The bed was a wonderful contrast to the cheap mattress on the floor at home and the covers were clean and dry. She slept deep but fitful, however. Fevered dreams of men hiding, combined with her body fighting off her illness made for another bad night, but better than if she was at home.
She woke with a start at someone coming into the bedroom. She’d overslept and she was late for meeting Robin.
Robin unlocked the door and entered the bedroom. Ash was so ill, she didn’t know whether to hide under the covers or just face the issue.
Robin shouted in shock at the sight of her in bed. “What the fuck are you doing here?” he said.
“Please don’t shout, my head is splitting.”
“I didn’t shout, Ash. I whispered, I don’t want Justin realising you stayed here last night.”
“He’s told me it’s ok if I need to…” she muttered.
Robin nodded. “Ok then. But you can’t stay here, you’ll have everyone looking for you and we don’t want Justin getting any more trouble.”
Ash nodded once, figured that movement was far from advisable and she whispered, “Yes.”
Robin collected a clean set of clothing from Justin’s drawers.
“Rob, there’s something…” Ash’s thoughts were muddled and she knew there was something important she needed to tell Robin, but it had gone for the moment. She squeezed her eyes closed, put her fingers in the upper dents of her eye sockets to dull the pain for a moment and she tried to concentrate.
“Come on, hurry up, Ash, Justin will figure out something’s wrong…”
“Oh, that’s it,” Ash said, the recollection arriving in her mind. “That Mike-guy, he’s the one that gave the junkies the key last time.”
“Yeah? I’m not surprised… but… how did he get hold of a key?”
“Brenda gave it to him.”
“How do you know all that?” Robin studied her with a suspicion she’d never seen from him and it hurt.
“I heard them talking last night when I was waiting to get in here. Mike was in the toilet outside and that junkie, his name’s Nigel, I heard Mike calling him by his name, he doesn’t like it… and he couldn’t get in because the windows are new…” Ash realised she was waffling and she stopped, hoping that Robin would lose that suspicion.
Robin scowled for a moment more, and then his face lit up with the illumination of realisation.
“Nigel Fitz-Stanley!” he said. “That’s who he is! His dad is something to do with politics or something. He lives in that massive house near Chesterfield, looks like a museum or a school for snobby people.”
Robin grinned at Ash, the suspicion gone. “Come downstairs, you can tell Justin. I’ll tell him you slept here and you’re poorly. He might not want you around if you’re that sick.”
Ash dressed and went downstairs.
Robin had told Justin all about her staying over but he wanted to know what had happened.
Ash told him about the chase up the stairs, the un-repaid loan and the overheard conversation.
Justin looked at Ash for a good few moments after she’d finished. Robin handed her a steaming cuppa and she sipped it, swathed in the misery of her illness.
“You’d best get off home, lad, you look awful. Robin can empty the bucket for today, he won’t mind,” Justin said.
“I bloody do mind,” Robin muttered, but went to do the task, anyway.
“Don’t worry, lad, you’ll still get your tenner at the end of the week. That information has saved me a lot of hassle,” Justin said.
Ash nodded and when she’d finished her tea, she went home.
She let herself in by climbing through the downstairs toilet window – the latch didn’t fit properly and with a bit of a jiggle and the help of something to lift the latch once the window was open a crack, she scrambled in, lowering herself head-first onto the sink and then the toilet.
Then she crept up to the bedroom she shared with her sister, undressed down to her underwear and dropped onto the bed. She fell back to sleep instantly, her body exhausted from fighting the sickness.
She was woken a couple of hours later by her mum shouting at her to get up.
Ash dragged herself to the bathroom and brushed her teeth. The noise of the brush against her teeth hurt her eyes. The sound of the water in the sink hurt her eyes – even the sound of her own breathing hurt her eyes.
Ash could hardly bear to look at her reflection in the mirror, mainly because the mirror hung on the window latch and the sun shining behind it was like shards of sand-coated glass piercing her eyeballs.
The reflection looked desperately ill. Dark smudges under her eyes had grown in size and depth of colour, no longer just dark, the smudges looked like she’d been boxing and had lost - twice. The flesh surrounding her eyes was puffy and she thought it was no wonder they hurt, they were being pushed back into her skull by pressure from her swollen face.
One eye had become bloodshot and even to her, at nine years old, she could diagnose herself as ‘really poorly’.
“I don’t want to go out today, mum. Can I stay in?” Ash asked in a croaky, miserable voice.
“Not a chance,” mum said, even before turning around. When she did turn to face Ash, she did a double-take at her appearance, but stood firm on her decision.
“If you’re not well enough to go to your aunt’s house, you can go with your dad. You’re not lying in bed all day. I’ve got too much to do to have you under my feet.”
Ash’s dad was less than enthusiastic about having Ash tag along with him, but he told her to get in the car and off they went.
Ash had no idea where they were going, she didn’t care. He stopped the car and got out. Ash didn’t ask to go with him, she reclined the seat and went to sleep.
Images from google