16. Great Balls Of Fire
16
Great Balls Of Fire
Ben
T he curtain pulls back and the nice nurse from earlier tells me that she is just getting the last of the paperwork done. I should be able to leave in ten minutes or so. I nod and grab my jacket from the gurney next to me. I try not to move too much because the pain is still strong.
My phone is in my left pocket and I wiggle it out before opening my message app.
Me
Just so you know, I'm in hospital because of your cat.
I'm about to put my phone back when it vibrates with an incoming message.
Amelia
Oh my god, is Smutty okay?
I roll my eyes. Of course her first thought was for the black furball.
Me
I'm in hospital, not the damn cat.
Amelia
What happened?
Me
He used my testicles as a trampoline when jumping onto my lap. The doctor has diagnosed testicular trauma.
I won't tell her that we were playing with one of his mouse toy thingies when things got out of hand. The cat has turned me into a right sap.
Amelia
Oh, he likes you if he jumps on your lap.
Me
Did you not hear me?? Testicular. Trauma.
There’s a no reply. I grin because it's not really that bad. The doctor confirmed that it’s just a mild case and the pain should subside fairly quickly, but Amelia doesn’t know that and I think I deserve some pity.
Amelia
Okay, I googled it. So basically you have a bruised bollock.
Me
That's right.
Amelia
Did they have to untwist it?
Me
No.
Amelia
Was it dislocated?
Me
No.
Amelia
Did they have to remove it?
Me
No
That little minx is taking the mickey!
Amelia
Ben, did they give you an ice pack and tell you to rest for a few days?
Me
Yes!
Amelia
Fucking hell. I would say grow a pair but apparently you have a pair, just some very weak ones.
The cheek.
Me
I’ll have you know they’re not weak.
I can't believe I am defending my bollocks.
Amelia
I’m not sure how to reply to that.
Me
Well, for one you can say you'll pick up your cat.
I frown. I don't really mean it. I’ve actually got used to having the furball around. It's been a week since she has dropped him off with me―the plumber is taking his good old fucking time―and we’ve somehow got into a routine. Oh fuck, total sap.
Amelia
I can't! The plumber is still waiting for parts and probably won't be able to repair the boiler before next week.
Sorry.
Me
It's freezing.
Amelia
Oookay?!
I could kick myself for not thinking about that before. We've had a cold spell kick in two days ago, bringing arctic winds. She must be freezing in her house with no heating or hot water. She made sure her bloody cat had a safe and warm space to sleep whilst she stayed in her ice-cold cottage.
I press the call button on my phone and wait for her to answer.
"Yes?" Amelia answers dragging the word out sarcastically.
"Amelia, pack your bags, you’re moving in with me."
"I beg your pardon?" She sounds like a posh lady from a period drama.
"You. Will. Stay. With. Us." Wait, I just called me and the furball “us”?
"No, I won't." And there she is, the person who hates nothing more than accepting help, unless it is for her bloody cat apparently.
"Yes, you will."
"It's fine. My landlady gave me an electric heater, and I can boil water in the kettle and I take a shower at work—"
"Amelia! For once, can you accept some help? I have two spare bedrooms. You can pick whichever you prefer. And you can be with the cat."
"Smutty," she corrects me. She went mental on the weekend when she came over to say hi to him and caught me calling him Furball. We had a minor argument, mainly because she was so cute when she was angry that I kept poking her by calling him anything but Smutty. To be honest, it is a bit of a ridiculous name.
"Exactly," I reply and grin to myself. I'm an arsehole. "Pack a bag."
"No."
"I'm not asking, Amelia. I'll be there in an hour to pick you up and if you’re not done, I'll pack for you and you'll only have knickers to wear all week," I threaten jokingly but my mind flashes to her damp knickers on the floor at the wedding and I have to hold back a groan.
"Is there any point fighting you on this?" She huffs in frustration.
"No." I end the call. I'm in for a serious case of blue balls again and not because of the bruises her cat caused.
"I told you I don't need to move into your house," Amelia greets me when I get to hers.
"You come with me." I won't take no for an answer. She is wearing a hoody, a jacket and what looks like three pairs of socks. The weather forecast is predicting that this cold spell will continue for at least another three days and there is no way I'll leave her here. I’m still furious with myself for not thinking about moving her in sooner.
"It's not that cold," she argues and tries to cross her arms in front of her chest. They barely meet, though, because of the many layers she is wearing.
"You look like Shackleton on the way to the South Pole," I joke and gently shift her out of the way so I can step into her cottage. "Are you packed?"
"No," she says defiantly.
"Fine," I climb the stairs to the first floor where I assume her bedroom is.
"What are you doing?" she shouts from behind me.
"Packing," I reply just as I get to the landing on the upper floor. The door to the left is open and I can see a bed covered with two duvets. A tiny electric heater provides a minimal amount of warmth. "Fuck, darling, why didn’t you tell me?"
"It's not that bad." But there isn't much conviction in words. She sounds defeated and sad. I just shake my head and pull a drawer open.
"Not that one!" she shouts making me jump back. My eyes land on the contents of the drawer.
"That's a lot of vibrators." My voice is strangled as I try not to laugh. It's not the vibrators I find funny; the idea that she isn't the wallflower she appears to be is hot and not new to me given that she made out with me at the wedding. It's just that this whole situation feels like a French farce.
Amelia pushes the drawer closed with her cheeks burning bright red.
"Kill me, kill me now," she mumbles.
"Hey." I gently cup her chin and make her look at me. "There is nothing to be embarrassed about! Nothing."
She studies me but doesn’t reply.
"Now, please pack a bag, Amelia. I can't leave you here. They’re saying minus five tonight. I need to know you’re safe," I say with my voice fading to a whisper when I admit more than I should. I lean my forehead against hers and draw in her scent.
"Okay," she finally replies and takes a step back. "I have some more of Smutty's food in the kitchen. You must almost be running out. Can you grab it please?" she tries to shoo me out of the bedroom, probably so she can pack without me snooping.
"No need, I bought more yesterday," I shrug. "I have to make a few calls for work though. The trip to the hospital has put me behind schedule."
"Oh, shit. Sorry, I forgot about your dangly bits. I'm sorry that my tiny cat hurt your—" She points at my crotch and smirks.
"Your sincere concern for them is heart-warming." I can't help myself from grinning.
"What do you want me to do? Blow on them and tell them it'll all be better soon?" The minute she realises what she just said, her cheeks turn pink again. "I mean—" she stutters.
"I leave you to the packing. You have ten minutes," is all I reply. As much as I enjoy our banter, I'm freezing my arse off in here and I'm pretty sure Furball is waiting for his dinner.
W hen we finally make it back to my house the cat nearly has a fit because he wants his gourmet dinner. Amelia, of course, obliged him before spending another thirty minutes cuddling and playing with him. Now she is having a hot bath whilst I prepare dinner. It’s all starting to feel a bit domestic and I like it, which I'm not sure is a good thing.
"Hey," Amelia draws my attention. She’s leaning against the kitchen door with her wet hair in a towel.
"Feeling warmer?"
"So much. I love having a bath," she sighs.
"Well, you can have as many baths as you want whilst you’re here," I tell her, carrying two plates to the table.
"Oh, you didn't need to make dinner. I could have ordered us a takeaway," she argues before taking a seat.
"Worried I'll poison you?"
"No." She carefully sniffs the plate of tortellini in tomato sauce.
"Hey, I'm a decent chef, I'd like you to know," I mock protest as we laugh.
Amelia takes a spoonful and moans, “Wow, that's amazing."
"I know," I wink and we settle into a comfortable silence whilst eating. When we’re nearly finished, I tell her about mine and Coop's plan to hire a general manager and my initial hesitation.
"So, what made you change your mind on hiring one?" Amelia asks, scraping the last of her sauce.
I shrug. "Coop was right. We need to start enjoying our life a bit. We’ve been working nonstop since we left university."
"Okay, but why did you hesitate initially?" Amelia probes. I try to think about how to answer that.
"Coop has Lizzie. They want to travel and explore the world. I have an empty house. It feels sometimes lonely." Amelia swallows hard. "Forget what I said. I think I'm entering a midlife crisis. But luckily I have Fi, my niece and nephews, and I want to at least spend more time with them." And I want to spend time with you. Fear of scaring her off stops me from saying it out loud. And yet, it is the one thing I want to say more than anything else.