Again, sleep didn't come easily. My thoughts were polarized toward the occupant of the spare room, someone with no home, with few real friends and possibly very little money. Worse, she'd been badly tainted by a perverted father with strange notions about sexual relationships. Could her acceptance of me ever evolve into normal love, leading to a long and happy marriage? I felt I'd known her for years - yet it was barely a month since she first stumbled into my life with her mis-routed plea for help.
And what of her long-established friend - poor bruised Betty who, thanks to my weekend folly, was lying alone in her Betchworth cottage, maybe nursing a fractured collar bone? Poor Betty, who apparently felt for me the same unrequited emotions I was feeling for Angela. Were both girls sleeping peacefully or lying awake as I was, restlessly turning over in their minds the catastrophic events of the day?
A distant clock chimed two, a reminder that if I didn't soon get some sleep I'd be too tired for the office, no matter what my doctor decreed. By two-thirty I knew I definitely wasn't fit enough to resume work. I'd taken hardly any days off in recent years, so I deserved a short spell of ill health. It was only by a fluke that I'd survived a potentially lethal motorway pile-up. No need to recover from that too soon, not with Angela needing my attention. Dear, darling Angela, still haunted by ghosts from her past. Lovely, lonely Angela, asleep just six feet away on the other side of a thin dividing wall...
I awoke to discover that I couldn't lift my head. My neck felt paralysed. No matter how much effort I put into it, I had to place both hands behind my head to move it at all - and this with a dull chilling pain akin to toothache.
"Good," I sighed with the gleeful resignation of a hypochondriac, "that settles it. I need nursing. Can't possibly go to work today."
But what if Angela couldn't move either? I knew I ought to go and check, but I couldn't. All I could do was to lie there and wait.
Then I heard someone creeping around in my kitchen, and a glow of pleasure revived me. If Angela was on the move, she must be feeling okay. I was just debating whether to yell for help or struggle manfully on my own, when I heard a gentle tap on my door, and Angela appeared, fully dressed, with a morning cup of tea.
"May I come in?"
"Sure," I greeted her and tried to sit up. "Youch! I'm afraid I'm in some sort of trouble here!"
"You find it hard to lift your head off the pillow, right?"
I tried to nod. "Same with you?"
"No, but I guessed someone might be having problems this morning. It's called whiplash! Cheer up, it's not permanent. Let me help."
Angela set my tea carefully on the bedside table, then knelt beside me, gently lifting my head like a young mother cradling a new-born baby, passing her hands to and fro across my neck, her very presence sending shivers of erotic pleasure in many serious directions.
"That feels very, very good," I said with difficulty. "I'll finance all your training as a nurse if I can become your first private patient. How are you this morning? Have you been up long?"
"About twenty minutes. I tried not to disturb you till I had the tea ready. I hope you like tea?"
Tea at that moment was not in the forefront of my mind as I whispered: "Lovely!"
Was she even remotely aware of the effect she was having on my hormones?
"It took me a long time to drift off," she said as she continued to massage. "I was worrying about Betty, and my future, then the accident - and that set me thinking about you. I felt relaxed and very safe, knowing you were nearby."
"You should have come in for a chat," I almost scolded her. "I was awake for hours."
"If I'd known, I would have done. Okay, Mister, if you were awake, why didn't you come and visit ME?"
"I promised not to disturb you, remember? I didn't know how you'd react if an odd-looking man suddenly wandered into your room in the dead of night. You might have thought I wanted to ... you know!"
"Have sex?" she enquired with a testing stare. "And do you?"
The question was so unexpected, I was left speechless.
"I said," she repeated slowly, "do you want to have sex with me? I need to know."
"Hells bells, Angie, have a heart! You can't ask a guy things like that at this hour. My brain isn't functioning yet, and I'm likely to blurt out all kinds of nonsense that might upset you."
"I only wondered, that's all."
"Well, since you ask, and hoping I don't say the wrong thing," I flustered, "if you want a truthful answer..."
"I thought so," she interrupted with a disapproving sigh.
"Here, now hang on," I protested. "Give me a break, Angie, I haven't finished. I was about to ask whether you wanted my usual frankness, or satin-lined diplomacy. You're a very special person, you know that, and I love you enough not to do anything you wouldn't want me to do. I don't take things from my friends, Angie, I believe in giving to friends. And because you're extra special, it wouldn't feel right to do anything like that, not until the proper time. But truthfully, if we were to reach a moment when we both felt that's what we wanted, then I'd love to be allowed to share it with you. I'd never violate your trust, Angie; I'd never do anything to hurt or upset you. But I do love you, and the more we can enjoy together, the happier I shall be - the happier I hope we'll both be."
She thought about my clumsy admission, and slowly nodded.
"Maybe I can accept that, just about - since it's you."
"It was rotten of your father to louse things up for you, Angie, but honestly, most men aren't like that. Oh, Angie, if you only knew me, you'd know how different I am from men like him."
"Really?" Her skepticism gave way to a shy grin. "Then help me to know the real Richard Bird. What's he like deep down?"
I couldn't avoid grinning to myself at her choice of words.
"If I've given you the impression," I began guardedly, "that I'm a good-hearted knight who gallops to your rescue, a bachelor with a poky home and a reasonably good job, well some of that may be true. But I have to admit - and I wouldn't lie to you - I lack the brains of a sparrow when it comes to saying the right things to a girl. I was twenty before I realised girls were human beings. If you knew my sisters you'd understand. They're both condensed versions of Mother Hen, just as tactless and twice as spiteful. Of course I've met girls who've set the lights flashing on my dashboard, but they never seemed interested in me for some reason. Maybe I wasn't cut out to be a heart-throb - I don't know - though I'd certainly like to be. It's human nature to want to be admired, but it rarely happens, Angie. Girls don't make a habit of hurling themselves at me. I doubt if half of them even notice me. Yet I find girls very pleasant to be with, easy to talk to, and very attractive to look at - some of them."
Angela pulled a hideous face, and giggled like a five-year-old.
"Betty likes you," she reminded me.
"Yes," I said, "and look how I've repaid Betty's affection, covering her with bruises from my clumsy driving."
"It's no less my fault for dialling the wrong number a month ago. Now, get serious - are you able to face the day, because I must get back to Betty as soon as I can. She may be struggling to move that carpet, and if she's got a bad shoulder she'll need all the help she can get, in fact I know I should have gone back last night. Can you get up?"
"I can manage," I said, "if you grunt and groan while I struggle."
Heedless of Angela's embarrassment, I kicked away the blankets and shuffled off to the bathroom. When I returned ten minutes later I found my bed neatly made as if I'd been in a hotel.
We spent five minutes in the kitchen eating toast and Marmite, and I made a quick call to my office, outlining the accident and my resultant whiplash, and mentioning my need to visit someone else who was injured.
We were just about to leave when the phone rang.
"Good morning, Richard," came a husky voice. "A personal question. Is Angie still with you?"
"She is. We would have let you know last night, Betty, but we didn't want to wake you. So I offered her my spare room."
"Of course, you did, you gallant boy. Honestly, Muffet gets all the breaks."
"Speaking of breaks," I said, "how's the shoulder?"
"Don't ask! It's as if God just ripped out a couple of ribs to make Adam. I feel about a hundred-and-five this morning, so I've scheduled a visit to my osteopath in Redhill. I'm hoping one of my motoring friends can ferry me over. I daren't drive - I can't turn my head left or right without a stabbing pain."
I assured her we were already on our way.
"No need to rush," she said, "as long as I get to Redhill by eleven."
I put down the phone and relayed this news to Angela who immediately flew into a frenzy over neglecting Betty. Once behind the wheel she calmed down a little, and drove as if to give me a lesson in safe motoring. I became enchanted by the sight of her slim nylon-clad legs performing elegant clutch-work as she did a racing change to join the morning traffic on the Dorking road. The weather was a great improvement - the sun shining in a clear blue sky, and all things looking thoroughly bright and beautiful.
Betty was already on her doorstep, and came hobbling towards us like an old-age pensioner. I helped her into the passenger seat beside Angela, and squeezed myself into the back.
The journey was memorable for its brittle silence. Was Betty envious or shocked that her friend had spent a night unchaperoned in my flat? Was Angela still racked with the guilt of neglect? Whatever the cause of the day's crisp tension, the atmosphere felt positively Siberian.
Having delivered Betty to her osteopath, Angela insisted on staying in Redhill to be ready to pick her up in three hours' time. She parked accordingly, and we sauntered together down the High Street.
"There's lots of clothes I'm longing to buy," she said as we paused outside a dress shop. "But I have to keep reminding myself I can't afford things any more. I used to get a generous allowance from Daddy to spend on whatever I liked, but I've already bought two black outfits this month. I just wish people would hurry up and tell me where I stand financially."
"Might I buy you something as a gift?" I asked.
"To celebrate what?"
I gave what I thought was an ideal answer, saying it was exactly one calendar month since we'd first met.
"And that's something you want to celebrate?"
"Oh Angie, don't be difficult, you know how I feel."
She turned on me with a hostile stare. "Don't you think it'd be more sensible to call a halt to this now, Richard, before it gets out of hand?"
She spoke as if I no longer served any useful purpose, as if the plug had to be pulled on my very right to exist.
"Anyway," she added, "if you need female company, there's always Betty."
"Oh, come on! You think I'm torn between choices, as if you two are a couple of second-hand cars? Angie, I'm stuck with this crazy notion that life without you is unthinkable. What do you want me to do?"
Shoppers were beginning to stare.
"Look," I said more quietly, "we can't argue in a public street. Let's at least find somewhere quiet where we can talk this through."
"Yes, and you'll try and make me change my mind. I know you!"
"Yes, Angie! Yes. I want you to change your mind, my love, because what you're saying doesn't make sense. How about a cup of coffee and some elevenses?"
Angela shook her head. "I'm not hungry."
"Well, thanks to you, neither am I. You've killed my appetite stone dead. Would you rather I found my own way home on a bus?"
"No, of course not. Oh dear," she sighed, "Richard, I'm so mixed up."
"You certainly are. I don't blame you, sweetheart, you've had a rough time and my input hasn't made things any easier. But we do need to talk."
As we walked I tried to collate my thoughts into a rational presentation of my case. By the time we reached the car, the task had assumed the proportions of an election campaign.
"Angie," I began before we moved off. "You say you need to know how you stand financially. Well, I too need to know where I stand. One minute you raise my hopes - like last night and again this morning. The next you're treating me like some pestering schoolboy. I don't want to pester you, Angie, and if you seriously want me to move out of your life, then I will. But I must say, I'm very disappointed and bitterly disillusioned. Goodbye, chocolate cake and all that."
"Is that how you think of me? Just a piece of chocolate cake?"
"Of course not, silly. But if I'm to live without chocolate cake, I'd better start getting used to the idea. If I'm truly being a nuisance, Angela, just tell me and I'll go. But if you need me - even as a tiresome friend - then I'll willingly stick around. It's up to you."
I knew my words had sunk in by the way she revved the engine hard at every junction. Soon we were clear of the built-up area and heading towards the escarpment of the Downs, but the glum silence persisted as each brooded over the other's needs, both of us wanting something beyond our present reach.
Angela took a steep narrow lane to a secluded hilltop where she pulled in by a gate and cut the engine. In front of us lay an open field, sloping sharply away to reveal a magnificent southerly view of the Surrey countryside.
Still neither of us spoke. We sat listening to birds high above us and the distant hum of traffic a mile away. It was an idyllic setting, perfection if either of us had felt at peace within ourselves.
"A better day than yesterday," I remarked at last.
Angela sighed and shook her head. "What a stinking mess!"
"Nature can be cruel," I said, and I sketched out the recycling logo on the back of an envelope. "See? We're locked in this one-way triangle. Whatever Betty wants of me, she doesn't effect my hormones in the least. You're drawn to Betty in a way that's left her totally bewildered, and here beside you sits stupid Richard, longing to become your lifelong friend, but being asked now to pack up and disappear."
"I meant it for your own good."
"Well, I'm sorry, Angie, but I don't see how I benefit. Heavens girl, I'm not a sex-maniac. I've no desire to grab hold of you and rip away your clothes for a quick thrill - credit me with some decency. I simply want to look after you, that's all. Yes, I will admit if you had a sudden urge to lean across and kiss me, I wouldn't kick up a hullabaloo, but please see it from my angle. You're the best thing that's happened to me since nursery school."
"Why," she asked, "what happened in nursery school?"
My laugh came easily. "I fell in love at the age of five. Her name was Gillian. She was four years old and utterly adorable. I wanted to take her home."
I expected my simple revelation would bring a smile, but Angela sat brooding and murmured sulkily: "Everything was all right till you came along."
I came close to anger. "Well, for that I apologise. I apologise for waking up and answering that damned phone when you tried to call the Samaritans, and I apologise for hanging around at your father's funeral. I apologise for accepting an invitation to your party, and for intruding on your return from America. I apologise for trying to help you again last Saturday and what I intended as a pleasant trip to the Cotswolds."
"I meant," she said calmly, "that I didn't feel this way until I met you. I thought I had everything straightened out. I'm glad you came into my life, Richard, but you have messed me up, you'd better believe that. I don't know what I want any more, thanks to you. I thought I wanted Betty. Now I don't know. I guess it's all down to my father and how he used to behave."
"Which was shameful," I added. "I can understand a man wanting intimate fun with his wife or girl-friend, but not with his daughter, Angie, that's bad. I'm not surprised you don't want to talk about it."
"I don't want even to think about it."
"No, but it might help if you did. It's like being sick - unpleasant at the time, but people generally feel better afterwards. Angie, I want so much to help you. I don't know how, but I sure as hell want to try. I'm not trying to win you over to make you fall in love with me. It's because I love you that I want to help."
"I can see that," she said. "But I don't want to disappoint you. I'll probably never give you the sort of love you want. You say you don't necessarily want it now, but sooner or later I know you will."
"I'll take my chances on that, Angie. I maintain there's nothing wrong when a man and woman find each other exciting, and you are lovely to look at, with a delightful personality to go with it, when you're not all grumpy and depressed. I'd be very happy to help you discover the beauty of love if I can."
"You see? That's precisely my problem. You say that, and it's meant to sound kind and helpful, but all I can hear is a dirty scheming mind behind such remarks. That's the legacy my father left me, Richard. I learned to see through his wiles, to avoid being debased and humiliated. He had countless ways of enticing me, inventing aches that needed rubbing with liniment, and naively I'd find myself acting as his nurse. He'd walk into my bedroom when he knew I was least presentable, hoping to catch sight of me in my underwear or worse. And if I ever wore a short skirt he'd find reasons why I had to change a light bulb or something, so he could peer up my legs. Oh, and lots more - I don't want to talk about it."
"But did he actually molest you? You know, touch you in places where a father shouldn't?"
"He used to grab me from behind sometimes and fondle my breasts."
"On purpose? That can easily happen by mistake, Angie. You go to hug a girl in the nicest possible way and suddenly you realise you've got your thumb pressed on her nipple, or fingers over her suspenders."
"And a gentleman would graciously back off. But not him. His eyes showed what he was after, and he lingered whenever he got it."
"I hope you've never seen the same look in my eyes."
Angela subjected me to stern scrutiny. "We've not been in the same position."
"And what would your father do if he were alone with you like I am? Sorry, I know it's none of my business. I'm no psychiatrist, just a compassionate friend with enough problems of his own."
She raised her eyebrows in a half-smile. "Problems? Like what?"
"You, for one. And maybe I have a distorted view of the opposite sex. I certainly enjoy the company of girls, but I lived for years with two sisters and a domineering mother who enjoyed treating me like a third-class citizen. Being free now and living on my own feels as if I've been released from a strait-jacket. But I'm also a mixed-up kid, Angie."
"You look okay to me."
"You looked wonderfully cheerful at your party. Was that an effort or the real you?"
"Let's say it was the sort of Angela my friends seem to like."
"So where's the real Angela? Might I be allowed a glimpse of her one day, just for my education?"
"You're seeing her today," she said. "Not very pleasant, is it."
"It's a lot better than seeing no Angela at all. You said yesterday my case wasn't hopeless. There's a sad little fellow here, Angie, knocking on your heart and asking to be let in. What can you do for him?"
"What if I let him in, and he doesn't like it? I'll have hurt him even more, and I don't want that. When I suggested ending the friendship, Richard, I was telling a child not to touch a sharp knife in case he cut himself. I know what I'm like, and I don't want you to get hurt."
"Fair enough," I agreed. "But what's the worst you can do to me? Are you likely to turn crazy and attack me with your sharp knife? Are you going to slap me across the face every time I try to be friendly? What do you really want me to do, Angie, or not do?"
"That's just it, Richard, I don't know. Oh, this is all so stupid, we're getting nowhere."
"Then let's get somewhere. Try pretending I'm Betty."
"But you're not."
"True, but neither am I poisonous. What is it you don't like about men? Close your eyes and describe a man for me."
"Oh, sweat, body hair, heavy, grossly fat belly, beery breath, strong arms, danger ..."
"Whoa, I get the picture. Now run me off a list about females."
"Kind? Gentle? Friendly. Soft."
"Like Mother Hen?"
"Like Betty."
"Back to good old Betty. Now humour my vanity and describe Richard Bird."
"Ah! The phenomenal Richard Bird. He's gentle all right. Soft too, in a pleasant sort of way. Means to be helpful, kind and friendly ..."
"The very same words you used for women. I don't know how to take that, Angie. Granted I'm not much of a beer drinker, and I try not to sweat. I don't have body hair like a gorilla, and I'm not built like a Japanese wrestler. What am I actually doing wrong?"
"Nothing," she said crossly. "Nothing. You're just not Betty, that's all."
"No, and I never will be. So what it is? My clothes? Sex organs? The depth of my voice, being flat-chested or having a bristly chin? I need somehow to prove, without offending or alarming you, that I can be as kind and gentle as anyone else, and that I don't want to hurt or abuse you. I enjoy being with you, Angie. I want you to enjoy being with me, sharing new experiences together."
"I wonder what it's like?" she mused. "With a man, I mean. Don't get worked up - I'm only thinking out loud. I know what it's like to cuddle up with another girl, and I did spend some time in your arms. That was nice too."
"It also felt good to me," I assured her, "and the facility remains on offer any time you want more."
"It will take time, Richard. I'm so afraid of letting you down. You've been very good and remarkably patient, but you seem to have such high expectations. I don't deserve them."
"Let me worry about that. But no more talk of ending our friendship, there's a good girl. That's the one way you really will hurt me."
"Okay," she smiled. "Truce?"
"Truce," I said, lifting her right hand to my lips like a Regency courtier. "Do you realise it's lunch time? Shall we find a quiet pub somewhere or wait until we've collected Betty?"
Angela shook her head. "I'm not hungry. But we had better move on."
She started the car, and drove on down the narrow lane. I remarked how well she seemed to know the area.
"I often used to drive up here," she revealed, "whenever I wanted a breath of air, a few moments to escape from tyranny. There's freedom up here. It's my sort of place. I like being on high ground."
We passed a number of pubs but didn't stop, making our way instead back into Redhill where we sat in silence on the osteopath's drive.
Betty's reappearance came as a welcome breath of spring, the level-headed voice of sanity.
"My dears, that man is an absolute brute," she declared as she strode towards us. "But what a genius! I feel like he's wrenched my arm off and nailed it back on again, but it's cured the problem." She waved it full circle like a windmill. "See? So what have you wayward chicks been up to?"
"Exchanging quiet thoughts," I replied. "Just tongue-wagging."
"Tongues will wag, Richard, if you keep inviting single ladies to your flat for bed and breakfast. Don't tell me you spent yesterday evening playing trains."
"No," I confessed. "We had a candlelit supper."
"Richard, you romantic swine. Soft music too, I suppose?"
"No, we had another power cut," I told her. "You were probably too tired to notice."
"Are you kidding? I was lying helpless on my bed, unable to crawl out or even look up your phone number, Richard, or you've have had another midnight caller to cope with. Tell me, dear boy, are you any good at mending windows?"
I offered to try.
"Good man! I've been ordered to rest this shoulder, but I can still cook if you guys care to assess the damage upstairs. Lucky Angela, eh! When's my turn, Richard? You haven't asked me yet if I enjoy watching steam trains. I expect you two exchanged plenty about each other's past?"
"We had several chats," Angela revealed. "But I'm still knotted up."
"You should visit my man in Redhill, Angie. Perhaps he can wrench your brains out and nail them back the other way round. Cheer up, dear hearts, this afternoon I feel on top of the world."
It was an unhurried ride back to the cottage as though Angela feared that the slightest jolt might damage Betty's shoulder. When we arrived, the two ladies made straight for the kitchen while I went upstairs.
I expected Angela's room to be frilly pink and smell feminine, but all I noticed was a cold blast of air and the awesome sight of a large tree poking its uninvited neck through the shattered frame. The first job was to remove the branch, and that wasn't something a man could tackle on his own, no matter how keenly he wished to impress two ladies downstairs.
The fitted carpet squelched as I stepped on it, and the side of Angela's bedspread was still drenched. But fortunately the rubber underlay had prevented much of the moisture from seeping through to the floorboards. I picked up every scrap of glass I could find, carefully placing it in a wastepaper basket beside the bed.
In the bottom of the bin I noticed a page torn from a yellow notepad, one issued by the Post Office many years ago showing the old "Busby" logo of a bird on the telephone. The word Richard had been pencilled across the bird's chest, and my phone number added beneath it. Now it lay discarded as waste paper. Did Angela decide it was of no further use? Preferring to believe it had been blown there by the wind, I retrieved it and put it back on the bedside table.
Downstairs I gave them my initial report.
"I've had a brief look in your room, Angie, I hope you don't mind. Betty, I'm going to need some large bath-towels. I also need to borrow a saw and two pairs of feet."
The ladies followed me upstairs. After spreading towels out over the carpet we trampled around to blot up the worst of the moisture. Angela's high heels made a minimal contribution until she decided to remove her shoes.
"Careful," I warned. "There may be bits of glass."
"Then this'll be a good way of finding them," she laughed.
"Hadn't you better remove your tights as well?" Betty suggested.
"Not in front of Richard," she replied.
Angela soon got tired of having bare feet and began helping in other ways, taking each waterlogged towel to the bathroom and wringing it out in the basin. Once we'd soaked up the water, we rolled back the carpet, and began a temporary repair on the window. After strenuous efforts with the saw I removed all the branches that were actually coming through the frame.
"You'll need professional help to remove the tree," I advised Betty, "but I can patch the hole if you've got some hardboard."
Betty said she could do better, and produced a sheet of clear plastic from the garage. Within an hour the damaged frame was back in place with a liberal helping of glue and panel pins, and three pieces of plastic served to replace the broken panes.
"It won't last a lifetime," I said, "but it'll keep the mice out till Christmas."
"Meanwhile," Betty asked, "where is Angie going to sleep?"
I offered what I thought was the obvious solution, but Angela decided she'd sleep downstairs on Betty's settee - which I took as another sign of her disinterest. She had a perfect excuse for moving in with me if she'd wanted to, and she chose to reject it. Even my hopes of being driven home were thwarted when Betty insisted on lending me her own car.
"I can't drive yet with this shoulder," she said, "but I'm sure my friend will ferry me about as necessary. I personally love your idea of musical beds, Richard, but it's best to be practical."
And that's how we left it. Having done all I could with the window, I took Betty's car, bade my two ladies good afternoon and drove myself home to a lonely supper and a miserably early night.
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