Muted light streams onto my face as I slowly become conscious. Images from last night start to flit through my head, and I start to sort through them one at a time, piecing together my journey from work to the pub to…shit. I slowly open one eye and then the other, knowing by the citrus scent around me that I am not at home in my own bed. Gingerly I move my head, waiting for the full impact of my hangover to hit. My head aches, but my stomach feels okay, so I prop myself up onto my elbows, taking in my surroundings. The exposed brick walls and the skylights confirm my worst fears…I am in Taylor's bed.
I look around for him, straining my ears for the smallest sound, but there is nothing. I suddenly realise that while I am still in my top and pants, my jeans are missing. I push back the squishy duvet and swing my legs over the side of the bed, my feet sinking into the plush cream carpet. My stomach rolls, but I maintain control of the motion. It is only then that I notice my jeans hanging over the chair neatly along with my coat and scarf and with shoes underneath. I scurry over and start pulling everything on with haste, half expecting Taylor to come through the door at any moment. My bag is sitting on the table beside the bed, and I dig through it, trying to retrieve my phone.
Glancing at the time, I realise that if I don't get a move on, I am going to be late meeting my parents at the airport. I suddenly realise I need to pee, and I glance around, trying to locate a bathroom. In the corner I notice a sliding door, and as I investigate further, it opens into the biggest en-suite I have ever seen. The room is at least the size of the bedroom and is dominated by a free-standing egg bath in the centre of the room, just like the ones I have coveted in those expensive interior design magazines. In one corner a large shower cubicle hosts a large rainforest shower with a multitude of jets and even a bench for sitting on, while a large cabinet and sink sit in the other corner. The décor is neutral, echoing the colours of the bedroom, but as the sun shifts from behind some clouds in the sky, the light through the skylights creates shadows and accents, changing the feel completely.
I quickly use the toilet, and when I wash my hands, the familiar scent of Taylor tickles my senses. I return to the bedroom, and it is only then that I fully take in the fact that both sides of the bed are rumpled, which I can only suppose means that Taylor slept in there too. My heart lurches at the thought, and despite my pounding head and rolling stomach, I suddenly feel a rush of warmth in my pelvis. I shake my head, trying to clear the thoughts flooding through, hurriedly make the bed and make my way out the bedroom door. I find myself in a short corridor that leads into the main living area. Parched, I make my way to the kitchen to grab some water when I spy a glass of chilled juice and a bottle of headache tablets sitting on the counter with a note:
Morning, Abby!
Hope the hangover is not too hairy this morning. Take these with the juice and you should feel a whole lot better.TaylorP.S. You talk in your sleep.Oh. My. God. What the hell did I say? I am mortified, but at least there is the relief that Taylor is not here in person. I quickly take a couple of the tablets and down the juice in one long gulp. It is delicious, and almost immediately I start to feel better. Another glance at my phone tells me that nine o’clock is fast approaching, and I realise I need to get out of here before my work colleagues start arriving. I quickly gather up my bag and coat, and head for Taylor's private lift, offering up a silent prayer that no one will be about. It takes me a minute to remember that Taylor is at his meeting, presenting my report, and I feel terrible that he had to look after me in such a state. As for the reason I got myself into that state, well, I am desperately trying to block that part out.
It seems that Lady Luck is on my side as I manage to escape the building unscathed. Rounding the corner, I quickly dial Eddy to explain the situation to him. The kind boss that he is, he is mortified when he realises that despite everything, I still came into the office to do the work he asked for. Eddy insists I take the whole week off, but I know I'll go stir-crazy at home, so we reach a compromise of a couple of days.
Realising that I am doing okay for time, I head back to my flat for a quick shower and change of clothes as I can smell the booze and the dreadful aroma of old washing on me. I am just drying my hair and twisting it up when my phone rings, stirring me out of my depressing thoughts. I don't recognise the number, so I let it go to voicemail with a view to checking once I get out the door. Finally dressed, I chuck my horrible clothes in the washing pile and head out in search of a bacon sandwich and caffeine, the ultimate hangover cure, and make my way to the station once more.
~*~
I close my eyes and try to breathe slowly. In through the nose and out through the mouth. I continue this mantra, fighting to control the rising bile as I stand in Nonna's kitchen, the image of her lying prone on the floor stark in my consciousness. I can hear my mum crying in the living room, something she has pretty much done since meeting at the airport. My dad is offering soft words of support. And I am just standing here, wondering why this happened and why I didn't do anything to prevent it. Maybe if I had done resuscitation like they do on TV, I could have saved her before the paramedics arrived. All I know, she is dead and I did nothing to save her. The guilt is eating me up inside.
I hear a phone ring, and my dad is talking softly to the person on the other end. At least, my mum has stopped sobbing, and a few words float through to me: aneurysm, previous history, unpreventable. I don't really understand what any of this means, so I carry on trying to breathe, my arms wrapped tightly around my waist.
Having not heard anyone approach, I start as I realise there is a hand on my shoulder. I open my eyes, and my dad is standing in front of me, looking at me with sad grey eyes.
"Oh, sweetheart, come here." He envelops me in a big hug and slowly explains the coroner's findings. That Nonna had known that she had an aneurysm in her brain, that the doctors had decided not to operate due to its location, that it was a ticking time bomb in her head.
"But I couldn't save her!" I wail.
"Sweetheart, you could never have saved her. She was dead before she hit the ground." Dad's words bring me little comfort, and despite the radiator warming the room, I continue to shiver. My mum comes into the room, and I can see that she has made an effort to pull herself together.
"Right," she says, trying to inject some brightness into her voice. "Next step, funeral. Now, Nonna would have hated us moping and weeping, so it is up to us to give her the send-off she deserves." I know Mum is right. Nonna was the most cheerful, content person I have ever known. She would have hated the thought of us standing here in tears.
As Mum starts prattling away about flowers and food, she starts looking through the kitchen drawer where Nonna kept all her important documents. It is such a random place, and I was always trying to convince Nonna to get a little filing cabinet or something. Well, it was too late now. I brush away a few stray tears as I watch Mum pull out a document holder."Got it!" she exclaims. "I knew Nonna would be too stubborn to let us sort this out ourselves." In her hand she is holding out a brochure for a funeral home, and inside is what looks like documentation for her funeral. "Typical Mamma, she's chosen everything, even the music!" With her usual efficiency Mum is off to ring the funeral directors before anyone can get in a word edgeways. Feeling useless, I motion to my father that I am going to go for a walk to the beach. He nods, knowing that while he and my mum are gregarious and love being round people, I am essentially a loner and need some time to process.
The sea breeze whips my hair into a frenzy matching the swirl of thoughts in my head. I am swamped by the sadness I am feeling, so I walk and walk, trying ineffectively to calm my chaotic emotions. I am only gone half an hour, but by the time I enter Nonna’s front door, it would seem that everything is in hand and the funeral is set for Friday.
With nothing left to do, it is agreed that I will head back to London and return on Thursday evening. My parents have to catch the next flight back out to Spain to finish off the filming for the commercial that they were in the middle of when I called. So we say our goodbyes and head our separate ways. To say I feel alone and a little lost is somewhat of an understatement.
I wake with a start, sweat dripping and tears rolling down my face. I struggle to catch my breath as I try to dispel the overwhelming urge to bury my head back into my pillow and sob my heart out. I didn't think I had this much water in me, but it would appear the faucets have been opened and nothing will stop the tears from leaking out. Sleep did not come easy. Whenever I closed my eyes, all I could see was Nonna lying there dead. I am unsure as to what time I eventually fell asleep, but my dreams meant that I spent a restless night tossing and turning. A glance at the clock tells me that, despite the darkness, morning is here and it is time to get up. I shower and dress, my choice of clothing reflecting my dark mood and matching the dark circles under my eyes. I try to choke down a slice of toast, but my appetite has deserted me. I fill my travel mug with coffee and head out to the bus stop, knowing that I am still too early for work but not wanting to stay in my tiny, claustropho
Work just about gets me through the waking hours, though I know I am starting to behave like a zombie through lack of sleep. My parents phone each evening to check if I am okay, and I try to force a cheerfulness into my demeanour that is clearly not natural. I decided not to go down to Brighton until the day of the funeral as I am still struggling to write my eulogy. Tonight I have to finish it, so I resist the urge to lose myself once again in the kitchen and force myself to sit down in front of my laptop.Strangely enough, once I start, this time I can't seem to stop. I fill page after page with funny, inconsequential stories about both her life and our life together. When I finally read the final draft and hit Print, I know I have produced something Nonna would like.It is after midnight, and I know I have to be up early, so I decide to take a shower but am interrupted by a ringing on the intercom. Startled, as I never have visitors, let alone ones at this time of night, I lift the
The shrill of the alarm pierces my consciousness. The lack of Taylor's presence in my bed when I wake feels like déjà vu. As the reality of the day that lies ahead hits, my heart sinks. With leaden limbs I get myself into the shower, trying to blot out the image of Nonna dead on her kitchen floor that keeps resurfacing from my subconscious. It's not long before I am wrapped up in my heavy winter coat and scarf to ward off the autumn chill and pulling my case loaded up with a week's worth of my baking out the door and onto the main road to call a taxi to the station. I am just not in the mood for the bus today. I spend the journey attempting to analyse the situation with Taylor. I can't figure out why he keeps turning up when he has categorically stated that being with me can't happen. I can't help the attraction I feel, and I get the feeling that neither can he, but there is this big issue of him being my boss. Which of course on a rational level I completely understand. However, the
Seconds turn into minutes, and before I know it several hours have passed and I am shattered, my face aching from the forced smile I have attached to my face. Every now and again, I would catch sight of Taylor, but as soon as I would go to intercept him, another of Nonna's friends would grab my arm and would want to start reminiscing. Eventually, I manage to extricate myself and slip out the back door into the small courtyard garden. The light of the afternoon is fading, and the shadows offer a good place to hide for a few minutes."Thirsty?" Taylor's voice startles me. I spin around to find him standing right next to me, holding up a glass of juice. I take it gratefully as I am feeling parched from all the talking. The juice is delicious and cool, soothing my vocal cords. "Thanks, Taylor." I smile up at him, feeling shy but curious. "Um, why are you here?" I suddenly feel like I have to get to the bottom of what is going on. "Why did you come today? Why did you come to my flat last
Taylor moves around the kitchen with the ease of a practised chef. It is a pleasure watching his hands; his long fingers move swiftly, and I muse at what it would be like to feel them running along my skin. As if he knows what I am thinking, Taylor glances up and winks at me. I flush, a state that I feel like I am permanently in when I am around him. I take a large gulp of my cocktail, hoping to still my nerves, but it is not long before I feel the alcohol going to my head and I start to feel a bit glassy-eyed. Fortunately, it is not long before Taylor is sliding a steaming plate in front of me. The aroma has whetted my appetite, and I suddenly feel ravenous.Taylor rounds the island and comes to sit beside me. We eat in companionable silence for several minutes until the rumbling of my stomach starts to subside. "This is delicious. Thank you," I comment."You are very welcome." Taylor smiles at me, and I feel my cheeks going red again. We start chatting about inconsequential things,
The smell of bacon filters through my senses. I lie with my eyes shut as the memories of last night filter through. My body is aching from using muscles I didn't know I even had, but for the first time in my life, I feel whole. I try to think of what I felt like before I met Taylor, but it is as if that girl no longer exists. The reality is that I wasn't a virgin, but last night it truly felt like I had given Taylor my virginity—or even more than that, a piece of my soul. I find myself smiling, and I put out a hand, expecting to find Taylor lying beside me. I come up empty, and realising that I am alone, my eyes pop open. For the first time, I can properly take in the room I am in. The whitewashed walls, the floor-to-ceiling windows along the back wall with views across to a small lake, the overlarge bed with sumptuous pillows. There seems to be very few personal touches until I spot a montage of pictures of Taylor with a girl. Suddenly suspicious, I creep out of the b
The day passes quicker than I would have liked. We take a stroll through the village, and I can't help but exclaim over the quaintness of the cottages. I am so used to the hustle and bustle of London and Brighton that the sounds of the countryside are almost alien to me. We end up in a boutique coffee shop, where Taylor introduces me to blends from all over the world. I thought I was adventurous ordering a gingerbread latte from Starbucks at Christmastime, but that is nothing in comparison to what I have tried today. Slightly jittery from all the caffeine, we take a long stroll back and grab a sandwich, settling back in front of a fire just in time before the heavens open.The muted sunlight of the afternoon soon fades as the autumn evening rolls in. Our light conversation ranges from music to books and films, and I am surprised to learn just how much we have in common. Taylor fills me in about his gap year and how the foods from his travels inspired him to set up his company
I am too hot. The sound of birds chirping filters through my subconscious, and I surmise that it must be early, but given that we have been asleep since early evening, I have had more than my normal eight hours. I am trapped under Taylor's arm, but as I squirm to get more room, he suddenly rolls onto his back, freeing me. I study him sleeping, taking note of the way his normally spiky hair falls forward, his chin covered in stubble, his broad shoulders and his sensuous mouth.Thirst and my rumbling stomach give me the motivation to get out of bed, grab a robe and head downstairs, careful not to wake a sleeping Taylor. I make myself a coffee and pop in some bread to toast and then settle myself on the small couch overlooking the garden.My mind drifts back to the night's activities, and I remember why my body is protesting this morning. Even just thinking about it brings a flush to my face, and I start to feel horny enough to contemplate heading back upstairs to w