It was just after six when I pulled up outside her flat. Light drizzle had begun to fall and the traffic had been predictably awful, the precipitation just enough so that the wipers squeaked horribly as they smeared the greasy, grey mist across the front windscreen. After a fruitful day my mood had been somewhat darkened by the congestion and, for most of the journey, I found myself railing furiously against an endless procession of timorous drivers, frustrated by their hopeless incompetence and dangerous indecision. But, as I locked the car, a glance up at the building's miserable, unprepossessing facade was enough to galvanise me. Louisa was finally to be liberated from this appalling situation, and the realisation once again assailed me viscerally; something of an indescribable sensation but one which felt almost like excitement.
Despite the rain, her front door was wide open, held in place by a dispirited, sand-filled rabbit that sagged miserably at its crocheted seams. I'd hesitated for the briefest of moments before I let myself in, stepping on the new, over sized doormat, and noting its utter ghastliness, its only virtue its mould-free functionality. As I stand in the damp fug of the front room, it seems somehow smaller and even more cluttered than I remember. Louisa had remarked upon the change of decor, rather incredulously as I recall, but I am indifferent, struck only by the familiar stale air; redolent as it is of inadequate ventilation and chronic disrepair.
All week I'd felt a real sense of urgency about completing this task, a determination that had prompted me, utterly uncharacteristically and highly inconveniently, to take my car to work today. This morning, when she'd kissed me goodbye, I'd sensed something in her, a heightened emotional state perhaps and, despite how calm she intimated she was, I'd finally allowed myself to believe that she is as favourably disposed to this move as I am. For all her protestations, her fierce independence and her determination to pay her own way, I can only surmise she feels at least some relief that she will no longer have to call this wretched place home. Whatever anyone else might say, moving in with me does seem like the most practical solution. And, though I know better than to allow my hopes to burgeon unrealistically, I can't help but think how much better everything might be if she would only let me help her in other ways. It seems that, currently, I must content myself merely with providing her a clean and safe home while she completes her education, and that is exactly what I mean to do.
From the direction of the hall, I hear voices and I walk in their direction, tugging at my cuffs absently as I approach Louisa's room. As much as I can't abide this flat, there have been one or two amatory moments that are seared indelibly into my memory, and the idea of entering her bedroom still seems both evocative, and rather breathtakingly wanton. It had been here that she'd taken to my self restraint with bolt cutters, cheerfully and without subtlety, dismantling each seized hinge, and loosening every rusted-on bolt, until I had come within a hair's breadth of capitulation. In fact, it was against this very door, as my wilful, recalcitrant limbs sought out her every contour, and where the last vestiges of my resistance, my metaphorical chain mail, began absolutely to unravel.
"Frankly, I can't believe how inconsiderate you're being, Louisa." I hear a woman's voice proclaim, laden with affectation, the tone shrill and accusatory.
The insinuation stops me dead, rudely interrupting my pleasant reverie, and I'm frozen to the spot, listening intently, suddenly bristling with irritation.
"What are you talking about?" Louisa replies and I recognise the slight falter in her voice, picturing her expression: hurt, and indignant, and prepared to defend herself at any cost.
I am well aware of her fighting spirit, and I know only too well that she is courageous, that she can be fierce, and how she is always resolute in what she believes, so I stand, still and unannounced, mere feet from the open door, and I hold my breath. Immediately, I find myself conflicted and, oddly, uncertain. It has always been my nature in such circumstances to be cautious; becoming involved in disagreements unrelated to my own actions has always been anathema to me. At school, it was a matter of survival and, as my career has advanced, it has become a prudent political necessity. Professionally though, I usually find it easy to ignore the disagreements of others because, the truth is, I simply don't care, either for the people involved or about whatever issue seems to be causing the contention. But, rather surprisingly, I now find myself rancorous and affronted, and more defensive of Louisa than I'd even realised.
"Leaving me in the lurch like this!" The pretentious woman declares bitterly. "What else might I be referring to? I mean, what was it that you hoped to achieve, Louisa, by waiting until after the new college year has started before giving me your notice? I can only assume it was maximum inconvenience? How beastly of you, how utterly beastly and unforgivable..."
I hear a gasping sound. A sob perhaps, or a despairing sigh; whatever it is it seems ridiculously theatrical and overblown, and decidedly manipulative. With each word this woman utters, my opinion of her deteriorates and I set my jaw grimly, and frown in abject disgust.
"Holly's right, Louisa. You really are being very unfair."
Another voice chimes in, nasal, whiny and censorious, and now my teeth clench in anger. This scenario is too familiar to me; from my experience, bullies work in pairs, spiteful and disparaging, using teamwork to goad, to vilify and to amplify distress. One on one, I would back Louisa to hold her own but it seems she has ventured too close to a seething nest of vipers and, rapidly, this is becoming an unfair fight. Inhaling deeply, my hands flex involuntarily and, instinctively, I clasp them tightly behind my back.
"Look, I'm sorry Holly, I really am, but my situation has changed and it just doesn't make sense to keep paying rent when I'm hardly ever here." Louisa replies calmly and, just for a moment, I feel a surge of something that almost seems like satisfaction. Resolute and composed, she is refusing to be cowed and I allow myself to exhale, my breath heavy, and quite vehement in its relief.
There has always been a great deal about Louisa that is worthy of admiration; traits so appealing and so resonant that she has forced her way into my subconscious in a way that few people ever have. The same cannot be said for her housemates; as utterly unmemorable as they are however, as I listen to the repugnant piece of work who seems intent on belittling Louisa, recollections of the one she called Holly return to me. Her pretentiousness, her transparent name-dropping, and her predatory air are unpleasant in their familiarity and, if I am correct in my recollection, she is the flatmate with the pale yellow hair and the cold, reptilian eyes; the fabricated air of importance she exudes thoroughly nauseating.
I don't think I am judging her harshly when I opine that everything about her seems contrived. As I listen to her irritating, plummy inflections I can only assume it is some sort of pathetic attempt to place herself, illegitimately, in a particular social class. Such a pointless falsehood and one that really is beneath contempt, indicating such inferior character when compared to the honest and sincere young woman she is attempting to discredit. I feel the sting of Holly's unpleasant aspersions so intently that it takes a great deal of self control for me to remain on this side of the door.
"Your situation has changed? If by that you mean you've turned into someone smug and self-centred that I don't even recognise, then yes, you have most definitely changed." Holly splutters in apparent outrage, her voice now a mean-spirited screech. "I mean, have you even considered where this leaves me? Well, let me give you the tip, massively out of pocket, to start with."
"Me too!" The other venomous termagant suddenly interjects hotly. "And, actually, Louisa, I hate to say this but, from what I've heard, you used to be a nice person but this new attitude of yours...all dismissive and hoity-toity, and too good for your friends, well it seems that only started once you started seeing your latest boyfriend..."
I feel a stabbing sensation, a cold shaft of anger that passes through my chest, leaving me antagonised and indignant. Not only is the accusation both offensive and completely ridiculous but, for a split second, I experience an accompanying shiver of fear. No one is more aware than I of the improbability of our relationship, especially how tenuous her attachment to me might be, given her age and how desirable she is. But, as much as I know what she and I have is somewhat implausible, overhearing these sort of allegations, her peers suggesting that her good nature is affected detrimentally by her association with me, fills me with a sickening feeling of dread. It's bad enough that others maintain it but I would find it excruciating if Louisa began to share in their belief.
"That's absolutely rubbish though, isn't it, Jo?" Louisa counters grimly, and there's a heartening defiance to her tone that allows me, once more, to breathe. "I mean, you've lived here for what? Five minutes? You don't know me and you certainly don't know Martin so, you know, it'd be better for everyone if you just stopped sticking your nose in, actually..."
"Well, to be fair to Jo-Jo, it does seem to me like your boyfriend just clicks his fingers and you abandon your home, your friends and, if I may say so, all your responsibilities..." Holly interrupts coldly, with an unjustified air of superiority, and a condemning tone that causes the hair to stand up in the back of my neck.
"What?" Louisa replies incredulously, and I hear a bark of mirthless laughter.
"No, I'm sorry but someone needs to say this to your face. Not only are you being incredibly selfish but you can barely know this man. Act in haste, repent at leisure, Louisa, isn't that what they say?" The sour one chimes in antagonistically, and I feel my teeth grind as a furious snarl spreads across my face.
"I'm sure you'll find someone to rent my room..." I hear Louisa reassure her, disdainfully, her voice cold and carrying a pointed air of finality. "Now, if you don't mind, I've got a lot to do..."
I take half a step toward the doorway, feeling as if this must be my cue to draw a line under these loathsome proceedings, to gather up Louisa's things as quickly as I can, and spirit her away to Kensington, never to return. I'm aware that she is holding her own but I cannot shake my growing feeling of discomfort and I'm suddenly determined that this should all be over and done with, promptly and permanently. Before I can make my entrance, however, once again the appalling Holly is back on the attack, haughty, querulous and utterly demeaning.
"Oh, you're sure are you?" She admonishes, her fabricated accent squeaky with outrage. "Because you've been a leaseholder have you? You understand the financial outlay, and the tremendous stress, and all my liabilities, do you? Do you lie awake at night, unable to sleep, simply too burdened by obligations, do you? No, I didn't think so...oh no, when the going gets tough for you, you just get your claws into some rich bloke who can make all your problems disappear. For the record, I think it's disgraceful..."
For just a moment, I am immobilised by fury. I struggle to control my internal rage at the unjustness of what I have just heard and, like so many times before, with my distress comes the taste of bile and the disconcerting sound of my blood surging through my jugular as my heart hammers in my chest. Even as I regain what remains of my composure, my tolerance is at an end and my patience well and truly exhausted. Stepping into the doorway, I glower ferociously at the the straw-haired woman who holds centre stage; a self-absorbed, vituperate shrew who stands, hands on hips, blinking helplessly at me, her jaw slackening gradually, as if in slow motion, until her mouth gapes open, muted by shock and disbelief.
"Martin!" Louisa exclaims breathlessly from the far corner of the room but I barely allow myself a glance in her direction.
In my opinion, there is only one way to deal with those who attempt to impose their will on others via torment and harassment. Of course Louisa would urge me to be gracious and charitable in my riposte but I am in no mind to be merciful, I see no necessity to be either congenial or kind. For this reason, I can't look at her, instead I raise my chin and concentrate my gaze on the malignant little troll who seems to be shrinking before me, contracting like overheated cling-film, and wavering in her animosity the longer I stare so malevolently at her.
To my right, the second tormentor clears her throat. Turning my head toward her, I now fix her with my most fearsome stare, the one usually reserved for the most ignorant and unpromising of students, my features as hard as stone, hewn by disgust and utter contempt. At first appraisal, she seems almost overinflated and I briefly contemplate the possibility that beneath her absurdly frilly collar, the apparent thickness of her neck might be a lithium-induced goitre. Momentarily, I decide that she is merely overweight, a conclusion that, pleasingly, requires no sympathetic moderation of my tone.
"And your name is?" I growl, enunciating each word with a fierce and icy disparagement, just so it is very clear to her that I am in no mood to be trifled with.
"Jo." She answers cautiously, watching me with apparent concern, as if I am a circling shark and there is blood in the water. "Jo Green."
I lift my chin and stare at her down my nose, noticing how she appears to wither slightly, as her delusions of grandeur apparently desert her, too. Like all bullies, she is a coward, and unlike her intended victim, she has no backbone and even less courage. Iniquitous and unprincipled, she is a mere poltroon.
"Right, Miss Jogreen, time for you to go." I instruct her, not even bothering to disguise the contempt in my voice.
She glances across at Holly, furtively, and then back at me, sucking in her cheeks contemplatively as if she is considering her options. Obviously, I didn't make myself clear the first time so I turn sideways and grasp the handle of the door, impatiently.
"Get out." I growl ominously.
I suspect that it is my tone that causes a reversal of her former reluctance and, with a catarrh-choked croak of angst, she darts from the room, inelegantly, leaving in her wake the depressing aroma of warm, damp tweed. Holly attempts to follow her, smirking like a thick-skinned, obdurate Mona Lisa, oily and insincere. As if I were directing traffic, I hold up my hand and she lurches to a halt in front of me, her coquettishness replaced rather satisfyingly with an air of alarm.
"Not you." I snarl, turning to face her, folding my arms across my chest and raising my eyebrows at her enquiringly. "I gather you feel as if you have been left somewhat in the lurch by Louisa?"
She grimaces, reaching up to smooth her hair sideways across her forehead, glancing at me speculatively as she does so, an assortment of ostentatious jewellery jangling at her wrist.
"Well...yes...things are...difficult...for me, Martin." She replies, tilting her head at rather an odd angle and attempting to gaze up at me in a way that seems horrifyingly overfamiliar. "I mean, it's my signature on the lease, isn't it? And I don't think poor Louisa quite understands..."
If I am honest, this sort of behaviour is not that foreign an experience for me, occurring as it does occasionally among some of the more brazen and determined medical professionals I encounter; calculating young women who see a liaison with a consultant as merely a potential career move. But for this piece of work to have the effrontery to behave in such a manner, with Louisa in the room, is nothing short of sociopathic, and simply another example of the repugnant behaviour that spurs me on toward her necessary evisceration. I will take little satisfaction in the task, or in enlightening her as to her actual responsibilities, but it must be done, not least to facilitate an end to this abysmal chapter but, most importantly, to protect Louisa who stands dispiritedly in the corner, tugging miserably at her ponytail, her face pale and concerned.
"I see. So, as the leaseholder, you will be familiar with your obligations as defined under The Public Health Act?" I ask her, slightly airily now, feeling a strange sense of gratification as she blanches visibly.
I have prepared for the likelihood of this conversation with the same thoroughness I would approach any situation where insight and proficiency would prove a significant advantage. Spending just one lunchtime in the hospital library was always going to be a wise and worthwhile use of my time, and brushing up on regulatory affairs, and ploughing through half a dozen Acts of Parliament has certainly proved more than useful. Gratifyingly, Holly is already now on the back foot, staring dazedly back at me, blinking as if she is suffering from acute blepharospasm.
"And you are aware, of course, of The Environmental Protection Act 1990 which will shortly be passed into law?" I ask, my tone now icy and irrefutable, and dripping with disdain. "I would draw your attention to section seventy nine which defines several statutory nuisances, namely any premises existing in such a state, or any fumes or gases emitted from such premises, so as to be prejudicial to health, or considered a nuisance."
"I'm sorry? Fumes?" She repeats incredulously, gaping at me, her pale eyes widening in confusion. "What are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about the fact that this place stinks to high heaven! And that it's a complete disgrace you're even attempting to backdate a rent rise for such an appalling and virtually uninhabitable cesspit..."
"That's ridiculous." She interrupts tersely, but her defiance is, like everything else about her, feigned and insincere and neither my expression nor my intent change as she sighs loudly and impatiently.
Behind her, Louisa clears her throat and, as I glance at her, I see her colour has returned. She turns her head fractionally, and smiles to herself, a gentle and subtle hint of approval which, instantly, becomes the only encouragement I need.
"I mean, okay." Holly concedes begrudgingly and, equally as reluctantly, I wrest my attention back to her simpering face. "So it does get a bit whiffy on wet days but really..."
"A bit whiffy?" I exclaim, my face contorting into a grimace of utter disbelief. "I've amputated gangrenous legs that smelt better! Are you completely mad?"
Before my eyes, her effrontery is evaporating and she simply looks past me, her demeanour now sheepish and vaguely resentful. I am not so easily dismissed and I take a step to my left so that I am back in her immediate line of sight. With Louisa's gaze now riveted upon me too, I lower my voice so that I can be sure that Holly is left in no doubt of her untenable position, and I speak as crisply and coldly as I am able.
"May I suggest that, instead of villifying your tenant, one who is in fact exercising her legal right to give notice, you focus on upholding your responsibilities under the law, starting with a comprehensive sanitisation and deodorising process for the entire premises? Do I make myself clear?"
And it seems I do as with neither a word nor a glance, Holly gasps as if distressed, pushing past me, shamefaced but unapologetic, pulling the door half closed behind her and fleeing to whatever constitutes safety in this pack rat's nest of a house. In the encroaching gloom, I reach for the light switch, swallowing hard. Tugging at my ear self-consciously as the fluorescent strip flickers jarringly to life, I turn back toward Louisa, cautious and apprehensive. I'm aware that I'm prone to misread situations, especially where she is concerned, and I'm often rather unsure of where her line in the sand might be. Though I believe that I am doing the right thing, that I am trying to be supportive of her, and attempting to take care of her in the only way I know how, there is a distinct possibility that she will not see this confrontation in quite the same way I do.
"That was...riveting." She says, taking a tentative step toward me, no hint of a smile on her face. "And you wouldn't just make that all up, would you? I mean, if you said it, it must be true..."
She pauses, just out of reach, twisting the hem of her shirt rather forcibly, her eyes narrow, gazing at me with an expression I can't quite identify; speculative and appraising and intense.
"Mm." I reply, desperately trying to establish from her demeanour whether she is fermenting with indignation, and about to explode. I realise that she is likely to be furious at my interfering, livid at my insinuation that she can't take care of herself and about to accuse me once more of belittling her with patriarchal intent. "I...umm...I thought the situation required an independent point of view."
To my inordinate relief, Louisa smiles gently, and she is suddenly luminous, rendered transcendent as her mouth curves with such delicacy and serenity. Instantly, she is as beautiful as I've ever seen her and, for just a moment, I am paralysed, unable even to breathe. If only I could adequately explain to her my motives; if only I could find sufficient words to represent how I feel about her and how intrinsic it is to me that I take care of her in any way I can. If only I could verbalise the intensity of my feelings for her; clarifying to her that the love I feel displays itself in a protectiveness I barely understand. But, for me, there are no words and I fear there never will be, there is only a whirlpool of fierce but inexpressible emotion that becomes a chaotic and indecipherable jumble the moment I attempt to transform my thoughts into speech.
"Was that...acceptable?" I ask her, my voice hoarse with apprehension.
I watch as she reaches out her arm, lithe and supple and somehow so very sensual in its elegance, entwining her fingers with mine, and drawing us together smoothly and assuredly. My heart surges instantly into a rapid rhythm, driven by relief and desire and what feels strangely like the triumph of decency. Her eyes shine as she reaches up to kiss me, her lips soft and gentle and so infinitely reassuring. Our mouths barely touch and the gesture, though fleeting, is a whisper, a suggestion, a sensation so tender that I know, as deeply as one ever knows anything, that for an infinitesimal moment in time, I have been the man Louisa needed.