or the inclination to make any other friends, and now maybe you’re regretting it.”
I stood up, suddenly annoyed. Bloody Toby and his bloody perfect life (well, I never said I was rational ). “I don’t need the amateur psychology, thanks. I get enough of that from the psychotherapist, and he’s a waste of space. Anyway, I’m a bit tired now, so I think I’ll get back to my room. Maybe see you around, if you’ve got the time.”
“Ruby’ll be here tomorrow, too. I’d like to bring her in, if you don’t mind.”
I shrugged and walked away, back inside the hospital. As I pressed the button to summon the lift, a blurry reflection in the metal doors loomed up behind me. Toby had followed me in. He dropped our two unfinished cups of tea into a nearby bin with a soft slosh, reached out his hand, and gently squeezed my fingers.
“See you tomorrow, then,” he said, leaning forward and kissing me very tenderly on the lips. I was ashamed at his proximity to my mangled features, but the sweetness of the kiss was too tempting, and like a reflex, I put my hand up behind his head, pulling him closer to me. Everything about him was so inviting, as he roped me in first with the coil of his curls, and then with the warmth of his tongue gently touching mine, coaxing my poor traumatized nerve endings out of retirement. I felt like the stillborn puppy in 101 Dalmatians being rubbed back to life, poking his tiny nose out of a towel, blinking sleepily at the world.
The kiss went on for a very long time, our bodies being pressed closer and closer together, until Toby affectionately and absently rubbed his nose against my broken one.
“YEEOUCH!” I screeched, leaping away from him, clutching my nose in both hands. My wig got knocked over one ear, and my glasses went flying, exposing the dressing on my left eye socket.
Toby jumped with fright and backed up against the lift doors, palms flat, as if I had pulled a knife on him. Then he recovered himself and rushed over to me, picking up my shades and straightening the wig.
“Helena, God, I’m so sorry! I got so carried away I totally forgot about your poor nose—are you okay? ”
I nodded mutely, doubled over, my remaining eye watering with pain. It was true to say that the moment was lost.
The lift eventually rattled up to the top floor, the doors wheezed open, and I staggered in, reeling. Toby followed, white with remorse, incapable of doing anything except pat my shoulder manfully, as if we were business colleagues at a golfing lunch.
We descended in silence to the second floor, where I got out. “Off you go to see your wife, then,” was my mumbled parting shot.
But once my nose had stopped hurting, I relived that kiss over and over again, so much so that I clean forgot to do any writing that day.
Jimmy Cliff
SITTING IN LIMBO
W E MOVED INTO OUR NEW AMERICAN HOUSE. IT WAS MADE OF wooden planks, with screen doors, a huge veranda with a swinging love seat, and a mind-boggling selection of numbers in its address. We had a free-standing mailbox instead of a slot in the front door. We had a dishwasher, a garbage disposal, a barbecue, a coffee machine, and a video recorder with a remote control on the end of a long cable. I had never seen any of these things before, not even at the Grants’, but I still preferred our old brick-terraced house in Salisbury with its yellow front door.
Mum got her huge “yard,” complete with an even bigger set of rosebushes. She quickly introduced herself to everybody on our block, and before long was hosting canasta parties and doing charitable works. Dad—well, I wasn’t exactly sure what he did, but he seemed quite happy doing it every weekday and then coming home for a large Gordon’s and tonic.
I went to school, and instead of being in the third year at grammar school, I became a grown-up tenth-grader, actually going in a year ahead of my age because of when my birthday fell, and my good reports from the U.K. I did well at
I stood up, suddenly annoyed. Bloody Toby and his bloody perfect life (well, I never said I was rational ). “I don’t need the amateur psychology, thanks. I get enough of that from the psychotherapist, and he’s a waste of space. Anyway, I’m a bit tired now, so I think I’ll get back to my room. Maybe see you around, if you’ve got the time.”
“Ruby’ll be here tomorrow, too. I’d like to bring her in, if you don’t mind.”
I shrugged and walked away, back inside the hospital. As I pressed the button to summon the lift, a blurry reflection in the metal doors loomed up behind me. Toby had followed me in. He dropped our two unfinished cups of tea into a nearby bin with a soft slosh, reached out his hand, and gently squeezed my fingers.
“See you tomorrow, then,” he said, leaning forward and kissing me very tenderly on the lips. I was ashamed at his proximity to my mangled features, but the sweetness of the kiss was too tempting, and like a reflex, I put my hand up behind his head, pulling him closer to me. Everything about him was so inviting, as he roped me in first with the coil of his curls, and then with the warmth of his tongue gently touching mine, coaxing my poor traumatized nerve endings out of retirement. I felt like the stillborn puppy in 101 Dalmatians being rubbed back to life, poking his tiny nose out of a towel, blinking sleepily at the world.
The kiss went on for a very long time, our bodies being pressed closer and closer together, until Toby affectionately and absently rubbed his nose against my broken one.
“YEEOUCH!” I screeched, leaping away from him, clutching my nose in both hands. My wig got knocked over one ear, and my glasses went flying, exposing the dressing on my left eye socket.
Toby jumped with fright and backed up against the lift doors, palms flat, as if I had pulled a knife on him. Then he recovered himself and rushed over to me, picking up my shades and straightening the wig.
“Helena, God, I’m so sorry! I got so carried away I totally forgot about your poor nose—are you okay? ”
I nodded mutely, doubled over, my remaining eye watering with pain. It was true to say that the moment was lost.
The lift eventually rattled up to the top floor, the doors wheezed open, and I staggered in, reeling. Toby followed, white with remorse, incapable of doing anything except pat my shoulder manfully, as if we were business colleagues at a golfing lunch.
We descended in silence to the second floor, where I got out. “Off you go to see your wife, then,” was my mumbled parting shot.
But once my nose had stopped hurting, I relived that kiss over and over again, so much so that I clean forgot to do any writing that day.
Jimmy Cliff
SITTING IN LIMBO
W E MOVED INTO OUR NEW AMERICAN HOUSE. IT WAS MADE OF wooden planks, with screen doors, a huge veranda with a swinging love seat, and a mind-boggling selection of numbers in its address. We had a free-standing mailbox instead of a slot in the front door. We had a dishwasher, a garbage disposal, a barbecue, a coffee machine, and a video recorder with a remote control on the end of a long cable. I had never seen any of these things before, not even at the Grants’, but I still preferred our old brick-terraced house in Salisbury with its yellow front door.
Mum got her huge “yard,” complete with an even bigger set of rosebushes. She quickly introduced herself to everybody on our block, and before long was hosting canasta parties and doing charitable works. Dad—well, I wasn’t exactly sure what he did, but he seemed quite happy doing it every weekday and then coming home for a large Gordon’s and tonic.
I went to school, and instead of being in the third year at grammar school, I became a grown-up tenth-grader, actually going in a year ahead of my age because of when my birthday fell, and my good reports from the U.K. I did well at
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