hate shouting and being shouted at.'
'I'm sorry,' he repeated, leaning over to run a finger gently down her arm. 'Let's not do that again.'
She looked over at him, then catching his eye, she smiled cheekily and said: 'So does that mean I can borrow the £30,000 then?'
Ed did not smile back and the hand on hers moved away.
'OK, we'll talk about this later,' she assured him; she was not in any state for another disagreement right now.
'Yes,' he agreed, 'it's just . . .' the hair shuffling was starting up again, so Annie knew he was agitated, 'I'm just thinking of you. I mean, your own business . . . can I just remind you: you hate the admin and the tax things and all paperwork in general. Annie, you love clothes and you love dressing people and you're great at it. Play to your strengths! Plus,' Ed's hands moved back to hers and he interlaced their fingers, 'we want to spend more time with you, not less!'
Annie felt the warm fingers squeeze tightly against hers. She understood, she really did. But she wanted to move on with Ed on her side, not holding her back.
'I don't want to talk about this now,' she told him, because that was the simplest thing, 'I have to go to sleep.'
When Annie woke the next morning, she looked at the ceiling in confusion for a few minutes before she remembered why her head felt just exactly as if it had been hit by a brick. The police officers had in fact found the brick and taken it away for analysis.
Because Ed was already awake and out of bed, she couldn't ask his opinion on how she looked, so she staggered over to the mirror at her dressing table. The face that looked back at her almost made her cry out with fright.
The skin on her forehead was pulled so tightly over the hard swelling underneath that it looked shiny. Even worse, it was deep dark purple and angry looking. The dressing seemed to have shrunk in comparison to the swelling the size of a large grapefruit that was now protruding from her head.
'Oh my God!' she was saying as Ed, wrapped in a towel, came into the room.
'Have you seen this?' she turned to face him, still not able to keep the astonishment out of her voice.
'Yes, I've seen it, you poor old thing.' He came over to her and put an arm carefully round her shoulder.
'It's all superficial,' he assured her. 'They said it would go down really quickly. So please get back into bed and rest.'
Annie turned her head slowly to look in the mirror again. 'So no plastic surgery on the NHS then?' she added, pretending to sound sad. 'Look, the swelling has made my frown lines disappear!'
'Oh well, there's an unexpected bonus,' Ed said just to join in with the joke for a moment, but then he couldn't help reminding her: 'You've been so lucky. He could have smashed your nose or taken out one of your eyes. He could have killed you if he'd hit you any harder. Annie . . .'
'Ed, stop it,' she reminded him and patted the arm around her shoulders. 'You're such a softie. I can't believe I've never been mugged before. You're not a real Londoner until you've been mugged. The only thing I'm really upset about is the bag.'
'The bag, the bag,' he said, then let out a breath. She wasn't sure if it was a sigh of sympathy or exasperation.
'I can't go to work looking like this, can I?' She sounded almost annoyed.
'No,' he insisted, 'don't even think about it.'
'But I never don't go to work!' she reminded him, 'I don't think I've had a day off sick since . . .' she strained to remember, but couldn't. Streaming colds, blazing temperatures, twisted ankles, sore backs – all these conditions had been dragged into work with her before.
But even Annie had to accept that today she would have to take it easy. Plus, who would want to take wardrobe advice from someone out of Dr Who ?
'I think Owen and Lana are on their way down,' Ed said at the sound of hurried footsteps on the stairs. 'Do you think I should go out first and warn them:
'I'm sorry,' he repeated, leaning over to run a finger gently down her arm. 'Let's not do that again.'
She looked over at him, then catching his eye, she smiled cheekily and said: 'So does that mean I can borrow the £30,000 then?'
Ed did not smile back and the hand on hers moved away.
'OK, we'll talk about this later,' she assured him; she was not in any state for another disagreement right now.
'Yes,' he agreed, 'it's just . . .' the hair shuffling was starting up again, so Annie knew he was agitated, 'I'm just thinking of you. I mean, your own business . . . can I just remind you: you hate the admin and the tax things and all paperwork in general. Annie, you love clothes and you love dressing people and you're great at it. Play to your strengths! Plus,' Ed's hands moved back to hers and he interlaced their fingers, 'we want to spend more time with you, not less!'
Annie felt the warm fingers squeeze tightly against hers. She understood, she really did. But she wanted to move on with Ed on her side, not holding her back.
'I don't want to talk about this now,' she told him, because that was the simplest thing, 'I have to go to sleep.'
When Annie woke the next morning, she looked at the ceiling in confusion for a few minutes before she remembered why her head felt just exactly as if it had been hit by a brick. The police officers had in fact found the brick and taken it away for analysis.
Because Ed was already awake and out of bed, she couldn't ask his opinion on how she looked, so she staggered over to the mirror at her dressing table. The face that looked back at her almost made her cry out with fright.
The skin on her forehead was pulled so tightly over the hard swelling underneath that it looked shiny. Even worse, it was deep dark purple and angry looking. The dressing seemed to have shrunk in comparison to the swelling the size of a large grapefruit that was now protruding from her head.
'Oh my God!' she was saying as Ed, wrapped in a towel, came into the room.
'Have you seen this?' she turned to face him, still not able to keep the astonishment out of her voice.
'Yes, I've seen it, you poor old thing.' He came over to her and put an arm carefully round her shoulder.
'It's all superficial,' he assured her. 'They said it would go down really quickly. So please get back into bed and rest.'
Annie turned her head slowly to look in the mirror again. 'So no plastic surgery on the NHS then?' she added, pretending to sound sad. 'Look, the swelling has made my frown lines disappear!'
'Oh well, there's an unexpected bonus,' Ed said just to join in with the joke for a moment, but then he couldn't help reminding her: 'You've been so lucky. He could have smashed your nose or taken out one of your eyes. He could have killed you if he'd hit you any harder. Annie . . .'
'Ed, stop it,' she reminded him and patted the arm around her shoulders. 'You're such a softie. I can't believe I've never been mugged before. You're not a real Londoner until you've been mugged. The only thing I'm really upset about is the bag.'
'The bag, the bag,' he said, then let out a breath. She wasn't sure if it was a sigh of sympathy or exasperation.
'I can't go to work looking like this, can I?' She sounded almost annoyed.
'No,' he insisted, 'don't even think about it.'
'But I never don't go to work!' she reminded him, 'I don't think I've had a day off sick since . . .' she strained to remember, but couldn't. Streaming colds, blazing temperatures, twisted ankles, sore backs – all these conditions had been dragged into work with her before.
But even Annie had to accept that today she would have to take it easy. Plus, who would want to take wardrobe advice from someone out of Dr Who ?
'I think Owen and Lana are on their way down,' Ed said at the sound of hurried footsteps on the stairs. 'Do you think I should go out first and warn them:
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