‘Ok thanks,’ I smile. Who’d have known it, a nice hooker.
‘See,’ Jazz whispers proudly.
We carry on down the street as instructed; trying to ignore the odd looks we’re receiving. I take to looking down at the pavement, counting each pave block to try and take my mind off the danger surrounding us. Any minute now I’m expecting to be held up at gun point.
When we finally get to the chemist (83 steps later), we’re relieved to find it wasn’t a lie and it is open. There’s a little hatch where you can ask for things, like in a petrol station. Jazz runs over and practically shouts that she wants the morning after pill, all previous embarrassment gone. The man behind the counter doesn’t seem to flinch, clearly used to this kind of erratic behaviour. He gives her two pills; one to be taken now and one to be taken tomorrow. She swallows it down without water.
‘Well thank God that's over.’ she says, the colour already back in her face as we step back onto the street.
‘Yeah, let’s just get the hell out of here.’
The sky is suddenly pitch black, only moonlight and the occasional working street light guiding us along.
Jazz zips up her hooded tracksuit top and holds my hand as we begin to walk hurriedly along, keeping close to the street lights. Just keep walking, I will myself. Everything is going to be fine. We just need to get on that train and we’ll be fine. Yet my stomach is not one to be reasoned with and churns with nerves. My face aches from the tension in it and I have to let go of Jazz’s hand every so often so that I can wipe the sweat from them on my dress. It’s so hard to avoid everyone’s gazes as we walk past them. I’m sure that if we catch their gaze they’ll turn on us like wild animals.
We turn the corner and I spot the tube station sign, my body starting to release in relief. Thank God. Jazz beams at me, clearly as relieved as me. We start to almost skip towards it, like school girls, the stress of the day leaving our bodies.
We’re almost at the entrance when I lose my balance and feel myself falling forward. I push my hands out in front of myself and scrunch my eyes up, knowing it's going to hurt. I open my eyes a second later, feeling bruised and disorientated, to see that I’ve fallen face down on the pavement. I try to pull myself up, but find my hands are grazed quite badly where I’ve tried to break my fall.
Oh well, at least they did seem to break my fall; this could have been my face. Yet at that moment they start to sting fiercely. Probably already full of pavement dirt and rat’s faeces. I’ll probably get the plague. Maybe I should have a tetanus? God it stings.
I look up to Jazz but she’s nowhere to be seen.
‘Jazz?’ I ask, pulling myself slowly up.
Shit, where is she? Where the hell is she? I look around, spinning in a circle, but I can't see anyone. She wouldn’t have got the train back without me, would she? She wouldn’t have left me completely in the dark in a shit hole like this, would she? A figure suddenly appears running round the corner and I tense my body, ready for attack. That is until I realise it's Jazz. Where did she go?
‘I tried to,’ she says, doubling over, completely out of breath. ‘I tried to chase him, but...wow, I’m really out of breath. But he was too fast for me.’
‘Chase who?’ I ask confused. I study her face, trying to read it. ‘Am I missing something?
‘The bastard that stole your bag.’
I look down and sure enough my bag is no-where to be seen.
‘I...I was mugged?’ I ask totally dazed.
* * *
When we’re back at the flat, Jazz forces me to have a brandy from the bottle Dad left here two Christmas’s ago.
‘It's what they do in films isn’t it? Have brandies when they’re in shock,’ she assures me.
I roll my eyes, but decide to knock it back regardless, the heat stinging the back of my throat. I run my grazed hands under the tap, hoping Jazz won't find the savlon she’s gone looking for. I just want to go back to the house and get into bed.
‘Well, I better be off then,’ I shout through to the bedroom where I can hear her rifling through my drawers.
‘Are you crazy?’ she says, sticking her head out of the door. ‘You’re too shaken up. Why don't you just stay here?’
‘No, I’m fine. I just want to go home.’ I try to look brave and muster up the courage of leaving here alone.
‘But this is your home,’ she says, her eyes widening, looking at me like I’m crazy.
‘Oh yeah, I forgot.’
‘I think you’re concussed.’ She puts her hand to my forehead.
‘No, I’m fine.’ I hit her hand away. ‘I just want to get back and pretend this never happened.’
‘But this did happen. You need to come to terms with it.’
‘Jazz, please just stop fussing will you? You’ve been watching too much TV. I’m totally fine.’
‘But why do you feel the need to go home tonight? Why not stay?’
‘Because I have the feeling that if I don't go now I’ll turn into one of those crazy women that never leaves the house again.’
She looks at me unconvinced and goes into the bathroom sulking.
‘Ok, but please get a taxi back?’ she shouts out. ‘If just for my peace of mind?’
‘Ok fine, although there really would be nothing left to rob me of.’
‘Found it!’ she shouts, excited. I turn to see her bounding out towards me. She pulls my hands out towards her and sprays the savlon over them.
My hands tingle at first, turning quickly into an intense angry burning. I think I’m imagining it at first, but within a few seconds a fire is ablaze, my hands shaking. I look down at them in horror to see that they’re more inflamed than before. I go to speak, but the pain is taking over me, cursing over me in waves, leaving me helpless.
‘H...H..Help!’ I stutter. ‘Burning! Burning!’ I scream. I push her out of the way and run them under the tap, the water cooling it instantly.
‘Whoops,’ I hear Jazz say behind me. She walks over to the sink slowly. ‘It wasn’t savlon. It was mosquito spray. My bad.’
* * *
As the cab driver pulls up at the house I feel sudden relief. I feel so fed up I just want to be by myself and sulk in my bedroom. But first I want a chocolate biscuit. I open the door and head straight for the sofa. Ryan is stood in the kitchen on the phone, his other hand in his hair, pacing back and forth looking anxious.
‘There you are,’ he says when he sees me. ‘Don't worry Jazz, she’s here now,’ he says into the phone before hanging up.
‘Hi,’ I mumble, exhaustion taking over my body, making my eyelids heavy. I don’t know if I can make it to the biscuit tin.
‘Where the hell have you been?’ he shouts, shocking me out of my trance. ‘I called Jazz but she’s making no sense, just blabbing on about some guy she met.’
Ah, she was obviously trying to tell him the whole story. His eyebrows narrow down on me, making me feel like a naughty child.
‘Sorry, but it's a long story. Can I tell you later?’ I collapse onto the sofa. God, this lumpy sofa never felt so good. Now I just need to try and peel off these trainers.
‘Tell me later? I’ve been going out of my fucking mind! I get home to black smoke and – ‘
‘Black smoke?’ My eyes widen in confusion.
‘Yeah; you’d left garlic bread in the oven,’ he says, with a blank, scary expression.
‘Oh. Whoops,’ I say, disbelief colouring my tone as I remember.
‘So I get home to an almost house fire and see a half made dinner and you nowhere to be seen. I don't have a number for you, so can't call you, and I can't get hold of Jazz either. I thought you’d been abducted or something!’ his voice erupts in an angry growl.
‘Oh Jesus, you’re a drama queen,’ I say flatly, too exhausted to muster any emotion in my voice. ‘Plus there really is no need to shout. I’m sorry about the dinner but there was an emergency.’
‘What emergency?’ he asks, still sounding more pissed off than concerned.
I stare back at him, struggling to think clearly, to find some way to explain. As I search for the right words I can see him getting impatient, frustrated by my silence. He starts to scowl.
‘I...I can't really tell you.’
He slams his hand down hard on the kitchen counter, making me jump, his brown eyes growing sharp. What is his problem?
‘Chill out, ok.’ I hold my hands up to him defensively, terrified that I’m living with a psychopath.
I discreetly start searching the kitchen for a weapon. The hairs standing up on the back of my neck tell me to be on guard, that this man cannot be trusted. But then his expression quickly changes to one of worry.
‘Shit. What happened to your hands?’ he asks in a softer voice. He comes forward and grabs my wrists, bringing them closer to him to inspect.
‘Oh, I got mugged.’ He really is quite rough. Doesn’t he realise I’m a girl?
‘You got mugged? Where?’ His eyes are wide with alarm.
‘At Pearl Cross. I didn’t really notice until I got back up. Jazz tried to run after him.’
‘Jesus, what the hell were you both doing there? It’s the end of the world.’
‘I know. I found out the hard way.’ I pull my hands away and attempt a laugh to lighten the mood. It doesn’t seem to work.