Miss Wrong and Mr Right (10 page)

‘Nat. In a horrible way I’m relieved, because he’s a wanker and a commitment phobe. He’s also a bastard, a git, and so wrong for you. I mean what’s the deal? Is it just lust and loneliness on your part? How can someone so pretentious do anything for you?’

‘Okay Sharon…’ I said, but she went on.

‘He has no sense of humour. He’s self-centred and vain. He pretends to be so deep, but in reality he’s as shallow as a puddle.’

‘Sharon!’

‘I’m sorry Nat.’

‘What was that speech yesterday? “
If you can make it work with Benjamin, then I support you all the way… I’ll love him because you love him.”’
I asked.

‘Now he’s cheated on you I can be honest.
Namaste
indeed. You know what? Every time he said
namaste
, you should have called him a twat. That would have cut down on his use of the word!’

Tears started to form in my eyes and I wiped them with the back of my hand.

‘Now come on Nat,’ said Sharon reaching inside her bag and pulling out a clump of tissues. ‘I’m sorry. I should have slagged him off in instalments. I just can’t stand to see you unhappy. Everything else in your life is going so well, and he’s taking that away from you.’

‘You’re right,’ I said wiping my face with a tissue. ‘I just don’t know what to do?’
 

‘Well, I hope the first thing involves the tip of one of your pointiest shoes connecting swiftly with his bollocks.’

I laughed and then dissolved into more tears.

‘You don’t know what it’s like Sharon. I feel alone so much of the time. You’ve got an amazing family…’

‘Which I wouldn’t have if I hadn’t met Fred? He was the one. And you are going to meet the one…’

‘I’m running out of time to meet the one,’ I said, adding quietly, ‘What if Jamie was the one?’

‘Jamie wasn’t the one,’ said Sharon. ‘And did you really think you could
marry
Benjamin?’

‘No. But he was going to come to the christening with me.’

Sharon snorted.

‘What should I do?’ I asked.

‘He can’t get away with this. Have you got a key to his flat? We could go over when he’s out and cut up all his clothes and throw them out of the window!’

‘I haven’t even got a key… I gave him a key, and he didn’t give me one back!’
 

‘Then it’s remarkably simple. Tell him to go jump off a cliff and then get on with your life. How many people would kill to have such an uncomplicated separation?’

She gave me a hug. ‘Now I’m getting us more drinks, and then you’re going to tell me again about the obscene-talking teddy bear…I wish I’d thought of that as a gift for Ryan Harrison. Only last week I took Amy to the build-a-bear factory in Westfield.’

Sharon managed to cheer me up over another glass of wine and then we crossed the road to watch the show. Despite it being the story of a mad spinster who goes insane through loneliness,
The Woman in Black
was fab. I hadn’t seen the show for years, and had forgotten just how terrifying it was. Staged with minimal props, the actors draw the audience in, recounting the story of the haunted house on the marshes by the sea. Sharon and I had seats down in the stalls, and during the show, the Woman in Black walked through the audience, brushing past the end of the row where we were sat! Sharon nearly died of fright, shrieking and spraying a group of Japanese tourists in front with half a box of Smarties.
 

After the show I felt a lot better. We had that wonderful feeling that comes after a good scare, and we went round to the stage door to meet the actor I had been there to watch. We had a nice chat and told him how much we’d loved the show.
 

Half an hour later we left him to finish taking off his make-up and went back downstairs. The Fortune is a very old theatre, and it was deserted as we made our way down the long creaky flight of stairs. Halfway down all the lights went out. I felt Sharon behind grab at my arm.
 

‘What the hell! I can’t see a thing!’ she hissed. A couple of seconds later the emergency lights kicked in, casting a green pallid glow over the gloomy stairway.

‘If we run into the Woman in Black I will shit myself,’ said Sharon.

‘Even if we do, she’ll have taken off her make-up,’ I said. Our feet echoed as we climbed down.
 

‘Where is everyone?’ asked Sharon, still holding on to me.

‘Gone home probably,’ I said. We reached the bottom of the stairs and went out of the stage door into the alley beside the theatre. It was eerily quiet and the moon was shrouded in cloud.
 
When we emerged onto Russell Street it was empty and the streetlights were off. The outside of the theatre was now deserted, and the pub was closed.

‘I don’t like this, it’s creepy,’ said Sharon.

‘It’s just a power cut,’ I said.

‘But it’s weird for all the street lights and the traffic lights to be off,’ she said pulling her coat around her neck.

‘Why don’t you get a cab home?’ I said. ‘The theatre will give me it back on expenses, and you’ve got further to go.’

‘You’re going to walk on your own Nat?’ said Sharon.

‘It’s five minutes, it’s fine,’ I said. A black cab rounded the corner with its light on. I stuck my arm out and it came to a stop beside us.

‘We can go by your place,’ suggested Sharon.

‘That’ll take an age with all the one-way streets. Take the taxi and get a receipt,’ I said.

‘I’ll take it, if you take this,’ said Sharon rummaging around in her bag. She pulled out a small back canister.

‘It’s pepper spray,’ she added.

‘Why have you got pepper spray?’ I said, quickly taking it so the taxi driver couldn’t see.

‘Fred likes me to carry it when I’m walking home from work.’

The window slid down a few inches.

‘How much longer are you two going to chat? The clock is on,’ said the driver.

‘She’s coming now,’ I said pushing her in.
 

‘Make sure you have the nozzle facing the right way,’ said Sharon tilting her head towards the pepper spray in my pocket. ‘You don’t want it in your face.’

‘I’ll be fine,’ I said.

‘And call me if you need me, anytime. You can’t let Benjamin get away with what he’s done.’ She blew me a kiss and closed the door. I waved as the taxi pulled away and vanished round the bend.

The road was dark and quiet. Damp air seemed to descend onto me in the silence. A wisp of mist floated past. I thought of the misty marshland in
The Woman in Black,
and remembered the sound of the horses screaming as the carriage got lost in the fog and sank into the marsh.

I pulled my coat up around my neck and started to walk home. The five minutes seemed to extend far longer, and I barely saw a soul as I walked up to Soho. None of the street lights were working and all the shops and restaurants were dark.
 

Beak Street was quiet as I approached my building. I went to scan my card on the gate but as I touched the sensor it swung open with a creak. As I walked through the dark communal garden, a car out on the road backfired and I’m ashamed to say I ran to my front door, shoved in the key, and dashed inside slamming the door behind me. I flicked the switch in the hall but nothing happened. It remained dark.
 

I pulled out my phone, put on the light, and went through to the kitchen. I rummaged around in the drawers and found a stub of a candle. I lit it and placed it on a saucer.
 

As I pulled a glass from the cupboard, there was a scratching sound coming from the hall… I froze. It came again. I crept through, and in the gloom I could hear someone outside the front door murmuring, and the noise of a key being tried in the lock.

I panicked and scrabbled about for my coat. I barely had the pepper spray out when the front door opened a few inches. The door juddered as the security chain stopped it opening further. A hand came groping round to try and unfasten it. I screamed, rushed at the door, and fired pepper spray into the gap.

‘Aaargh!
Namaste
!’ shouted a voice.
 

Suddenly the power came back on. I went to the gap in the door, and saw it was Benjamin. He had dropped to his knees on the doorstep and was clutching his face in agony. His cheeks and eyes were rapidly swelling and tears were streaming down his face.

The sting

Benjamin was shouting and thrashing around in agony. I took the security chain off the door and guided him inside through to the bathroom.

‘
Namaste
!’ he cried, clutching at his face. I opened the shower door and guided him into the cubicle. ‘Jeez!’ he said as I leant round him and turned on the water. ‘What did you do to me?’

‘I pepper sprayed you, I thought you were an intruder,’ I said.

‘But I bought you flowers!’ he cried reaching into his jacket like a blind magician, and pulling out a bunch of carnations. He thrust them in my direction, and clamped his large hands back over his face rubbing furiously at his swollen eyes.

‘Well? Are you going to say thank you?’ he snapped.
 

‘Yes, thank you,’ I said dropping them down the side of the toilet. It didn’t feel like a good time to tell him I’m allergic to carnations, they make my eyes run.

‘Put your head under the water,’ I said pushing him gently under the shower head and switching on the tap. ‘Let the water run over your face, I’ll just go and see what to do next.’

‘Oh my GOD!
Namaste
, this HURTS!’ he shouted and slammed his hand against the tiles of the shower. I hurried through to the kitchen, grabbed my phone and googled what you should do to relieve the symptoms of being pepper sprayed. It said that pepper spray is oil based, and to mix up a very weak solution of dish detergent. I found a bowl and mixed a tiny spot of Fairy Liquid into warm water and took it to the bathroom.

‘Nat! Natalie! Where are you? Don’t you leave me!’ Benjamin was shouting. He was standing under the running water still in all his clothes, and denim jacket.

‘I’m here,’ I said grabbing his flailing hand. ‘I’ve got a bowl of very weak washing up liquid water. You need to dunk your face in and open your eyes so the pepper spray can wash away.’
 

‘Washing up liquid?’

‘Yes.’

‘I hope it’s the eco stuff I bought you for your birthday?’

‘Yes, that was a lovely present,’ I said. ‘Now you need to do it fast, or you could go blind.’

‘Blind?’ he whimpered groping around for the bowl. I placed it in his hands. He held it in out in front of him, and taking deep breaths, dunked his face in for a few seconds before dramatically coming up for air. I almost laughed. He reminded me of a contestant on
I’m A Celebrity
where they have to dunk their faces in slime and pick out plastic stars… Then he started to sob, and I felt dreadful.

‘It hurts so much Natalie!’

After I had changed the water a few times, I guided him out of the shower and through to the living room. As he sunk into the sofa, still dripping wet, I realised with concern that he didn’t seem to be getting any better… His face seemed even more swollen.
 

I grabbed my phone again and scrolled through the advice page on what to do after being pepper sprayed. Another tip was to use dairy. Dairy products like plain yoghurt are good for relieving stinging and swelling, so I went to the fridge to try and rustle something up.
 

I didn’t have plain yoghurt, but I did have vanilla yoghurt. I grabbed it, thinking it would have to do. I went back to where Benjamin was on the sofa. His nose and eyes were streaming, and as I put my hand up close to his face to dab it with a tissue, I could feel the heat beating back against my palm.
 

‘Did you manage to find anything?’ he said, opening his eyes just a tiny bit and wincing. The whites had turned pink, and were criss-crossed with a spider web of veins.

‘Yes, I’ve got yoghurt,’ I said. ‘Yoghurt will relieve the pain.’

I peeled off the lid, scooped up a teaspoon of the vanilla yoghurt and dabbed it gently around his eyes. He was silent for a moment and then began to groan.

‘What?’ I said. He groaned louder. Then his face started to puff up even more. And then I remembered. Benjamin is allergic to soya. I looked at the label.
 

It was soya yoghurt!

To be, or not to be?

The ambulance arrived within minutes of me calling, but in that short time Benjamin had swollen up like the Incredible Hulk and was having trouble breathing. I hurriedly buzzed in two paramedics, a man and a woman who were carrying big green medical boxes and pulling a stretcher. There was a film of rain on their fluorescent jackets.

 
We went through to the living room where Benjamin was propped up on the sofa; he looked gruesome, like he was wearing a fat suit. They rushed over and began firing questions at me. What’s his name? What triggered the allergy? Was it a sex act with latex? Peanuts?
 

‘It was soya yoghurt,’ I blurted. ‘And we weren’t using it in a sex act… I pepper sprayed him…’
 

‘So this is an intruder?’ asked the woman prising Benjamin’s puffy lips apart and shining a torch in his mouth. ‘You defended yourself with a soya yoghurt, then pepper spray?’

‘No. He’s my boyfriend, we’ve been together for a year… He has a soya allergy… I pepper sprayed him, then tried to soothe it with soya yoghurt,’ I explained.

‘And you didn’t know about his allergy?’ asked the male paramedic.
 

‘Men never tell you anything! You have to wrestle the most basic things out of them…’ I said. It hung in the air for a moment. The woman unwrapped a plastic syringe and gave Benjamin a shot of adrenalin; he took a sharp intake of breath.

‘Benjamin, can you hear me?’ asked the woman. ‘You’ve had a nasty reaction and we’re going to take you to hospital…’

 
Benjamin murmured something through a thick tongue. They positioned the stretcher beside the sofa, swung him round and heaved him over and onto it.

‘Airway is now relaxed and open,’ said the woman unwrapping another needle from a plastic pack and sliding it into Benjamin’s arm. She worked quickly attaching a tube which led up to a bag of clear fluid.