Stand Up Guy, page 4
A nagging sensation rises within me. What if Shep changed his mind and went to the airport after all? What if, after giving it some proper thought, he decided it was too weird staying with some random woman for the best part of a month? He said he was skilled at reading people, so maybe he clocked that I was desperate for company and used picking up his stuff as an excuse to get away. All he took was my address. We didn’t swap phone numbers, which now seems odd. If he had got lost, how would he contact me to find his way here?
Moving away from the window, I wander aimlessly around my flat, re-organising things that really don’t need to be re-organised. It’s an anxious habit, I’m aware of this, but I can never seem to stop myself in the moment.
Would Shep really do that? Especially after I told him how I’d been dumped that day. Surely, he wouldn’t be that cruel. But then what do I know about him? He’s basically a stranger who knew all the right things to say. That doesn’t mean he isn’t another Paul. And to be honest, if he was picking up the ‘lonely’ vibes from me, could I really blame him for doing a runner?
By the time the clock in the hallway hits ten thirty, I’ve accepted that he’s not coming.
‘What did you expect, you idiot?’ I berate my reflection in the hall mirror. ‘You can’t go inviting some bloke to stay, then tell him you’ve just been dumped. Think about it.’
Shaking my head at my reflection, I return to the sofa and switch Friends back on, then about three seconds later, my flat buzzer sounds.
‘Oh my gosh, he’s actually here,’ I announce in surprise to the empty room.
Hopping back off the sofa, I pad across to the door and lift the intercom handset.
‘Hello?’
‘Hi, I’m here to see my mum who’s unwell, but she’s not answering,’ a female voice says in my ear. ‘Think her buzzer’s broken. Can you let me in?’
My heart sinks. ‘Oh, erm… of course.’
I press the door release button to let her in and listen – just to make sure she is who she says she is – as she ascends the staircase and knocks on the door of a flat one floor down from mine. My elderly neighbour greets her in familiar tones, making me comfortable that I haven’t let anyone unsavoury into the building. However, with that temporary distraction out of the way, my focus is now back on who wasn’t at the door.
Returning to the living room, tears well as I think about how daft and naïve I’ve been. I was so excited by the thought of having someone around, I didn’t even consider that Shep might not show up. What was I even thinking, inviting him to stay like that? He must think I’m such a loser.
This is all it takes for my mind to run away from me and the tears to spill over, all rational thought having exited stage left. I imagine him returning home and telling his friends about me, then adding this experience to one of his future stand-up shows locally. After trying to be kind, though not without my own – quite harmless – personal intent, it really stings that, for him, I’ll be nothing more than some great material and one hell of a punchline.
Chapter 6
By the time my apartment buzzer sounds for the second time at around 11:45 p.m., I’ve cleaned myself up and got ready for bed. Assuming it’s just someone else asking to be let into the building, I ignore it at first, leaving them to try another flat. For reasons of security, I’m not supposed to let in people I don’t know, anyway. However, after a minute or so, the buzzer blares through my hallway again.
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake,’ I mutter. ‘It’s nearly midnight.’
Lifting the handset, I bark an unwelcoming, ‘Hello?’ into it.
‘Lea, is that you?’
‘Shep?’
‘Yeah, it’s me. Sorry I took so long.’
Pursing my lips, I’m unsure whether to be pleased or annoyed. This wasn’t our agreement and the last thing I want is to invite someone into my home who’s going to be elusive and unreliable. Unpleasant thoughts of how this guy could turn out to be yet another nightmare roommate – even if only for a few weeks – descend on me like those scary-ass, cat-sized seagulls on a discarded kebab. I do not want to feel like an enemy in my own home again. But then, shouldn’t I give Shep the benefit of the doubt and at least let him explain why he’s only turning up now – nearly three hours after he said he would?
Buzzing him into the stairwell, I open the door and listen to the echoing sound of him climbing the stone steps to my third-floor flat. Though I can’t see him, I can tell from the pattern of his movements and the odd grunt of exertion that he’s carrying something bulky. When he finally does appear, he’s panting heavily and carrying an oversized black holdall.
‘That’s one steep set of stairs.’ He grins at me, trying to catch his breath. ‘Reckon I’ve just put my back out.’
‘I’m sure you’ll live.’ I open the door wide to let him inside, without returning his warmth.
‘How glad am I to finally put this thing down.’ He lugs his holdall inside, dumps it on the floor and appears to wince in pain as he does so. He then looks at me properly for the first time and his grin falters. ‘Ah, you’re pissed at me, aren’t you?’
I purse my lips in a thin line. ‘I don’t know, what do you think? You’ve just turned up hours later than we agreed and without a care in the world.’
Shep’s shoulders slump. ‘Shit, I’m sorry, Lea. I meant to get here sooner, but things didn’t go to plan.’
‘Meaning?’
‘How about we grab a cup of tea and I’ll fill you in on what happened?’
This time it’s me that hesitates. If I agree to this request, I’m essentially inviting him to make himself at home and letting him off the hook, when I have no idea if I can actually trust him. And there’s a part of me that still wants to send him packing.
‘Actually… I’d rather you fill me in straight away.’ I briefly meet his gaze, before my eyes dart to the kitchen, my brain cataloguing its contents for items that might help with self-defence.
Shep follows my line of sight and his face falls. ‘I’m not a danger to you, Lea, I promise.’
Wincing at his ability to read me so easily, I force myself to look him in the eye. ‘OK… then tell me why you didn’t turn up when you said you would, and why I should trust you.’
‘Of course. You deserve that.’
Shep shifts his stance as if preparing to explain, folding his arms, then unfolding them again. It’s clear that he’s tired and desperate for a seat, but I’m not wavering on this one. Having already had one guy take the piss out of me today, I’m not going to add another to the pile if I can help it.
‘Go on, then.’ I prompt him, my courage returning, most likely through adrenaline from my protective instincts kicking in.
‘All right. When I left you, I went to the station to get my stuff as planned. I picked up my bag and was about to jump in a taxi, when I got a call from the owner of the pub I’m doing my show in. He asked me to swing by when I had a minute, and as I was not far away, I said I’d pop straight over.’
‘So that’s where you’ve been all this time? The pub.’
His eyes go to the floor. ‘Yes, but not in the way you think. I took what I thought was a shortcut from the station, through one of those narrow closes, and… I got mugged.’
‘What?’ My hand flies to my mouth in shock.
My brain is firing out a raft of unpleasant thoughts and questions about what happened next. At the same time, there’s a tiny part of me that’s questioning Shep’s story, wondering if what he’s telling me is true – or whether it’s part of his own plan to do me over.
‘What did they take from you?’ I ask. ‘And are you OK?’
Showing signs of what appears to be genuine distress, Shep presses his palms against the sides of his head, wincing in pain again as he does.
‘There were three of them. It seemed opportunistic, not planned or anything. They took my phone, wallet and watch.’
‘You’re kidding.’ I shake my head in disgust.
‘Unfortunately, I’m not. When they ran off, not only did I not have any money for a taxi, but I also realised your address was in my phone and I could only remember part of it.’
‘But wait, if you didn’t have my address, how did you find me?’
‘I knew enough to get to this street and I could remember it was flat eleven, just not the building number.’
I let out a snort of disbelief. ‘So how many of my neighbours have you pissed off in your quest to find me?’
‘About fifteen to seventeen, give or take.’ He gives a sheepish smile.
‘Oh… my goodness.’
I rub at my tired eyes, trying to take this all in. It’s such an elaborate story, I’m now pretty convinced Shep hasn’t made it up, but there’s still some lingering doubt I need to address.
‘Look, I don’t mean to be disrespectful here, but—’
‘How do you know I’m legit and you’re not gonna wake up to find your stuff gone in the morning?’
‘Well, yeah.’ I shrug, almost apologetically.
‘You can search me if you like. You won’t find a phone or a wallet on me, or in my bag.’ He spreads his arms, inviting me to do so, and I shake my head.
‘I’m not going to pat you down.’
‘There’s also this…’ He lifts his T-shirt and I gasp with horror as I find myself looking at a huge, fresh reddish-purple bruise that’s developing on his right side, running from his ribcage down towards his hip.
‘Oh, Shep! Did they do that to you? I’ve always thought of Edinburgh as being quite a safe place.’
‘Every city has its bad actors. This is what I got for trying to reason with them. It’s partly why I’m so late. I needed to get my breath back before I felt up to the walk, so I stayed in the pub for a bit.’
‘Did the pub owner not offer to get you a cab after what you’d been through?’
He cringes. ‘I didn’t tell him. Call it male pride.’
‘You need to call the police.’ I step forward to inspect his injury. ‘You should also go to the hospital and get checked out in case you’ve a cracked rib – or something worse. I can drive you.’
‘Tomorrow, maybe.’ He waves away my concerns. ‘Right now, I could really murder a cup of tea.’
‘Absolutely.’ I give him a sympathetic smile, then beckon him to follow me into the kitchen, feeling immensely guilty that I made him stand there and explain himself after what he’d just been through.
Chapter 7
On waking the next morning, I’m groggy and disorientated from my late night. Reaching for my phone, my first thought is to check the time, but before I can do that, my brain kicks into high gear and demands that I leap out of bed to check everything is in order. As much as I want to believe every word Shep told me – and I generally think the best of people until they give me a solid reason to think otherwise – he’s still a stranger and someone I know next to nothing about.
‘Please don’t have robbed me,’ I chunter to myself, while pulling on a pair of trackie bottoms and a hoodie. ‘That, I would never recover from.’
Quietly pulling open the door to my bedroom, I stick my head out into the hallway to see if there’s any sign of Shep, but the flat is silent. A little too silent. Tiptoeing across the hallway, my bare feet cool against the natural wooden floorboards, I check the living room, then the kitchen, both of which are in the state they were left the previous evening. The TV, my Bose Bluetooth speaker (a much-loved Christmas gift from my parents), the microwave and all other portable electronics are sitting snugly in their rightful places, which is certainly an encouraging sign. It’s also enough of a positive indicator for me to instruct the paranoid part of my brain to pipe down. What there is no sign of, though, is Shep. I can see he’s not in the bathroom, because the door is wide open, meaning the only place left to check is the spare room.
Creeping back across the hallway, careful to avoid the floorboards I know will creak and give me away, I put my ear up against the closed door, but there’s not a sound coming from within. Maybe he’s still asleep, I think to myself, then balk as I look over my shoulder at the skeleton clock and discover it’s gone midday. I can’t remember the last time I slept that late. Though, saying that, I can’t remember the last time I stayed up till two a.m. – sad as that might sound coming from someone who’s constantly reminded of how much partying she should be doing at her age. Returning my attention to my spare room and what might be going on inside it, I misjudge how close I am to the door and accidently headbutt it, causing a ‘thunk’ that’s definitely loud enough to attract the attention of my new roommate.
‘Shit, shit, shit.’ I dance around in panic, before realising the only thing I can do to avoid it looking like I was spying on him (which, to be fair, I was) is to make out that I was knocking on the door.
Gathering myself together, I close my eyes for a moment, then knock twice.
‘Shep? Just wondering how you are this morning, and if you’d like any breakfast?’
There’s no response, so I try once more, louder this time. Again, there’s no answer. At a loss as to what to do, my mind goes into overdrive. Why hasn’t he answered? Surely if he had been asleep, he would have woken up by now. Oh crap, what if he’s dead? What if he had internal bleeding after all, and now my guest bed is occupied by a corpse? If there’s any chance that’s the case, the last thing I want to do is enter the room; however, if he is dead, then I’m going to have a bigger issue on my hands the longer I leave it.
Whipping myself into a panicked frenzy, I realise I have no option but to open the door and face whatever’s inside. ‘Just effing do it,’ I chide myself, pushing open the door and anxiously peering into the room – only becoming aware that I’m holding my breath when I see that everything is in order.
Sagging against the wall with relief, I give a shaky laugh. However, this positive sensation is short-lived, because while Shep might not be dead, he’s also not here. And neither is any of his stuff. This can only mean one thing: he’s done a bolt.
Disappointment washes over me, followed by a rapid re-emergence of my suspicions. If he’s gone, then why has he gone? If it were for any innocent reason, wouldn’t he have waited to say goodbye? Which means he either decided our arrangement wasn’t going to work out, and didn’t have the guts to tell me, or…
Returning to the hallway, my eyes land on my handbag, which is sitting on the floor at the bottom of the coat stand – exactly where I dump it every day when I arrive home. This habit is fine when I’m living alone, but having impulsively invited some random bloke to stay, it’s not such a wise move.
‘Oh, no. Please, no.’ I rush across the room, drop to my knees and rifle through the contents, looking for my purse. ‘Oh shit, it’s not here. It’s gone. It’s bloody gone. You are a total idiot, Lea. A completely naïve and stupid—’
‘Why are you being so unkind to my landlady?’ a male voice cuts through my distressed ramblings.
My head shoots round in surprise to discover Shep standing there, watching me quizzically, the front door of the flat wide open behind him.
‘I… um…’ I’m so blindsided by his sudden reappearance that I don’t know what to say or do, but as my fingers finally locate my purse, one thing’s for sure: he’s not a thief.
‘Shep, good morning.’ I smile up at him, tugging at my hoodie guiltily. ‘Where have you been? I was just… I mean, I thought—’
‘You thought I’d done a runner with your purse.’ He steps forward and helps me to my feet.
‘What? No.’
‘You’re really gonna deny it?’
‘OK, yes, I’m sorry.’ I wring my hands in shame. ‘I guess… I mean, I was comfortable enough with my decision of inviting you to stay while I was tanked up on gin, but I’ve had a few moments since when I’ve wondered if it was stupid and/or risky. While I’m apologising for jumping to the conclusion that you might be a thief, I don’t think I should be apologising for being vigilant.’
‘Definitely not.’ He hands me a carrier bag with some groceries in it. ‘I don’t blame you one bit for questioning your decision. It was risky. I could have been a scammer pretending to be Shep the comedian, so it’s lucky for you I’m just a regular guy down on his luck. But let’s not forget that it was also a generous and selfless gesture.’
‘Well, when you put it like that…’ I offer him a toothy smile, while cringing a little at his use of the word ‘selfless’: it’s a stark reminder of the fact that I went into this arrangement also seeking something for myself, and I haven’t shared that side of things with him (though, who can blame me?). ‘Then we’re good?’
‘We’re good.’ He gives me a little wink. ‘I only nipped out because I was gonna cook us some breakfast, then I clocked that you’re low on milk and you didn’t have any soda bread.’
‘Oh, right. And soda bread is important?’
‘It’s like a comedian without a decent punchline. Everything falls flat.’
I tip my head back in amusement. ‘Noted. So, are you still going to make that breakfast, then? Though I’m not sure I’m in any position to ask.’
‘That’s enough, you.’ Shep gives me a jovial nudge. ‘I’ve got to earn my keep somehow. You up for playing sous-chef?’
‘Absolutely.’ I clap my hands enthusiastically. ‘What does that involve?’
‘Making the tea and toast.’
‘Think I can manage that.’ I head into the kitchen, with him following behind. ‘By the way, how did you get back in? You don’t have a key… And I thought all your money was stolen?’
‘I had some cash stashed away in my holdall, and I left the two doors on the snib. Was only for a few minutes, hope that’s not a problem.’
