The Bringer

I shake my head. “No, I’m fine with what I already have.”

He looks at me, brows raised, and says with absolute certainty, “I’m buying you some shoes, Lucyna, and I’m not taking no for an answer.” Then he moves off before I can attempt a shot at resisting and, for a man currently on crutches, he’s moving pretty swiftly, might I add. So I just dutifully follow along behind him.

I manage to get him down to two pairs of shoes. Then, as we’re leaving the shoe shop, James clears his throat and says, somewhat awkwardly, “Er – Lucyna, do you erm – well you're gonna need some – underwear, aren’t you? You know, like – bras and stuff.”

Underwear, of course, humans always wear this beneath their clothes. I regard his flushed face, his uncomfortable demeanour, not seeing the source of his embarrassment and without, even bothering to contest over the money, knowing it to be a fruitless exercise, I say, “Yes, I will need some.”

It’s odd to see James like this. He’s usually so self-assured, so sure. It’s incredibly endearing. It makes me want to reach out and run my fingertips across his glowing cheek.

“Right, well La Senza’s just there,” he says, voice some somewhat gruff. I follow his gaze to a shop across the other side of the busy road which has women’s underwear artfully displayed in its window. “Here’s my card.” He pushes his credit card into my hand. “Get whatever you need. My pin number’s –” He moves closer to me, his body almost pressed against mine, only the thin layers of our clothes and a sliver of air separate us, as he whispers in my ear, “One, three, three, seven.” His breath blows over my neck, setting my body on high alert. He moves back, looking down at me with opaque eyes which instantly clear. “I’m just gonna go in here.” He points to a shop advertising DVDs and computer games in its window. “I’ll meet you outside La Senza in fifteen, okay?”

And he’s gone, leaving me standing in the middle of the busy street, my body buzzing, kindling, practically spitting off flames. I mentally shake myself into the now, and, with his credit card in hand, slowly walk toward La Senza.

The woman in the shop is really helpful. She asks if I know my sizes, to which I obviously reply no. So she takes me into the changing area and measures me with a tape measure, and then brings bras for me to try on. I just buy the ones she brought me and the pants to match, and also some sleepwear – well if I’m acting like I sleep I may as well go the whole hog and dress the part too. And after paying, recalling just how James had done it, I go outside to find him leant up against the shop window, crutches resting under his arms, a bag in his hand, waiting for me.

“All done?” He smiles, back to his usual, certain self.

“Yes, thank you,” I say handing his credit card back to him.

Lastly we go to the supermarket. It’s packed full of humans. I steer the trolley around whilst James walks alongside, filling it with food and toiletries he says I’ll need. I just agree, nodding in what I hope are the right places, praying I get it right and come across as just like any other normal human being would.

We take a taxi back to James’ house, well my home now too. I put the food away in the kitchen whilst James rests on the sofa. The shopping trip really tired him out. Then I put my new clothes away in the wardrobe in my bedroom.

I’m on my way down the stairs when I hear James on the telephone in the living room. His voice terse, strained, as he says, “It’s my house. I can do as I please and after what she did for me – well it doesn’t even fucking measure up. I’m not gonna argue with you about it, she’s staying here, end of . . . I know you are but – . . . Jesus Christ, Sara! What the fuck! You don’t even know her to make those kinds of assumptions! . . . No. Seriously, I don’t wanna hear it. I’ll speak to you later.”

I hear the television go on and wait a few minutes before going in the living room. I don’t want him to think I was listening in on his conversation - which I obviously was.

He looks up when I enter, eyes dark, a frown etched deep into his forehead. I take a seat on the sofa beside him. He starts tapping the phone loudly against his pot.

“Are you okay, James?”

“Yep.” There’s an edge to his voice.

I link my fingers together. “You don’t seem okay, you seem –”

“I’m fine,” he says curtly, cutting me dead, his tone surprising me.

“I’ll leave you alone.” I get up to leave.

He puts a hand on my arm, stopping me. “I’m sorry.” He shakes his head, and sighs. “I didn’t mean to snap at you, I’m just – really pissed off.” He tosses the phone onto the sofa beside him. “You remember my friend Sara – the one you met at hospital?” I nod. “Well she’s just kinda –” he half smiles, “ – pissing me off at the moment, which is weird really 'cause we never row.” He rubs his brow thoughtfully. “To be honest, I can’t think of a time we have in all the years I’ve known her.”

“How long have been friends?” I ask.

He looks at me, his face less tense now. “Since we were kids. Our dads were best friends. We grew up together. She’s kinda like a sister to me. Our families always went on holidays together, days out – you know that sort of stuff.” He pushes his fingers through his hair. “But she’s just . . . overstepped the mark a bit. She thinks that –” He looks at me with weary eyes, then shakes his head and smiles. “It doesn’t matter – so anyway, did you have a good time shopping today?” And just like that he changes the subject.

“Yes, it was great, and thanks again for all the clothes and shoes . . . and other stuff.”

“Don’t thank me, it’s the –”

“ – least you can do after what I did for you,” I say, finishing his current aphorism with a smile.

He laughs, a real laugh, reaching all the way up to his eyes. “Touché,” he grins, “touché.”

* * *

At five o’clock James’ employee, Neil, comes by the house to go through some work things with him. After the obligatory introductions, with me pretending like it’s the first time I’ve ever seen Neil - it’s not; I’ve seen him many times before when I used to watch James - I make myself scarce, leaving them in the living room to get on with their work.

I go in the kitchen, fill a glass with water and take it into the garden with me. I have no intention of attempting to drink it but I need it to appear to James that I do actually drink every now and then, and it doesn’t hurt to dirty up a few glasses here and there as proof.

I sit down on one of the chairs on the paved area overlooking the big garden, resting the glass on the table, and let the afternoon sun drift over me, savouring the absolute tranquillity of this garden, the calmness it offers, as the heady scents emitting from the blossoms whirl gently around me.

I could spend forever sitting here.

After about an hour, Neil pops his head out of the back door.

“I’m off now. It was really nice to meet you, Lucyna,” he says, smiling.

I return his smile. “It was nice to meet you too, Neil.”

“See you, then.” He waves and disappears off.

Five minutes later James comes out with a coat in his hand.

“I brought you this in case you were getting cold.” He hands me the coat and sits down in the chair beside me.

“Thank you.” I slide my arms into the sleeves, pulling it around me. It smells of him, all musky and intoxicating. “Your garden is really beautiful, James.”

“Thanks – well I suppose it should be with what I do for a living.” He laughs. “Wouldn’t be a good advert if it was a mess.”

I get up and begin wandering around, my eyes grazing over the colourful creations. “What do you call these?” I point to a cluster of bright purple flowers.

“Purple Asters.”

“They’re really pretty,” I say, bending down to get a better look at them - bright purple petals centred with yellow nectar. I press my nose to one, inhaling its sweet scent.

“They’re pretty hard to get. Usually the colour comes out violet but this season I got some true purple ones.” He smiles proudly. “They’re a symbol of love and patience, you know” he adds knowingly. “In olden times, it was believed that if you burnt their leaves, the perfume would ward off evil spirits. They’re one of my favourites.” He laughs again. “I know, not very manly to have a favourite flower but, hey, I am gardener after all.”

“They look like stars,” I say, fingering the soft petals.

“Yeah, I suppose they do,” he replies, voice suddenly sounding uninterested. I can hear his fingers tapping on the wooden arm rest of the chair and after a moment he says, “Lucyna, can I ask you something?”

I stand up. “Of course.”

“Well I’ve been wondering . . . how did you come to be homeless?”

I look down at my feet. Stupidly I hadn’t thought this far, overlooking the glaringly obvious fact he would naturally be curious about my past.

“You don’t have to tell me, if you don’t want,” he adds, voice soft. “It makes no odds to me.”

I look up at the very reason why I left my home, my one and only reason for existing as I now do - James, with his infinite pools for eyes; his curious brow creased, tilting his scar; his full lips pressed together, as he waits for my response. And it just kind of hits me smack bang in the centre of my chest, straight into my theoretical heart.

I love him.

And then it all just seems so very simple.

“I fell in love,” I hear myself saying, “and for me to be able to be with him meant that I had to leave my home.” I know just how close to the truth I’m skirting but at this moment I have neither the wish nor the care to stop.

James’s gaze drifts out over the garden. “And . . . it didn’t it work out with this guy?”

“Not in the way I had hoped.”

“Do you still love him?” he asks, eyes fixed on mine.

I hold his gaze, willing him to hear me, to really hear me when I say, “I will always love him, whether we’re together or not.”

He breaks from our gaze, looking down at the shoe he’s begun scuffing against a paving stone. “So why didn’t you go back home after you’d broken up.”

“I couldn’t. I’d broken the rules.”

He looks back up at me with what can only be described as incredulity. “Rules? Jesus Christ, Lucyna, what rules?”

I turn away from him.

And for a moment neither of us speaks.

After what seems an infinite amount of time, I hear his warm voice come from behind me. “I’m sure your family would want you back. How could they not?”

“Maybe they would,” I wrap his coat tightly around me, pressing my nose into the collar, inhaling his scent, “but I’m not so sure I want to go back. Ever.”