I pulled it open on the chain enough to peer through, but without letting any passing neighbours see me in my spotty dog pyjamas, no make-up and sporting a Rudolph-competition-contender nose. Charlie’s concerned face focused on mine through the small gap.
‘I heard a thump. Are you all right?’
‘Fine,’ I squeaked out. ‘Duvet. Tripped.’
We stood there for a moment, neither saying a word. Me because it was pretty impossible to get any to come out, and Charlie because, me having just broken up with his best friend, he probably wasn’t quite sure what to say. Which begged the question, why was he here? I shifted my weight and tilted my head a little in order to ask the question without having to strain my throat. He got the hint.
‘I wanted to see how you were. You didn’t reply to any of my texts and I tried calling but it went to voicemail. I was worried. Even more so when I heard that thump.’
‘Phone’s on flight mode. Sorry.’
Charlie winced at the rawness of my voice.
‘Can I come in?’
I shook my head.
‘Don’t want you catching anything. Not feeling sociable. But thank you.’ I gave him a look that I hoped conveyed more than I was able to rasp out.
The soft smile he gave me in return told me he understood my intentions.
‘I rarely feel sociable and you put up with me all the time. I probably owe you.’
I shook my head before resting it on the side of the door, partly just to keep myself upright.
‘Come on. I promise not to catch the cold. Scout’s honour!’ He did a little salute thing, holding up three fingers.
Keeping my head in position, I raised my eyebrows in question.
‘Yes, I was in the Scouts,’ Charlie replied, understanding, ‘Proud owner of the Queen’s Scout Award too, I’ll have you know.’
I pulled an ‘ooh, impressive’ face. I wasn’t entirely sure what a Queen’s Scout Award was but, as Charlie was the proud owner of one, it seemed right to be impressed.
‘Come on, let me in. I’m worried about you. You look terrible.’
I lifted my head up. This time my expression did not say impressed.
‘You know what I mean.’
‘I look a state. I don’t have any make-up on.’
Charlie did a little head-shake. ‘So?’
‘So,’ I croaked, ‘I just… don’t want you… anyone to see me not…’
He let out a sigh that had more than a hint of exasperation to it. ‘Libby. I don’t care that you haven’t got any make-up on—’
‘I do!’
‘Well, you shouldn’t!’
‘I don’t go anywhere without my make-up. It’s my…’
‘It’s your what?’
‘Armour.’
Charlie tilted his head. ‘Libs. It’s me. You’ll never need armour with me. Please, just let me in. From the little I can see, and what I can just about hear, you don’t seem well at all. I want to help.’
