When Fools Rush In

Chapter 25 - Rumour

The kettle clicked and Lucy poured the water into a large mug, the granules of coffee rapidly dissolving as she stirred the liquid. On opening the fridge she sighed, remembering she had no milk. There was an old carton in the fridge door and on lifting it up she could tell the contents had solidified. It turned her stomach, she would have to deal with it later.

She felt numb. As she sat on the sofa in the lounge staring aimlessly at the old fireplace, everything looked colourless. Even the purple throw on the sofa looked faded, almost dirty. The sun had poked through the early morning fog outside, but its brightness was mocking her. What was the point of shining today? Lucy's head throbbed and she manoeuvred off the sofa to draw the blind. 

On returning home the night before, Lucy had found an unopened bottle of wine on the side and proceeded to drink it all. The flat had been freezing; radiators had groaned back into life as she switched the heating back on. She remembered listening to music - the kind of power ballads she turned to when feeling despair - and draining the last drops of gin from an old bottle she had in the cupboard. Having not eaten, she found herself on the bathroom floor two hours' later, her head draped into the toilet bowl, her eyes stinging with tears that now felt acidic. She hadn't recalled going to bed, but she had woken with a rock inside her head, pinning her to the pillow with an ache that reverberated around her body.

Picking up her phone, she needed to message Tara again. They had spoken briefly the night before, Tara unable to understand much of Lucy's incoherent sobbing and promising they would speak the next day.

Twenty missed calls from Jack now. Six voicemails, all unopened. About thirty pleading messages. She couldn't face them.

Lucy - sorry I was a wreck last night, I feel dreadful, drunk too much...can I see you today? xx

Tara - don't apologise! Yes, whatever you want, I can come round? Give me an hour? xxx

Lucy - please, I know you'll make me feel loads better! xx

Lucy wasted the next forty minutes watching TV, not really absorbing what it was. Some weekend cookery show with irritatingly happy, smug faces.

It was time to at least look a bit presentable before Tara came round. She had thrown her clothes off on getting home the night before and had put on a fluffy onesie which was now covered in a thin covering of post-alcohol poisoning sweat. Perhaps she should have a shower and liven up.

She grabbed the bag she had hastily packed at Jack's to dig out her toiletry case. Wrapped around it was a large black T-shirt. It wasn't hers.

It was Jack's. And it smelt of him. Lifting the fabric to her face, she buried her nose into the shirt and inhaled - inhaled his scent and all she loved about it. Him. Immediately Lucy choked up and began to cry, tears running down her cheeks, gulping turning into sobbing gasps that gripped her very core, a swift punch to the solar plexus, a strangulation of the throat. She fell onto the bed, clutching the item of clothing, a sense of grief that overwhelmed and shocked her.

There was banging at the door downstairs. How long had she been there?

She let Tara in, embracing her friend as she fought back the tears that wouldn't stop.

"Oh Luce!" exclaimed Tara, ushering her up the stairs to her flat, "I'm so sorry about what's happened, I really am - I couldn't not send you that article though..."

"I'd have found out anyway," said Lucy, "I'm glad it was you who did...at least someone always looks out for me."

They hugged in the kitchen as the kettle boiled.