into her road, and she felt twisting snakes of nervousness swirl around in her stomach the closer they got.
She knew what he would think. He would see the small front yard, littered with an old settee and someone’s old fridge. The detritus and litter from what seemed like a million previous tenants—empty glass milk bottles, old cans, raggedy bits of clothing, dirtied by the weather and constant stream of car exhaust fumes. And if he got past her front door? Well, she’d tried her best to pretty the place up. She had done what she could, but it never seemed enough. The truth was, she couldn’t afford anywhere better and it would have to do until she’d gathered some more savings for a small deposit elsewhere.
Naomi estimated she had another six months of being here, before she could try and rent somewhere else. ‘I hope you don’t think I’m rude.’
He laughed to himself. ‘I can cope with rude.’
‘Well, I don’t mean to be.’ As they came to a halt outside her front garden she hesitated, sucking in a breath, her back turned to the property. ‘Well, this is me. Unfortunately.’
Tom smiled and looked past her. The smile dropped from his glorious face in an instant. ‘Did you leave your front door open?’
‘Er … no. Why?’ Naomi turned around and instantly saw the splintering down the door frame where someone had pried it open. She gasped and went to take a step forward, but Tom gripped her arm, holding her back.
‘Stay here. Call the police.’
‘You’re not going in?’ Whoever had broken in could still be in there! He had no idea what he would be walking into. There was splintered wood all over the place and goodness knew what they’d done to all her things inside. He could trip on anything, hurt himself. The burglars could be waiting with weapons. It was dangerous, and …
He’s not Vincent. Tom can handle himself.
He’d certainly shown himself to be capable when he’d sent Mick away outside the hospital. He’d had no hesitation about stepping into the fray there.
‘Just stay here.’ He laid a comforting hand upon her arm and then he was gone, darting through the doorway like an avenger, keen to surprise whoever might still be inside.
Naomi pulled her phone from her coat pocket and stabbed at the buttons, dialling for the police. Once she’d reported the break-in, she stepped towards her flat, her legs trembling, her knees weak.
She’d heard no sounds from within. No sudden clashing of Titans, no battle, no fight for survival. Whoever had broken in must be long gone. Feeling sick, she peered through the doorway. ‘Dr Williams?’
‘It’s okay. You can come in, there’s no one here!’
She stepped forward, into the small hall and then through the doorway to her lounge-kitchen.
It was as if a typhoon had swept through it. Sofa cushions had been tossed around, her coffee table knocked over and broken, her books strewn all over the floor. The few pictures she’d found at a market—nothing special, just bright prints—were on the floor, their frames smashed, the glass cracked and broken.
All of her precious belongings had been tossed around, as if they were nothing but rubbish at a dump. The sense of loss and devastation was overwhelming. With her hand over her face, she began to feel a tremble overtake her body, until she was shuddering and shaking, sobs gasping from her body as if every intake of breath were a desperate struggle for survival.
Tom frowned from his place in the kitchen and stood awkwardly as she cried.
She had no idea how long she stood there like that, just crying. For the loss of her things, for the loss of her privacy, for the uncaring way in which her things had been used and tossed aside. She’d never claimed to be rich, or to have expensive objects that she treasured, but this had been her very first venture out into the world to stand on her own two feet alone. The items she’d gathered in that home might have been from car boot sales or markets or pound shops, but they’d been hers. They’d each been treasured and valued as they’d arrived in her home to take their place and make the hole that she was living in a beautiful, homely place to be. Or at least, an attempt at one.
That someone had forced their way in, breaking and trashing everything … well, it broke her heart. So she cried.
And she cried. Until suddenly she realised she wasn’t crying any more and Tom had started trying to sort through her belongings. He’d been picking up books and ornaments, trying to straighten them, trying to return them to their rightful place.
She couldn’t look him in the eye. Had she not embarrassed herself enough in front of this man, today? Falling from a ladder. Being rescued from a drunk. Being heard as she cried like a baby? That last had been the most horrifying. It was embarrassing. Crying always made other people feel incredibly awkward and she didn’t need to look at him to know how much he wanted to leave, but was staying because he now felt obligated.
What am I putting this man through, today? The impression I’m making is terrible!
‘It’s okay, you can go. I’ll wait here for the police. I’ll deal with it. You must have things to do.’
‘I’ll stay.’
She found an old tissue in her pocket and she pulled it out to wipe her nose and then dab at her eyes. She must look a sight! Her eyes would be all puffy and her face all red …
‘No, really, you don’t have to …’
‘I’ll stay until you’re done with the police. Then, you’ll need someplace to go. I won’t feel safe with you sleeping here on your own tonight. It won’t be secure.’
‘The police will fix the door.’
‘With a sheet of plyboard. Hardly Fort Knox. I won’t leave you here with that as your sole defence against the world in this neighbourhood.’
A short brief smile found its way onto her ravaged features. She was appreciative of his kindness. He clearly wasn’t all gruffness. ‘Thank you.’
‘Now you ought to check to see if anything’s missing.’
She nodded. He was right. There were only a few things that really meant anything to her. Her photos of her and Vincent. Her old wedding ring in her bedside table that she never wore to work, as jewellery wasn’t allowed.
Alone in the bedroom, she made the grim discovery that the ring was gone, stolen. Along with some cheaper bits of jewellery that she’d bought and an old watch.
She felt strangely empty as she recounted what was missing to the police when they arrived.
Throughout it all, Tom was kind and attentive. He just sat there and listened to her ramble, making them both a cup of tea and heaping hers with sugar for the shock.
Although it had been caused by a terrible situation, Naomi found herself enjoying their conversation. Just sitting and talking to someone. Something she hadn’t truly experienced since Vincent had passed. She missed him greatly, but she knew he was in a better place. No longer in pain. No longer a prisoner in his own body. No longer feeling guilty for what he’d done to her life.
So
