PART ONE
It seemed to Luka that he had slept for only a matter of minutes. A squint at the clock disabused him of this notion. 2.10 am. He'd had a whole two hours sleep. And what had woken him? He listened intently. There. Who in the name of God was knocking on his door at this hour? Someone must have the wrong door. Go away. Please. No, there it was again. Swinging long legs over the side of the bed he sat, head bowed, gathering himself for the effort of answering. Dragging a tee shirt over his head and pulling on his jeans he stood, a little unsteady, and made for the stairs. "Alright, I'm coming!" he called, and then shook his head, realising he had spoken in Croatian. Stiff with sleep his fingers fumbled with the latch before he finally prevailed and swung the door open in the middle of another bout of knocking.
Whatever Luka had been expecting it wasn't this. Abby didn't wait for an invitation but pushed past him, trailing the unmistakable fumes of alcohol behind her. Expelling a deep breath she threw herself onto the couch, head back, eyes closed.
"Did I wake you?"
Not trusting himself to answer Luka stood over her. There are times when it doesn't hurt to state the obvious, and he decided that this was one of those times.
"You're drunk."
"Do you have medical training or something?" she said. "Yes, I'm drunk".
"And you are here because?"
"I wanted to see you." She opened her eyes and smiled up at him. "I haven't been here since ."
"A year. It's been a year."
"Yeah. Well, there you go. Too long, eh? Hey, you got some blinds in here at last! I like them." Her eyes slid closed again.
Luka sighed. "Wait here. I'll put on some shoes and take you home." A sudden thought struck him. "You didn't drive here did you?" No answer. "Abby?"
"No. I didn't drive. I'm not stupid. I took a cab. And I don't want to go home. "
"What is it that you want?"
"I want to go to bed."
"Well. I'll take you home and -"
"No!" she snapped. "With you! I want to go to bed with you."
Jesus Christ.
"I miss you," she went on, softening a little "I miss you."
"Where's Carter?"
"Working"
"Did you .quarrel?"
"Nooo," she laughed, "we didn't quarrel. We fought. Big fight." Luka considered asking what about but decided against it.
"When does he get off?"
"I don't know," she said, wearily. "seven maybe."
OK, Luka. Do something. He headed for the 'phone and dialled; told the desk clerk he wanted to speak to Dr Carter; waited, glancing uneasily at Abby who appeared now to be asleep.
"John Carter" "Carter, It's Luka". The heartbeat's silence which followed was redolent with surprise and alarm.
"Yes?"
"It's Abby. She's here and she's been drinking"
"At your apartment? Why?"
"No, not drinking here. She just arrived" Luka turned his head to see Abby rise from the couch and make for the stairs, stumbling a little on her way up. She did not look well.
"Is she alright?" Luka could hear all too clearly that she was far from alright.
"Not really."
"Can I speak to her?"
"No. She's upstairs. Being sick. Do you have your car?"
"Yes"
"Can you come and fetch her?"
"I'm on 'til seven. Can't you get her home?"
"She didn't want me to. But she shouldn't be on her own. She'll have to stay here." That did it.
"Give me half an hour".
Luka put down the 'phone and stood at the foot of the stairs listening. All quiet. At the top of the stairs he pushed the bathroom door open, hoping that her aim was better than her judgment. Nothing. For an insane moment he looked at the window. What if - but it was closed. With a terrible unease nagging him he went into his bedroom; she was sprawled on her back, one leg crooked, snoring slightly.
"Oh, great." Luka said, and returned to the kitchen. A few minutes later he had positioned a bucket by the side of the bed having first taken the precaution of spreading a towel on the floor. He smiled a little, remembering doing the same for Jasna when she was ill. And, really what was the difference? Still, she shouldn't be left alone;. what if she threw up again? He turned her onto her side and pressed his pillows along her back to prevent her from rolling flat again, and then stretched himself cautiously on the bed beside her. No pillows. Luka tried to suppress a laugh. Failed. Dear God, just when you thought that every practical joke in the book had been played on you along came another. If he had ever imagined Abby being back in his bed, and he had, she had generally been conscious. So. Abby drunk in his bed. Carter on his way over. 3.00 am and he was on at seven. The situation was so ghastly it was hilarious. He was almost glad when he heard the doorbell.
Carter didn't meet his gaze when he let him in, but glanced round the room, eyebrows raised.
"Where is she?" Luka nodded towards the stairs. "Come with me." Abby didn't appear to have moved.
"You can lift her? I mean, your back ." Luka stammered.
"Sure. What if she's sick in the car?"
Luka sighed. "I'll come with you. He sat on the end of his bed to put on his shoes. "Give me your keys. I'll drive, and you can call me a cab to get me home." Carter bent over Abby and turned her.
"Come on" he said, "It's all going to be OK". She stirred a little and snaked her arms up and around his neck. Luka was out of the door and half way down the stairs and so didn't hear what she murmered, But Carter did.
"Luka."
Luka was putting on his coat as Carter came downstairs without Abby.
"What?" he asked, startled.
"You know, I have to get back. I'll come by tomorrow and pick her up." His hand was on the latch and Luka took his arm
"Wait, wait a minute. You mean you're leaving her here?"
"She's out of it. I'll come over after my shift"
"You can't do that! She won't be expecting to see you here!" It was a weak excuse and he knew it. All he had to do was leave Abby a note when he left for work. He did not want her there overnight. Carter looked him in the eye for the first time.
"I can't do this" he said .
"What about her?" Luka asked, incredulous.
"Tell her - tell her I'll see her later." If Carter registered the panic in Luka's face he didn't allow it to influence him; Luka was left staring dumbfounded at the door as it closed behind Carter. Shit. He resisted the impulse to follow and drag Carter back. If the idea of nursing Abby through a night of vomiting and self pity was unappealing the prospect of a confrontation with the younger man bordered on the repellent. "Come on," he told himself "you can do this."
He manoeuvred Abby's sweater over her head and got her out of her jeans without her making so much as a murmur, and then pulled the quilt around her. He lay at her side for three hours, wide awake, reminded even more forcefully of sleepless nights spent with Jasna and Marko when they were babies, trying to engineer a few hours sleep for Danijella. And at 6.00 O'clock he got up, showered, shaved and cleaned his teeth. He dressed quietly, although once he thought she stirred and opened her eyes for a moment. Though he knew that Abby could hear nothing, he closed the door behind him as gently as he could. And before he left he emptied the fridge of the beer he kept there.
It seemed to Luka that he had slept for only a matter of minutes. A squint at the clock disabused him of this notion. 2.10 am. He'd had a whole two hours sleep. And what had woken him? He listened intently. There. Who in the name of God was knocking on his door at this hour? Someone must have the wrong door. Go away. Please. No, there it was again. Swinging long legs over the side of the bed he sat, head bowed, gathering himself for the effort of answering. Dragging a tee shirt over his head and pulling on his jeans he stood, a little unsteady, and made for the stairs. "Alright, I'm coming!" he called, and then shook his head, realising he had spoken in Croatian. Stiff with sleep his fingers fumbled with the latch before he finally prevailed and swung the door open in the middle of another bout of knocking.
Whatever Luka had been expecting it wasn't this. Abby didn't wait for an invitation but pushed past him, trailing the unmistakable fumes of alcohol behind her. Expelling a deep breath she threw herself onto the couch, head back, eyes closed.
"Did I wake you?"
Not trusting himself to answer Luka stood over her. There are times when it doesn't hurt to state the obvious, and he decided that this was one of those times.
"You're drunk."
"Do you have medical training or something?" she said. "Yes, I'm drunk".
"And you are here because?"
"I wanted to see you." She opened her eyes and smiled up at him. "I haven't been here since ."
"A year. It's been a year."
"Yeah. Well, there you go. Too long, eh? Hey, you got some blinds in here at last! I like them." Her eyes slid closed again.
Luka sighed. "Wait here. I'll put on some shoes and take you home." A sudden thought struck him. "You didn't drive here did you?" No answer. "Abby?"
"No. I didn't drive. I'm not stupid. I took a cab. And I don't want to go home. "
"What is it that you want?"
"I want to go to bed."
"Well. I'll take you home and -"
"No!" she snapped. "With you! I want to go to bed with you."
Jesus Christ.
"I miss you," she went on, softening a little "I miss you."
"Where's Carter?"
"Working"
"Did you .quarrel?"
"Nooo," she laughed, "we didn't quarrel. We fought. Big fight." Luka considered asking what about but decided against it.
"When does he get off?"
"I don't know," she said, wearily. "seven maybe."
OK, Luka. Do something. He headed for the 'phone and dialled; told the desk clerk he wanted to speak to Dr Carter; waited, glancing uneasily at Abby who appeared now to be asleep.
"John Carter" "Carter, It's Luka". The heartbeat's silence which followed was redolent with surprise and alarm.
"Yes?"
"It's Abby. She's here and she's been drinking"
"At your apartment? Why?"
"No, not drinking here. She just arrived" Luka turned his head to see Abby rise from the couch and make for the stairs, stumbling a little on her way up. She did not look well.
"Is she alright?" Luka could hear all too clearly that she was far from alright.
"Not really."
"Can I speak to her?"
"No. She's upstairs. Being sick. Do you have your car?"
"Yes"
"Can you come and fetch her?"
"I'm on 'til seven. Can't you get her home?"
"She didn't want me to. But she shouldn't be on her own. She'll have to stay here." That did it.
"Give me half an hour".
Luka put down the 'phone and stood at the foot of the stairs listening. All quiet. At the top of the stairs he pushed the bathroom door open, hoping that her aim was better than her judgment. Nothing. For an insane moment he looked at the window. What if - but it was closed. With a terrible unease nagging him he went into his bedroom; she was sprawled on her back, one leg crooked, snoring slightly.
"Oh, great." Luka said, and returned to the kitchen. A few minutes later he had positioned a bucket by the side of the bed having first taken the precaution of spreading a towel on the floor. He smiled a little, remembering doing the same for Jasna when she was ill. And, really what was the difference? Still, she shouldn't be left alone;. what if she threw up again? He turned her onto her side and pressed his pillows along her back to prevent her from rolling flat again, and then stretched himself cautiously on the bed beside her. No pillows. Luka tried to suppress a laugh. Failed. Dear God, just when you thought that every practical joke in the book had been played on you along came another. If he had ever imagined Abby being back in his bed, and he had, she had generally been conscious. So. Abby drunk in his bed. Carter on his way over. 3.00 am and he was on at seven. The situation was so ghastly it was hilarious. He was almost glad when he heard the doorbell.
Carter didn't meet his gaze when he let him in, but glanced round the room, eyebrows raised.
"Where is she?" Luka nodded towards the stairs. "Come with me." Abby didn't appear to have moved.
"You can lift her? I mean, your back ." Luka stammered.
"Sure. What if she's sick in the car?"
Luka sighed. "I'll come with you. He sat on the end of his bed to put on his shoes. "Give me your keys. I'll drive, and you can call me a cab to get me home." Carter bent over Abby and turned her.
"Come on" he said, "It's all going to be OK". She stirred a little and snaked her arms up and around his neck. Luka was out of the door and half way down the stairs and so didn't hear what she murmered, But Carter did.
"Luka."
Luka was putting on his coat as Carter came downstairs without Abby.
"What?" he asked, startled.
"You know, I have to get back. I'll come by tomorrow and pick her up." His hand was on the latch and Luka took his arm
"Wait, wait a minute. You mean you're leaving her here?"
"She's out of it. I'll come over after my shift"
"You can't do that! She won't be expecting to see you here!" It was a weak excuse and he knew it. All he had to do was leave Abby a note when he left for work. He did not want her there overnight. Carter looked him in the eye for the first time.
"I can't do this" he said .
"What about her?" Luka asked, incredulous.
"Tell her - tell her I'll see her later." If Carter registered the panic in Luka's face he didn't allow it to influence him; Luka was left staring dumbfounded at the door as it closed behind Carter. Shit. He resisted the impulse to follow and drag Carter back. If the idea of nursing Abby through a night of vomiting and self pity was unappealing the prospect of a confrontation with the younger man bordered on the repellent. "Come on," he told himself "you can do this."
He manoeuvred Abby's sweater over her head and got her out of her jeans without her making so much as a murmur, and then pulled the quilt around her. He lay at her side for three hours, wide awake, reminded even more forcefully of sleepless nights spent with Jasna and Marko when they were babies, trying to engineer a few hours sleep for Danijella. And at 6.00 O'clock he got up, showered, shaved and cleaned his teeth. He dressed quietly, although once he thought she stirred and opened her eyes for a moment. Though he knew that Abby could hear nothing, he closed the door behind him as gently as he could. And before he left he emptied the fridge of the beer he kept there.