enough, why do my thoughts always have to wander so annoyingly?
Ben patches up the pink spots on my legs. “I’m sure the doctors will tell you this is an upper dermas burn, so it won’t leave any scarring.”
Silence ensues.
I don’t know what to say to this man who the last time I saw him was under rather compromising circumstances.
“ThanksfornottellingNicola!” Ben blurts at the same time I mumble, “Ididn’tsayanythingtoNicola!”
Well, so much for easing an awkward situation. This is getting worse by the second.
Sighing loudly, I hop down off the counter with my newly bandaged legs. “It’s not my place to tell Nicola anything.” I’m not about to mention the thing in question. We both know perfectly well that he flaunted his willy all nilly like in my face. There’s no need to verbalise it and bring it out into the open again. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t think you shouldn’t tell her. She has a right to know about her boyfriend’s other job… Jobs?”
I stuff my leg into my jeans carefully so as not to shift the bandages.
“That’s my only other job, Emily.” Ben clears his throat. “And it’s just a job, not a lifestyle like in that Magic Mike film. Not that I’ve seen Magic Mike. What bloke would—”
“You’re rambling.”
“You’re right.” Turning, Ben strides away and opens the door. “Let’s get you to the hospital.”
“I’d rather not.”
In response to my statement my cousin’s paramedic stripper boyfriend shakes his head. “You and Nicola are definitely related.”
“What do you mean?”
“Never mind,” he says, huffing out an exasperated sigh. “It’s just… you two must really hate hospitals.”
***
It’s not that I hate hospitals, it’s just that I don’t want to show my face at my nearest health institution due to the fact that the medical staff probably consider me a fake heart-attack hypochondriac. But I wasn’t about to tell Ben that. I’d left the cookery class on my own two minimally scalded legs, and not in an ambulance. I remember my cousin Nicola telling me that’s basically how her and Ben met. She’d had ambulance incidents with him on many occasions, which I think is quite funny considering how she’s always calling me a klutz. As far as I’m concerned it’s my dear cousin who’s the accident prone one in the family.
As I walk along the pavement now I can’t help feeling doubly sorry for Nicola. I should just come out with it and tell her that Ben rubbed up on me. I for one would want to know if my Callum was running around gyrating his crotch into women’s faces after completely stripping down.
It’s decided then. If Ben doesn’t confess to Nicola soon. I’ll tell her myself.
After leaving the college I run home and grab a parcel that needs returning. Then, I reach the post office and am depressed to find a long queue of customers that I have to wait behind. I bought a top online a few days ago and when it arrived in the post I had quickly tried it on. I’d also instantly hated the fit of the thing, so here I am finally having budged up to the front of the line. Well, I’m second in the queue at long last.
“You don’t usually come in today, Margaret.” The postal worker behind the glass partition speaks loudly to the OAP whose at the window in front of me.
“Beg pardon?” I hear the Old Age Pensioner, Margaret, when she replies.
The postal woman has to repeat her statement even louder. “I said you’re not normally in until tomorrow, darling!”
“Oh!” Margaret exclaims wildly, causing her head of cotton ball white hair to bounce. “I’m doing a bit of retail therapy with my dear friend Alice today.”
Ah, so she’s a woman after my own materialistic heart, no matter her older age in comparison to my youthful one.
“Actually,” Margaret coos happily with her old lady wobbly voice. “I only ever intend to do a bit of window shopping you know. By the end of the day though I always end up buying something I don’t need!”
The postal woman nods knowingly from behind the dividing glass. I nod knowingly myself and look at the parcel in my hand. Sighing loudly I despair at Margaret’s words knowing full well that I’m here today returning something I never needed to purchase in the first place. I guess it seems we as women are destined to impulse-buy for the rest of our lives.
***
As I’m leaving the post office after returning the ill-fitting top, I’m feeling depressed about