Spirit (2 page)

“No.” The retort is firm and uncompromising. My desperation mounts.

“You don’t understand…” I might have continued my attempt to explain but I am again racked by a coughing fit. I double up in the seat, hacking and wheezing, as he gets out of the driver’s side. Moments later my door is opened and he reaches in to lift me out.

For a posh guy this man has a strong stomach. It’s weeks since I last showered, and even then there was no soap at the hostel. I must be absolutely rank by now, but he seems undeterred.

I can be pretty resolute myself. As my coughing subsides again I make another attempt.

“My things…”

“Your bag’s in the back. Though I was tempted to leave it behind.”

I’ll bet. It’s easy for him to say that. He doesn’t carry everything he owns in a rucksack and two Asda bags-for-life.

“Thanks. But my other stuff, in the alley…”

“What stuff? A cardboard box to sleep in?” The sneer in his voice is undisguised. I’m used to this reaction by now, but even so his contempt hurts

Don’t knock it, mate
. I nod. “And a plastic sheet. I need them back.”

“What you need right now is a warm bed and medical attention.”

“I know, but…” More coughing halts my argument, not that I was likely to win it. My heart sinks at the prospect of scouring the rear yards of Curry’s for more large cardboard sheets. My plastic bubble wrap will be harder still to replace. Shit!

“We’ll find you some more. You don’t need it yet. Come on.” His tone has gentled again and he half carries me across an expanse of paving towards a dimly lit door. Even in my fuddled state I know this is most unhospital-like.

“Where are we?” I try to straighten, to look around me.

“Headingley. My apartment.”

What?
My head might be spinning but I sure as hell never agreed to this. I manage to scan my surroundings, a deserted car park. There is no one around to help me, even if they were so inclined. And this stranger seems intent on getting me into his apartment where God only knows what could happen. Christ, what a fool. I walked right into this.

Who would miss me? Would anyone even notice if he cut me into little pieces and put me in the waste disposal?

“No, I’m not going inside. You can’t make me. I’ll scream, and…” I open my mouth, intending to do just that. The sound I manage is a sort of strangled croak before I collapse coughing again.

The man props me against the outer door while he fiddles with the keypad to gain entry. The door beside me pops open and I know this is my last chance. I wanted so desperately to get indoors somewhere, but not like this. Not at any cost. I have to fight, to escape.

I tug my arm from under his hand and give him a shove in the chest. I might as well have tried to push his gas-guzzling Range Rover for all the good I’m doing. Panic starts to grip me, and I’m fighting in earnest, thrashing in his arms as he attempts to control me. He isn’t rough, nor even especially forceful, but I’m so feeble he overpowers me with ease. He lifts me in his arms and carries me over the threshold into the entry lobby of the building. There, he deposits me in a low chair facing the lift and crouches in front of me.

I huddle in the seat, my chest hunched over my knees in a posture both defensive and defeated. Even in better health I am utterly vulnerable, as all homeless girls are. Easy prey to any passing sadist or pimp, or even just some ordinary bloke who thinks I’ll do anything, allow him to do anything, in exchange for a warm drink or a meal.

I shake my head, tears now streaming down my face. I refuse to look up, clinging to the childish delusion that if I can’t actually see my attacker then he isn’t there.

“Hey, it’s alright. You’re safe.” The man is speaking to me, and touching me. His hands are in my hair - where’s my woolly hat? I need that hat. He strokes my shoulder, then uses his fingers to tip my chin up. Still I screw my eyes up, keeping them tight shut. Keeping him out.

“I live here, in this building. I have a spare room, and it’s yours. For tonight, and a few more days too if you need it. One of my neighbours is a doctor and I’m going to get her to look at you. Then you get some sleep, a bath perhaps, and get warmed up. And tomorrow you decide what to do next. Okay?”

A flicker of hope flares. Could it be true? That this man really is harmless, that he just wants to help me? Not possible, no one would do that. Why would they? Why would he?

“I’m not, I mean, I don’t… I can’t pay you.” Despite my fear of what he might have in mind, I’m not turning down the offer of a room. When you’re out of options even the slimmest hope is something to grab on to. Desperation will do that, every time.

“I know that.”

I shake my head. He hasn’t understood. “I don’t mean money. I mean, I don’t have any cash, but I won’t, I won’t… I don’t want to pay you in any other way. I don’t do that.”

“Me neither. The offer’s there though, spare room, no strings.” His tone is low, a seductive murmur. It would be so easy to believe him, so tempting. I take a massive risk and open my eyes.

He is still there, crouching before me, at my eye level. His features are handsome, but I’d already registered that somewhere in my brain. More important, he has a kind expression, more gentle than I imagined at first. It’s something about the eyes. A deep blue, quite stunning. But are they honest? Truthful? Can I trust him?

The truth is, I have no choice. I might be able to stand and make it across the lobby under my own steam, get back outside… I doubt somehow that he would try to prevent me leaving if I was determined on it. But then what?

Where did he say we were? Headingley? That’s the posh part of north Leeds, miles from the city centre where he picked me up. I don’t know this part of the city, wouldn’t have a clue where to head for. And without my missing stuff I’ll freeze. I might anyway.

I drag in a long breath, wincing as I attempt to swallow. My throat feels to be on fire, my head aches, and I really don’t think I could manage another step.

I look at him, hold his gaze this time, though eye contact feels quite unnatural to me, and I nod.

The man smiles, and it lights up his entire face. He is beautiful, and not just because he offers me some hope for making it though this night. He’s gorgeous, in a masculine, angular sort of way.

He stands and offers me his hand.

“I’m Matthew Logan. Matt. Shall we go up?”

I take his hand and manage a brief shake. When I would have let go he holds onto me though and helps me to stand.

“Can you manage or would you like me to carry you?”

The thought of him picking me up again, me in all my filth and grime accumulated over months of unwashed trudging the streets and parks of Leeds, revolts me. I’m embarrassed to be too close to him even if he might manage to suppress his gag reaction. I smell. I’m dirty, my hair is lank and greasy. My clothes are grey, shapeless and threadbare, and have belonged to at least two other owners before I got my hands on them. The prospect of getting up close and personal with this specimen of male perfection is just too much to contemplate.

I dig deep, then deeper still to find the inner resources to get to my feet one last time. Upright again, I shuffle in the direction of the lift.

The man—Matthew Logan—is there ahead of me and presses the call button. The seventh floor.

“Wait there. If the lift comes hold the door till I get back. I’ll just get your bag from my car.” He doesn’t wait for a reply. I hear his footsteps behind me as I peer at the metallic planes of the lift doors six inches from my nose.

There’s a shrill ping and the doors whirr apart. The lift car is small but well lit, mirrored on the back. I catch a glimpse of my reflection, the first time I’ve seen myself clearly for a while, and I’m shocked. I never look any great shakes, but tonight I look quite ghastly. Unkempt, yes, as ever, but it’s more. My skin is sallow, grey almost. My features are sharp, my cheeks sunken. I look so small, insignificant. Was I always so pathetic? I suppose I must have been. That’s how I ended up in this mess.

“Hold it, don’t let it…”

Matt’s voice echoes across the foyer and his footsteps are behind me again. The doors glide shut, the apparition which is me disappears as the lift starts its sedate journey skywards.

“Why didn’t you hold it?” Matt sounds puzzled, maybe even a little exasperated.

I bow my head and stare at the floor. Would he even believe me if I were to say I simply forgot how?

“Not to worry, we’ll get it back again.” He hits the call button again and takes up his position at my side to wait.

“So, will you tell me your name, then?”

My name? What
is
my name?

“Beth Harte.” There, that’s it. Or very nearly.

“Beth? That’s nice. Suits you. Shall we?” He gestures me to step into the lift in front of him. I’d never even registered that it had returned. I take a step, then stagger as a wave of absolute fatigue hits me. Matt flings my tattered holdall into the lift and wraps his spare arm around my waist. He hauls me in front of him, keeping me upright whilst he presses the button for the seventh floor and the doors close behind us.

“You’re dead on your feet, Beth. How long is it since you last ate?”

I don’t answer, preferring to sag against him. My humiliation seems irrelevant now, I suppose this is what it is to be past caring.

The lift stops, the doors open, and Matt pretty much carries me out. He kicks my bag out onto the landing and lets the lift go.

“This is my place.” He manoeuvres me across the landing and slips a key card into the slot of a door opposite the lift. The mechanism clicks and he opens the door, then helps me inside.

Not for the first time I find myself slumped against a wall in a small entrance while Matt nips back out into the corridor to retrieve my bag. He dumps that just inside his doorway, then makes no more ado but picks me up. He marches through the open plan living and kitchen area and heads for one of several doors leading off it.

“My spare room. Yours for now.” He opens the door with his elbow and carries me inside, finally depositing me on the double bed. “Wait there a moment. Do not move.”

Obedient, I do exactly as he instructed, not even lying down in case I spoil his lovely pale blue duvet cover. Less than a minute later he’s back, and this time he’s carrying a bright white T-shirt.

“Can you get undressed on your own or do you need me to help?”

“I…” It’s been a while since I properly undressed. You don’t tend to when someone is likely to steal your clothes. I start to fumble with the buttons on my grubby overcoat.

“Here, let me.”

I abandon the effort and allow him to unfasten my coat and slip it off. He does the same with the jacket under it, and the sweater under that. Despite my layers I’m still frozen. When he has me down to my own grimy, threadbare T-shirt he starts on my pants. Two pairs of jeans are peeled off and dumped in a pile with the rest of my stuff, as well as my thick socks. I’m particularly fond of those socks, I nicked them from the Rohan shop. Thermal lined, the works.

Matt stops and stands over me. “Do you want to do the rest yourself?”

I nod, and watch him as he crosses the room towards the door. He’s leaving me to it.

I cross my arms under my breasts and try to heave my tatty T-shirt over my head. I can’t manage it. I can’t even lift my arms as far as my shoulders.

There’s a low curse, then Matt is back. He eases the hem of my T-shirt from my fingers and pulls the garment over my head. I have no underwear on. I am naked, shivering with a mix of fever-induced chill and apprehension. Despite all I said downstairs, I have still allowed him to undress me without so much as a protest, and now…

The white cotton of the new, clean T-shirt slips over my head. Matt eases my arms through the sleeves and draws it down to arrange it around my hips.

“There, all clean and dry.” He reaches across me to pull back the duvet. “Get in.”

I do, and he tugs the quilt back up to my chin. I close my eyes, savouring the simple, blessed luxury of it.

“Would you like something to eat? A warm drink?”

I shake my head, but he seems not to want to take that answer. “I’ll get you some tea.”

He stands, and this time he does leave the room. The door clicks shut behind him, and I close my eyes again.

“Beth? Are you awake? Beth?”

The voice sounds to be coming from a long way off, and in any case it’s not me they want to talk to. I’m not Beth. I’m…

“Beth, wake up. The doctor’s here.” This time the words are accompanied by a touch. A gentle shake on my shoulder.

I roll over onto my other side, hope to ignore the persistent tone seemingly hell-bent on disturbing me.

“Beth, we just need to make sure you’re alright.”

“Leave me alone.” Irritated, I mutter my reply into my pillow.

“Soon, love. You can go back to sleep. Just let Sue check you over first.”

Sue?
I burrow farther under the warm quilt, determined to remain where I am. How long has it been since I’ve felt both warm and comfortable? And safe? All at the same time? No way am I coming out any time soon.

“Miss Harte? I need to examine you. Would you prefer me to come back later?” A softer voice, feminine this time.

“No, you should check her now. She was pretty out of it when I found her and she’s been coughing all the time she’s been asleep.” Matt is not about to give in. I hardly know him but already I recognise that tone. He won’t be letting me sleep. Not yet.

“Okay. Miss Harte? Beth?” The female voice again, but hardening a little.

I know when I’m beat. I prise open one eye.

“This won’t take very long, then you can get some more sleep. I just want to check you over. Is that alright with you?”

The doctor, Sue, is young, mid-twenties by the look of her. She’s wearing jogging pants and a skinny vest, and her hair is dragged up into a pony tail on top of her head. Despite her casual appearance though, her medical bag looks the business. I peer over the edge of my bed to see her rummaging in it. She pulls out a stethoscope.