Page 8

Next moves

At least I had clothes on this time.

“Come on,”

Ben said, exhaustion in his voice as he climbed out of the car.

We’d pulled into a pristine underground car park. The white lines were so crisp they looked like strips of paper.

Reaching for my seatbelt, I winced as the twisting aggravated my healing ribs. I fought to catch my breath as the strap swung across my chest. Ben opened the door for me, ducking back to get the crutches from the rear seats. I sat forwards, tightening my stomach to lift my knees, but the pain was too much and I cried out.

“Shit.”

I grabbed my own forehead in frustration.

Bloody fancy car with its stupid bucket seats.

“What wrong?”

Ben asked, leaning through the door.

I stared at my palm, pressing my temples. “Nothing, I’ve got it.”

Sighing heavily, I gripped behind my knee, clenching my teeth through the pain to lift my leg and swing it out. Ben held out his hand as I wiggled awkwardly into position. I reached for the body of the car, preparing to heave myself up, but my arms just shook.

Ben frowned at me, carefully unhooking my fingers from the metal and pulling me silently to my feet.

I straightened up. “Thanks, it’s just the seats, they’re really low.”

I’d been able to navigate myself through the hospital room to the bathroom, but the distant doors of the car park would be a test for sure. I fumbled to slip my arms into the handles of the crutches.

“You got it?”

Ben asked cautiously, backing away.

“Absolutely,”

I replied shakily, gripping the plastic harder to distract me from the pain.

I managed three pathetic steps before I let out another wince. My leg twisted underneath me and there was nothing I could do. Ben lunged to sweep a hand under my knees, draping my arm around his shoulders, his dark hair brushing against my skin, soft and thick as he lifted me.

“One thing at a time, Bambi,”

he remarked

It wasn’t a joke; he meant it, but for a second, I could breathe deeply again.

I looked at him and gently gripped his shirt, pulling my other hand to rest against his muscular shoulder. I let my head fall into the soft space between his neck and arm, unable to find words; mentally and physically exasperated. I should have fought harder, I should have objected, but I had nothing.

He carried me into the lift before gently putting me back on my feet, keeping a firm, safe grip around my waist this time. The lift, like the car park, looked pristine. I quickly became aware of all the mirrors. I hadn’t seen myself properly for what felt like a long time. I flinched. My skin was dull and patchy, my cheekbone sporting a purple bruise. There was a cut on my dry lips that made me look all the more broken. I was wearing the pink hoodie Lucy had washed for me, but it hung off my hunched shoulders. My hair was slung up into a messy bun, and not a good one.

Ben was irritatingly perfect. His almost black hair was swept away from his face, his glasses framing those rich, dark eyes. Every time I thought I’d hit rock bottom, I outdid myself.

Ben supported me effortlessly to the swanky black front door. When he pushed it open, I gasped without meaning to. I hadn’t thought about what his home would be like, but it was just like him – preened, and polished, and put-together. The door led straight into a glossy grey kitchen with a breakfast bar. On the other side of the worktop was an angular, black sofa and there was a big television in the open plan lounge. I assumed the rooms to the left were bedrooms and a bathroom.

Ben led me to the sofa before going back to get our bags and my crutches. I sat silently, taking it in. The windows to the right were huge, looking out onto the city where big clouds swept across a blue sky. It was a beautiful place; mature, but interesting and unique. The wooden floor warmed the space and a scattering of books lay nestled between spiky houseplants. I spotted some artwork on the fridge, probably Sophie’s if the glitter was anything to go by.

Ben came back with a rustle of bags, taking them straight to the first bedroom.

“Coffee?”

he asked simply, relaxing into his home.

“Tea, please. If that’s alright?”

I sat stiffly, feeling out of place – the most unkept thing in here. “Your apartment is stunning.”

He raised an eyebrow at me. “Is it okay if I make you tea? Elle, I’m not going to force you to drink coffee. Seriously, if this is going to be survivable for both of us, you need to stop asking ridiculous questions.”

I ran my tongue over my teeth, too tired for restraint and agitated by his harsh reply. “What if you had no teabags?”

It’s not what I’d meant; on reflection, it was a silly question, but there was something about his attitude that made me want to poke him.

He stared me out. “I have teabags.”

“Great,”

I replied, as he reached for a spoon. “How long have you lived here?”

I took in the white walls. It looked like a show home; there wasn’t a single chip in any of the paintwork, no hint of a smear on the large windows.

“Four years. I saw the building go up and bought it off-plan. I liked the big windows, and it’s close to work.”

The kettle began to hum, but as the boiling subsided, a thick silence remained.

“Thank you,”

I mumbled. “For helping me up here and letting me stay, again. I’ll sort the crutches.”

“Stop thanking me, it’s unnecessary. Not many people come here – apart from Vicky, who cleans twice a week – so it’ll be quiet. There’s a television in the bedroom and I can get anything else you need. My secretary is coming to bring some things from work tomorrow so I can be here for the next few days.”

He’s thought all of this through.

“Oh, okay.”

He walked over with two uniform, black, gloss mugs and sat next to me, easing back into the sofa with a sigh. I sat back carefully, positioning my back in a specific way – pressing too much to one side hurt my rib; the other side felt hot and swollen.

“How’s your pain?”

he asked. “You can take another codeine in an hour. It’s all in the bag over there. They gave me all the instructions, courtesy of Lucy, no doubt. Did you want me to draw you up a timetable?” He pointed back to the kitchen units behind us.

“I’ll manage, thanks,”

I assured him, slightly curious about what he would have produced. I bet it would have been black and white, no colour coding.

The truth was, I probably wouldn’t take the codeine anyway. Strong painkillers complicated injuries because you couldn’t tell if you were aggravating them, in my experience. Plus, I hated the headaches they gave me, and I already had one brewing.

There was a long pause as I tried to figure out what I was supposed to do next. Then Ben reached for a box beside the sofa, handing it to me.

“What’s this?”

I asked, confused, looking at the iPhone box.

“You needed a phone, so I had one set up. I put mine and Lucy’s numbers in it for now.”

“Ben, I can’t take this. These are—”

He shot me a glare over his glasses. “You need a phone.”

I looked around. “This is all too much. All of it.”

I extended the phone back to him. “Please.”

He pushed it back so that the box jutted up against my chest. “It’s not a big deal. Don’t make it one. I said you can stay. You can’t work like this. I’m not an idiot. Let me do the basics for you until you’re back on your feet without making every part of it so difficult.”

I looked down at the shiny box. “I don’t know when I’ll be able to pay you back.”

“I don’t need you to. You know, you’re really taking all the good out of a good deed. I know you think I’m an arsehole, but you can stay here, I really don’t care, money isn’t a problem, and even if you tread on my toes, I’m not going to yell at you.”

He turned his head to look at me, forcing a smile of sorts. It didn’t seem genuine. Not like at Rose Cottage.

“Step on your toes?”

“Never mind. Can I get you anything else?”

he asked as I held the phone rigidly against my thigh.

“Would you mind if I had a bath?”

“Of course not, make yourself at home.”

Without warning, he stood and walked to the main bathroom. I heard water running a few moments later.

“Lucy dropped off some stuff; she’s put some toiletries in here for you and a plastic stool,”

he called across the open plan lounge. “She said you can prop your cast up and use the plastic sleeve.”

“Oh, wow. Can you please thank her for me?”

He stuck his head round the door, raising his eyebrows. “Like I said, her number is in the phone.”

I bit my tongue, opening the box.

The bath wasn’t relaxing, but it made me feel better; more human. Lucy was a life-saver. There was a giant bag full of body wash, shampoo and conditioner, razors, face wash, make-up wipes, moisturiser, and a luxurious smelling body cream. She’d even thought of tweezers. I sat in the shallow bath and took my time, fighting to shave my leg and ankle. I just needed to re-set myself; scrub off some of the shame.

Fortunately, the bath had a mixer shower, so the body parts that wouldn’t fit in the shallow water could still be washed. It was exhausting, but good. I sat in the bath until the water drained, getting cold, but I wanted to heave myself out. I couldn’t let Ben see me like this.

The next few days were strange, but better that the ones before. Ben was busy for the most part – on the phone or in meetings – so I indulged in the need to stay in bed. He brought me regular meals and I tried to force the food down. The day he ordered Chinese, we sat together and ended up watching a documentary. Lucy had come with more stuff, including pink fluffy slippers and deodorant. I tried to give her some of the money I’d saved, but she refused.

I didn’t have any clothes that I could get around my cast, so I had to wear pyjamas. They made me feel like a slob, especially around Ben, but I had no choice. Lucy said she’d take me shopping next weekend.

On Saturday, Ben had gone to the gym. I woke up having slept well, feeling refreshed. Usually, I woke up to a flood of unfinished thoughts, but that morning was quieter.

I ran my hand through my dank, box-dyed hair, remembering the shame they had made me feel whenever I wanted to go back blonde. I poked softly at the bruise under my eye, grounding myself with the soreness.

Once I’d brushed my teeth and washed my face, I hobbled over to the kitchen to make some tea, sitting down and staring out at the grey clouds still roaming above the city. Ben strolled out moments later, wearing blue jeans and a loose branded t-shirt, still rigorously rubbing a towel over his wet hair. He smiled at me, sliding his glasses back over his face.

“Do you want a coffee?”

I asked, enjoying that I was now able to move enough to be mildly useful. Being stagnant was torture – I needed to function and move and do things, certainly not be left alone to think.

“No, I’ll get it, thanks,”

he replied from the sofa.

I tried not to let his response wind me up, nodding as I poured my tea, watching several raindrops crash against the huge window.

“What do you do for fun?”

Ben asked unexpectedly.

“For fun?”

I hesitated, poking at the tea bag with a spoon. “Ride, I guess. I’ve always loved being outside… all of the things I can’t do at the moment.”

“Oh, well, we can go for a walk, if you’d like. Lucy said she could get you a wheelchair.”

I spun to look at him. I’d assumed he’d been asking to know, not so we could do something together.

“It’s not the same, but thanks for the offer.”

I assessed his unusually carefree expression suspiciously. “What do you normally do for fun?”

“Not a lot.”

“What do you mean?”

“I like my own company and my work.”

He winced. “That’s why I asked you first.”

“Do you ride?”

I asked, styling out my hobble and trying to hide the dribble of tea that splashed on my finger as I walked over to the sofa, sitting down next to him.

“No. Big unpredictable animals aren’t my thing.”

“You don’t have to entertain me, you know. I won’t be offended if you go out. I’m sure you have lots of friends.”

I could easily picture him in some pretentious bar with his fancy friends, laughing at tedious jokes.

“Why would you think that? Are you trying to get rid of me?”

“Because you seem like the type, and no, not at this exact moment.”

“What type is that?”

“Oh god.”

I laughed, desperately filtering my thoughts. “You know, attractive, intelligent, well-off, successful… are you going to make me go on?”

“Well, I’m not going to stop you,”

he smirked, lazing back.

“Bossy, rude, grumpy…”

Then he laughed. “Alright, alright, touché. Do you play chess?”

“No. I don’t know how.”

Ben walked over to one of the cupboards and pulled out a fancy wooden chess set. “If you like strategy and numbers, you’ll enjoy this – no legs required.”

The pieces clattered inside the box as I tried to identify the strange emotion rising through me. “Ben, really. You don’t have to.”

He slid the wooden box over the polished coffee table, glancing up at me. “I know.”

It was less of a scolding this time, more of a tease.

We played through the first game slowly, so I could learn the moves; it was complicated, but intriguing. Ben won the first actual game, of course.

“Interesting,”

I said, studiously, trying not to admit how much I’d liked it. The game, not his company. The little pieces were strangely exciting as they charged around on their own little missions.

“You like it?”

“Let’s play again.”

I stared at the castles as we moved them back to their starting lines. It was fascinating how each piece had its own rules.

“I don’t have lots of friends, by the way,”

Ben remarked, continuing our conversation from earlier.

“Oh?”

I didn’t really know what else to say, focusing on what piece to move first instead. I went with a knight.

“I find people irritating usually.”

I laughed. “Thanks for adding ‘usually’.”

I looked at him as he looked at the board. He moved a piece instantly, dragging a pawn two paces.

“Your opinion of me is interesting,”

he murmured. “I’m not sure how I’ve given you that impression.”

I paused, distracted as we played a few more moves.

“Nice,”

he offered, tapping his chin, taking an additional second to choose his next piece.

I glanced up from the board. “You seem so close with Lucy and the kids.”

“They’re my family. The friends I’ve had in the past have just been… boring.”

“Boring?”

“Don’t you find that, when you’ve been through a journey…”

He considered his words carefully. “People just, don’t fight? I guess I have different drives than most.”

“Well, don’t feel obliged to get bored with me.”

“I don’t find you boring. Frustrating, yes,”

he replied.

I felt the skin lining my eyes crinkle as I suppressed a grin.

“And unpredictable. I never know what you’re going to say, or do. But you’re not boring. Checkmate.”

“Again?”

“Want me to go easy on you?”

“Never,” I huffed.

“You have to think two moves ahead.”

He paused as I rearranged the pieces. “Did you have friends on the site?”

“Not really. Whenever I connected with someone, it exploded, in a variety of messes. The vet, for example, I liked him before the contract was pulled. Vets have good margins; it was interesting work.”

We chatted more as we played, Ben beating me again. I leant back into the sofa with the carved pieces flashing through my mind, pulling my leg up as it began to ache. Aching was better than itching, at this point. Casts were torture. I’d already asked Lucy to get me a comb just so I could ram it down the inside.

“I just need to practice,”

I reasoned, rolling my aching shoulders.

“How are you feeling? Have you given any more thought to Maeve’s parents?”

he asked, getting up to make us sandwiches.

I ran a knight through my fingers, placing it down on the board and shifting my weight back. “Constantly, but the more I think about it the more knots I tie myself in. I have no idea what to do.”

A knife clunked against the wooden chopping board.

I groaned. “Do not ask me what I want to do. Please, for god’s sake.”

“Am I that transparent?”

I twisted so my arm was resting on the back of the sofa and I could watch him. The cheese slices were unnervingly identical in size.

“When I think about it too much, it all feels like a mistake.”

“All of what?”

I rested my chin on my forearm. “Leaving Henworth. It feels like all I did was cause problems.”

He looked up as he pressed the bread together. “Don’t say that.”

He bent down and lifted two plates onto the counter. “I meant what I said, you can stay here for as long as you need. Don’t repeat this, because I’ll deny it, but I haven’t hated having company.” He headed back over with the two plates of food. “I don’t mean to go on, but without the police, or reaching out, what is the plan?”

“Thanks,”

I said cautiously as he handed me the plate and sat back down. “What if… what if I don’t want to be Maeve? What if I just want to get a job, rent a crappy flat, and maybe just, you know, be standard?”

“You can’t be standard carrying around Pandora’s box. That’s not how it works. The lid always comes off, whether you want it to or not”

“That’s a wise sounding sentence.”

He scowled at me. “I have my moments.”

He paused, taking a bite; chewing and swallowing. “I don’t think you want standard, not really.”

“What do you mean?”

“I think you’re tired, Elle. I don’t think you’ll like ‘standard’ when things settle down.”

“I can’t imagine anything in my life settling down.”

I watched his hand as he picked up a scrap of cheese, placing it carefully in his mouth. “Does your fiancée mind me living here?” As soon as the words left my mouth, I flinched. It had played on my mind, but I immediately regretting asking.

“What?”

Ben stared at me, utterly confused.

Oh god. “Um,”

I floundered. “Lucy said… she told me you were engaged. Sorry.”

He nodded slowly, narrowing his eyes as he assessed my squirming. “Of course she did. When did you two have this conversation, exactly?”

I straightened my lips and pressed my teeth together. “At Rose Cottage. We weren’t really discussing it, as such, she just made a comment, and I don’t want to, like, get you in trouble.”

Why does it matter? Why did I ask that? Why isn’t he answering?

Ben placed his plate down, clearing his throat. “I’m not engaged. Well, only to you, I suppose.”

He smirked at me and I hated it. I knew he could see straight through me. My cheeks were burning.

“Why are you blushing?”

I threw my hands to cover my face. “You’re making me feel uncomfortable.”

He folded his arms, leaning back. Watching me.

“Stop! Stop making it worse.”

He raised an eyebrow. “What else did Lucy say?”

I pulled my hands into my lap, scratching a nail across the top of my cast. “She said you’re an arsehole. I concur.”

He laughed. I watched as his broad chest shook and his eyes glinted.

“You’re not funny,”

I added, scowling hard.

“Alright. Alright.”

He took a deep breath, lowering his shoulders. “To clarify, I was engaged before, it didn’t work out. Anything else you want to know? Or were you just interested in whether I’m single?”

“Oh, get over yourself.”