Page 4 of Wanting Mr Black
My eyes dart to his chest to check that he’s still breathing. “Is he unconscious?”
“No, he’s drunk himself into oblivion,” Big Steve grumbles. “Art!” he shouts. “Wake up.”
Nothing.
Big Steve sighs impatiently and takes a step back, gesturing a hand toward the lifeless body. “You try.”
I hesitate. “I’m not sure.”
“Go on,” he urges. “If he wakes for anyone, it’s gonna be you.”
I kneel on the floor beside him, tentatively reach out a hand, and gently stroke Art’s brow. His flesh is cool and clammy beneath my fingers, not warm and inviting like usual.
“Art, wake up,” I say softly.
For a few seconds, nothing happens. Then, his breathing changes, and his eyelids flicker.
Big Steve smiles. “See.”
He parts open his eyes and stares back at me. For a few seconds, he doesn’t seem with it. Then, his eyes open fully as he registers I’m here, and I see my Art staring back at me. Not the one from last night. The one I’ve fallen in love with.
“Come on, big fella. You need to get to bed and sleep this off.”
Barbara and I step backwards as Big Steve wraps an arm around Art’s waist and hauls him to his feet, manoeuvring him through the living room and down the hall to the bedroom.
Now what?
It’s not the ideal time to meet Art’s mum. And I realise I still haven’t introduced myself.
“Erm … nice to meet you. I’m So—”
“Sophie.” She beats me to it and gives me a knowing look.
Before I can ask how she knows who I am, Big Steve reappears. “All sorted.” He grins, his gold tooth glinting in the sunlight. “He’ll be right as rain once he’s slept it off.”
Art’s mother thanks him.
He gives us both a nod. “I’d best be off. See you later.”
Barbara offers him a warm smile, and we both murmur, “Goodbye,” as Big Steve heads for the door.
“Shall I make us some tea?” she suggests.
I smile politely. I don’t really feel as if I can say no. “Yes, please. That would be lovely.”
Three
While Barbara busies herself with making tea in the kitchen, I wander round the living room and finish straightening the place up – wiping up the trail of blood, clearing up the broken glass from the counter, heaving the armchair back onto its feet, and propping the lamp upright. I collect the cushions from the floor and put them back on the sofa, and then I push open the French windows to let the fresh air circulate and hopefully get rid of the smell of stale cigarettes and alcohol.
Barbara places two cups of tea on the glass dining table and sits down. I take my cue and settle into a chair opposite, acutely aware of her eyes watching me intently. I pull one of the mugstowards me and chew my lip, anxious at what’s about to come. This could be awkward.
“It’s lovely to meet you.” She beams.
First things first. “How do you know who I am?” I ask, taking a sip of hot, strong tea.
Barbara’s pale pink lips pull into a firm line. “I received an extremely odd call from Art this morning. He called me by accident; I could tell he was drunk. He probably had no idea what he was doing. Of course, I was worried because, as I’m sure you know, he doesn’t drink anymore. He called me Sophie when I answered the phone, so I told him it was me and asked who you were. He said, “She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
My heart turns over, and I stare down at my tea.