I’m sore, not crippled. I’ll be OK.”
“Call me if you need me, OK?”
“Yeah, I will.”
I leaned back against the sofa and listened as Bron got ready. She blew me a kiss and pulled the door closed behind her; I doubted I’d see her again till the next morning; she was dressed in a skintight black dress and fuck me heels and looked like she was on the hunt.
“Good luck,” I murmured with a fond smile. Bronwyn didn’t get much time to let her hair down; when she did go out the end result was always a hangover on the order of a natural disaster for all involved. I momentarily wondered which of her collection of booty calls she’d leave with claw marks down his back the next day. Then I shook my head, winced as I levered myself up and made my way through to the bathroom.
The damage was worse than I’d expected, and I took a shuddering breath as I dropped my jersey and bloody vest to the floor and evaluated myself in our tarnished bathroom mirror.
Purple and red abrasions on my back and ribs; my left hip looked like it was going to be blue before morning. My wrist throbbed, but I struggled out of my sling and let it fall to the floor, then wriggled out of my jeans and nudged them out of the way. I stared at myself. Scrawny, pale-skinned, disheveled black hair and eyes that didn’t look as alive as they should.
I glanced down. My knee was were scraped and going blue as well, and the gash on my thigh had bled again into the adhesive dressing.
“You really did a number on me, you bastard,” I murmured, meeting my eyes again.
My phone rang, and I answered without looking. “Hello, Ceri speaking.”
“Hi, it’s me, Connor.”
I jerked, then swore as I nearly dropped the phone. “Jesus, sorry, you must think I’m spastic. Hi Connor. You caught me at a bad moment.”
“I guessed as much, from the reaction. Um… Thanks for the message; it made me smile.”
“Yeah, well, clearly I’m a retard over the phone,” I muttered. “Sorry, I’m just busy taking stock of my injuries.”
“They bad?”
I breathed out. “Yeah. Pretty bad. They bury better looking people every day.”
“They don’t bury people who are still breathing, except in certain extremely tragic cases… how’s the wrist and the head?” he added softly.
“Sore and more sore. How was rehearsal?”
“I could tell you but I’d end up swearing and likely not stop, so I shan’t tell you.”
“Hah, sounds like a lovely end to the day.”
“Oh, it was. However, on the plus side, I get to chat to you to chase it out of my mind.”
“Uh huh,” I drawled, turning to admire the abrasions on my shoulder blade. “Yeah, if chatting to a crippled Welsh crybaby who looks like she starves herself and is into self-harm is the highlight of your day then you’ve got issues of your own.”
“I don’t remember meeting a scrawny self-harming crybaby today; just a slender, hurt young woman who needed a friend.”
I took a breath. “Thank you for that, again. I mean it. You really didn’t have to.”
“You’d have never found a bus to get you home, and taxis are exorbitant. It was the least I could do.”
“The least you could have done was to do the London thing and not see me. You didn’t. You saw me, you helped me. You’re a very special type of person to give your time to a stranger like that.”
“My time is mine to give, and I gave it gladly.”
“White knight.”
“Guilty as charged. Ceri, listen… I can’t talk much longer. I’m at St Thomas and I have to go into the lifts. I’m probably going to lose reception pretty soon.”
“Why are you back there? Is something wrong? Are you OK, Connor?”
“No, I’m fine, it’s not me. I just need to say… goodbye to someone.”
“You sound so… sad… when you say that.”
“It’s a long story… listen, thanks for the call. It really made my evening. Are you going to be OK tonight? Is there someone to look after you?”
“No, my roommate is out, but I’ll be fine.”
“Sure?”
“Yeah. I’m going to lurk on the couch with my kindle. Chat later, I guess.”
“Sleep well then, Ceri. See you soon.”
I stared at the phone, wondering. Then I glanced up at my reflection. “Not your business,” I told myself. “You just met him.”
But still, I worried about him.
.:.
The shower water burned my skin, and I leaned my head against the cubicle wall, bracing myself with my good arm as I blinked back the burning in my eyes.
I ached, and the pain of my bruises combined with my loneliness and despair over my instrument.
I wished Bron hadn’t left. But I was a big girl, and I had to put on my big girl panties and deal with it. So I did the best job I could do at washing myself with my one hand, dealing with the pain in the best way I could – quiet, suppressed sobs. Once I’d calmed down I dried myself off as well as I could manage. I arranged some sort of tatty sling for my arm, and cooked a delicious meal of bread, more bread with a side of bread. I washed it and my sadness down with more wine, and curled up on the sofa. I phoned my mum, and cried again over being sore and alone and now without my music. As always, though, talking to her calmed me; and her promise to make a voodoo doll of the guy who’d knocked me over made me smile through my runny nose and tears. Afterwards, I felt calmer, and I tried to read while ITV ran as white noise in the background. But my mind kept returning to him.
I wondered what Connor was doing. I wondered who he was. I wondered what he did when he wasn’t playing hero for lost girls. He seemed gentle; I had met and dated my fair share of weirdos in my time and he didn’t seem to be one.
“Maybe he’s gay. That would be hilarious, wouldn’t it? Mad Welsh Bint Conceives Crush on Unattainable Man.” I shook my head at myself. “Get a grip, Ceridwen. Stop fixating on guys to fix you.”
Eventually I gave up any attempt to read and just lay back, thinking about him.
I wondered what impulse had driven him to sit with me. London breeds a hard kind of person; we drift past one another here; you may see the same person on your train every day for three years but never once will you say hello or reach out to ask them about themselves.
Something had made him reach out to me; some strange flight of fancy. Maybe he just had a personal need to help people, and I was his latest broken bird.
I snorted, amused at myself. “Drama queen,” I murmured. “Stop wallowing.”
My phone rang, and I reached for it without looking.
“Hello, Ceri speaking.”
“You have a lovely phone voice, has anyone ever told you that?”
“Connor,” I breathed. “Hullo, you’re a pleasant surprise. I wasn’t expecting you to call again tonight.”
“I was planning to leave you in peace but something waved a paw in my conscience and I thought I’d better check on how you were, given that you’re home alone.”
“Hah, he has a conscience,” I said, unreasonably pleased.
His laughter made me grin. “Are you home?”
“Don’t tell me you’re standing outside in the cold.”
“Guilty as charged, I’m afraid. I’m hoping ice cream will win me entry.”
“I’m a cheap date,” I laughed. “Hang on, I need to hobble to the door.”
I tried to stop grinning, but I don’t think I was successful.
.:.
He brushed his hair back out of his face and smiled tiredly up at me as the hallway light lit him.
“Hi”, he said. “I come bearing gifts.”
“Somebody mentioned icecream,” I declared, as he climbed the three stairs to the door.
He lifted the Waitrose bag. “As promised.”
“Oh all right, I suppose you can come in.” I moved aside and let him squeeze past into the narrow hallway. “Follow the sound of the TV; I’ll get the door.”
“Where can I find bowls and spoons?” he asked as he loped into the flat.
“Spoons right of the sink, bowls right of the hob. If you don’t mind I’ll resume my position on the couch.”
“Knock yourself out; I’ll play waiter. How is the arm, Ceridwen?”
“Fucking sore if I move it or think about it, hence the excellent sling and red wine.”
“Mm. Well, this should hopefully help then.” Connor put a bowl containing healthy dose of vanilla icecream down in my lap, and handed me a spoon.
“How’d you know I liked vanilla?”
“Everybody likes vanilla,” he answered, as he watched me swear in frustration as the bowl continually shifted on my lap.
“Christ, I’m like an invalid.”
“You are the textbook definition of an invalid,” he murmured. “Come, I’ll help.”
“Um…”
“I know, I know, the weird guy you met today is now in your flat, feeding you. Yeah, lets take the strangeness of today as it comes and add some pragmatism on top of it to mask it, eh?”
I stared up at him.
“Time is a precious resource, trust me on this. You should spend as much of it as you can having fun.” He sighed. “And right now, fun means eating ice cream with me. So, do you want my help? Or would you rather watch me eat ice cream by myself.”
“You are never to tell anybody of this. I will kill you until you’re sorry if you do.”
“Cross my heart.”
The icecream was delicious, and Connor was the very definition of a gentleman. He even redid my awful sling, setting the length correctly so that my arm hung at a relaxed angle. And all the while he worked he talked of nothing of consequence, and I listened to it all, and watched him, and basked in his nearness and the strange lightness of breath it brought.