The Five-Year Plan: The utterly heart-warming and feel good rom com of 2020

by Carla Burgess

  ‘Hiya!’ she says cheerfully, throwing herself down on the chair opposite. ‘You’ll never guess who I saw walking through town today!’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Your sexy coffee guy from Frothy Coffee.’

  ‘Ooh did you?’ I perk up. Sexy Coffee Guy is the new barista in the café I call into on the way to work. He’s the most handsome man I’ve ever laid eyes on and always gets my day off to a great start. I don’t know his name and I’m not interested in knowing his name either. I just like to look at him. He’s kind of Italian-looking. Dark hair, dark eyes, smooth dark skin and whiter-than-white teeth that seem to glint when he smiles. He has a lovely smile. Not to mention impressive biceps and pecs that are clearly visible through the tight black T-shirts he always seems to wear. ‘Whereabouts was he?’

  ‘Just walking past the chemist. I think he’d just finished his shift or something. Here, look, I took a photo on my phone to cheer you up.’

  ‘You did? Aw that’s so sweet. Not to mention slightly stalkerish. How did you get away with that? Did nobody notice?’

  ‘Nah, I just pretended to take a selfie. Look, here you go.’ She passes her phone across the table so I can see the slightly blurry shot of Sexy Coffee Man walking down the street.

  ‘Ooh!’ I peer at the photo, feeling slightly disappointed. It definitely doesn’t have the same effect as seeing him in real life. ‘Is he wearing leather trousers?’

  ‘Yeah. Rock ’n’ roll, huh! He has a seriously nice butt.’

  ‘Maybe he rides a motorbike or something?’ I say, doubtfully. I’m not sure I like the whole leather trousers vibe. I don’t normally see the bottom half of him because he’s always behind a counter.

  ‘Maybe.’ Katie takes back her phone as a message pings in. She spends a couple of seconds reading it before firing off a text and turning her attention back to me. ‘How are you feeling today anyway?’

  ‘Not so bad. I’ve been working from home.’

  ‘That’s no good! What’s the point in injuring yourself if you can’t take time off work!’

  ‘It’s too busy for me to take time off. Besides, I feel fine, I just can’t walk, so there’s no reason why I can’t work.’

  ‘Hmm, at least you get to stay in your pyjamas all day. Have you even brushed your hair today?’ Katie wrinkles her nose at me. Her own super-straight brown hair hangs glossy and thick to her shoulders.

  ‘No.’

  ‘It’s looking a bit greasy. Do you want me to shower you?’

  ‘No!’ I’m horrified by the thought of her in the shower with me. ‘I’ll shower myself when I’m ready.’

  ‘Are you sure? There’s no need to be embarrassed, you know. We’re friends, and I used to work in a care home so I’m used to naked bodies.’

  I shake my head. ‘Are you trying to say I have the body of a pensioner? No, I’ll manage by myself, thanks.’

  ‘What if I run you a bath?’

  I pull a face. ‘I really can’t be bothered.’

  ‘Orla! What if that sexy Aiden calls round again? You can’t let him see you like this!’

  I frown, feeling offended. It’s her that thinks he’s sexy, not me, and besides his hair wasn’t looking too great the first time I saw him.

  ‘Besides,’ she goes on, ‘it’ll do you good. You’ll feel better after you wash.’

  ‘It sounds like far too much effort,’ I groan. ‘Even making something to eat and drink is too much effort.’

  ‘Well, I can sort that out.’ Katie gets up and goes into the kitchen. ‘What do you want? Coffee?’

  ‘I’d love a tea, please. And biscuits. Bring me biscuits.’

  My phone rings and seeing it’s my mum, I snatch it up and greet her cheerfully. ‘Hi, Mum,’

  ‘Hello, Orla. Just calling to find out how you are today.’

  ‘I’m okay, thanks. I worked from home.’

  ‘Ah that’s good. Better than having to struggle in. Have you managed to have a wash yet?’

  I pull a face. What is this? Some kind of conspiracy? ‘Not yet.’

  ‘Because you were looking a bit grotty when I popped in yesterday.’

  ‘Are you in cahoots with Katie, or something?’ I say, annoyed that she phoned me especially to tell me to wash.

  ‘No! I just think you need to keep on top of your hygiene. I’ve been telling Keeley this too. She never wants to go in the shower, but she’s 10 now and really should get into the habit of washing regularly, otherwise she’ll be an adult and still not be washing.’

  ‘Mum! I do wash usually!’ I say, annoyed to be compared to my pre-pubescent sister. ‘I’m going to have a bath now, as it happens. Katie’s going to run me one.’

  Katie beams across the room at me and gives me a thumbs-up.

  ‘Well, that’s good to hear. Have you heard from your father?’

  ‘No. Why?’

  ‘No reason, I just wondered if he’d been in touch recently, that’s all.’

  Mum and Dad divorced when I was 14. Mum started seeing Ray soon after and then Keeley was born. Dad moved away and works as a long-distance lorry driver, so I don’t see him often. We talk on the phone occasionally, and he always seems to be in some kind of crisis, lurching from one difficulty to the next. Last time we spoke was about a month ago. He’d just broken up with his girlfriend and was looking for a new place to live. My heart jerks with guilt as I realise I haven’t checked to see if he found anywhere.

  ‘Have you heard something?’ I say, anxiously. ‘Has something happened?’

  ‘No, no! I just wondered if you’d told him about your ankle, that’s all.’

  ‘No. He won’t want to hear about that. He’s got enough on his plate. I’ll phone him though and check he’s okay.’

  Mum makes a vague noise of agreement. ‘Right, I’d better go. Enjoy your bath.’

  ‘Thanks, Mum. Bye.’

  Katie goes through to the bathroom and I hear water gushing. I’m annoyed at how everyone’s interfering. Surely, I should be allowed to stew in my own sweat for a few days while my ankle heals. That’s one of the best things about living alone: there’s no one to judge. Unless, of course, you have an interfering friend who lives upstairs.

  ‘Do you want me to put bath oil in?’ she calls.

  ‘No thanks, I need to wash my hair.’

  ‘Whoops, too late.’

  I roll my eyes. Why ask if she’s going to do it anyway? ‘Never mind. I’ll use the shower hose.’

  ‘I can wash your hair for you.’

  ‘There’s no way you’re washing my hair for me, Katie. I’ll manage.’

  ‘I told you, I don’t mind nakedness.’ I think of the endless stream of men she has in her flat and think that sounds about right. ‘The human form is a beautiful thing.’ She reappears in the doorway, holding a towel.

  ‘That’s lovely, Katie. But I can manage, thank you.’

  ‘Well, if you’re sure.’ She shrugs and then bends her knees to peer through my window. Outside, a red Vauxhall is pulling up in the car park. ‘Oh my God, that’s Danny. He’s early! Why is he so early? Sorry, Orla. I’m going to have to go and change before he sees me in my uniform. Give me a call if you need anything.’ She runs out in a blind panic.

  The lad in the car seems to be combing his dark hair in his rear-view mirror, so I think she has time to change. Struggling to my feet, I hobble and hop to my now steamy bathroom and am almost in tears by the time I get there. According to the Internet, I should be trying to use my foot more now, but it’s so painful I can’t face it. I think about giving the bath a miss, but then catch sight of my grotty hair in the mirror and realise I’ve got baked beans down my pyjamas. I am pretty gross.

  Getting into the bath is awkward, but I manage. I prop my bad ankle on the side so the bandage doesn’t get wet and set to soaping the rest of my body. I even manage to reach the shower head and wash my hair. I’m feeling pretty good about myself when I realise that actually getting out of the bath is not going to be eas
y. The bottom and the sides are slippery with bath oil, and I can’t get enough grip with my good leg to push myself up. My first attempt ends up with me slipping back down and jolting my bad ankle, and I howl in pain. I’m going to have to call Katie to get me out. The indignity of it makes me cry and I spend a couple of minutes feeling sorry for myself before realising I can’t actually call Katie because my phone is out of reach on the closed lid of the toilet. I get angry then, cursing my mother and Katie because this is surely all their fault for making me wash in the first place. And why did Katie put bloody bath oil in? How stupid can you get!

  My anger gradually subsides and I realise I’m being ungrateful and need to think logically if I’m going to get myself out of this predicament. Perhaps if I empty the bath of water, it might be easier. But then, if it isn’t, I don’t want to sit here cold and wet. I could always refill it, but I know my hot tap comes out at a temperature close to boiling, so that runs the risk of scalding.

  It’s better than sitting here in rapidly cooling water though.

  I’m floundering around, trying to pull out the plug when the doorbell goes. I freeze, wondering who it is. Katie has a key, so it can’t be her.

  Maybe it’s Mum? ‘Mum?’ I shout, and then realise I sound like a child and stop immediately. Whoever is out there won’t be able to hear me from the bathroom anyway.

  The doorbell chimes again. I try and fail to get out of the bath one more time. Water splashes over the sides and I whack my elbow and swear at the pain. My phone vibrates violently from the toilet, its face lighting up with Aiden’s name.

  What does he want now? The man’s a nuisance!

  There’s a long loofah on the side, and it occurs to me that I might be able to use it to draw my phone close enough to reach. I edge it closer, my tongue between my teeth, and just as it gets to the point where it’s about to drop from the seat onto the floor, I manage to reach it with my fingertips.

  Aha! The phone is mine!

  I’m not sure Aiden’s the best person to speak to in my current situation, but I answer it anyway.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Hi, where are you?’ Aiden sounds put out, which annoys me because what right does he have to expect me to be in when he didn’t even tell me he was stopping by? He doesn’t even know me! And what’s he doing here anyway? Is he some kind of creepy stalker?

  ‘Why do you want to know?’ I snap.

  ‘Because I’m ringing your doorbell and there’s no answer. I’ve brought you something.’

  ‘What have you brought me?’ I’m no less suspicious and I know I sound it but can’t help myself.

  ‘It’s a surprise,’ he says, and I’m surprised by how cheerful he sounds when I sound so crabby.

  I rack my brain for what he might have brought for me. I hope it’s not flowers or anything cringey like that. I detest being given sentimental gifts and hate opening presents in front of anyone. Even my mother. I know I’m weird, but I can’t help it.

  ‘So, are you at home or are you out?’

  ‘I’m at home, but I can’t come to the door right now.’

  ‘Why? Are you okay?’

  I pause. Should I tell him or not? I don’t want him to think I’m incapable of looking after myself, but then I do need help, and maybe he can get Katie to come and help me out.

  ‘Yes. Well, I’m kind of stuck in the bath.’

  ‘You’re stuck in the bath?’ He sounds alarmed. ‘What are you doing having a bath? Can I help?’

  ‘You could go and get Katie from upstairs.’

  ‘I’ve just seen Katie. She’s just gone off in some guy’s car.’

  ‘Nooooo she hasn’t!’ I groan and put my head in my hands. ‘I tell you what, can you put a note through her door telling her to come and get me when she gets in from wherever she’s been?’

  ‘Orla, you can’t stay in the bath until she comes home! You could fall asleep and drown.’

  ‘I won’t fall asleep. I don’t feel sleepy in the slightest.’

  ‘Don’t be stupid. Have you a spare key hidden anywhere?’

  ‘No! I don’t want you to come in, anyway!’

  ‘Well, it’s either going to be me or the fire brigade. Which would you prefer? One guy who has already had you vomit over his boots, or three or four burly firemen?’

  ‘Now that you say that, that’s the stuff of fantasies. I choose the firemen.’

  ‘Orla, be serious. I can help you.’

  I scowl at the wall for a moment. ‘Did I really vomit on your boots?’

  ‘Just a bit of a splatter. Nothing much.’

  ‘Still gross.’

  ‘Yeah, so I’ve already seen you acting like the exorcist and have no interest in your body other than getting it out of that bathtub.’

  ‘Well, you still can’t get in. Katie’s got my spare key.’

  There’s a noise like the rattle of the door handle. ‘Yeah I can. The door’s open.’

  ‘What?!’

  ‘Yeah, you really should watch your security. Anyone could walk in while you’re naked in the bath.’

  ‘Don’t just walk in,’ I shout in a panic.

  ‘I can’t leave you stuck in the bath, Orla! Is there a towel to hand or anything else you can use to cover yourself up?’

  ‘Erm, yes.’ I grab the bathmat from the floor and submerge it in the water, covering up the front of my body. It’s a pretty obvious solution really, and my panic subsides. I can hear him outside the door. ‘Okay, you can come in now,’ I say.

  The door swings open and Aiden fills the doorway. I glance up to see he’s wearing a faded blue denim shirt and black jeans and then look back down at the bathmat that’s covering me. I feel so vulnerable and humiliated right now, I can’t even look at him.

  ‘Hi,’ he says, as if he sees me sitting in a bath every day. ‘How do you want to do this? Do you want me to pull you up from under your arms or lift you bodily out?’

  ‘Under the arms is fine,’ I mutter.

  ‘Okay then.’ He takes the bath towel from the radiator and tucks it under his left arm before bending to help me out. I feel his hands under my armpits before he lifts me up so I’m sitting inelegantly on the side of the bath. My backside squelches on the wet plastic and Aiden giggles.

  ‘Child,’ I say darkly.

  ‘Sorry.’ He straightens his face and wraps the towel around me so I can drop the sodden bathmat back into the bath, and then he supports me so I can swing my good leg over the side and stand up.

  ‘Thanks,’ I say stiffly. I know I should sound more grateful, but I feel so embarrassed and ashamed I can’t even look at him.

  ‘No problem. Do you want your robe?’

  ‘Yes, please.’ I’ve never been so glad to put an item of clothing on in my life. Annoyingly, I need his help for that too, and he holds it out to me so I can put my hand into the sleeve while I use the sink for support.

  ‘Your present’s outside,’ he says, smiling at me in the reflection of the mirror.

  ‘I don’t want a present,’ I say ungraciously. ‘I hate presents.’

  He looks at me for a moment as though I’m from a different planet. ‘You’ll like this one,’ he assures me. ‘I promise you.’

  I growl at him. I don’t even mean to, it just happens. Luckily, he doesn’t seem offended and helps me out of the bathroom and into my bedroom. There, leaning against the end of my bed, is a crutch. It is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

  ‘Ta-daa!’ he says. ‘I found it in Ivy’s garage. She had no idea she had it, but said she’d broken her foot back in the Nineties so it must be from then. Anyway, I thought you might be able to use it, unless you’ve got one already? They should have given you one at the hospital, really, but I think they thought we lived together so you’d have help anyway. Maybe we should have been clearer that you lived alone and were a stubborn idiot who refuses help of any kind. Anyway, shall I put the kettle on while you get changed?’ He waits for me to answer but I can’t actually sp
eak at that moment. I feel as overwhelmed as I would be if I’d just been given the keys to a new car. ‘I’ll take that as a yes,’ he says, and disappears into the kitchen.

  The crutch is clearly old and a bit battered, but I don’t care. I stroke its length lovingly and then pick it up and try it out. It takes a bit of practice but I’m able to move around my bedroom and then make my way to the kitchen. Aiden is unloading the dishwasher. I watch him in amazement for a moment before hobbling over and wrapping my arm around his waist with my face pressed into his back in an awkward hug.

  ‘Thank you,’ I croak.

  ‘It’s no bother at all,’ he says pleasantly.

  ‘And you don’t have to unload my dishwasher,’ I tell him.

  ‘I know I don’t, but I want to.’ He smiles down at me then moves over to the kettle as it starts to boil. ‘You should let people help when they want to help, Orla. It makes them feel good about themselves. So you see, you’re actually helping me by letting me help you, because it makes me feel good about myself.’

  ‘Oh, okay then. In that case, you can make me some soup too.’

  ‘Soup? Is that all you’re having for tea?’

  ‘I don’t want toast, and you told me the other day that was all you can make. I figure opening a tin of soup might not be too difficult.’

  ‘Come on, Orla. You can’t live on soup.’

  ‘I like soup.’

  ‘What else do you have?’ He opens a cupboard door and peers up at the empty shelves.

  ‘Nothing. I haven’t been shopping, have I!’

  Shutting the cupboard door, he turns to look at me. ‘I’ll go shopping for you then.’

  ‘You can’t go shopping for me!’ I laugh incredulously. ‘Why would you go shopping for me?’

  ‘Because you need to eat, Orla. And besides, what did I say before? You’re making me feel good by letting me help, remember.’

  ‘Yeah, but this is your time. I’m sure you’ve got better things to do than go shopping for me.’

  ‘Orla, make a list and shut up.’

  My stomach growls loudly and he raises an eyebrow. ‘I tell you what,’ I say. ‘I’ll do an Internet shop and get it delivered tomorrow, but right now, you can go to the chippy and get us both some chips.’