Page 41 of Love or Your Money Back

CHAPTER

Thank God Freddy made me take a taxi. Within thirty minutes of leaving Ascot, the whole left side of my body becomes a burning furnace.

The taxi driver made cheery small talk for a while, but my slurred voice made so little sense that he gave up.

I’m guessing he assumed I was drunk. That’s what everyone thinks when a single, thirty-something woman slurs her words.

And actually, I prefer it. People are a lot less pitying of drunk people. I can’t stand pity.

As the taxi pulls up outside my house, my left side is in so much pain that I can barely coordinate my arms and legs to get out of the car. The driver does offer to help, but I manage to shake out a slurred: ‘NO! I DO!’

The last thing I want is to be carried to my house by a stranger who thinks I’m too drunk to walk.

I manage to get out of the cab using my cane for support, but the moment the taxi drives out of view I resort to crawling.

If you think crawling over your doorstep with blurred vision is undignified, try doing it in a tight dress, hat and high heels.

The door key is a problem, but I manage it and crawl into the kitchen, where I pull hot water bottles from a drawer and look up at the kettle.

Then I remember the scars between my fingers and think better of it.

Boiling water is a bad idea when you can’t co-ordinate your hands. Hot tap water is safer.

I fill three miserably tepid water bottles, shouting ‘ow!’ a lot and grinding a good few layers off my teeth in the process. I can’t face crawling upstairs for pyjamas, so I collapse in my dress on the living room sofa, warm water bottles in strategic places and phone on my chest.

The pain eases a little. This is heartening. It means this is a pseudo relapse, rather than a full-on brain-scarring, three-weeks-sick ordeal. All that stuff with Chris was stressful. God. Even thinking about it gives me burning flashes down my arms.

Okay.

Right.

I need to check in with Little Voice before my vision gets so blurred I can’t see.

My phone tells me I have many messages and missed calls, which triggers a stress response.

Then I see most of the messages are from Marcus, Ahmet and Freddy.

One message from Marcus, five from Ahmet and twenty missed calls from Freddy.

Why has Freddy called me twenty times? Has something happened at the office?

I call him back.

‘Freddy? Is everything okay?’ My voice sounds better. Only minorly slurred, even though parts of my body are shaking like a tumble drier.

‘Kat! Thank God.’ Freddy sounds genuinely concerned. ‘Where are you? Did you get home okay?’

‘Ye-es. No … need worry about me.’

‘Why are you talking like a racist 1950s Disney character?’

‘Voice tremors. Can’t talk well. But fine.’ I am both lying and glad this isn’t a video call. Weighed down by tepid water bottles, starving hungry, with my hat still pinned to my head, I am not fine. But I have also been worse.

‘Look, I’d better go. I need to –’ I gasp in pain as I accidentally jolt my left arm. ‘–check with the office. Make sure they haven’t burned the place down.’

‘What was that?’

‘What?’

‘That noise you just made?’

‘Nothing. I’m fine. I go now.’

‘You sound like you’re in pain. Look, don’t try to move, okay? I’ll be there soon.’

‘DO NOT COME HERE, FREDDY STARK!’

There’s a pause, then a long sigh. ‘Okay Kat, well at least let me check in with your team.’

I reach for a hat pin. ‘Ok-ay.’

‘What?’

‘YES! CHECK TEAM HAVEN’T STARTED FIRE!’ I pull pins free, and my hat falls to the floor.

‘I will,’ says Freddy. ‘You don’t need to worry about any of that, okay? You just … rest.’

The phone goes dead and weirdly, warm relief floods over my body. For all his downsides, Freddy is competent. Capable. He will make sure my team are okay, while I work out how to get myself pyjamas and painkillers and a good book.

I try to move.

Oooooo no. No, no, no. Not just yet.

I fall back against soft sofa cushioning, lift my phone and scan text messages. I open Marcus’s message first, expecting him to say he never wants to see me again. But to my surprise, his message reads like a very sweet letter:

‘Dear Katerina, thank you for the pleasure of your company today. You were enchanting. Would you like to come to dinner with me at Chutney Mary next week? They have a very ethical spice-sourcing policy.’

All my love,

Marcus.’

All my love.

I give a startled blink. Marcus wasn’t put off by what Chris said? Wow. That’s a surprise. Nice to have two horses still in the running, Ascot pun intended.

I read one of Ahmet’s messages next:

‘Katerina! First of all, did you get home okay? I don’t want to misogynistically suggest that a lady with MS can’t manage travel by herself, and I know you’re very capable.

But do let me know. I so enjoyed today. I am having withdrawal symptoms from your company!

You are fizzy and fun like a glass of champagne.

Thank you for putting up with me talking away.

Did I talk too much? I bet I did. I always do when I’m excited.

I think you’re just lovely. Lots of love, Ahmet. ’

Then, there’s another message from Ahmet:

‘BTW – would you like to go out with me again this weekend if you’re feeling up to it?

I promise a better dinner this time. Not that it wasn’t a marvellous dinner!

My compliments to you as a chef. It was me who was terrible.

Maybe we can go ballroom dancing and then have someone else cook a meal for us. Lots of love, Ahmet.’

And another message:

‘Forgot to say, I loved your dress and hat. Thank you for lighting up Royal Ascot with your literary presence. All those books got me thinking. Maybe we can go to the British Library? Since we both like it so much. But then we couldn’t talk very much there, and I like talking to you. See you soon, I hope. Love, Ahmet.’

Then another message:

‘Sorry to call, I just thought it might be quicker but I’ve obviously missed you.

You don’t have to call back. I was just wondering because I’ve been looking online and found a terrific Italian restaurant near your new office for next week.

Maybe we could go for lunch or after work?

I am hovering, ready to click and book and wondered if you would like to be my charming lady companion. Let me know! Love Ahmet.’

And one last message:

‘Just to let you know, the restaurant has lots of good vegan options such as ravioli with courgette ribbons. Love Ahmet.’

As I’m reading Ahmet’s last message, a text bleeps through from Freddy:

‘Your team are fine and everything at Little Voice is running smoothly. All of today’s targets met. Rest and don’t think about work.’

I let my phone drop to my lap, feeling relieved. With the relief comes more warmth, pain relief. I venture a leg movement. Still uncomfortable, but a five out of ten rather than a nine.

Can I risk ordering a curry? I don’t want to order food and have to crawl to the front door to get it. Maybe I could get the delivery person to come in and put it on the coffee table –

Another message from Freddy bleeps through:

‘I’m outside.’

I freeze. No. Freddy can’t possibly mean –

Bang, bang, bang!

I twist on the sofa. ‘Shit. OW!’

‘Kat?’ Freddy’s voice calls through the door.

I try to slow my breathing, holding my body rigid and silent.

‘Kat.’ Freddy knocks on the door again, more gently this time. ‘I know you’re in there. Your cane is lying on the front step. And I just heard you swear. Look, I need to know you’re okay. Let me in or I’m going to have to break the door down.’

I curl up on the sofa, attempting to become invisible, breathing quietly and praying, please, please, please go away

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