Angrily I yank open the door, noting the broom carelessly discarded in the middle of the floor. For some reason the little idiot doesn't seem to understand that such items do NOT live on the floor. Looking at his guilty face, I soften, wondering, for just a moment, if he's realised his mistake. Unfortunately I have already started ranting at him and see little point in ending my tirade early. Especially as he, no doubt isn't listening anyway. As if to prove my point, he makes some ridiculous comment about Top Shop sales, causing me to inadvertently blurt out my plans to move out. I had actually intended to keep that to myself until it was all finalised, at least that way he had less chance of spoiling things for me. It's then that I spot the smashed mug. My smashed mug, on the counter, proudly displayed for all to see. My favourite mug, brown and checked, one I've had for years, since back at the Zooniverse. He bought that mug for me one Christmas. His first Christmas there. The zoo was closed and all the other keepers had gone home to their families. I had planned to go back to Leeds for a few days but, on seeing the effort he had gone to, decorating our hut with a ridiculous amount of tinsel and a huge Merry Crissmas sign (I had never worked out whether this was a deliberate tribute to Kiss drummer, Peter Criss, or just an inability to spell even the simplest words), I hadn't the heart to go away and leave him. I couldn't leave him alone, not when he had no family, not at Christmas. But now the mug, like every other sign of happier times, was gone, smashed to pieces, just like our friendship. I needed to get away.
Sadly, I watch him run out of the door, apologising as he flies past. Yes, apologising. Well, I suppose that's something. Then I hear a crash and a scream. Vince's scream. Heart in mouth, I dart to the door, spotting his curled up form before I even open it. Needless to say, he's slipped on the ice, no doubt a result of those ridiculous boots he insists on wearing. He really should take a leaf out of my book when it comes to sensible footwear.
"You ok?" I ask him foolishly. Of course he's not ok, he's laying in the ice on the doorstep. I try to make some lighthearted joke about his boots not being suitable winter wear, trying to break the ice (no pun intended) after our earlier screaming match. Clearly this is a bad move.
"I'm fine, I don't need your concern, now leave me alone and I'll be back with your precious mug soon," he snaps, eyes flashing angrily.
My heart breaks as I remember how the old Vince, my Vince, would always be desperate for my help, my sympathy. In that respect, he was like a toddler. If he fell, he would look up, making sure I had seen him before creating a fuss. I lost count of the amount of times I would have to clean up his cuts, on account of the fact that he was scared of blood (strangely, this phobia seemed to have disappeared during his goth phase). Now he can't even bear to be civil to me when I'm trying to help him. I stand uselessly as he tries to get up, collapsing back down, clutching his ankle in a way that tells me he is anything but fine. He might not want my help now, but he clearly needs it, so I carefully pull him up, trying not to cause him any more pain. I note, with alarm, the way his eyes glisten with tears as he clutches me tightly, want to sweep him up in my arms and make sure no more harm comes to him. My poor little man. I look again and the tears are gone, his jaw set hard, face turned away from me. Even now, he can't bear to look at me.
After a slow, painful journey upstairs, he dismissed me, claiming again to be fine. Claiming he didn't need me, that he wasn't a child, that it was my fault he'd fallen anyway. Echoes of his nightly drunken rants. So now, I sit downstairs in the shop, worrying about him, just as I do almost every night. I've realised something though. I can't leave him. No matter how bad it gets, I'll always be there to pick him up. I just wish I could have the old Vince back, happy little Vince, the Sunshine Kid. But right now, those endless days of summer sunshine seem so far away.