Chapter One Carys #3
The barely-older-than-teenagers react with horror to my knock on the window. They panic bicker for a moment, and I knock again so they know I’m not leaving.
The passenger window rolls down very slowly, releasing Billie Eilish’s husky vocals into the air like perfume.
I hold out the clear cup spattered with iced coffee, and with a deranged smile I say, ‘You dropped this?’
They stare at me, open mouthed. What, like they’ve never seen an angry girl in a tea dress berate them for littering?
The passenger gulps and takes it from me, setting it back in the empty cupholder, which is even more infuriating – why litter when you had space?!
‘Thanks,’ he mumbles. ‘I mean, sorry!’
‘Don’t litter! It’s bad for the environment,’ I say in my best teacher voice. ‘And Billie Eilish protested for the climate with Greta Thunberg. You can’t like “Birds of a Feather” and litter at the same time.’
‘He won’t do it again!’ says the panicked driver, leaning across the handbrake towards me, as though I might somehow have a direct line to Billie herself. ‘I didn’t even know he did it!’
‘Dean, shut up,’ the passenger hisses.
‘You’re the one who littered!’ Dean grumbles.
I let them argue for a bit before clearing my throat to get their attention. ‘Just don’t do it again.’
And with that, I walk away. God, that felt good.
I strut round to Victor’s rolled-down window. ‘Did your dream woman come back?’
‘Hey now, my dream woman is back home,’ he says, as though I’m going to tell Shreya. ‘Mike’s charge is still missing.’
I’m still hopped up on adrenaline from the thrill of scuppering a mild environmental crime, so I say, ‘I’ll go find out what’s going on.’
Victor catches my wrist. ‘Please, Carys, just get back in the car. We just need to wait it out. I don’t want you to get hurt on my watch.’
‘I’m a first aider and someone could be injured,’ I insist. ‘I’ll come back at the first sign of danger, I promise.’
He sighs. ‘Alright, just be careful.’
I swear I hear Mike mutter what is up with the women today but I choose to ignore it as I walk ahead.
The problem becomes pretty apparent as I reach the front of the traffic jam. One car is jack-knifed across both lanes, wedged close enough to the barriers that no cars can pass.
My emergency first response training kicks in. There’s no sign of collision or fire. The car isn’t damaged, in fact.
I’m relieved not to hear any screams of pain, but instead, on the other side of the car, are two women, one on a Lime bike, arguing very loudly. I can’t believe I couldn’t hear them from the car.
And watching the whole scene is the golden Goddess herself.
I take a deep breath and walk up to her. ‘Is anyone hurt?’
She turns her head, and adjusts her gaze right down to me. Even in my heels, I’m nearly a foot shorter than her. The Goddess thumbs at the yelling women. ‘Are they yours?’
‘Them? No, I was in the car next to you and wanted to make sure…’ That you’re okay? Is that weird to say? ‘I mean, I’m a qualified first aider. I came to help.’
‘Oh.’ When she shakes her head, her icy hair flicks about like the tip of a flame. ‘Not physically.’
‘Oh? Good. I think?’
‘A lotta hurt feelings, though.’
‘What?’ I say, just as I hear the one on the bike yell, ‘I just want my cat back and for you to fuck off out of my LIFE.’
My ears prick up. I take animal welfare very seriously.
As if for emphasis, she rips off her helmet and flings it down on the concrete, where it bounces dully. So dully that I think it’s probably not a very good helmet.
‘You agreed we could share custody,’ whines the Car Woman, pressing her hands to her forehead. ‘What happened to an amicable breakup? What happened to doing the best for Leonard?’
‘That was before you fucked my ex!’
The blonde Goddess beside me sharply takes in air. ‘Sheesh.’
I realise that I’m watching some kind of interpersonal drama unfold. ‘I think we should intervene,’ I say, my voice in steady emergency mode. I’ve always been good at managing Situations, probably because my life is just a constant stream of Situations. ‘Before things escalate further.’
The Goddess’s gaze on me is like being stripped bare. I’ve never been one for eye contact, but I can’t look away from her. It’s like she’s seeing through the layers of me. I don’t know how to describe it in a way that makes sense or sounds good.
‘Dolly,’ she says, and I realise this must be her name. I must admit this isn’t what I was expecting. Freyja, Eris or Athena feel more appropriate.
Dolly sticks her hand out, and for a second I wonder whether to shake it or kiss the back of it, like I’m swearing fealty. Luckily, I remember to be normal. I hope it wasn’t too sweaty a handshake.
‘Carys. Shall we?’
‘After you,’ she says, and we walk over to the yelling women.
They’re still so deep in the argument that neither of them seem to notice our arrival.
‘You know that Lily and I have always had a connection. That is all before I even met you!’ wails the Car Woman.
I can’t quite tell if they’re arguing about the ex or the cat. ‘Excuse—’ I begin, but they barrel through.
‘Oh, and you can’t change how you act towards a person because you want to protect someone else’s feelings?’
‘You didn’t protect mine!’
Inexplicably, they both burst into loud wailing tears.
Dolly strides forward to stand between the crying women. It’s impressive scene management. Perhaps she’s done first aid training too. ‘Okay, ladies. This has gone on long enough. Are either of you hurt?’
‘Only in my soul,’ yells the Bike Woman between sobs.
‘That must be dreadful. But I meant physically so Cherry over here can check you over.’
I get a flutter in my stomach as she nods over to me. ‘It’s Carys,’ I say but I don’t think anyone hears.
Car Woman holds up a purplish hand sadly. ‘I caught my finger in the door when I was slamming it for emphasis.’
‘Do you have a first aid kit in the back of your car?’ I ask, and she shakes her head. What kind of irresponsible person doesn’t have a first aid kit to hand at all times? I suppose, the kind of person who’d stop their car across traffic to have an argument in the street.
‘I do,’ shouts a man leaning out of his car window behind me. The boot pops open automatically, and I’m grateful to see a new, in-date first aid kit awaiting me. This is the kind of man I’m looking for. Someone organised, who pays attention to things.
‘Ow,’ whimpers Car Woman, and I suddenly remember I’m supposed to be helping her, not mentally listing criteria for my future husband.
There’s a crash as the Lime bike falls to the floor. ‘Sorry, it was just really heavy,’ wails the Bike Woman.
‘I’ll take Car Woman,’ I say to Dolly, keeping my voice low. ‘You take Bike Woman.’
Dolly snorts. ‘Not cyclist and motorist?’
‘That would make more sense, yes.’
‘But be less linguistically fun.’ She flashes me a smile. ‘Bike Woman it is.’
Car Woman leans against her car, sniffling and pink-cheeked. Her light brown hair is pulled back into an Ariana Grande-style ponytail that pulls her eyebrows into a surprised angle. I worry for her hairline.
‘Can I check over your hand?’ I ask.
She nods sulkily but doesn’t speak. Her finger, while purple, doesn’t seem to be broken. I check over her whole hand for good measure.
‘Nothing serious. Just a bit dented, but you’ve broken the skin, so I’m going to wrap it up,’ I explain to her, as I flick through the kit for wipes and bandages.
A few tears land on the tarmac between us, and I feel the urge to hug this beautiful screaming lady. Sure, she’s made poor choices, including but not limited to sleeping with someone she shouldn’t and holding a cat hostage, but she seems so sad and small.
She winces as I clean her punctured skin. ‘Thank you,’ she says finally, as I tape up the bandage to protect the cut from dirt.
‘I’m sorry about your cat situation,’ I say, even though I’m not sure she’s the wronged party. Perhaps neither of them are. I should apologise to the cat.
‘Leonard deserves the world and we’ve not been very good parents to him,’ Car Woman sobs. ‘I didn’t mean to cause a scene. But I saw her cycling, and I had to talk to her – she’s blocked me everywhere. How are we supposed to co-parent under those conditions?’
I nod sagely, as though I have any understanding of the complexities of long-term relationships.
‘It sounds like she’s quite upset over you and her ex too?
’ I accidentally say as I’m zipping up the first aid kit.
Sometimes, words just fall out of my mouth before I can think them through, especially if I’m distracted.
She doesn’t seem to take it too badly. ‘If we all avoided everyone’s exes, lesbians would die out everywhere. We’d all have to become nuns. Though they probably were lesbians too.’ She pauses and looks at me. ‘Maybe I should become a nun?’
I’m not sure if she’s truly asking for my advice but I think, as a straight girl, this is outside my remit.
Maybe being a nun is a normal thing lesbians do.
It’s not like I know many lesbians. I mean, I probably do but it’s not like I go around asking, especially not at work where it would be inappropriate.
Though, one of the weekend girls has a flag badge that I think is a gay one.
Not that I’m very good at country flags either. For all I know, it could be Croatia.
And my main non-work friends are girls I met in first term at university, all now married to men they were dating then. If I’m honest, four weddings in a row might have had a teensy influence on me applying to Wedded Bliss. My sisters date men too.
I try to be a good ally. I’ll always sign a petition, and I donate regularly to the Switchboard hotline. I’ve never been to Pride, but I’ve been invited once by Ollie who works in the farm café, so that’s quite good, I think.
‘I know you didn’t technically crash, but I’m just going to do a quick neurological exam just to be safe.’
‘Is this because I jackknifed my car and talked about being a nun?’