The Woman who Went to Bed for a Year

22

Brianne was sitting on her narrow bed, staring at the wall opposite. Alexander had left half an hour earlier, leaving the bookcase and the jewellery, but unwittingly taking Brianne’s previously unused heart with him. She was filled with the most amazing joy.

She said out loud, ‘I love him.’

She wished now that she had bothered to make some friends. She wanted to ring somebody and tell them her good news. Brian Junior would not be interested, Poppy would turn news to her advantage and her mother had gone mad. There was only him she could tell.

She picked up his business card and reached for her mobile. He answered immediately and illegally – he was doing 75 mph and was in the middle lane of the M1, going South.

White Van Man.’

‘Alexander?’

‘Brianne?’

‘Yes, I forgot to thank you for bringing Mum’s stuff up. It was very kind of you.’

‘It wasn’t kindness. It was work, Brianne. I’ll get paid for it.’

Where are you?’

‘I’ve just turned on to the motorway. I’m trapped between two lorries. If the front one brakes, I’m mincemeat.’

Brianne exclaimed, ‘Alexander, you must turn the phone off at once!’

She could imagine his mangled body on the motorway, surrounded by emergency vehicles. She could clearly see a helicopter hovering above him, waiting to take him to a specialist unit somewhere.

She said, ‘You will take care of yourself, won’t you? Your life is precious.’

He did as she had asked and switched his phone off. He didn’t know the girl had such strong feelings – she had shown very little emotion when he had handed over her mother’s jewellery.

Brianne went outside and walked briskly up and down in front of the accommodation block. It was a cold night and she was not dressed for the outdoors, but she didn’t care. The possibility of love had softened her face and straightened her back.

How could she have lived so long without knowing of his existence?

All that love stuff that she had once despised: the hearts, the songs, moon/June, the flowers. She wanted him to give her a white teddy bear clutching a plastic rose. Before today she could take men or leave them, most of them were spoilt man-boys. But he – he was worthy of worship.

He looked like a black prince.

She had never allowed a man to touch her breasts, or what she called her private bits. But as she paced in the cold she could feel her body melting, dissolving. She yearned for him. She was incomplete without him.

Poppy looked out of her window and was astonished to see Brianne walking up and down in her pyjamas, her breath visible, like ectoplasm. She rapped on the window and saw Brianne look up, wave and smile. Poppy wondered which drug she had been taking. She threw on the red silk kimono she had shoplifted from Debenhams, and hurried downstairs.