Romantic Comedy Box Set (Helen Grey Series Books 1 & 2)

by Hodge, Sibel

  ‘You heard what the doctor said, so I’m going to stay here with you tonight. I can’t leave you like this.’

  ‘Thanks.’ I was in no position to resist.

  And then I passed out.

  I woke up a few hours later to complete darkness. I still felt awful. Picking up the bowl beside my bed, I threw up. Kalem, asleep in the chair next to my bed, shot up, almost toppling the chair. He perched on the edge of the bed, rubbing my back until nothing more could possibly come out.

  ‘Reminds me of The Exorcist, all this projectile vomiting.’ He carried the bowl to the bathroom, empted its contents and returned with it a few minutes later.

  Wiping my mouth with a tissue, I attempted a smile. ‘Why are you sleeping on the chair?’ I patted the empty side of the bed. ‘If you’re going to stay, you might as well be comfortable.’

  ‘Well, I’ve always wanted to get you into bed, but not really like this. And I know I’m not your type, anyway,’ he drawled sarcastically, although for a second there was an edge to his voice, which sounded different, serious almost.

  I patted the empty side of the bed. ‘Come on. I know you’re not likely to pounce on me looking like this,’ I joked. ‘If you’re going to stay, you might as well be comfortable.’

  The last thing I remember as I drifted off to sleep again was Kalem softly stroking my hand.

  Chapter 12

  Sunday, day 7 – Single Men Are Still Freaks

  When I opened my eyes on Sunday morning, I was lying on my side. Kalem studied me with his intense brown eyes, which for the first time I noticed had an unusual pattern of green flecks running through them. He had a look I’d never seen before. Probably complete disgust.

  ‘Did you know that you dribble and snore when you sleep?’ he said.

  I slapped him. ‘Is that in-between the puking or at the same time?’

  ‘You must have had a bad dream too, because you woke up suddenly, sat bolt upright in bed and shouted, “Duck! There’s a sniper with a thirty-eight!” And then passed out again.’

  ‘Blimey.’ I smiled. ‘What did you do?’

  ‘Well, I ducked, of course.’ He leapt off the bed. ‘How do you feel?’

  ‘Actually, I feel OK.’ I sat up.

  He rubbed his back. ‘God, your bed’s uncomfortable.’

  ‘I like it.’

  ‘Can you manage something to eat? I think you need something – how about a nice, greasy, fried egg sandwich?’

  ‘Urgh!’ My stomach gurgled at the very thought. ‘Could I just have a slice of toast and a cup of tea, please?’

  I could hear him bashing around in the kitchen, looking for cups and teabags as I heaved myself out of bed and wandered into the lounge on wobbly legs.

  He pulled out a chair for me. ‘Sit.’

  ‘That’s funny. You sound exactly like Ayshe does sometimes when she’s being bossy.’

  He came back in sloshing two big mugs of tea and balancing a pile of lightly buttered toast.

  ‘Thanks.’ I attacked two slices and slurped the tea. ‘Think I must be dehydrated.’

  ‘Are you going to be OK?’ He finished his tea in a hurry. ‘I’ve got to shoot off.’

  My hand flew to my mouth. ‘Oh, I forgot. Emine won’t be very impressed, will she?’

  He muttered something impossible to hear, leaving me alone, munching the rest of my feast and worrying about what had happened between us the night before. I mean, I was quite tipsy, otherwise I never would have held his hand during dinner. But then we had been pretending to be a couple after all, and he had reciprocated, hadn’t he? But the strangest thing was that it had all felt quite natural. I wondered how many men would look after me so patiently during a throwing-up session of that magnitude. Certainly not Justin, that’s for sure! But this was all totally ridiculous: Kalem was Ayshe’s brother for God’s sake, and he was involved with someone else. How would Emine feel about his late-night back-rubbing session with me? I was sure she wouldn’t be impressed.

  I tried to fling all thoughts of Kalem out of my mind, but it was just no use. They kept pinging back like a boomerang. Anyway, it was crazy. I didn’t fancy him in the slightest.

  ‘Pull yourself together. You’re imagining things,’ I muttered into the silence and busied myself tidying up the flat in preparation for Nick coming over.

  It was only after I’d had a tidying splurge that I realized there was a message on my answer phone. I sat down next to it cautiously, hoping it wasn’t going to be that lunatic again.

  ‘Right, that’s it. It’s your last chance. If you don’t come up with the money today, I’m going to send the Meat Cleaver up to see ya. Know what I mean? He’s not called that for nothing, you know, and he won’t take no for an answer.’ And then he broke into a crazy kind of Vincent Price laugh, which went something like, ‘Ooh hoo ha-ha-ha-ha, ooh hoo ha–ha-ha-ha.’ The connection was severed abruptly. It was the bloody lunatic again. What the hell was he on about? A ripple of fear crept up my body. I fidgeted in my chair, biting my thumbnail, the music from the shower scene in Psycho playing in my head.

  My mobile rang and I shot off the chair, an orchestra of drums pounding in my chest. ‘Agh!’ I screamed, reaching for the phone.

  ‘Hi, it’s Nick.’

  I sank back into the chair, clutching my chest. ‘Hi…Nick.’ I fanned myself with my hand.

  ‘Are you OK? You sound a bit strange.’

  Why did he always seem to catch me at the worst moment? ‘Erm…no, I’m fine.’ I paused while my breathing returned to normal. ‘Fine,’ I repeated, which slipped out a little more high pitched than I anticipated. ‘How are you?’

  ‘I’m afraid something’s come up, and I’m not going to make it today.’

  ‘Oh…well these things happen, don’t they.’ Did I feel disappointed? I wasn’t sure.

  ‘I’d still like to take you to the boxing match on Friday, though. Is it OK to ring you in the week and sort out the details?’

  ‘Yes, that sounds good. I’ll speak to you later, then. Bye.’

  ****

  By the afternoon, I felt one hundred per cent again. The unsteady legs were back to normal and my stomach only grumbled occasionally so I decided to visit Nan, something I’d done religiously every Sunday for years. She’d been ensconced in a nursing home after a brush with death following a chip-pan fire, which had almost caused a gas explosion big enough to topple the whole neighbourhood. It had even been on the news!

  I was just dashing out the door when the phone rang.

  ‘Hello, puke-monster,’ Ayshe laughed.

  I cradled the receiver to my ear. ‘What a night! I’m fine now, though. Feel a bit ravenous still, but I’ve got Old Mother Hubbard in my cupboards.’ I’d eaten the entire contents of my fridge after breakfast. The only thing left was a mouldy old piece of cheese, a jar of tomato purée, and a packet of hairclips – although I wasn’t quite sure exactly what those were doing in there. I must have been having a freaky five minutes – aaagh! Maybe I was getting Alzheimer’s too!

  ‘Well, that is perfect because today’s challenge is Sunday Night Food Shopping.’

  ‘Why is food shopping a challenge? I always go food shopping.’

  ‘Yes, but everyone knows that Sunday night is singles' night. It’s the shopping equivalent of a dating agency.’

  Did they? I’d never heard that before. ‘Are you having a laugh?’

  ‘Absolutely not. I think you should try the new Tesco that’s opened at the end of the High Street. And they’ve got clothes in there too,’ she breathed.

  ‘Urgh! Don’t mention clothes.’

  ‘You’re not seriously scared of clothes shopping now, are you?’

  ‘No – yes – oh, I don’t know.’

  ‘Well, even more reason to go, then. You’re supposed to be doing things to get your confidence back.’

  I hesitated. Food shopping sounded all right. I could handle that with no problems. After all, I’d only been food shopping about ten
million times in my life and nothing had ever happened before. ‘OK, Miss. Whatever you command.’

  ‘Text me when you finish, and I’ll pick you up outside. Görüşürüz.’ See you later in Turkish, she chimed.

  ****

  I stopped off at a little shop on the way to the nursing home to pick up a couple of individual cartons of orange juice and some toffees. As I perused the aisles, I wondered whether the Sunday singles’ shopping rule involved the corner shop variety as well, or did it just apply to supermarkets? Did it mean everyone who shopped on a Sunday night was single or just a small proportion? And who made up the rule in the first place? The possibilities were endless.

  ****

  ‘Ah, Miss Grey.’ Nurse Pratchett caught up with me as I headed up the corridor which had single, private rooms leading off on both sides of the walkway.

  The rooms were directly opposite each other, which meant that each resident could look into the room on the other side. Often there would be slanging matches between them as they shouted at each other like inmates in a prison and only slightly more well behaved.

  I twirled around a bit too fast and felt my stomach gurgle. ‘Hi. How’s my nan? Is everything OK?’

  ‘She’s fine.’ Nurse Pratchett scratched her head. ‘We’ve had to put a catheter in, though. She’s not going to the loo properly. She doesn’t like it, I’m afraid.’

  Who would? I thought, as I hurried off to her room.

  ‘Hi, Nan.’ I breezed in and planted a kiss on her forehead.

  The trouble with Alzheimer’s was that sometimes she was completely sane and at other times completely gaga. It didn’t help that she was getting very deaf lately so she shouted a lot, as well.

  She smiled at me and sat up in bed. ‘Helen!’

  I wrinkled my nose at the strong smell of urine coming from her bed.

  ‘What’s going on here?’ I picked up the bedclothes, looking underneath to see if the catheter had been leaking. ‘Your bed’s all wet, Nan. Did you have an accident? ‘

  ‘What?’ She looked at me completely mystified.

  I waved my hand and plumped up her pillows. ‘Never mind.’

  ‘She did that!’ She pointed through the doorway at the elderly woman in her room across the hallway. ‘Dirty cow!’ she said in a loud voice thinking it was just a whisper, nearly exploding my eardrum.

  The woman looked up from reading her Mills and Boon. ‘I’ve had just about enough of her,’ she sighed.

  ‘And as for that Nurse Hatchett–’ Nan started again.

  ‘Pratchett,’ I butted in, handing her the toffees and juice.

  ‘What, dear?’ Nan eyed them with intense suspicion, as if they were loaded with Ricin.

  ‘Never mind.’

  I hoped I didn’t end up like this, it would drive me mad! But then, if you were already mad, would you know it?

  ‘Nurse Hatchett keeps coming in here and hiding a bag of piss under my bed!’ she shouted at me. Her voice must have carried half a mile.

  I could hear Nurse Pratchett snorting to herself in the corridor.

  ‘Shush, she’ll hear you,’ I whispered. ‘Anyway, don’t worry Nan. It’s not a bag of piss, it’s a catheter bag.’

  ‘Looks like piss! Why do I need a taffeta bag in here? I never go out.’

  ‘No, a catheter bag!’

  ‘What’s that, then?’ she looked fretful.

  I thought I’d better get her off this subject fast. ‘Have a toffee.’ I pointed at them. ‘You love them.’

  ‘She stole my chocolate bar.’ She pointed at the woman across the hall again who’d stuffed half a chocolate bar into her mouth and wiped the other half on her bedding.

  ‘You don’t even like chocolate,’ I said.

  ‘Go and get it for me, there’s a love.’

  ‘Here, have a toffee.’ I opened the packet for her, sitting back to watch her fiddle with the wrappers.

  ‘Oh, I’ll have one later,’ she huffed.

  I studied her hair, which looked like it had been hacked to death. She had a lopsided fringe and half her hair was missing above her ears.

  ‘Have the hairdressers been in again?’ They usually let the college students loose to practice shampoo and sets on the poor unsuspecting residents.

  ‘You could do with a hair cut, too.’

  I ran a hand through my hair. ‘I went on Friday!’

  ‘About time too, you’ll never get a nice young man if you let yourself go.’

  ‘So, what’s been happening this week, Nan?’

  ‘A man got into bed with me last night.’

  I was thinking about the same thing myself! ‘Who was that, then?’

  ‘He said his name was Albert, but I don’t know anyone called that.’

  ‘That’s Grandad,’ I said. ‘It must have been a dream.’

  ‘Couldn’t possibly have been, dear. My grandad snuffed it years ago.’

  I shook my head. ‘No, my granddad; your husband.’

  She beckoned me forward. ‘I had to cancel my skiing holiday because I’m in here!’ she bellowed.

  ‘You’ve never been skiing.’ I leapt back, my ears ringing.

  ‘Yes I have. I used to go every year with Eddie.’

  This was news to me. ‘And who is Eddie?’

  She considered this for a minute as if it was a trick question. ‘You know, Eddie.’

  I didn’t have a clue who Eddie was. Maybe she’d been having an affair.

  ‘And I used to go swimming once a week with David.’ she let out a wistful sigh.

  She sounded like she was a goer in her day! ‘Who’s David?’

  ‘You know. David…what was his name?’ She reclined against her pillows. ‘Hassle.’

  And then I knew what she was raving on about. ‘You mean David Hasslehoff. You used to watch Baywatch every week.’

  ‘No, I used to swim with him every week. Used to wear a lovely, red swimsuit, didn’t I? Of course my figure was a bit better in those days.’ She tilted her head, imagining herself running up and down the sun-baked beach with David chasing after her lustfully.

  ‘What did you have for lunch?’ I asked.

  ‘Nothing. They don’t feed you in here. I’m all skin and bone.’ She looked down at her ample bosoms and plump arms.

  ‘Of course they do.’

  ‘No, they don’t. She steals all my food!’ She pointed at the Mills and Boon woman again who looked back at us and stuck her fingers up.

  I inspected her top. ‘Have you got that on back-to-front?’

  ‘What dear?’ she shouted at me.

  ‘Your top, it’s the wrong way round. Here, let me help you change it.’ I grappled with her to get her top off and turn it the right way round.

  ‘Ow,’ she grumbled. ‘Are you still seeing that young man of yours?’ She asked me the same questions every time I saw her.

  ‘Who?’ I pulled her arms through her top.

  ‘Chris.’

  How could she remember my first ever boyfriend and not remember who I was?

  ‘That was ages ago.’

  She fiddled with her top. ‘How are the children?’

  ‘I haven’t got any, Nan.’

  ‘Why not? Does he have a problem in that department? Albert had a problem in later life. He used to make me wear a nurse’s outfit sometimes.’ She took her dentures out, studying them. ‘What about that other fella. James or John or…’

  ‘Justin.’

  ‘He was lovely.’

  ‘He was a cheat!’

  ‘Well, why don’t you get yourself a nice young man like Kalem?’ She suddenly looked like her normal self again.

  I blushed. ‘It’s a bit more complicated than that, Nan. You know that Yasmin and Deniz wouldn’t approve of him going out with someone who wasn’t Turkish Cypriot.’

  ‘I always thought he was perfect for you.’ She looked me up and down. ‘Well, how about that other peculiar friend of yours? Charlene or something: the one who’s always dressed in pink.’


  ‘You mean Charlie. He’s fine.’

  ‘Is it a he or a she?’ She tilted her head.

  I didn’t really know how to answer that one without getting into the finer points of weirdness. ‘He’s a he.’

  ‘Well, why don’t you go out with him, then? You could swap clothes.’

  I was saved from answering – thank God – by Nurse Pratchett, who entered the room, carrying a tray of food. ‘Here’s your dinner, Lily. Your favourite: roast beef.’ She lowered it onto the table and wheeled it over to the bed.

  ‘Ooh, I love the food in here.’ Nan sniffed at her Yorkshire pudding with delight.

  I stood up and kissed her goodbye. ‘I’ll see you next week then, Nan.’ And I left her to enjoy the food they never served!

  Chapter 13

  By the time I reached Tesco that evening I was dying for a wee – thought my bladder was about to spontaneously combust, actually – so I tried to swiftly grab a trolley from the trolley park, but all of them were stuck together. I tugged hard, but the front one wasn’t budging. Instead, the whole line of trolleys did a Mexican wave at me. Frustrated, I yanked hard but still couldn’t get one of the little buggers to co-operate. I stood there for a few minutes scratching my head, feeling ridiculous, until a hard nosed woman with knuckle-duster rings came up and effortlessly pulled the front one out – think I must have loosened it for her, though. I managed to pull out the next trolley and deposited it ready and waiting outside the loo area. Following the signs to the toilets, I burst into the first door I came across. By this time, I was doing a kind of half-sprint, half-trot, which rivaled that of the hip-jiggling fast walkers in the Olympic Games. I dashed into the nearest cubicle and weed for England. When I came out; there was a small queue of men waiting outside the cubicle door, eyeing me strangely. My cheeks burned scarlet. I’d been to the loo in the men’s!

  I made a quick exit, only to find my trolley had vanished. So I huffed back outside and grabbed the only one left which, not surprisingly, was the reject that had a wheel with a mind of its own. It must have had a bit missing somewhere as it made a loud squealing noise like a mouse on ecstasy. The only way to steer it in a straight line was to try and twist it in a diagonal manner so it looked like I was purposely heading towards people, like a kamikaze shopper. I repeatedly twisted my hips to get the thing going in the right direction which probably made me look like I had a severe walking problem or a wooden leg. Unless Paul McCartney was shopping here tonight, I didn’t have a hope in hell of meeting anyone.