Freya North 3-Book Collection: Love Rules, Home Truths, Pillow Talk. Freya North
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don’t want to have a snooze,’ Saul pouted as she shoved and pushed him to a safe place at the centre of her bed.
‘Do you feel OK?’ Thea asked. ‘Because there’s water right here – and a bucket just there if you don’t.’
‘I feel very OK,’ Saul muttered with his eyes closed and a frown he couldn’t correct. ‘Room going dizzy.’
‘Oh shit,’ Thea whispered under her breath while closing her nose to his. She flicked his cheeks and shook him. ‘Saul. Saul! Open your eyes and sit up. Now. Hey you! Up!’
Saul’s eyes opened in sluggish succession and he lumbered himself up into a seated position of sorts. He brought his face in the approximate direction of where he thought Thea’s voice had come from and, finding she had quite a few faces, he tried to keep his glazed eyes anchored to some of hers. She didn’t really know his face at all just then and she wasn’t sure whether she was amused or actually a little repelled. ‘I love you, Thea,’ Saul slurred, his eyes welling, ‘marry me, Thea, marry me.’
‘Drink some water, Saul,’ Thea said, ‘here – sip. That’s right – it’s a lovely pint of beer. Sip some more. OK. Do you feel OK? Sip some more. Do you want to pee again? Yes? Right, come on then. No, you can’t pee in the bucket. Oh Christ. No no! Not on the carpet – in the bucket, then. There. Good boy. Finished? Good. Oh shit, not finished – careful! OK, now back into bed. More sips of water. I mean beer. Little sips. Don’t gulp. I’m going to wash out the bucket and bring it back. Are you going to puke? No? Well, I’m going to bring the bucket back just in case.’
‘I love you Thea and I want to live with us for ever and ever.’
Thea patted his forehead and went to rinse out the bucket and replenish the glass of water.
Saul had been so drunk he couldn’t remember a word he’d said to Thea. Saul had been so drunk Thea hadn’t bothered to believe a word he’d said.
‘Thea? Sorry to phone so early – it’s Mark.’
‘Hullo, Mark – I was up actually. I slept on the sofa – Saul’s sleeping it off in my bed, drunken bum. Is everything OK?’
‘I’ve done something to my neck – that’s why I’m ringing so early – I just wondered if you could squeeze me in? I’m in pain and I can’t move it much.’
‘I don’t have my appointments diary – I’ll be at work at nine – I could call you then? I can assess you but you may need an osteo.’
‘Nine? Oh. It’s just I have a meeting and I was wondering—’
‘Oh. Yes, of course. Can you make eight? In fact, I could probably be there for seven forty-five.’
‘Thanks, petal.’
‘Don’t be daft! Oh, is Alice there? Can I have a quick word?’
‘She’s still asleep, Thea. My neck – you know – anyway, so she slept in the spare room. So as not to disturb me, you see.’
‘Sometimes spasms are only partly physiological,’ Thea advised Mark gently as she assessed his predicament an hour later. ‘The pressure of stress can greatly exacerbate even mild twinges.’
‘There’s a fair bit going on at the moment,’ he told her.
Thea nodded.
‘At work,’ Mark added, lest she should probe.
Thea nodded again. Over the years, she’d found that simply nodding whilst looking down at her notepad, pen poised, often encouraged her clients to elaborate with greater honesty than if she asked them outright. She looked down at her notepad and waited for a moment before nodding again. But Mark said no more.
‘I would really like you to see one of our osteopaths,’ Thea recommended, ‘Dan and Brent are both excellent. But you have to promise me not to cancel – I know you’re busy but believe me, it’s a false economy to turn your back on the odd hour of osteopathy. I can ask the guys if they can schedule you in for an early or a late. Failing that, I’ll ask if they know of a practitioner nearer to your work.’
‘Thanks, Thea,’ Mark said, ‘I appreciate it.’ He bent down gingerly to pick up his briefcase.
‘Lower yourself, don’t bend! Lower like a child does – they squat, keeping their backs straight, they never stoop. And lift like a weightlifter – face straight ahead.’
Thea insisted Mark put his briefcase back down and they made a few practice lowers and lifts. He marvelled at the simplicity but efficacy of the technique. He did it again. ‘Christ – thanks, Thea.’
‘No problem,’ Thea smiled, ‘and don’t roll your neck like that!’
‘Sorry,’ Mark said sheepishly.
‘Buy a packet of frozen peas on your way to work, wrap it in a towel and plonk it on your neck,’ Thea suggested.
‘Peas?’
‘Sweetcorn will do too. And take it easy, please,’ Thea said gently, ‘or just a little easier. At work and at home.’
However, by then Mark had put his jacket on and his guard up.
There was nothing a good full English breakfast couldn’t cure and though Saul had woken with a cracking hangover, two sausages, eggs, beans, bacon and fried bread later he felt revived and clear-headed. He’d just go back and tidy Thea’s flat and then make his way into town. As miserable and rainy as the previous day had been, it was now a sparkling spring day. With the aesthetic wizardry of sunlight and clear skies on a March Monday, Crouch End resembled a bustling, self-contained, relatively picturesque market town. Strangers greeted one another cheerily, mothers promenaded cutting-edge buggies boasting babies resplendent in bright knits and cute hats, pensioners dawdled happily, catching up on the price of this and the cost of that and wasn’t yesterday’s weather atrocious. Pairs jogged to and from Priory Park, shopkeepers stood outside their premises grinning at nothing in particular and friends gossiped as they made their way to Banners for smoothies and comfort food. Saul thought how Hollywood would pay big bucks for such a scene; quintessentially English due to the balance of local architecture, local colour and local characters. As if on cue, a talented young television actor passed by Saul and said ‘All right, mate?’ as he went. ‘Hiya,’ Saul replied. He was in a very good mood.
Peter Glass wasn’t. Peter Glass was actually in a full-blown foul temper. He’d invested hours each day, over a number of weeks, in a potential buyer who that morning had pulled out at the last minute without so much as an apology, let alone an explanation. So the luxury trip to the Seychelles was off. And so was upgrading the Beemer.
‘All right, babes?’ Peter said to Thea in a hollow voice and with a face like thunder. ‘If you can massage away the aggression I feel, I’ll pay you double.’
‘You don’t need to pay me double,’ Thea assured him, ‘just lie down and I’ll let your body guide me. Trust me. Try to clear your mind. Try not to talk.’
‘I could fall asleep,’ Peter murmured, an hour later.
Thea looked at her watch. She had an hour’s space before her next client. ‘Just relax for a while, Peter, I’ll come back in a mo’.’ Actually, Thea returned forty minutes later and gently woke him up.
One ballet dancer, a pregnant woman and a tennis coach later, Thea’s last client for the day is Mr Sewell. She has continued to call him Mr Sewell though he is now a regular client and even occasionally divulges quite personal information with no warning and certainly no prying on her part. Recently, he’d expressed his concern that his neck felt no better though he was much happier in himself having returned to his wife. On his last visit, he’d actually started reciting lines from the new Ricky Gervais television