‘Luke! What the holy hell are you doing! You pee’d in my bin, and this is my bed!’ Stomping over to him, she leaned forward and gave him a hard shove. He rolled a little, and she got a flash of bulge as he tried to right himself. ‘You stupid drunken git! Get out!’
‘Get out, get out whilst you still cannnnn!’ He immediately started to sing again, pretending to play the drums whilst he did his best James Bay crooning expression. ‘Oooo oooo oooo!’
‘Luke!’ She tried again, fists balled at her sides now, her face feeling flushed and hot. Bulge. Her brain was so angry, it was just firing random words at her. Nice. Angry. Urine. Eugh, moment gone. He flumped down under her comforter again, exhausted from flailing around, and looked across at her bleary eyed.
‘What …?’ His eyelids were drooping now, and in another second, it was clear he was out for the count. A loud snore erupted from him as his body relaxed visibly before her. She hoped to heaven the man had no pee left in him. Looking at him, almost peaceful in sleep, lying amongst her belongings, looking a bit familiar in them himself, she wondered for a moment … which scatter cushion she was going to use to smother him to death with. If she used the sequined one, it would leave a trace, but the bowed one …
‘I’ll make it better, promise. Hang in there. For me.’ For a man unconscious and full of drink that he obviously wasn’t used to, those words came out as clear as a bell. She looked down as his face, handsome in sleep but obviously troubled. Maybe she could put up with him for a little bit. At that moment, Luke turned onto his side, farted loudly, and started to snore like a baby piglet. Maybe not.
‘Thanks Hans, mate. Just peachy dude, cheers. Bloody hell.’ She looked gingerly at her bin, but made no move to clean it up. No way am I touching a bucket full of pee. Suddenly glad that her bin was solid plastic, rather than the wicker pee fountain it could have been, she checked on Luke. His head was off to one side, still looking her way as she stood at the side of the bed. I just know he’s going to wake up with a cricked neck, and as much as that pleases me, I can’t leave him like that. Kneeling on the bed, she gently turned his head and rolled his body towards her, so that he didn’t choke on his vomit if he yacked, or pull his neck muscles. Reaching behind him, she moved a little closer to put a pillow under his head and cover him over properly. His clothes and hair were damp from the snowfall, and she didn’t want him to catch cold. When she finally pulled back, his eyes were open, and he was watching her.
‘Sorry,’ she said softly, though quite why she was apologising she had no idea. She should have left him to fart himself into oblivion. ‘I was just tucking you in.’
He smiled, a luscious, happy, smile, with just a hint of sadness in his eyes. Basically, he looked like Clark Kent in puppy form. Sheesh. She smiled back, despite her best efforts to stay being a snarky cow. It actually feels nice to look after someone else.
‘Thanks.’ His face dropped into a comical frown, his lip jutting out in a childlike way. ‘You’s fink we can do it, don’t you?’
‘Your big plan?’ she guessed wildly, and he nodded once. ‘Of course you can. Now get some sleep, and I’ll see you in the morning. Okay?’
He nodded, and was almost asleep by the time she left the room. Almost, but he said something first that stopped her in her tracks.
‘I know you. I don’t know where from, but I’ll remem-ember. I remember your face.’ Rebecca could feel her heart pause in her chest, as though it held its own breath, waiting to hear what he said. Does he know? Did Hans tell him? Surely not.
She stood there, frozen in time, waiting for him to say something, say anything, just so she could take a breath again. ‘Luke?’ All she got in reply were soft snores, accompanied by the beating drums in her ears, and the tingle in her feet, urging her to run. I can’t stay now. I can’t be here. It’s been five years, and I finally thought I was okay. As okay as I can manage, as scarred as I am.
*
Baking was easy for Rebecca. The principles of it, anyway. The love and talent she had for it now was down to the usual formula too, in part. Work hard at something, love it, and you will get better. Do it once. Do it again. Fail. Get. Back. Up. Adjust, adapt and try again. Keep on trucking. It’s the human race at its best. We humans find something we love, and we surround ourselves in it. We sacrifice, we push ourselves to achieve, and we cheer others on as they hit their goal. It didn’t all have to be trail blazing. It didn’t have to be anything special. Something as simple as a cup of coffee, a cupcake could turn a bad day around. People needed the little things. Good food, a great book that felt like a shot of romance in the arm, a hug from someone you love.
