by Rachel Dove
‘Shall we try this again?’ she asked reluctantly. She knew she should be mortified, angry even, but in all honesty, it was the most action she’d had in a while that wasn’t either a dream or a romantic scene from one of her favourite books. The thought was so depressing. She motioned to lift herself off him, but he held her firm.
‘Just give me a minute, okay? Ev’finks spinnning. Feel a bit sick. You’re really pretty, you’snow that?’ His eyelids were fluttering now, his dark lashes longer and more noticeable than Rebecca had first realised. He sighed heavily, treating her to a good dose of spirit-laden breath. Wow, a girl could get drunk just off the fumes he was expelling. ‘I want to make fings alright, you know? These things have to be sorted, they have to be, don’t they? Sometimes you just have to try, right? When things are bad, and the frozen chips are gone.’ Rebecca had no idea what he was spouting on about, but he was looking intently at her. Waiting for an answer to a question he hadn’t even asked, or at least, not in a coherent way. She’d half suspected when he’d arrived that his chips were down, but she didn’t want a drunken confessional dragging her into it. She looked down at him, and realised that she could do one of two things. She could utterly crush him and tell him that there was no point in trying anything or bothering with anyone. People went away when everything fell apart anyway, no one wants to see the ugly aftermath. Love doesn’t conquer all, it buggers off and pleases itself. There was no meaning of life, it was just a case of survival.
Or, she could cut the poor super dork a break, and maybe even get some more sleep. Looking down at him, she smiled at him kindly, speaking to him in her nicest voice. The real one, not the customer version.
‘You do, you’re right. You should absolutely go do all of that, but not tonight, eh? It’s been a long day for you. A good night’s sleep is just the ticket.’ She reached back and slowly tugged his hands off her behind, placing them in her hands. ‘Now come on, upppp!’
She pulled back with all her batter-whipping strength, standing up and finally bringing Luke to a standing position with her. He teetered a little, Rebecca pushing gently on his chest to steady him. Huh, she felt a muscle. Maybe his office had a gym. She turned him around, pushing him gently towards the stairs. She daren’t put his arm over her shoulders – one wrong move and they would both be down them arse over tit. Instead she opted for half pushing him, half dragging him up the stairs. All the while he was muttering about somebody being stubborn, and how he was going to help. Seemingly whether they wanted it or not. Another poor sod who was having their life meddled with. All this was whilst he was singing a medley of various testosterone-soaked hits from the 1980s. Mostly the high-pitched ones, naturally. She managed to get him up to her place, quickly closing the door at the top to prevent any further tumbles. Turning round, she started to talk to him, but he’d gone.
‘Luke?’ she called out, feeling weird shouting a man’s name in her home. Nothing. She was about to call again when she heard the clang of a belt buckle, a zip, and then the distinct tinkle of running water. In desperate hope, she ran past the empty guest room to the bathroom, but flicking the light on, she found the room empty.
‘Luke!’ She shouted again, louder and more frantic this time, running from room to room to find them all empty.
‘If I lay heeerreee, if I just llllaaayy hereeee, would you lie with meeee and just forget the worlddddd!’
Oh my Lord, what the hell is he doing? I love that song too. Drunken berk. She ran, racing to the sound of him butchering one of her favourite tunes, and she found him. In her bedroom. More importantly, in her bed. He was lying across her duvet, in a pair of black boxer shorts, trying to pull her hand stitched comforter over him. Another smell hit her too, and her nose slowly turned her head in horror, till she saw the bin next to her desk. Right next to his discarded trousers.
‘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. Ba
ck. 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. All little things that added up to those feelings of connection, of being part of something bigger than a simple batch of sweet goods. Rebecca knew that now, working here. Baking was her solace, her way of still feeling useful. Detached, but still there. Hans said it was hiding, but what did he know? He hadn’t failed. Not many were in Rebecca’s league of big fat fails.
Baking was safe and always there. It expected nothing from her. You put the oven on, sourced the best raw ingredients, followed the recipe, it ended the same way every time. Routine, with an expected outcome. Like a tick list. You made a list of goals, and then worked towards them. Worked till the day was completed, and you could tick that box, cross the item off that list. It sounded a little hollow even in her own head that morning. All she wanted to do was go into the café, keep busy.
She’d been up for hours, not even trying to sleep after the first hour of tossing and turning on the sofa. She felt sick to her stomach at the thought of facing Luke and his questions. Hans must have known it would be like this. Adding the final egg to the mixture, she mixed it together by hand, the bowl balanced on one hip. She didn’t even need any more cupcakes, but she couldn’t stop her hands from making more. It helped to distract her from the massive urge to flee. She added peppermint extract and folded it into the mixture, gnawing on the insides of her lip as she tried to calm herself down.
Her mother had taught her how to bake, years ago. Before the obsession with success had taken hold of Rebecca – and her mother. Rebecca could still remember dragging her little stool to the countertop to help her, her little cherry-patterned pinafore apron matching her mother’s. This was her favourite recipe, peppermint cupcakes with mojito frosting. They’d designed it together, adding the mojito when she got older and baking was one thing they still enjoyed together; she made them whenever something bad happened. Now, she was making them because she knew something bad was coming, and she couldn’t do a thing to stop it. She stirred a little faster.
Last night. Her old friend anxiety whispered in her ear softly, provoking a reaction like being slapped in the face with a breeze block. What am I going to say to him when he wakes up? Will he bring it up? Hans had a lot to answer for, the brave little bastard. What was he thinking, saddling her with a stranger, and a geeky, all-knowing, all-seeing man child at that? Luke was going to keep digging, she could see the frustration in his cute drunken expression last night as he struggled to place her face. She worked that bit faster at the mixture, to shake the anxiety off and try to focus on her task again.
‘Bec … Rebecca?’ A weak little voice limped into her awareness, and she jumped, ditching the bowl on the countertop and raising her wooden spoon in front of her, like a wizard wielding a wand. A gob of batter fell to the floor, making a loud ‘splat’ sound. Luke was in the doorway, or rather, was lying against it pathetically, his knuckles white as they gripped the corner of the door. ‘What are you doing down here?’ It came out as a little whine, and Rebecca found herself feeling a bit sorry for him. Before she remembered. He had to go. She ventured forward to look closer at her uninvited houseguest.
He looked rough. As in bear’s arse rough. His stubble was quite dark now, casting a deep shadow on his face. He had dark circles under his eyes, and his hair had that tousled look, as though someone had grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him hard. It reminded her of a toy she had as a kid, a little hairy gonk thing that said ‘yabber yabber’ when you shook it. Same annoying whine too.
‘I’m baking, I couldn’t sleep.’ She didn’t ask what he was doing up. His liver probably woke him up in protest. I just want you to go.
‘You bake a lot, don’t you? Did I wake you?’ Did you wake me? Are you kidding? She rolled her eyes and started to spoon the mixture into the cupcake cases, working methodically as she tried to stop her hands from shaking.
‘I think you know the answer to that,’ she started, trying to ignore the butterflies kickboxing in her stomach. ‘I don’t know what you think you know about me, but—’
‘I get it, you don’t want houseguests coming home late, it was a one-off. It’s way out of character for me, I can assure you of that. I apologise. It won’t happen again.’ He stumbled over and very gently lowered himself onto one of the stools, moving forward at a sloth like leisurely pace till his left cheek touched the tabletop. ‘Ohhh, that’s nice and cold. Mmmmm.’
Rebecca threw a tea towel over his head and put the trays of cupcakes into the oven, flicking the timer on.
‘Ow, that hurt,’ he moaned from under the towel, his voice muffled and dull.
‘Aww poor baby,’ she pouted before she could stop herself. I can’t bring myself to look at him, even with the tea towel covering his knowing face.
He lifted his head up, looking like a drooling shepherd in a pub nativity play nightmare.
‘Sorry for waking you. Hans and I kind of tied one on, you know?’ Putting the cupcakes in the oven, she set her chicken timer and waited, listening to the ticking in the silence. He squinted a little as he looked right at her.
‘I know, I had to put you to bed.’ Signalling the end of the conversation, she sprayed the surfaces down and started scrubbing. She concentrated on the monotonous motion to steady her. She always got like this, when someone noticed, spoke about the competition or looked at her a beat too long. Just thinking about it made her feel exhausted once more, and yearning for the sanctity of her duvet. Once the cupcakes are out cooling, I intend to get some sleep, frost them in the morning. The normal person’s definition of morning, anyway. Duvet. Damn. She got a flashback of the bin and winced. ‘Also, you will have to get my room cleaned. Sheets, and the bin, of course. I was happy to take the sofa yesterday, but tonight, I am back in one of the beds, either way.’
One flick of her eyes towards him, and she could tell. He had no idea what she was going on about. He looked bewildered.
‘The bin?’ she ventured. Nothing. Just a gormless, rather scary-looking shepherd with stubble stared back. ‘You came into my room, peed in my bin and then passed out on my bed.’
His face went slack, his jaw practically swinging loose. Relief washed over her. If he didn’t remember that … He knew less than Jon Snow. Luke didn’t know her, or her past. Either that, or Hans had told him with beer-lubricated lips, and then he pickled that knowledge with alcohol.
‘I didn’t,’ he said eventually, feebly from his sloth position on the countertop. ‘Did I?’ His Yorkshire accent grew thicker as he started to mutter and curse under his breath. If her mother were here, she’d be mortified. The last time Rebecca had said ‘nowt’ to her mother when she had asked what was wrong, it had been hell. All week her irate mother had sent her interviews of sporting people having ridiculous accent meltdowns on TV. To be fair, the French Joey Barton clip had creased her, Hans, and Holly up for weeks.
‘I am so sorry. I don’t drink that much, as a rule.’ It took a minute for her to realise the tea towel was still mumbling.
‘Good rule,’ she quipped grumpily, thinking of the pee bucket in her room, next to her lovely, warm and usually man-free bed. ‘You had a good night though?’ She kept it light, but really she wished she could take her wooden spoon and go digging in his hungover brain. Hopefully one of the brain cells he had killed last night contained Hans’s little Rebecca bulletin.
He nodded feebly at her, his brows furrowing and un-furrowing like aerobic caterpillars. ‘From what I can remember. I am sorry, I won’t do that again. I do appreciate you putting me up. I’ll go clean.’
&nbs
p; Ready for him, Rebecca reached under the countertop, grabbing a roll of bin bags and some gloves. ‘Here.’
His face softened as he looked at her, and she couldn’t help but smile at him. Damn it. This is piss in a bin guy, Becks. Knock it off. ‘I’ll be coming back up in ten. I need some shut eye before we open.’ Oh crap. I dropped a ‘we’ then myself accidentally, but I can’t take it back now. Too obvious. I can see it though, floating in the air between us. I need to pluck it out of the air, stuff it back in and force out an I. I will open. This is temporary, having 00-drunkie under this roof. She made a mental note to call Hans as soon as the hour was suitable for ringing a friend, to bollock him. Holly’s pregnant and bored too, so I bet she’ll give him a good ribbing for me.
Luke, moving for the first time as though he was human, came towards her around the countertop, reaching for the items she was offering him. She felt his fingers close around her hand, just for a second, before he withdrew. Slowly, like his fingers were saying hello to hers. She didn’t totally pull hers away either. Sleep deprivation was making her cuckoo.
‘I am sorry, for last night. And this morning, I suppose. I know it must have been a lot for Hans to ask, you putting up with me and everything. I do appreciate it though. It was a bit of a spur of the moment thing. I didn’t even realise what it involved, really.’ He looked around him and out of the window. The view was looking rather spectacular this morning, with the light trickling over the mountains, showing the fresh, untouched powder. He stopped talking, transfixed. Rebecca found herself looking at that powder, remembering how it felt the first time she had been the one to ski through that pure white canvas.
‘Living here must be amazing,’ he said, almost wistfully. She nodded, but couldn’t bring herself to answer. The chicken timer went off, and the moment was broken. He jumped as though a grenade had gone off behind him, his knees bending in reflex. Rebecca had never been more grateful to an inanimate object in her life. Well, nearly. She was a single girl after all. The nights were long, lonely, and full of battery-powered distractions. She didn’t answer, and after a moment she could see his shadow move towards the interior stairs. She took her phone out of her apron pocket and went to tap out an expletive-filled text to Hans, but he’d beaten her to it. She put the phone on the counter as she read the first few words.
