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She frowns. ‘Live by the sword?’
‘His temper, his phobia.’ I bite the bullet. Besides, I can’t expect my friend to understand my muddle if she doesn’t have all the information. ‘His strip club.’
She nearly spits out her coffee, her mug hitting the counter hard. ‘What?’
I nod as I slurp my coffee, appearing as cool as I weirdly feel. ‘The Playground. It’s a strip club. But not the kind that—’
Jess holds up her hand, stopping me from going on. ‘You don’t need to go there, Izzy.’
I’m grateful, but I’m keen to relay all the justifications I walked myself through last night. ‘He’s good to the people who work there. They’re happy.’ I shrug. ‘And Theo is still Theo.’ It’s really that simple. ‘He treats me like a goddess.’ Makes me feel like one, too. I push away from the counter and head for the bathroom, hearing Jess in pursuit of me. ‘The Playground is also an illegal fight club,’ I tell her over my shoulder, rather blasé.
She gasps, nearly tripping over her own feet in shock. ‘You’re joking, aren’t you?’
‘Nope.’ I place my coffee on the sink and strip down, jumping in the shower while Jess gets comfy on the toilet seat.
‘And you found all this out last night?’
‘Yes.’
Her cheeks puff out, her face a picture of shock. ‘Bloody hell, if only Theo knew about—’
‘He does know.’
Her round eyes widen further. I really can’t blame her, though I’m certain I dealt with all this a lot more rationally than Jess is doing. ‘He knows . . .?’ She wants clarification, because there is much Theo could know about.
‘He knows I used to be a stripper.’
‘You didn’t used to be a stripper, Izzy. You used to be little more than a fucking slave.’ I flinch, and so does Jess. ‘Shit, I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t be. You’re right.’ I force a smile as the shower screen clouds before me, and I lose sight of her. ‘Though Theo doesn’t know the gory details, okay? He doesn’t need to.’
‘God, yes, of course.’
‘Thank you.’ I grab the shampoo, and as I wash my hair and body, I wait for more questions to come. But after a few minutes, I hear the bathroom door close. And I know she’s worried.*‘Izzy, a word in my office when you’re done, please,’ Susan calls as I’m helping Mable get comfy. I look over my shoulder, seeing her collecting some medical files off the desk. It’s near the end of my shift, and I’ve been on edge all day, worrying whether anything will come of the incident involving Percy’s son last night.
‘Two minutes,’ I say, my mind racing with apprehension.
‘Sounds serious,’ Mable chimes in to my thoughts, patting the bedsheets around her lap.
I hum my agreement and pour her a drink of water, handing Mable some painkillers with the cup. ‘Still a five?’ I ask.
‘Four.’ She tips the small cup to her lips and swallows. ‘Tell me how that strapping man of yours is.’
I return her wicked grin as I make a few notes on her charts. ‘Strapping.’
‘Off the shelf?’
‘Maybe.’
‘Look at you being all coy.’ She chuckles, reaching for my arm and giving me a little poke. ‘But there’s no hiding the spring in your step.’
‘I’m springing?’
‘Oh, yes. And glowing.’ She winks, looking highly pleased with herself. ‘I’m happy for you.’
‘Thanks.’ I give her hand a quick rub as Susan passes again and nods towards her office. I don’t like her serious expression at all. ‘I’d better go.’
‘Okay, dear. I’m going to have a nap before The Great British Bake Off starts. Pass me the remote control, will you, my love?’
‘Of course.’ I leave Mable after making sure she has everything she needs and make my way to Susan’s office, unable to bat down my growing apprehension. ‘Everything okay?’ I ask, finding her sitting at her desk.
‘Izzy, please close the door and take a seat.’ Susan points to a chair, and my trepidation increases as I shut the door, knowing this must be serious. Susan’s door is never closed unless it’s serious.
‘What’s going on?’ I ask as I lower into the chair.
She holds up something. ‘I was going to ask you that question.’
I frown, eyeing the paper in her hand. ‘What’s that?’
‘A letter of complaint.’
I shoot a look at her as she unfolds the sheet and scans the letter, pointing to the bottom. ‘From Percy Sugden’s son. He turned up at Casualty late last night with extensive injuries. Broken jaw, broken arm, broken nose, to name just a few.’
What? I wince, dread filling me. He had none of those injuries the last time I saw him. ‘Susan, I—’
‘He told the police that you had an argument with him.’
‘He attacked me outside A&E,’ I clarify, more sternly than I intended. There was no arguing, not at all.
‘He says you instigated a confrontation, but he tried to walk away.’
