Finding Felix

by Finding Felix (retail) (epub)

  ‘Dorothy?’

  Feeling a little dazed, I opened the bedroom door to discover my mother sitting up in bed, wearing a pale green nightdress, her Kindle on her lap and her glasses perched on the end of her nose. ‘Oh it is you,’ she breathed, putting a relieved hand to her chest. ‘Do you know, for a moment I thought you were being burgled. I tried to wake your father, but he’s out for the count. He’s starting with one of his chests and has taken a Night Nurse – on top of that beer at the Colston Hall,’ she added, as Dad coughed loudly in his sleep and rolled over. She smiled and patted his arm, but her face quickly fell as she looked up at me. ‘Why, whatever is the matter, Dot?’ she asked, removing her glasses. ‘You look as if you’re in shock.’

  ‘Do I?’ I said distractedly, my brain scrambling for any facts which might make sense of the current situation. ‘I suppose I am a bit.’

  ‘Oh darling, what’s happened?’ she asked, patting the bed. ‘Come here and tell me all about it. You haven’t fallen out with Felix, have you?’

  ‘What?’ I screwed my face up in genuine confusion. ‘No, Mum. I’m shocked because you and Dad are in my spare room.’

  She blinked and looked slightly affronted. ‘Well I phoned you several times and sent you three text messages, and your father watched the whole time to make sure I pressed all the right buttons.’

  I looked down wearily at the phone in my hand. ‘I switched it off during the show.’

  ‘Oh well then,’ she said briskly. ‘That explains that then, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Not really, no. Because as I didn’t get your messages until approximately one minute ago, I still don’t know why you’re here.’

  She smiled mischievously. ‘You’ll laugh when I tell you.’

  ‘Doubtful,’ I murmured.

  ‘You know how Uncle Geoffrey was re-boarding his loft?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You do. I told you about it last week. I told you how he’d got a good deal on the timber at Wickes.’

  I put a hand to my forehead. ‘OK.’

  ‘Well he was up there at teatime today, hammering away, and …’ she paused and began to chuckle, ‘he was just about to put the last few boards down when he …’ She paused again and shook her head, still laughing. ‘I’m so sorry, Dottie, but it really is very funny. You see, he stumbled over his toolbox, fell very heavily and crashed through the only bit of floor he hadn’t boarded. He went straight through into the bedroom below. Auntie Dawn’s brand-new Egyptian cotton quilt cover and pillowcases, the ones she went on and on about at the wedding, were completely ruined. Can you just imagine the scene?’ she added delightedly.

  ‘Yes,’ I said, absolutely appalled, ‘I can actually and it’s not funny at all. Poor Uncle Geoffrey.’

  She waved a hand dismissively. ‘Oh, he’s perfectly fine. He fell onto the double bed and only one little bit of plasterboard and a box of nails fell on top of him. He FaceTimed us an hour ago and he’s got a tiny cut above his left eyebrow and that’s it.’ She giggled and dabbed at her eyes with the edge of the quilt cover. ‘Daddy and I were in stitches, but, of course,’ she continued, her smile suddenly fading, ‘the sad thing is that we can’t stay with them this evening.’

  ‘That and the fact that Uncle Geoffrey could have broken his neck and he and Auntie Dawn have a huge hole in their bedroom ceiling,’ I pointed out.

  ‘Oh, it’s only the guest room, darling. Why on earth are you being so sombre about it? That’s not like you. Remember how you laughed when Daddy fell off the stepladder and into the pond when he was pruning the rowan last year?’

  ‘That was quite funny,’ I admitted grudgingly.

  ‘There you go!’ she said brightly. ‘Think of this as being just the same, except without the water and the gnomes.’

  ‘OK, I’ll try,’ I nodded, opting for exhausted acceptance. ‘And I suppose I’d better let you get to sleep and explain to Felix …’ My voice cracked at the thought and I cleared my throat. ‘And explain to Felix what has happened.’

  ‘Yes. And do assure him that we’re heading off to Avebury bright and early tomorrow, so we won’t spoil your morning. I know!’ she said, clapping her hands. ‘How about I bring the pair of you some breakfast in bed, as a thank-you for having us?’

  ‘No!’ I exclaimed.

  ‘Eggs Benedict. Your favourite,’ she beamed. ‘Dad can pop out and get anything you haven’t got.’

  ‘No, really, Mum, don’t. You mustn’t,’ I added emphatically.

  She blinked. ‘Why ever not?’

  I hesitated before deciding to apply my favoured fighting-fires approach to the situation. ‘Felix is allergic to eggs.’

  She put a hand to her mouth. ‘Oh, how sad. Is that a recent allergy?’

  I nodded. ‘Yes. Very recent.’

  ‘I’ll just bring him the buttered muffins and tea then.’

  ‘And he’s gluten intolerant.’

  ‘So just the tea.’

  ‘He doesn’t drink tea. Or coffee,’ I added quickly, as she raised a hopeful hand. ‘And he’s dairy and citrus intolerant too. So don’t worry, he’ll get anything he needs for himself. He never likes to be a bother.’

  My mother frowned and put a thoughtful finger to her lips. ‘But I thought I saw him eating cheese and biscuits at the wedding …’

  ‘Must have been gluten free,’ I said, backing out of the room and starting to close the door. ‘And dairy free.’

  ‘But there was a cream sauce on the chicken. You should have told us.’

  ‘It was fine. He scraped it off.’

  ‘But didn’t he drink beer this evening? Can you drink beer if you have coeliac disease? I thought hops— -’

  ‘I’d really better be getting to bed, Mum.’

  ‘But my goodness, Dottie. The poor boy. All those allergies. I expect that’s why he’s so slim these days.’

  ‘Yes, it is. Good night.’

  I clicked the door shut and then leaned my forehead against it while taking several deep breaths. After a moment, clueless as to what I was going to say to Felix, I miserably made my way back to the living room.

  When I got there, I saw that he was once again seated in the swivel armchair, his back to me. And for one horrible moment, I experienced a flashback to the evening of Becca’s wedding day, when I had discovered him sitting alone in the lounge.

  I hesitated in the doorway, paralysed by the memory of that traumatic encounter, before eventually, like a badly miscast Bond villain, Felix swivelled slowly around to face me and offered me his second eye roll of the evening.

  Managing at last to move, I stepped into the living room, closed the door quietly behind myself, and then went and sat back down on the sofa, reaching for the glass of wine I had placed on the table in such panic ten or so minutes earlier.

  ‘My parents,’ I began in a monotone while staring straight ahead of me, ‘are here because—’

  ‘Because Uncle Geoffrey has ruined the Egyptian cotton quilt cover,’ interrupted Felix.

  I turned my head and gazed at him impassively, lacking the energy for facial expression.

  ‘I heard,’ he said, leaning forward and picking up his beer.

  ‘Right,’ I said.

  ‘I also heard that I’m basically allergic to life.’

  I continued to look at him but said nothing.

  ‘In fact, I should probably be living in a bubble,’ he said. ‘And by the sound of it, I’m looking at nothing but cooled boiled water for breakfast tomorrow.’ He paused and took a sip of his beer. ‘In a sterilised beaker.’

  I transferred my gaze from him to my wine glass and heaved a sigh. ‘I would say sorry,’ I began quietly, feeling troublingly close to tears, ‘but I’m afraid that word is becoming overused in our relationship. And always by me. So overused that you probably feel it doesn’t really mean anything. I keep saying I’m going to sort things out and then I don’t and you keep being put in awkward situations because I’m either too lazy, too stupid or too cowa
rdly to fix things. I should have told Mum in the hospital, when Nanny Flo was ill, that I didn’t really have a boyfriend – but I didn’t. And after that, I had weeks to tell the truth – but I didn’t. Kate told me to stop fannying around after Becca’s wedding and set the record straight, but – ooh, what a surprise,’ I laughed while actually still wanting to cry, ‘I didn’t.’

  I looked up to find Felix staring at me and looking almost as miserable as I felt. I took two large gulps of my drink and then replaced my near-empty glass on the table. ‘I’m going to sort it out,’ I said, standing up.

  ‘What? Wait. How?’ asked Felix, looking shocked.

  ‘I’m not going to fanny around any longer.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘It means that I’m going to tell them that we are not going out together and that we never were and that’s why I’ll be sleeping on the sofa in here tonight.’

  ‘Hang on,’ he said, leaning forward and gently pulling on my arm so that I sat back down. ‘Don’t make a panic-based decision you’ll regret.’

  ‘I’m not panicked,’ I replied. ‘I’m perfectly calm.’

  ‘You’re not calm,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘You’re stunned. You’re confusing serene with concussed.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter. I can’t let this go on any longer, Felix. It’s completely unfair to you.’

  ‘I don’t think you should tell them tonight.’

  ‘That’s very selfless of you, but you’ve done enough and put up with enough already.’

  He shook his head. ‘I’m not being noble,’ he said. ‘I just don’t want to be here when you tell them. And in particular when you tell your mother. Ideally I’d like to be in a different country and time zone, with my mobile phone switched off. I certainly don’t want to be sitting less than thirty feet away.’ He shrugged. ‘Not a hint of selflessness about it.’

  I leaned back on the sofa and covered my face with my hands. ‘I just don’t know what to do.’

  ‘How about not thinking too far ahead? You’re good at that.’

  I lowered my hands to find him smiling.

  ‘That was a compliment,’ he added.

  I tried to smile. ‘But we’d have to share a room,’ I said.

  ‘You haven’t got a waterbed, have you?’

  I shook my head.

  ‘Then I’m OK with sharing a room,’ He sighed and then standing up, beer in hand he picked up my wine glass from the table. ‘Why don’t you go and clean your teeth and I’ll take these into the kitchen. And I can wash that griddle pan while I’m at it.’

  Chapter 19

  I cleansed, moisturised, and brushed my teeth on autopilot before vacating the bathroom for Felix and wandering, in something of a daze, down the hallway, only vaguely aware of the sound of my father snoring as I made my way to my bedroom. And I might have been able to maintain this relatively comfortable, zombie-like state into sleep had not opening my bedroom door and switching on the light had the same effect as a violent shake and a good slap.

  The problem was that I had so exclusively focused my available time and energy on ensuring that the spare room, and all other parts of the flat in which Felix might set foot, were immaculate, that my own room had been completely ignored. And as I gazed around it now, I felt my mood changing from numbed despair to the panicked variety.

  The top of my long chest of drawers was strewn with jewellery, a consequence of a last-minute, and ultimately fruitless, search for a specific bracelet and pair of earrings to wear to the theatre. The surface of the, unmade, bed was similarly littered, but this time with clothes, a lack of forward thinking having resulted in me removing a dozen or so dress/shirt/skirt options from the wardrobe before discounting and discarding them in turn. The dress which I had worn on Friday to work and the top and jeans that I had worn for most of Saturday meanwhile lay in a heap on the floor, along with some stray items of underwear and the contents of a basket of cardigans through which I had rifled just before heading off to meet Mum and Dad. And all of this recently created chaos was merely additional to the everyday level of clutter, including books, screens, make-up, sketchpads, brushes, pencils and pens, which habitually littered my bed, bedside tables and armchair.

  After a moment of horrified, cartoon-like immobility, spent with my mouth hanging ajar and both hands in my hair, I pulled myself together and opened my wardrobe, scooping up and pushing all stray items of clothing inside, before leaning hard against the heavy wooden doors to jam them shut. I then opened the largest top drawer of my chest of drawers and, with a single sweep of my right arm, cascaded all the jewellery into it. Finally, I piled all remaining items of clutter into my large oak blanket box, a hand-me-down from Nanny Flo, and, congratulating myself on the fastest tidy-up in history, climbed into bed – before immediately climbing out again after realising that I was still fully clothed.

  Hearing the loo flush, and aware that Felix could make an appearance at any moment, I rushed back to the chest of drawers in search of pyjamas and groaned upon seeing my nightwear buried under the newly created, sparkling slagheap of jewellery. Beginning to dig, I had just managed to excavate a modest floral pyjama top, and was unhooking multiple earrings and necklaces from it, when Felix tapped lightly on the door.

  I hurried over. ‘Just give me two minutes to put on my pyjamas,’ I whispered, holding the door ajar and peering out.

  ‘No problem,’ he said, invisible in the darkened hallway. ‘I’ll wait here.’

  ‘Great.’ I pushed the door to and crossed the room, grabbing a pair of pyjama bottoms from the chest of drawers and scattering jewellery as I did so. I then took off my dress and underwear, consigned both to the blanket box, put on my pyjamas and made my way back to the bedroom door. Once there, I switched off the light, whispered, ‘OK, all clear,’ and then, somewhat breathlessly, scrambled across to the far side of the bed, lying down and pulling the covers up under my chin.

  I turned my head towards the door as I heard Felix step inside and close it quietly behind him.

  ‘Er, it’s pitch black,’ he said.

  ‘I’ve got blackout linings in my curtains,’ I explained. ‘My bedroom is east-facing, so they’re great in the mornings.’

  ‘Not so great for navigating my way around a room I’ve never been in before,’ he murmured.

  ‘Sorry. I didn’t think of that. The bed is just to the left of you.’

  ‘OK,’ he said, a statement closely followed by a minor crash and several expletives.

  ‘Ooh, but be careful because there’s a small table next to it,’ I said.

  ‘Yes, I just found it,’ he whispered tensely, ‘with my knee.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘It’s fine.’ He sighed audibly, sitting down on the edge of the bed and leaning forward, I assumed to examine his knee. Then he pulled back the quilt and climbed in. ‘Good night,’ he said, lying down.

  ‘Night.’

  I lay on my back, staring up into the darkness, feeling a mixture of both relief and regret that Felix had decided to go to sleep right away. I didn’t have the heart for happy chit-chat about lunch, or the bus tour, or the show; besides, any attempt at cheeriness on my part would have been so obviously forced and insincere as to make it more depressing than uplifting. But at the same time, I hated that the day was ending on such a low. I had hoped that this weekend would mark the rekindling of our friendship. Now I was pretty sure it would be its death knell.

  I turned my head as I felt him roll over to face me, and through the darkness could just about make out the outline of his almost-curls and the firm jawline which had, years before, been hidden under a layer of podge which wobbled whenever he laughed. I smiled sadly as I continued to examine his silhouette, wondering if this would be the last time he and I would meet. The thought brought with it an unexpectedly sentimental urge to touch the friend to whom I might never be close again.

  His breathing now slow and indicative of sleep, I turned my body towards him, lifting m
y hand from under the covers and moving it tentatively towards his arm. He shifted slightly in his sleep and then let out a sudden yell.

  ‘I wasn’t doing anything! I didn’t touch you!’ I exclaimed, quickly pulling away my hand.

  ‘God,’ he said. ‘Something bit me.’

  ‘Bit you?’ I asked, sitting up. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes. Or stung me.’

  I reached to my left and switched on the lamp. Felix, flushed and frowning, was sitting up with his right hand clasped over his left shoulder. I looked at him with concern, whilst at the same time trying not to notice how his twisted position, in conjunction with his clearly top-quality, semi-fitted grey T-shirt, emphasised his arm and chest muscles.

  ‘Do you think it was a wasp? Or a bee?’ I asked, dragging my eyes away and looking around the room. ‘I don’t hear anything.’

  ‘I don’t know what it was, but it hurt,’ he said, still clutching his shoulder.

  ‘Oh, you’re bleeding,’ I gasped, noticing a very small but growing patch of blood on his top.

  ‘I think there’s something stuck in my shoulder,’ he said, lifting up the sleeve of his T-shirt and then wincing as he removed the something and held it between his thumb and forefinger.

  ‘What is it? Is it dead?’ I asked, shrinking back in horror and pulling the quilt up to just below my eyes.

  He looked at me. ‘It’s been dead for quite some time,’ he said, holding his hand out towards me. ‘Several million years, in fact – if that’s a real diamond.’

  I slowly lowered the quilt and stared at the bloodstained jewelled stud in the palm of his hand.

  ‘It’s cubic zirconia,’ I said quietly, not taking my eyes off the earring.

  ‘That somehow makes the pain less worthwhile.’

  ‘I think maybe I brought it to bed attached to my pyjamas.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘The butterfly back is missing, so the stem must have gone right into you.’

  ‘That explains the agony.’

  ‘I was trying to find it to wear to the theatre. I couldn’t see it anywhere.’

  ‘Well, I’m so glad to have been able to help you with that.’