The Ex-Boyfriend's Handbook Part 41

Dan shakes his head vigorously. 'I'll tell you something, Edward. Where relations.h.i.+ps are concerned, honesty might be the best policy, but dishonesty comes a close second.'

'In your world, Dan, perhaps.'

'Besides, you did it for her.'

'And you think she'll understand that?'

'No. Which is precisely why you're not going to tell her. Instead, just look at the positives. You managed to entertain a girl for the evening, and so much so that she agreed to come back to your place for "coffee".'

'I suppose. Although that may have been only because she felt sorry for me.'

Dan shrugs. 'Even so. But sympathy votes only get you so far. This girl was obviously interested enough in you to go out with you, and even-up until you scared her off-to want to keep the evening going into extra time. What does that tell you?'

I don't answer him, but sip my tea contentedly, as I know exactly what it tells me.

It tells me that I'm nearly there.

Thursday 14th April.

7 a.m.

I don't sleep much, my mind buzzing with the events of the previous evening, and it's an effort to drag myself out of bed and into my somewhat looser tracksuit in time for Sam's knock on the door. She greets me with a 'Hey, partner', and we jog easily down to the promenade, picking the pace up between the piers.

It's a beautiful spring morning, with hardly anyone about, and Sam's pus.h.i.+ng me hard-too hard for any real conversation, which for some reason I'm quite glad about. We do our usual seafront circuit before heading for the gym, and we're jogging up through Norfolk Square when suddenly Eddie comes bounding up towards me, yapping excitedly. I try to run a little faster, not wanting Billy to see me out jogging, but Eddie grabs hold of the leg of my tracksuit bottoms in his teeth, and I tumble onto the gra.s.s, narrowly avoiding a fresh pile of dog poo.

'b.l.o.o.d.y dog,' I say.

Sam tries to hide a smile. 'Are you hurt?'

I do a quick check-all limbs seem to be functioning properly. 'I don't think so.'

As Sam holds out a hand to help me up, I look round for Billy, wondering why on earth Eddie's out on his own, but it's only when Eddie runs off towards the corner of the park that I see him, huddled underneath a bench. I pick myself up and sprint across to where Billy's lying. He looks a lot worse than normal, quite possibly due to the beating he's obviously taken, and Sam has to struggle not to heave as he's evidently soiled himself during the night. His face is b.l.o.o.d.y, and his breathing is way too shallow for my liking.

'Billy! Billy!' I shake his shoulder, but get the meekest of responses. 'Quick, Sam. Give me your mobile.'

As Sam reaches into her rucksack, Billy opens one blood-caked eyelid and a wave of recognition floods across his face.

'Edward,' he mumbles, then notices Sam. 'Whoosis?'

My guess is that his slurring is caused by the beating, and not by his usual liquid breakfast.

'Don't try and move, Billy. I'll get help.'

Sam looks horrified at Billy's bruised and battered face. 'You know him?'

'Yes. Well, I buy the odd Big Issue from him.'

Billy feebly waves a hand in my direction. 'Best customer,' he wheezes, before losing consciousness again.

Sam hands me her phone and I call 999, then put Billy into the recovery position and wait for the ambulance, which arrives surprisingly quickly. The driver, however, is less than sympathetic.

'Jesus. b.l.o.o.d.y winos. What do you expect us to do with him? He stinks.'

I grab him by the shoulder and wheel him roughly around, taking both him and Sam by surprise. 'He's not a wino. He's a homeless person, which means he's still a person. And you'd probably smell a bit if you didn't have a home to go to, and a shower to wash in, or even any hot water. Try and show a little compa.s.sion, if you can't have the decency to show any respect.'

The ambulance man blushes and mumbles an apology, before he and his colleague lift Billy onto a stretcher and put him into the back of the ambulance. Eddie jumps in after him, only to be chased out by the angry driver.

'These homeless always have b.l.o.o.d.y dogs,' he says.

'Yes. Well,' I say, my anger subsiding, 'that's probably why they're called "homeless" and not "dogless".'

'Do you want to come with him?' he says to me.

'I'll get my car and follow,' I reply, grabbing hold of Eddie by his bandana. 'Sorry, Sam. Can we cut it short today?'

'Of course,' she says. 'I'll come with you.'

'What about your next client?'

'I'll cancel.'

I pick Eddie up, we jog round the corner to Dan's, and ring on his doorbell. When he eventually answers, all bleary-eyed, I thrust Eddie into his arms.

'Look after him. It's very important.'

'Huh?' says Dan, as Eddie licks his face. 'It's a dog.'

'Well, I'm sure you've entertained a few of those in your time,' I reply.

9.05 a.m.

We're in Accident and Emergency, waiting to see how Billy's doing. When the doctor finally comes out, Sam and I approach him anxiously.

'How is he?'

'Just bruising, perhaps a mild concussion. He's asleep now, but we'll keep him in overnight just to be sure.'

I breathe a sigh of relief. 'That's good news.'

'Are you Eddie? He's been asking for you.'

Sam nudges me. 'Eddie. I like it,' she whispers.

'No, I'm...It's a long story. But when he wakes up, tell him Eddie s fine. He's being looked after.'

The doctor looks from me to Sam. 'Does he have someone we could call?'

I shake my head. 'I'm not sure...'

'Perhaps they know him at the church drop-in centre?' suggests Sam.

The doctor nods. 'Is he religious, do you know?'

'Maybe,' I say, trying to remember whether I've ever heard Billy talk about religion, but as far as I know, all he wors.h.i.+ps is the bottle. 'I think he's more the spiritual type. Is there anything he needs?'

The doctor thinks for a moment. 'A change of clothes, perhaps?'

I reach into my wallet, and hand the doctor some notes. 'Could someone perhaps get him some? He's a very proud man and won't take charity, but if he wakes up and finds some stuff already there...'

The doctor smiles. 'I understand.'

9.21 a.m.

When I drop Sam off at her flat, she leans across and kisses me on the cheek. I can't stop myself from reaching up to touch the spot where her lips have landed.

'What was that for?'

'That was a lovely thing you did today, to stop and help like that. Really lovely. Most people would have just walked on past.'

'Well, you helped too. A real Sam-aritan.'

Sam groans. 'Is it too late to work on your sense of humour?'

'Anyway, I had to stop. For one thing, I was knackered. Besides, any excuse to get me out of the gym session.'

'Edward, I was trying to pay you a compliment. Don't throw it back at me.'

'Sorry, Sam. But I couldn't just let him lie there.'

'And that's the difference between you and so many other people.'

'Well, that's very nice of you to say so.'

Sam opens the car door and starts to get out, then pauses mid-way. 'Listen...'

'Yes?'

'That party tonight at your boss's house? I'd love to come.'

'Really?'

'Really. If you've not asked anyone else, that is.'

'Er...No.'

'Great. Well, pick me up at eight?'

'Eight it is.'

'I'll look forward to it,' she says, as she gets out and shuts the door behind her.

And as I watch Sam disappear into her flat, I realize that so will I.

12.02 p.m.

I'm in the office, preparing the invoices for the Go-Soft campaign, when Natasha finally appears. I can tell immediately that she's in a bad mood, so try and head it off.

'Good morning.'

Natasha glares at her watch, and then at me. 'Wrong on both those counts.'

She slams the door behind her, stomps over to her desk, and sits there staring at her PC. After ten minutes, I pluck up the courage to bring her a cup of coffee.

'Here you go.'

She looks up at me miserably. Even to my untrained eye, it looks like she's been crying.

'Thanks, Edward. Sorry.'

'For what?'

'For snapping at you earlier.'

'Is something wrong?'

I can tell for a moment that she's considering biting my head off. Something's clearly wrong, and I brace myself for her reaction to what's obviously the most inane question I could have asked. But things have changed in the Staff-IT office, because instead, and on top of the apology, she starts to explain.

'It's Terry. He's not coming to my party.'

This strikes me as the kind of thing a five year old might say. 'Why not? Did he give you a reason?'

Natasha sniffs. 'Some rubbish about his wife having another baby.'

'Ah.' In all the time I've worked for her, this is probably only the second conversation we've had about anything to do with her private life.

'It's just, well, I know you probably think I'm a heartless b.i.t.c.h...'

Natasha pauses, and I don't know whether this is one of those moments I'm meant to leap in and contradict her.

'Well, not completely heartless, exactly. I mean, not that you're a b.i.t.c.h, or anything...'

'It's just that sometimes I wonder what it's all about. This relations.h.i.+p lark. Why do the men I like always seem to feel threatened by me?'

'Possibly because you're actually a threatening woman?'