Katy Carter Wants a Hero by Ruth Saberton

the other twelve that I’ve already discovered sitting by the steps to my flat. James has had a very busy and cathartic evening chucking out everything I own.
    ‘I’m sorry!’ I shout up to the kitchen window where every now and again James’s head bobs past, en route to find more of my belongings. ‘Just let me in so that we can talk about it.’
    ‘What’s to talk about?’ James appears at the window and glowers down at me. ‘Julius has given Ed the promotion. I’ll be lucky if I even have a fucking job after your marvellous little performance last night, so no, Katy, we have nothing to talk about. I’m even more in the shit now, thanks to you.’
    Whoosh! Another bag takes flight and whizzes past my ear. As it lands there’s a horrible crunching sound. I jump back hastily. James is still very pissed off with me then.
    ‘But I didn’t mean it!’ I wail. ‘I’d never do anything to hurt you on purpose. Last night was an accident.’
    ‘Accident?’ James laughs; a horrible, mirthless sound. ‘That’s a first. Your idiot friend’s dog ruins my report, you have a lobster roaming the flat, you invite some random queer, you make a pass at Julius, you puke on the seagrass…’
    I knew the sodding seagrass was going to come into it somewhere.
    ‘…you tell Helena she’s an old bag—’
    ‘I didn’t! I was trying to tell her Pinchy was in her bag.’
    ‘Don’t discuss semantics with me!’ shrieks James. ‘You’re a teacher in a shitty sink school, remember? Not a barrister. I heard what you said. And then there’s this!’
    He vanishes for a second before lobbing another object at me. I step back hastily and thank God I do because I practically have my eye put out by James the Cactus. As I recover from nearly becoming a kebab, I feel relieved that Ollie and Frankie had the foresight to rescue Pinchy. I don’t fancy the thought of the Arnold Schwarzenegger of the lobster world being hurled at me.
    ‘That nearly hit me!’
    ‘Shame it didn’t,’ spits James, chucking my platform boots over the window ledge. ‘Let’s see if my aim is getting better.’
    Ten bums in a row, I think as I duck behind our green wheelie bin; he really means it. There’s no way I’m going to be able to grovel and beg forgiveness while he’s set on using me for target practice. My second cunning plan was to offer him a placatory blow job, but since this is now physically impossible, things are looking pretty grim. As I cower in the kerb with all my worldly goods raining down around me, it suddenly occurs to me that I am well and truly in trouble.
    Maybe Ollie had a point. Perhaps this isn’t such a good idea.
    I started to have my doubts as the bus wound its way along the Uxbridge Road and away from Ollie. By Hanwell I’d started to chew my nails; by West Ealing I was longing for a cigarette; and once the bus stopped at Allington Crescent I was trembling. Already traumatised because I had no change for the fare and had to resort to delving into the lining of my jacket to scrape out the few coins that had made their way inside, and still smarting from Ollie’s pearls of wisdom, I’d begun to lose my conviction that James would welcome me back with open arms. I was the veteran of many sad and snivelly nights on the sofa and fully prepared for being yelled at/coldshouldered /made to grovel, but being pelted by my own belongings?
    This never happens in Mills and Boon. I know exactly how it
should
go. I knock on the door, cry prettily, James melts and takes me into his manly hero’s arms. Right?
    Er, no. Wrong, apparently.
    ‘Forgive me, Jake,’ gasped Millandra, tears like perfect diamonds slipping down her peachy cheeks. ‘Forgive me for giving away your hiding place to the evil Sir Oliver. I swear that I am no spy.’
    Jake folded his arms against his strong chest.
    ‘How can I ever trust you again?’ he grated. ‘Because of you a good man had his neck stretched at Tyburn today. How do I know you haven’t