Emotional Outlets | ✓

28

It's only three days later, still in Stephan's first week away, that an incident occurs to poor Theresa.

Shit is not as strong a term as the situation calls for.

In the simplest of terms: her favourite jumper is missing.

Her lovely, practical and ever-in-use black cardigan has refused to make an appearance in her time of need. The ten-year-old piece has never left her empty-handed before, why to start now!

She's tried everything – looking under the bed; in cupboard shelves; called her mum (maybe she's mistakenly taken it home?); searching for it even in the fridge! No reappearance thus far. Even calling Martha, June, Stella and Becca proved fruitless. None, none of her friends had seen it.

And she knows she hasn't left it anywhere else, had she left it at university she'd have noticed sooner; it has to have been lost at a place she took it off and didn't remember it hours later...

Umm...Stephan's house fits the description formed in her mind perfectly. He's the only client she could have gone over to his place wearing an outfit paired with her jumper. Yet, he's travelling. Oh well, she'll have to call Jake instead and ask him if she can come over.

Should be a hassle right? Theresa's never been one to like having to resort to client's acquaintances beyond extreme situations (not that she ever really meets acquaintances of clients, it's not really a 'relationship' people really willing to show their friends). But surely this classifies as an emergency.

Her Arctic Monkey's cover is poised at her ear in no time, the incessant ringing an agonising beat for her nerves.

"Nice surprise you calling."

"Hello, sorry to disturb."

"It's alright, just figured I wouldn't hear from you until Stephan came back."

Figured? Expected? Hoped? Okay, maybe she's reading too much into this conversation. Right? Oh Lord, this is nerve-wracking.

"It's kind of an emergency."

"Shoot, what's up?"

"So, this might come out as silly, but I really can't find my jumper," she can't keep herself from over-explaining. "It's just that it's my favourite, older than any piece of cloth I own and I just really, really l–"

Any nervousness that accumulated in her stomach is dissipated by the hearty laugh that sounds the line.

"I get it," he can't keep himself from being amused at her stumbling words. "You're worried and want to make sure it's not as our flat."

"Yeah," he makes it sound less trivial that she thought he would consider her request.

"Sure, when do you want to come?"

"Well, as soon as possible?"

"Right. I'm actually at my brother's today but should be back by tomorrow. Want to drop by, by say, 10?"

"Whatever works best."

Getting off the phone is such a relief Theresa meanders her way to her couch.

Funnily enough, her cardigan is perched precariously on the windowsill behind the couch.

Any thought of relief is overrun by the memory of her just-ended phone call.

Fucking hell. She'll look like an idiot if she calls him back now, and she might be intruding.

She'll just let him know tomorrow.