breath. It’s nice to get away from everything for a minute.
My phone pings. Ooh I must have walked far enough for my 3G internet to work.
I take my phone out and spot an email from the estate agents. I open it up eagerly to see if they’ve sent the details of Fergus’s previous offer. I scan down to find the amount.
Wait… that’s got to be a miss-print. He can’t have honestly offered that pathetic amount of money? No wonder Great Aunt Breda refused it. It would barely cover the savings I’ve blown trying to do up the place. What a bloody cheek!
I spin and power walk back to the pub, my anger quickening my pace. I throw the door open in rage and Ella balks the minute she sees me.
‘What’s up your arse?’ she asks as I storm through to the bar.
‘Nothing,’ I snap. I’m too irate to talk about it.
‘Well, we’ve run out of fifty cents pieces,’ she says, slinging a twenty euro note into my hand.
I go to the safe to get some, fury still coursing through my veins at the cheek of Fergus. Jeez, this old thing is so bloody heavy. It takes both hands to open it and that’s with my current rage generating some unexpected strength. I swap over the twenty euro note for the fifty cents pieces I got from the bank and go to shut it when the chef starts shouting.
I swing round towards the sound, but not before an intense pain cripples my left hand. I look down to see that I’ve slammed the door of the safe shut on my thumb. FUCK! Fuuuuuuuuuck!
I try to open it with my right hand but I don’t have the strength. It’s too hard with only one hand and the other pulsating in agony.
‘Help!’ I cry towards the chef, my finger throbbing so bad I’m considering just chewing it off, 127 days style.
He’s too busy whinging about having burnt his finger. Bloody idiot!
I’m going to have to do this myself. I take a quick deep breath. You can do this, Pheebs. You don’t have much of a choice. I use all my strength to wrench the door off my thumb and gasp in relief once it’s free.
Oh my god, the top of my thumb is completely dented and pale, as if all the blood has been drained from it. The throbbing pain is unbelievable, almost blinding me.
I rush into the kitchen, clutching my hand. I need to alert someone before I pass out. I’m already starting to feel light headed.
‘Help!’ I hiss to the chef.
He looks down at my hand with raised eyebrows. ‘What do ya want me to do?’
‘Something!’ I howl, now feeling sick and woozy.
God, he’s useless.
I run out to the bar to find Ella. She’s not behind the bar. Where the hell is she? She’s never here when I need her.
I look around, but there’s just that idiot Clooney at the bar. Damn. He’s the last person I want to ask for help.
‘Ella. Ella?’ I manage to get out, my voice wobbly. God, this pain is so immense its clouding my brain, not allowing me to even form a sentence. My throat clogs. I’m going to cry any minute.
‘Haven’t seen her,’ he says with a shrug. ‘Been ageing here, waiting for a drink.’
Trust him to bring it back to himself. Can’t he see I’m in agony?
‘Need. Her.’ I thrust my thumb into his face, unable to explain properly.
‘Ugh, what did you do?’ he asks, jumping up from his stool, his face contorted. I look down at my hand, the nail is starting to go blue.
‘Safe. Shut. Help.’ God, I can barely think, but I can feel tears forming in my eyes.
‘You need to get to the hospital.’
‘Duh!’ And the award for stating the obvious goes to…
He grabs his coat. ‘Come on, I’ll take you.’
Dammit, where the hell is Ella when I need her? I nod, knowing I don’t have many other options.
‘Wait, I need to lock up the pub,’ I whimper looking around desperately.
‘Where are the keys?’
God, the pain is intense now. I’m going to pass out. I can see purple spots.
He takes one look at me and shakes his head. ‘Fuck locking up. I’m sure Ella will be back.’ He grabs my arm. ‘We’re going now.’
The next thing I know he’s pulling me outside and bundling me into a Ford Fiesta. The only way to see through the earth-shattering pain is to scrunch my eyes shut and take deep breaths. I’m