Yours Truly (24 page)

“
Has anybody seen Brian Fernando?
”
I address the pub at large, my voice shaky but strident. But there’s hardly anyone in here. Just the band and Dionne and Meg and Riley and Alan, and another two men who are playing cards at a table by the fruit machine. Most of them look at me like I’m mental. None of them answer.

So he isn’t here. Great. I’m in exactly the same position as I was last time I was here. The only thing that has changed is that Mum is mad at me now, as well as Olly, and I’ve accidentally had my lips inflated.

Shit.

SHIT!

What am I going to do? Olly said that if I didn’t get myself sorted then he’d call the wedding off. I want to get married. I want to start a family of my own an
d live happily ever after. And Mum. Poor M
um. I can’t live my life like this. Letting everyone know my deepest darkest thoughts. I’ll have to live like a hermit forever. One week was horrible enough. But forever?

Oh God.

I feel dizzy, suddenly. As if all the blood in my head has dropped into my feet. And I feel sick. And my lips hurt. They throb. Oh no.

“
Oh dear
,
”
I choke as I realise I’m having some bizarre kind of panic attack. Zooming my vision in on the nearest chair. I wobble towards it before my knees buckle, but before I get there everything blurs before me, tables, and people and bottles of alcohol swim in and out of focus. And then it goes black.

I awaken in a dark room. In a bed with a soft woollen blanket wrapped around me. My head hurts. And ouch. My mouth hurts. Jeez. It feels like I’ve been kissing a brick. A brick that’s been chucked at my face repeatedly. What the focaccia have I been doing?

I press my hand to my lips and feel their swollen puffiness. Oh yes. My huge trouty mouth.

“
Natalie? Are you awake?
”
comes a deep voice from across the room.

It’s Riley. He’s sat cross
-legged on a leather tub chair at the end of the bed, a newspaper folded upon his lap. Is it creepy that he’s sat there? Has he been…
watching me?

“
Yeeeeah. Er…
Where am I?
”

“
You’re in, well, you’re in my bedroom
”

What the what?!

“
In The Old Whimsy. This is the only downstairs room. It was easier to carry you here.
”

“
Where’s Meg?
”
I croak.
“
Where’s Dionne? What happened?
”

“
They’re asleep in bed. In the guest
rooms upstairs. It’s about two-thirty AM
. You fainted.
”

“
I’ve been out all this time?
”
I squint towards the window.
“
It’s so dark outside.
”

“
We put you in here to rest.
”
Riley explains.
“
You were a bit muddled and then you fell asleep.
”

“
Oh Gad. I’m sorry. How rude of me!
”

“
It’s alright,
”
he says kindly.
“
Your sister said that you had nothing to eat today and that you had a massage and, um, a lip filler injection. That might be why you were so tired and a bit woozy. Luckily Liam, you know the hairy fella with the bass guitar, is a nurse. He checked you over, said you were fine, probably a bit low on sugar. Do you not remember?
”

“
Vaguely.
”
I have a blurry image of a bearded guy checking my pulse while I was splayed out on the pub floor.

This is embarrassing, isn't it? Who
does
that? Who even faints nowadays? I’m like a Victorian woman with a too tight bustle. And who on earth goes to sleep at a pub? Oh yes. Hi there! I’ll just have a little nap, now,
in your pub
! Sweet dreams y’all.

Is there no end to how much I’m going to humiliate myself in this place?

I rub my eyes and jump as something drops off my face and onto the bed cover.

Oh. It's a fake eyelashes strip. I peel off the other eyelashes and sneakily chuck them onto the floor beside me. Riley lights a candle at the end of the bed. I wonder if he's going to pray for my sanity.

Or...
is he trying to set a mood?

“
I keep meaning to fix the lights,
”
he clarifies.
“
But the wirings properly messed up in here and it’s too expensive to redo at the moment.
”

Ah. The lights are broken.
Obviously
.

As the candle illuminates the room slightly I take a surreptitious look around. Riley’s bedroom is… full of clutter! I sit up and try not to exclaim out loud as I take in the three huge bookcases stuffed to the brim with classic and contemporary fiction as well as a load of dusty old reference books. The wardrobe doors are forced open by the one million shirts and sweaters and outdoorsy coats piled up in there. I rub my eyes. There’s so much stuff! The wall opposite me is covered in photographs which, from what I can gather, span Riley’s entire life.

I feel around my body to make sure I’ve still got my clothes on before getting out of the bed and shuffle over to get a closer look at the pictures. There are images of Riley at school, so much taller than the rest of the kids, his hair as messy as it is now, and one or two of him with Honey. She’s looking at him with an intense, devoted expression, clinging onto his arms, while he looks sleepy and relaxed, grinning toothily at whoever is taking the picture.

Right in the middle of the wall is the photo of his mother that I saw on the internet. Once again I feel a lurch of sorrow as I remember that Riley is an orphan.

While I gaze at the pictures, a strange aroma pervades the room. It smells like brandy. I sniff up suspiciously.

“
It’s a stinky candle.
”
Riley says.
“
I’ve already used all the normal ones. This one’s the only one left. It’s Christmas pudding scented.
”

“
Hmmm,
”
I turn back towards him and breathe it in.
“
It’s lovely.
”

I perch on the end of the bed, not quite sure what to do with myself. I fiddle with one of the buttons on my cardigan.

“
Oh no,
”
I blurt as I suddenly remember Dionne.
“
Dionne is going to be so mad at me. She has to work tomorrow. Did she have a tantrum?
”

“
She was a little…
irate
”
Riley says with a bemused expression.
“
But she
had no other choice but to stay here, regardless of your passing out. The snow is really coming down hard now. It would have been dangerous for you to drive back through it. Alan forbade it, actually.
”

“
Gosh. Well. I suppose it’s good, in a way, that I fainted. I mean. If I hadn't we might have tried to drive back and gotten caught in the storm with no way of escaping and we’d have had to eat each other like in that film
Alive
. Jean-Paul Gaultier would be the first to go.
”

I don't think I've properly come round. Riley kindly overlooks my wittering on about dog consumption.

“
I hope you don’t mind me being here,
”
he says.
“
I thought it’d be best if someone kept an eye on you. You know, just in case.
”

I nod, inwardly cursing Dionne and Meg for not insisting that
they
be the ones to keep an eye on me. This is just too weird.

We fall into silence, Riley scanning his newspaper and me watching the candle flame dance and flicker in the dark. I have no idea what to say to him because this situation, let’s face it, is utterly awkward.

“
Oh, you play the guitar!
”
I say when I can bear it no longer. I gesture over to the two acoustics propped up against a bookshelf.

Riley answers back super quickly as if he too had been waiting for something to break the silence.

“
Yeah! I learned at school.
”

“
You took guitar at school? Lucky!
”

“
Well. After school. I was in a performing arts group,
”

I can’t help it. I laugh.

“
What’s so funny?
”

“
I can’t picture you in a performing arts group. That’s all. You’re too gruff.
”

“
Gruff!
”
Riley raises a sandy brow.
“
I’ve never been described as gruff before. Lanky, chunky, great big bastard, always. But, oddly enough, never gruff. Is gruff a good thing?
”

“
Totally.
”

“
I’m glad.
”

“
So did you do musicals and stuff? Like Chicago and…
Annie?
”
I giggle again at the very thought. Riley looks mildly offended.

“
No way! We were cooler than that.
”

“
Yeah, it sounds like it.
”

“
We were! We did
original
stuff.
”
He gets up off his tub chair and plucks a photo from the wall.
“
This guy here wrote the plays,
”
he says pointing to a short, dark kid with long hair.
“
And now he writes for Coronation Street.
”

“
Impressive.
”

“
You bet. And I wrote the songs.
”

“
You can song
write?
”
I ask, impressed.

“
Yeah. I’m an exceptional songwriter, a genius, some might say.
”
He lifts his chin up and folds his arms.

So cocky.

“
Write me a song then.
”

He looks around.
“
What now?
”

“
Yeah now, Mr Exceptional.
”

He pauses for a second before shrugging.
“
No problemo.
”

I don’t really expect him to write me a song but he hops over to his guitar, picks it up and starts to strum.

After a few moments he starts to sing.

“
Natalieeeee, you are so cruel to meeee.
You made me write a soooong, when I didn’t have very loooong, erm, to prepare.
”

“
Genius
”
I say, smirking.

“
Hold on, I’m just getting started.
”
He coughs and plucks at
the strings again.
“
You say you’re hypnotiiiised, but I think it’s all liiiiies
”

I open my mouth in indignation.

“
It’s a good job you’re so pretty,
e
lse I’d think you a teensy bit mean and… shitty.
”

“
Pretty?
”
I say before I can stop myself.

“
Um. Yeah.
“

“
Right. Good song.
”

We go quiet again then, because the atmosphere shifts. It’s imperceptible, but it’s there.

Things improve further when my stomach lets out an almighty growl.

Oh nice one, Natalie. Real classy.

Riley grins and puts down the guitar.
“
Food?
”

Good idea. I’m ravenous.

“
Yes please. If that’s okay? I don’t w
ant to put you to any trouble?
”

“
Oh, it’s no trouble at all.
”

“
Really? Are you sure?
”

“
Oh, it's cool. We don't want you going hungry.
”

“
Thanks.
”

“
No problemo.
”