The sun was warming the room, sliding in through a gap in the curtains, when I woke the next morning. I groaned. My nose was streaming, my throat was sore and the headache from last night had only got worse. Perfect. It was forecast to be twenty-eight degrees today and I was shivering and full of cold.
I forced back the duvet and made my way to the bathroom. Ideally I should take a shower, wash my hair and try and feel a bit more human. I looked in the mirror, grabbed my toothbrush and accepted that absolutely none of that was going to happen.
Having found some cold medicine in the cabinet, I squinted at the instructions and took the required dose, tipping out the last drops of the bottle before heading back into the bedroom to grab my duvet and ensconce myself on the sofa. Tucked up, I glanced at my phone. I ought to let Amy know about everything. And also tell her not to come round. I couldn’t risk passing this cold on to her.
Amy always made light of her asthma but the truth was that she had a severe case, which had to be monitored. There had been a couple of scares and, having been with her during the last bad attack, I was now on high alert about it. She always told me not to worry but I’d never been able to forget the memory of her struggling for breath and the relief I’d felt at the sound of the ambulance siren screaming up to her door three years ago.
I clicked on the text thread already going between us and began a new message.
?? Hi. Just to let you know I have stinking cold so don’t come anywhere near me until I give the all clear xx
A few minutes later, I got a reply.
?? Oh no! Bad timing or what? What about your sexy weekend plans! Is Alex still there?
So much for putting off the inevitable for a while.
?? Hmm, it didn’t really happen. He got caught up at work, long story short, we broke up. But all amicable.
I wasn’t sure about the last bit but I didn’t have the energy to go into everything right now. My phone began to ring. So much for that idea.
‘Hi.’
‘You broke up?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Why? How?’
‘It just wasn’t working. I don’t know. I think we both felt it. Last night was just the final nail in the coffin.’
‘What happened?’
‘He got caught up in something at work and ended up standing me up at the restaurant.’ I omitted the fact that it seemed a female colleague had also had a starring role. Honestly, I just wanted to burrow under my duvet and forget the whole thing.
‘Oh, Libs. I’m so sorry.’
‘It’s OK,’ I croaked. ‘Obviously just wasn’t meant to be.’ This seemed to be a regular reprise when it came to me and relationships.
‘You sound awful,’ Amy said, after a pause. ‘Is there anything I can do?’
‘No, just keep away from me for the moment. That’s all I ask.’
‘It makes me feel like a terrible friend. I should be bringing you soup, and magazines and Lucozade.’
‘I’m OK. Just vegging in front of the telly with the duvet. I don’t really feel like eating at the moment anyway, so the lack of soup isn’t a great loss.’ I tried to chuckle, which then turned into a coughing fit. I squeaked an apology and hung up. When I’d finished, I texted Amy, apologising for the abrupt ending and said I’d talk to her later. She replied quickly and told me to let her know if there was anything I needed. I promised that I would before switching the phone to flight mode and burying myself in the duvet. Blearily I watchedSaturday Kitchenfor a while, drowning out the commentary every few minutes when I blew my nose.
Within a couple of hours, the wastepaper basket was full of tissues. I wriggled and wrestled with the quilt for a few minutes, trying to escape, and then grabbed the basket and headed into the kitchen, where I decanted my cold detritus into the larger bin. Whilst I was there, I flicked the kettle on and plopped a ginger and lemon teabag into a mug. As I waited for the appliance to boil, I poked around in the cupboards to see if I had any more medicine lurking. Nothing. There was a supermarket in the marina complex, but the thought of having to get dressed and head outside didn’t exactly fill me with joy right now. Just standing up to empty the bin and make a drink had me feeling as if I’d run the Brighton half marathon. Right now, attempting to go and get groceries on a busy Saturday would feel like doing a full one while dressed as a giant penguin. I decided I’d have this drink, try and get some sleep and then hopefully feel a bit better and not need any more medicine, or at least feel well enough to make the expedition for supplies. I grabbed the now empty bin and my drink and returned to the living room. Snuggling into the duvet, I peeked my already-sore-from-blowing nose over the top and half watched bland television for another hour before finally falling asleep.
The clock showed just gone five when I swam up from sleep to the sound of my doorbell chiming.
‘I’m coming!’ I yelled, as it rang again. I say yelled. All that came out was a squeaky little croak as if I’d just throttled an adolescent frog. I kicked at the duvet and broke free, then tripped on the corner of it as I made my escape. The thud I made hitting the floor clearly carried as the doorbell rang again, this time accompanied by a rapping on the door, and Charlie’s voice calling out.
‘Libby? Are you all right?’
Great. I really wasn’t in the mood to see anyone. I freely admitted that my normal, fairly perky, social skills plummeted when I was tired or ill.
‘I’m fine,’ I called back. Although what Charlie might or might not have heard was just a strangulated noise. I let out a big sigh and realised I was going to have to open the door, just in order to do sign language.
