Chapter 4

Arthur's hand shook as he tried to get his key in the lock. He paused to wipe the back of his hand under his nose, smearing the blood that still oozed from one of his nostrils. Suddenly, he smashed his forehead into the door with a loud thud, then leaned against it.

"Don't, please. Let me. Give me the key." I took it from his hand and jammed it into the lock. As I swung the door open and let Arthur through first, I glanced back and spotted Sophie a few doors down, watching with an appalled expression on her face.

"What are you doing?" she mouthed, eyes wide.

I shook my head and replied silently, "Talk to you later." Then I followed Arthur inside and closed the door.

Arthur went straight into the bathroom, then I heard water running. He stayed there a long time and I waited for five minutes before going to the closed door. "Are you okay, Arthur? You need any help?"

The door opened. He had removed his waistcoat and shirt and cleaned his face. "I'm all right. I'm just cold now. Give me a minute."

I retreated into the living room while he disappeared into his bedroom. He returned wearing a sweater and a different pair of trousers. He walked stiffly, clutching his side, and lowered himself carefully onto the sofa. "I'm sorry, I didn't offer to make you a coffee." He sighed.

"Don't be silly, I'll make it." I got up quickly. "Do you want one? Or tea?"

"Either. Are you sure it's not too much trouble? Surely you want to get home and have your dinner."

"I'll make us both dinner. How about that? I'll get some drinks first, then I'll run upstairs and get the things I was going to cook tonight. There's enough for two."

"You don't have to do that."

"I want to." I rested my hand on his shoulder and gave it a squeeze. "I'm your friend, Arthur. You can let me help you."

He nodded. "Thank you."

I went to the kitchen and made coffee, remembering to add two sugars to his and making it in the Murray Franklin mug. When I returned to the living room, I sat beside him on the sofa. He took the drink and sipped it.

"You were on your way home from work?" I asked. Apparently, he had been, since he had been dressed as a clown.

"Yes, I had a children's party this afternoon. You were late, too."

"I had to help prepare dinner. They were short-staffed. I'm glad I was late, or I wouldn't have been there to help you."

"I'm glad you were late, too." Arthur's lips twitched, but he didn't manage a smile.

I drank my coffee, then headed back to my apartment to fetch items for dinner. I'd planned to make bacon and mushroom pasta and had enough ingredients to feed four people. I decided to make the extra, so I could leave some for Arthur to have the next day.

Five minutes later I was back in his kitchen making myself at home, with pasta simmering, and a pan of sauce bubbling on his stove. Arthur leaned against the counter and watched.

"Do you always cook like this?" he asked.

"Usually, unless I really can't be bothered. I get takeaway food sometimes."

"I've never had takeaway."

"I like Chinese," I told him. "I had some that day you got me the roses."

Arthur grinned suddenly. "If you carry on like this, I'll be buying you deep pink roses every week."

"Did you know the meaning of the colours, or did you look them up?"

"I went to a florist shop and asked what flowers I should buy to say thank you. The lady told me about the different colours of roses. Maybe I could get yellow ones someday. For friendship."

"That's sweet, Arthur, but you don't need to buy me things. I'm your friend anyway." I turned back to stir the sauce, smiling to myself as I imagined him buying me red roses one day—for romance. I doubted that would ever happen and reprimanded myself for even thinking it. He needed a friend, nothing else.

Fifteen minutes later, we took plates of food on trays into the living room. Arthur switched on the television and we watched the news while we ate. The local news was depressing as usual: the state of the city, the number of people homeless and without jobs, housing prices, the recent weeks of endless foul weather, and an attack on a young woman outside a nightclub.

"It's nothing but bad news. I don't know why I watch it." Arthur turned off the set and continued picking at his dinner. "This is really good."

"Are you sure?" I teased. "You're not eating much."

"I often don't eat much. Or I just eat slowly."

"You're too thin, Arthur," I said gently. "You should try to eat more."

"I know. It's a bad habit. I was half-starved as a kid. Then when I started taking care of my—Penny, I was so busy making meals for her and doing everything else, I forgot about myself."

"You can put yourself first now. You're important. Don't forget that."

He flushed and shoved a forkful of food into his mouth. He eventually finished all the food on his plate, but I imagined it must be getting cold. At least he ate it. He took my tray away to the kitchen and I got up.

"I should be going now. There's enough of the pasta left for you to have tomorrow. You can heat it up in the microwave."

"Okay, I will. Thank you." He smiled shyly and followed me to the door. "Thank you for today."

"You're welcome." I slipped out and went to call on Sophie.

The moment I was through her door, she rounded on me. "What on earth were you doing with that creep?"

"He got attacked on the train by three drunken idiots. I helped him."

"You could have got hurt yourself. You didn't, did you?" Sophie peered at me as if expecting to see a black eye or some other obvious sign of attack.

I laughed. "I'm fine. They bothered me first. Arthur started laughing—"

"At you?"

"No, he was nervous about the way they were behaving. He can't help it. He laughs in bad situations. But it drew their attention away from me. They started beating him up, so I went after them with my mace. Two of them will be needing eyewash tonight." I smiled smugly. "Serve the bastards right."

"But you went to Arthur's apartment," Sophie went on. "Weren't you worried he might do something?"

"What's he gonna do? He was hurt and upset. He just needed a friend. I know you think he's a freak, but he's really not. He's just lonely. The way he is—he had a head injury when he was a kid. He can't help it."

"I still think you should watch your back. You never know with people with mental problems. It might be hereditary. Penny spent years in Arkham."

"Penny wasn't his mother. She adopted him," I told her. "He could have been a normal kid if he hadn't been abused the way he was."

"You like him," Sophie said with a sudden smile.

"He's a sweet guy."

She smiled wider. "You like him."

"Bullshit." I laughed and hoped I wasn't blushing.

"You do! Oh my God, Audra! Can someone like that even have a relationship?"

"I have no idea and I'm not intending to find out. I just think he's attractive, that's all. So there, I admit it. It doesn't mean anything."

"I'll remind you of that when you go out on a date with him."

"Shut up, Sophie. Anyway, you changed your tune pretty quick. A minute ago, you said he was a creep and that I should watch my back."

"I also know you're a pretty good judge of character. So, I guess if you think he's a sweet guy, he can't be that bad, right?"

I stayed chatting to Sophie for an hour before I made my way back to my own apartment. Once again, when I went to bed, I lay awake for some time thinking about Arthur. I'd hated seeing him treated so badly by those drunken arseholes, and the worst thing was that he said it wasn't the first time it had happened. It was terrible that he was bullied and attacked because people thought he was a freak when he laughed. I decided I would call on him the next evening to check he was okay and ignored the fleeting thought that I might be thinking up an excuse to see him.

After work the next day, I got out of the lift on Arthur's floor and went to his door, but after I knocked three times and he didn't answer, I guessed he wasn't back yet from his work. I went home and had dinner, then manged to fall asleep in front of the television, so it was too late to go back and see if he was home.

I had a later shift the next day. It was Friday and afterwards, I had the whole weekend off to look forward to. I'd had a couple of weekends free in the past month, which was unusual. Fridays and Saturdays were always extra busy at the shelter.

I arrived after lunch in time to help with the afternoon bookings for the beds, then began the dinner preparations. Jason and I served the rice dish we made to the many hungry people who came through the door and followed it up with treacle sponge pudding. By the time I left, it was after nine o'clock and I had to walk through the dark streets to the station.

The moment I stepped out of the building, I got the feeling I was being watched. I paused and looked around, quickly spotting an older guy huddled in a doorway. He was one of the many we'd fed that evening. I hurried on, assuming he'd stared at me as I passed, but the feeling didn't go away and I began to wonder if it was Arthur. Why would he follow me now, when I'd made it clear I was his friend, and that he could knock on my door when he wanted?

I halted and spun around quickly but no one was in sight, although I caught a slight movement from the corner of my eye. Slightly exasperated, I turned in that direction and walked towards the shadows of a dumpster.

"Arthur? Is that you?"

A dark figure moved towards me, but their lack of height told me it wasn't Arthur.

"I can be Arthur if you want me to be," a deep voice said, then chuckled.

"Fuck off." I hurried back across the street and almost ran into Arthur.

"I'm here."

"What are you doing? You don't need to follow me, Arthur." I sighed.

"I wasn't. Not really. I finished work a while ago. I wasn't far away, and I thought I'd see if you were still here. You were busy washing up, so I waited for you to finish. I'm sorry."

"It's okay. You could have come in and waited, you know."

"I wasn't sure I'd be welcome. I wanted to ask you something, but now it seems like a stupid idea."

"I'm sure it's not. But let's get moving. I don't want to stand around here and tempt fate." I started to walk, and Arthur fell into step beside me. "What did you want to ask me?"

"You know I said I was going to do stand-up at Pogo's? You said you might come and see me, but I'll understand if you don't want to."

"I'd like to," I said at once. "When is it?"

"Tomorrow night."

"Sure, I'll come. I have the whole weekend off. What time?"

"Um, eight o'clock. I got an early slot. It's my first one. They didn't want me to go on when it's busy in case I'm useless." He laughed loudly. "I probably am. But it will help if you're there. Maybe we could—" He shook his head. "No."

"Maybe we could what?" I prompted.

"Get a coffee or something after. I mean, if you have nothing better to do. I didn't mean, like a date. I just meant—" He broke off, laughing more hysterically.

"Arthur, don't get upset." I tucked my hand through his arm and walked closer to his side. His laughing subsided into choking gasps. "I'd love to have coffee after. There's a nice diner near Pogo's. We could go there."

"I might embarrass you." He rubbed a hand over his face. "What if something happens and I get like—well, like this?"

"Don't worry about it. It won't bother me. The only thing that will bother me is if you're upset, so don't be."

"I'll try not to be. You're too nice."

We made it home without incident. The streets were busy with people on their way out, or on their way from one venue to another, and there were several travellers on the train, but nobody gave us a second glance. I wondered if they thought we were a couple and the thought made me smile. What the hell. I couldn't help thinking about him like that. The moment he tried to ask me to go for coffee in his embarrassed way, I felt like I was being asked on a date. To hell with his baggage. I liked him. If it was a date, then I meant to enjoy every minute of it, and if it wasn't, at least I would enjoy an evening with a sweet friend.

I spent most of Saturday catching up on tasks I'd put aside during the week—housework, grocery shopping, replacing lightbulbs that had blown, fixing a wobbly shelf. I ate a light dinner, then took a bath and looked for something to wear for my not-a-date with Arthur.

I didn't have much, I realised. I had plenty of clothes, but not suitable ones. Most things were either what I wore for work, casual jeans and sweaters, or slutty outfits I still had from when I was with him. Still, I supposed I didn't need to go overboard and dress up. I was watching Arthur in the comedy club and going to a diner for coffee. I looked through my wardrobe again and took out a dark orange sweater and a black and white kilt. They were warm and smart-casual and would suit what we planned to do. I added a pair of thick black tights and long boots, then stood in front of the bathroom mirror, wondering what to do about my face.

I didn't wear much makeup—I didn't like the feel of it on my skin. I'd look fake if I wore it now. I added an orangey-brown lipstick and left it at that. Peering closely at my hair under the harsh bathroom light, I was pleased I didn't have even one grey hair yet. I was only twenty-eight, but many people my age were already greying from the stress in their lives. My dark brown hair was rich and glossy, hanging sleek and straight to just past my shoulders. I brushed it out and left it loose. That would do.

I pulled on my winter coat and five minutes later, I knocked on Arthur's door. He opened it immediately, as if he'd been standing at the other side of it waiting for me. He was wearing a crisp white shirt, and the trousers and waistcoat of a brown suit. His wide eyes held a hint of fear, and he fiddled nervously with his shirt cuffs.

"Hello, Audra."

"Hey. How are you?"

"Nervous."

"Of performing?"

"Yes. What if they hate me?"

"What if they don't? I think you're funny, Arthur. I'm sure others will, too."

He stepped back and grabbed a jacket and his notebook, then joined me and locked the door. "They might not," he went on. "Especially if I, you know, laugh. They'll all think I'm a freak."

"Try not to worry about it. Think about how good it will be if they all applaud you. Then we'll go for coffee and maybe some cake too, to celebrate."

"I wish I had your confidence." He ran his hand over his hair and paused to put on his jacket. "Do I look all right?"

"You look nice, Arthur. Smart."

"Okay. Good. You look nice, too."

"You can only see my coat." I laughed and unbuttoned it to show him the sweater and kilt.

"That's pretty. You look very pretty, Audra." He flushed scarlet and looked away. "I suppose we'd better go."

As we travelled into the city on the train, Arthur grew progressively more nervous, fidgeting, plucking at his clothes, checking his notebook to make sure he hadn't forgotten one of his best jokes, and laughing at intervals. By the time we reached our stop and began to walk to the club, he'd convinced himself he would fail and that the best thing to do would be to cancel his slot.

I caught his hand in mine and squeezed it as we walked. "You'll be okay, Arthur. This is what you really want. You've worked hard for it. And I'll be there, whatever happens."

He took a deep breath as Pogo's came into view. "Okay," he said eventually. "I'm ready."