Read Online A Passionate Love Affair with a Total Stranger by Lucy Robinson - Free Book Online
Authors: Lucy Robinson
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a broken leg! My love, you –’
But I wasn’t having it. ‘You just don’t understand,’ I cried, knowing how juvenile and horrid I sounded, but finding myself strangely unable to stop. There was a terrible panic welling in me and it was gaining momentum every second. ‘You don’t know what it’s like to be as busy as me. Fine, maybe I
do
do too much and, fine, I’ll maybe look at that in the future, but for now, Nessie, I have to
work.
I – Ah, God, it’s pointless –’ I broke off, agonized. What was the use in trying to explain or justify my schedule to someone who had the luxury of working an eight-hour day? Who was able to sit in the bath and cook dinner and play board games? Jesus! If only!
‘Being busy is a choice,’ Hailey said mildly, as if reading my mind.
I ignored her, crying with renewed despair as I caught sight of my diary, every appointment now scored through with Hailey’s pink pen. ‘I literally cannot do this,’ I sobbed. ‘I can’t. If you don’t understand, fine, but you’ll have to believe me when I tell you this is an
absolute
disaster
.’
Hailey’s face suggested she wasn’t very interested in believing me. Ness tried a bit harder than Hailey, but I could tell she, too, was struggling. And so, feeling completely alone, I gave up. I covered my face with my hands and wept. And wept and wept, not pausing even when the drunk next door started yelling about me being a ‘fuckin’ loser’ and Hailey stepped out to deck him and Ness had to drag her back into my cubicle.
At first I cried out of sheer frustration at being trapped in plaster for an interminable length of time, but then further causes for despair erupted brilliantly into my head like a toxic cabaret show. I cried over the agony of handing my precious job to Margot Pearson, at the loss of my independence, at the possibility of permanent damage to my leg. And then I found myself crying for the years I’d wasted trying, with futile desperation, to reel in John. All that brown rice, all those expensive haircuts, all of those painstakingly composed witty emails. All for nothing! John had opted to propose to a married woman he’d started an affair with soon after kissing my bosoms in the cleaning cupboard three years ago.
You idiot!
my head crowed, delighted.
You could have got married in the time you’ve wasted following him around!
Had a child. Learned to play another instrument. Been happy!
I wept for all this and more.
I wept until, after half an hour, my best friend and my sister gave up. They called the nurse in. ‘Any chance you could knock her out?’ Hailey asked politely.
The nurse was only too happy to oblige.
At some point in the night, I woke up, my strange dreams interrupted by the persistent ring tone of the hospital
phone beside my bed. It swam into focus as I opened my eyes; a red light flashing benignly above the receiver.
For a second or two I considered ignoring it. Nobody called in the middle of the night. But what if it was John, calling from California to tell me he’d made a mistake? That was a call I’d be glad to take, I reflected, reaching out and picking it up.
‘Hello?’ I whispered furtively. I did not under any circumstances want to wake up the caveman in the cubicle next door.
There was a short pause. Then: ‘Hello,’ Granny Helen replied regally.
I checked the clock. It was four thirty-six a.m. And, for the first time in more than twenty-four hours, I smiled. Of course Granny Helen would call at four thirty-six a.m. Of course. ‘Hello, Granny Helen.’ I settled back on the pillows. ‘Bit late, isn’t it?’
Granny Helen ignored me. ‘I hear from Vanessa that you’re feeling sorry for yourself,’ she said. It sounded like she was eating. I knew what she’d be eating too: it would be Jamaican ginger cake. Granny Helen lived in the cottage attached to our house and she often sat up in there until the wee hours, eating ginger cake and reading fearsome-sounding books
But I wasn’t having it. ‘You just don’t understand,’ I cried, knowing how juvenile and horrid I sounded, but finding myself strangely unable to stop. There was a terrible panic welling in me and it was gaining momentum every second. ‘You don’t know what it’s like to be as busy as me. Fine, maybe I
do
do too much and, fine, I’ll maybe look at that in the future, but for now, Nessie, I have to
work.
I – Ah, God, it’s pointless –’ I broke off, agonized. What was the use in trying to explain or justify my schedule to someone who had the luxury of working an eight-hour day? Who was able to sit in the bath and cook dinner and play board games? Jesus! If only!
‘Being busy is a choice,’ Hailey said mildly, as if reading my mind.
I ignored her, crying with renewed despair as I caught sight of my diary, every appointment now scored through with Hailey’s pink pen. ‘I literally cannot do this,’ I sobbed. ‘I can’t. If you don’t understand, fine, but you’ll have to believe me when I tell you this is an
absolute
disaster
.’
Hailey’s face suggested she wasn’t very interested in believing me. Ness tried a bit harder than Hailey, but I could tell she, too, was struggling. And so, feeling completely alone, I gave up. I covered my face with my hands and wept. And wept and wept, not pausing even when the drunk next door started yelling about me being a ‘fuckin’ loser’ and Hailey stepped out to deck him and Ness had to drag her back into my cubicle.
At first I cried out of sheer frustration at being trapped in plaster for an interminable length of time, but then further causes for despair erupted brilliantly into my head like a toxic cabaret show. I cried over the agony of handing my precious job to Margot Pearson, at the loss of my independence, at the possibility of permanent damage to my leg. And then I found myself crying for the years I’d wasted trying, with futile desperation, to reel in John. All that brown rice, all those expensive haircuts, all of those painstakingly composed witty emails. All for nothing! John had opted to propose to a married woman he’d started an affair with soon after kissing my bosoms in the cleaning cupboard three years ago.
You idiot!
my head crowed, delighted.
You could have got married in the time you’ve wasted following him around!
Had a child. Learned to play another instrument. Been happy!
I wept for all this and more.
I wept until, after half an hour, my best friend and my sister gave up. They called the nurse in. ‘Any chance you could knock her out?’ Hailey asked politely.
The nurse was only too happy to oblige.
At some point in the night, I woke up, my strange dreams interrupted by the persistent ring tone of the hospital
phone beside my bed. It swam into focus as I opened my eyes; a red light flashing benignly above the receiver.
For a second or two I considered ignoring it. Nobody called in the middle of the night. But what if it was John, calling from California to tell me he’d made a mistake? That was a call I’d be glad to take, I reflected, reaching out and picking it up.
‘Hello?’ I whispered furtively. I did not under any circumstances want to wake up the caveman in the cubicle next door.
There was a short pause. Then: ‘Hello,’ Granny Helen replied regally.
I checked the clock. It was four thirty-six a.m. And, for the first time in more than twenty-four hours, I smiled. Of course Granny Helen would call at four thirty-six a.m. Of course. ‘Hello, Granny Helen.’ I settled back on the pillows. ‘Bit late, isn’t it?’
Granny Helen ignored me. ‘I hear from Vanessa that you’re feeling sorry for yourself,’ she said. It sounded like she was eating. I knew what she’d be eating too: it would be Jamaican ginger cake. Granny Helen lived in the cottage attached to our house and she often sat up in there until the wee hours, eating ginger cake and reading fearsome-sounding books
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