Chapter 27
Saturday morning 9.01am
As the alarm wailed senselessly, Cameron began to stir. The greyness of her surroundings suggested the alarm had gone off a little earlier than intended. She turned her head to look at the display. 9.02am. Maybe not. A second glance, in the direction of the window, blinds left open as a result of her apathetic state the previous evening, revealed a leaden sky and a heavy downpour.
She groaned. How very appropriate. The weather matched her mood perfectly. The thumping in her head a by-product of a little too much alcohol and far too much crying. And of a disturbed nights sleep. A restless slumber that been dotted with replays of the unexpected lip-locking action that had taken place, not once, but twice. Of images of House holding her. Of him in the guise of Eeyore, behind in the air, head buried deep in a rabbit hole. Of Chase's distorted head atop a totem pole. Bizarre. As the radio sprung to life, the alarm's insistent ringing having been ignored, she decided that if there was ever a reason to get up, this must surely be it. Hearing the plaintive tones of Coldplay's Fix You was more than she could deal with right now.
She sat up and smacked the button on the clock hard. Having stopped the aural misery, she smacked it again, just for the hell of it. Then smacked the eiderdown. Repeatedly. Realising this wasn't actually going to help in any way, she allowed herself a further five minutes of self-pity. Now feeling ten times worse than she had upon waking, she half-heartedly got up from the bed. Looking down, realising she was clad in a cream satin slip, only served to heighten her monumental state of despair further.
Wandering pathetically down the hallway towards the front door, she stooped to collect the morning mail. Electricity bill, phone bill, Chinese take-away menu, discounted offer on carpet cleaning. In disgust, she tossed them onto the table. Turning to head towards the bathroom, she glimpsed a scrap of paper protruding from beneath the mat. Bending down again, she picked it up. Not paper in fact, actually a napkin emblazoned with the insignia of a certain bar that she had visited less than 12 hours ago. Struggling to read the spidery writing, she carried it with her towards the table, and having located her glasses, she attempted to decipher it again.
"Again. Sorry. Twice in one lifetime. Ha! Save this note, it may be worth something when I've kicked off. Hope my favourite pooch is now fully House-broken. Me, I'm still at the chasing my tail stage. G."
Cameron sat down on the sofa, staring at the napkin. And cried a little more. Just for the sake of it. Her eyes felt like they were out on stalks already, what possible difference could another bout of self-indulgent weeping make. Damn him. What was he thinking of, toying with her like this. Didn't he realise she was a bundle of overwrought nerves already, emotional in the extreme. Of course he did. Probably fed his appetite to screw with her feelings all the more. Well, enough. It stops right now, she thought. No more.
Leaving the note on the sofa, she made her way into the bathroom. The air was still heavy with his familiar scent. Having spent far too long hanging around the perfume counter on her Saturday afternoon jaunts to the mall, she recognised it as L'Eau d'Issey. Huh. Was no sensory organ spared his insistent demands. Discarding her slip, she sought sanctuary from her dismal mindset by allowing the water to run far hotter than she normally liked, and scrubbed her skin vigorously in a futile attempt to wash his memory from her.
Having failed to wash him away, a little under twenty minutes later, she got dressed. Jeans and a pale green jumper. Not pink, not today. Perfect for her planned trip into the city, retail therapy usually hitting a ten on the feelgood factor. She knew perfectly well it wouldn't help her situation. That the next 48 hours would be dire, Monday morning even more disastrous, but she had to do something. Had to get out of these four walls. He was still here. How could the sight of two empty beer bottles, side by side on the drainer, evoke such feelings of sadness.
She gathered her jacket and purse, spent a while hunting for her keys, eventually locating them behind the kettle and made her way out into the hallway, determined that the next time she set foot in her apartment, she would have moved on.
House's house (lol) 10.45am
House sat on the piano stool, distractedly tinkling the ivories. His morning had so far been uneventful. Pointless almost. Unresolved issues would always grate on him. Better get used to the situation, he thought, this one's never going to be a closed chapter. The thought made him jab his index finger at E minor repeatedly.
He flicked through the newspaper. Ploughed his way through four very strong mugs of coffee. Smoked three cigarettes. Spent the best part of an hour staring at his cane collection in the bucket by the door. Tried to decide if he actually had a favourite, or indeed one for every occasion. Yes and no. Resolved to rectify that issue later on, buying new sticks always cheered him up.
Repeatedly opened and shut the refrigerator door, as if expecting divine intervention would have suddenly transformed the barren shelves into a calorific nirvana of bacon, eggs, pastrami and cream cakes.
Temporarily heartened by the prospect of visiting Jones's, cane-stocker extrordinaire, he snapped out of his pit of gloom for long enough to shower, dress and watch the 10 o'clock news. He cleared his messages, took out the trash, threw some bread out for the birds that frequented his back lawn, and even gathered up his laundry from its assorted dumping grounds. See, perfectly fine. All better now Greg. A minor blip in the proceedings.
Until that is, he picked up last night's shirt, and beneath the odour of stale smoke, acquired from the airless environment of the bar, he caught the faintest trace of Cameron's fragrance. Not known for being a regular at the perfume counters, he had no idea what it was, other than it was unmistakeably her. Here in his hands. And like Linus with his security blanket, he didn't want to let go. In fact he only released it from his grasp, when he amused himself by imagining Cameron as Sally, Cuddy as Lucy and Wilson as Woodstock. As it fell to the floor, he realised this was unhealthy. An attribute he took pride in wearing on his sleeve normally. But this felt like something out of his control. And that was not a feeling he wished to dwell on. Reminded him too much of the last time someone else had been calling the shots. Although his other leg wasn't in jeopardy in this situation, other bodily parts stood to take a hammering.
Another coffee, two cigarettes and three Vicodin later, he felt sufficiently pumped with artificial stimulants to face the outside world and its accompanying miserable weather. As he got into the car, and rifled through the dash for a CD to listen to, he went to shove in the parking ticket he'd found firmly wedged beneath his wiper. But as it refused to stay put, caught by the breeze from his slightly ajar window, he was forced to retrieve it from the seat, this time picking it up the other way round. In doing so, he realised it wasn't a ticket at all. Actually it was a Chinese take-away menu, with some flowery writing on it.
"Dear Frasier, please pass this on to Eddie. Re: your earlier query, I am indeed fully House-broken, and therefore unlikely to pee on the carpet. I hear you're chasing your tail a lot. Well, stop it. It'll only make you dizzy and even crankier than you already are. I am off to pamper myself at the pooch parlour, whilst you sit in your basket festering about having your nose smacked for your inability to play nicely off the leash. C." " P.S. I'm sorry too, but only because I wish we'd rubbed our wet noses a little longer."
Oh. Didn't see that one coming, he thought. Heart racing and stomach churning, he excelled himself in the closing the emotional floodgates department, and hastily forced the note into the very darkest recess of the dash. Slipping a little Travis into the multi-changer, he decided the cane shopping may have to be deferred. In times of crisis (and that was what he felt this farce was swiftly becoming), and the absence of his baba, he needed to seek out the wise words of Woodstock.