get up?' Manzoor asked.
Annie lifted her head and, with Manzoor's arm under her shoulders, managed to wobble up to her feet, feeling sick to her stomach.
'Did you fall?' he asked her.
'No . . . someone was running towards me and I think he must have hit me in the . . .' Annie began and that was when she realized what had happened. She'd been hit deliberately ! She'd been mugged ! Oh. No! NO! Despite her raging head, she looked down, scanned right across the pavement, but there was absolutely no sign of it . . .
'Someone's taken my bag!' she wailed. 'Someone's stolen my new handbag!'
'Oh dear,' Manzoor sympathized, 'that's very bad luck, but it might turn up. Muggers often take out the contents and throw the bag away round the corner, I could go and have a look around if you like. But I need to get you home first.'
'Throw the bag away?' Annie repeated in a dazed horror. 'Throw it away! That bag cost over a thousand pounds even with a staff discount.'
She was still too shocked even to feel upset yet.
'Over a thousand pounds? My word!' Even Mr Six-Figure-Salary sounded a little taken aback at this information.
With Annie leaning heavily on his shoulder because she felt so sick and dizzy, they walked the thirty metres or so to her front door.
Once Manzoor had rung the bell, Annie could hear Ed walking down the corridor then calling out to the closed door: 'And I suppose you've forgotten your keys, have you? Forgotten to put them into your totally overpriced handbag!'
But when he had opened the door and spent several shocked seconds taking in Annie and her battered head, his expression changed instantly from stormy to seriously concerned.
'Oh my God! Annie!'
The verdict of the two paramedics who turned up with the ambulance was that Annie should have a very quiet night at home and go to see her GP in the morning.
They put a cooling compress on her ballooning forehead, shone a torch into her eyes, decided that she wasn't concussed and warned her that going to hospital would mean spending the night in the waiting room instead of in the comfort of her own bed.
One of the two police officers who called at the house to take Annie's statement told her cheerily, 'That is going to swell right up, you're going to look like something from Dr Who .'
'He took my bag,' Annie wailed, 'and I only bought it today. It's Yves Saint Laurent!'
The woman police officer did at least look a bit sympathetic.
'My mobile with all my numbers!' Annie's losses were beginning to stack up, 'my wallet, my credit cards, my house keys!'
'You'll have to change your locks and cancel your cards,' one of the officers advised. 'You never know, he might try some of the doors in the street.'
Throughout the comings and goings of the evening, Ed made tea, held her hand, plumped the pillows up under her head, and looked distraught because he blamed himself for the whole thing. When she was finally in bed, propped up on pillows and loaded with painkillers, he pulled up a chair and sat beside her, holding her hand.
'I hope you're not here for the big make-up talk,' she told him with a little smile, 'because I need to sleep.'
'I know,' he told her, squeezing her hand. 'You could have been really badly hurt. You have been badly hurt . . . but it could have been . . .'
'Shhhh!' she told him off, 'I'm going to be fine. Don't go "if"ing and "but"ing about it,' but with a sigh, she admitted, 'I am going to look a fright in the morning.'
'Yeah, like . . .'
'Something out of Dr Who ,' Annie finished his sentence, 'thanks. But what exactly?'
'I don't know, you'll have to ask Owen tomorrow. He slept through the whole thing.'
'Good.'
Ed pushed his unbuttoned shirtsleeves up and ran his fingers through tangled ringlets that looked even wilder than usual. 'I'm sorry we were arguing,' he said, casting his eyes down to the floor.
'I'm really sorry,' she told him quietly. 'I
Annie lifted her head and, with Manzoor's arm under her shoulders, managed to wobble up to her feet, feeling sick to her stomach.
'Did you fall?' he asked her.
'No . . . someone was running towards me and I think he must have hit me in the . . .' Annie began and that was when she realized what had happened. She'd been hit deliberately ! She'd been mugged ! Oh. No! NO! Despite her raging head, she looked down, scanned right across the pavement, but there was absolutely no sign of it . . .
'Someone's taken my bag!' she wailed. 'Someone's stolen my new handbag!'
'Oh dear,' Manzoor sympathized, 'that's very bad luck, but it might turn up. Muggers often take out the contents and throw the bag away round the corner, I could go and have a look around if you like. But I need to get you home first.'
'Throw the bag away?' Annie repeated in a dazed horror. 'Throw it away! That bag cost over a thousand pounds even with a staff discount.'
She was still too shocked even to feel upset yet.
'Over a thousand pounds? My word!' Even Mr Six-Figure-Salary sounded a little taken aback at this information.
With Annie leaning heavily on his shoulder because she felt so sick and dizzy, they walked the thirty metres or so to her front door.
Once Manzoor had rung the bell, Annie could hear Ed walking down the corridor then calling out to the closed door: 'And I suppose you've forgotten your keys, have you? Forgotten to put them into your totally overpriced handbag!'
But when he had opened the door and spent several shocked seconds taking in Annie and her battered head, his expression changed instantly from stormy to seriously concerned.
'Oh my God! Annie!'
The verdict of the two paramedics who turned up with the ambulance was that Annie should have a very quiet night at home and go to see her GP in the morning.
They put a cooling compress on her ballooning forehead, shone a torch into her eyes, decided that she wasn't concussed and warned her that going to hospital would mean spending the night in the waiting room instead of in the comfort of her own bed.
One of the two police officers who called at the house to take Annie's statement told her cheerily, 'That is going to swell right up, you're going to look like something from Dr Who .'
'He took my bag,' Annie wailed, 'and I only bought it today. It's Yves Saint Laurent!'
The woman police officer did at least look a bit sympathetic.
'My mobile with all my numbers!' Annie's losses were beginning to stack up, 'my wallet, my credit cards, my house keys!'
'You'll have to change your locks and cancel your cards,' one of the officers advised. 'You never know, he might try some of the doors in the street.'
Throughout the comings and goings of the evening, Ed made tea, held her hand, plumped the pillows up under her head, and looked distraught because he blamed himself for the whole thing. When she was finally in bed, propped up on pillows and loaded with painkillers, he pulled up a chair and sat beside her, holding her hand.
'I hope you're not here for the big make-up talk,' she told him with a little smile, 'because I need to sleep.'
'I know,' he told her, squeezing her hand. 'You could have been really badly hurt. You have been badly hurt . . . but it could have been . . .'
'Shhhh!' she told him off, 'I'm going to be fine. Don't go "if"ing and "but"ing about it,' but with a sigh, she admitted, 'I am going to look a fright in the morning.'
'Yeah, like . . .'
'Something out of Dr Who ,' Annie finished his sentence, 'thanks. But what exactly?'
'I don't know, you'll have to ask Owen tomorrow. He slept through the whole thing.'
'Good.'
Ed pushed his unbuttoned shirtsleeves up and ran his fingers through tangled ringlets that looked even wilder than usual. 'I'm sorry we were arguing,' he said, casting his eyes down to the floor.
'I'm really sorry,' she told him quietly. 'I
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