Meeting

Whenever I look back, I’m always grateful that I met up with Simon and Mark for a quick drink that Friday night. I was tired after an unusually busy week at work and nearly rang to cancel, but it had been several weeks since we’d all got together and in the end I decided to go along for just an hour or two. I’d be the first to refer to myself as practical person, not given to flights of fancy, but it makes me cold inside to think that but for that decision, I’d never have met Toby.

The evening was fun but I called it a night early, and leaving my two friends still in the bar I walked along the main street towards the taxi rank. I’d only had a couple of pints but I’d left my car at home all the same; luckily at this time of night the taxi queues wouldn’t be too long. It was when I was passing one of the many alleyways (useful cut-throughs during the day but places no one with any common sense would go at night) I heard it – what sounded like a scuffle, and a yell of fear or pain.

Without stopping to think I barrelled down the alley. A figure was sprawled on the floor, two scruffy young men barely out of their teens bent over it, obviously searching for valuables.

“Oi - get away from there!” I yelled, startling the muggers. “I’ve called the police so you’d better clear off.”

The two lads took off immediately and I crouched down beside their victim, who was beginning to stir and groan. I could see now that it was a young man, but the light was too dim for me to make out any further details.

“It’s okay, they’ve gone now. Are you hurt at all?” I asked.

After a moment a shaky voice replied. “No … not really,” it said uncertainly. “I just caught my wrist when I fell.”

“Come on then, let’s get you up off that cold pavement,” I said encouragingly, holding out a hand and hauling the young man up when he grabbed on to me with his own uninjured hand. “If we move back to the main street, we can see just what the damage is.”

He stumbled for the first few steps and leaned on me rather heavily, but then seemed to pick up the rhythm of walking again and we made it to the light of the main street without any further mishaps.

I propped the young man against the wall and reached for the arm he was cradling against his chest. “Give me your wrist and I’ll take a look at it.”

He hesitated for a moment. “Are you a doctor?”

“No, but I do know basic first aid,” I said reassuringly. “I should be able to tell if you’ve broken it and need to go to hospital.”

“Hospital!” The young man’s voice rose in alarm. “I’m not going there. I’m sure there’s nothing wrong with it.” He kept his arm tight to his chest still.

“Don’t be silly,” I said calmly, knowing that he was obviously scared but unwilling to put up with any nonsense after the events of the night. “It might not be necessary. Now, let me have a look.” Something in my tone of voice must have told him that I meant business, because after a few more seconds he held out his arm gingerly.

“Can you move your wrist and fingers?” I asked as I rolled up his shirt sleeve and ran my fingers lightly up his arm. He wriggled his fingers in answer and managed to rotate his wrist despite giving a slight gasp of pain.

“I think you’ve just sprained your wrist slightly, not broken it,” I reassured him. Some ice and a bandage and resting it for a day or two should clear it up.”

“Thanks!” the young man said with relief in his voice. “I really hate going to doctors.”

The most pressing business over, I relaxed enough to look at just who I’d been helping. He looked to be in his mid twenties, slightly built – he must have been about five foot nine or ten but his slim (bordering on skinny) body gave him an air of fragility. His face was fine-featured and delicate, but was redeemed from being too pretty by the wire-rimmed glasses he wore. He had dark copper hair, straight and smooth down to the nape of his neck, and his green eyes were wide with shock behind his glasses.

I felt an instant flash of attraction but pushed the feeling away. Now was not the time for that sort of thing. The young man had been lucky, but the attack had no doubt been a nasty shock; he was still trembling slightly. Although some of that might have been due to cold – he wore a light shirt and no coat, with no regard for the chill autumn temperature.

It seemed silly to shake hands when I was still holding one of his wrists, but I smiled in what I hoped was a reassuring way to introduce myself.

“Hello, I’m Richard Johnson, and you are?”

“Oh – I’m Toby. Toby Feather. And I haven’t thanked you yet for helping me, have I? I was really grateful when you frightened those guys off.” The young man’s light, pleasant voice shook slightly at first, but he seemed to be calming down now the worst was over.

“Did they get anything from you?” I asked.

Toby bit his lip in thought and patted his pocket with his free hand to double check, giving a sigh of relief. “No, I’ve still got my wallet, thank god. You got there just in time.”

“What were you doing in the alley in the first place?” I couldn’t help but ask.

“Just cutting through to the other street to get to the bus stop,” Toby said. “They must have been waiting in a doorway, ‘cause they seemed to come from nowhere.”

I shook my head but bit back a strong comment about not taking foolish risks; I didn’t know him well enough to make judgements about his behaviour, annd surely this incident would have taught him not to do such a thing again.

“Well, we’d better get you home and bandaged up, then report this to the police,” I said, feeling a strange sense of responsibility to the young man I’d rescued.

“What! The police? But why – I told you they didn’t get anything.” Toby protested.

“We still have a duty to report an attack.” I said firmly.

“But I won’t be able to tell them anything. I couldn’t describe them – what’s the point?” argued Toby.

“It will help the police build up a picture of crime in the area and may build evidence against the criminals,” I said. “But let’s not stand here talking – the taxis are just this way.”

I tucked Toby’s arm through mine, in case he was still unsteady on his feet, and led him in the direction of the taxi rank; he followed without protest.

“So what were you doing out tonight?” I asked to take his mind off the nasty shock he’d had.

“We were celebrating the end of a work project. There was a big do, but I only stopped for as long as I had to and then I skipped out.”

“Oh?” I queried.

“Yeah. I don’t like crowds of people and having to make nice to them. My team’s okay, we get on fine, but I never know what to say to all those other people I don’t know.”

“You seem to be managing all right with me,” I couldn’t resist saying.

Toby gave me a shy sideways glance and the corner of his mouth turned up in a wry smile. I could see his pale skin blushing faintly. “Well. Somehow you just don’t seem like a stranger,” he said quietly.

I smiled back at him, pleased, and we walked on companionably.

There were a couple of people ahead of us in the taxi queue, but we only had to wait a few minutes before it was our turn for a cab. We got in together and Toby gave his address with no qualms – it didn’t seem to occur to him to object to a stranger just pushing his way into his life. The young man appeared to have no self-protection instincts at all. Certainly if I had charge of him, there would be a few changes to be made… I cut the thought off, knowing I was getting ahead of myself and surprised at the intensity of feeling I had for Toby already. It was unlike me; I was normally the type to think things through carefully, not jump in feet first.

I broke off from my thoughts to return my attention to the young man in question, who seemed to be drooping now we were safely on the way home. Luckily I recognised the address he’d given as being not too far away, one of the fairly new upscale inner city apartment complexes, converted from older industrial buildings in the rush for extra housing. We were there in under ten minutes and I helped Toby out and held him against me while I paid off the taxi driver.

Toby fumbled for his keys but managed to get us past the locked main entrance and into the lobby.

“It’s on the third floor, this way…” he said. We headed into the lift which was already at the ground floor, and were at his flat in a matter of moments.

Once inside, Toby seemed uncertain of what to do next. “Well, here we are,” he said, gesturing vaguely with his uninjured hand and looking as bewildered as if he’d never seen the place before.

A quick glance around soon gave me my bearings. The flat had a narrow, completely empty entrance corridor with four open doors leading off it, two on each side - living room and kitchen on the right, bedroom and bathroom on the left. The rooms were of a decent size, but almost completely bare of furniture. In the living room was simply a single settee, the normal entertainment set-up, and a state-of-the art computer. The bedroom had built-in wardrobes, but other than that held only an unmade bed, with a mound of clothes piled over the footboard. There was a pile of boxes stacked along the wall, implying that Toby had only recently moved in. Some were opened, with items spilling out haphazardly.

Taking charge of the situation, I gently steered Toby towards the settee and told him to sit down while I headed off to the kitchen to find ice for the injured wrist. Peering in the built-in fridge/freezer made me frown. The build up of ice around the freezer compartment suggested that Toby had been living here for longer than I had first thought. The sole contents of the freezer, a packet of fish fingers and a tub of ice cream, were useless for an ice pack. Still frowning, I checked the fridge – no fruit, no vegetables, in fact nothing but a bottle of ketchup, a tub of margarine, an empty milk container and a jumbo bag of maltesers. No wonder the boy was so thin if this was all he ate. I could only hope he ate out a lot, or it was a wonder he hadn’t dropped dead from malnutrition.

Giving up on the ice pack for the moment I shut the fridge and put the kettle on to boil, opening cupboards until I managed to find a jar of instant coffee. There were no clean mugs, so I washed the five or six that were standing on the draining board, using only hot water and brute force as there was no washing-up liquid. I supposed Toby must normally use the dishwasher. If not he must be building up a splendid immunity to germs through constant exposure. On a roll, I wiped down the work surface to get rid of the veritable forest of crumbs surrounding the toaster. From the looks of it, Toby subsisted on toast and coffee alone.

A check in the bathroom confirmed what I’d now come to expect. The bathroom suite was surface-clean – it had the look of a rush job done in anticipation of a family visit, rather than the cleanliness that came from regular attention. There was no bathroom cabinet; the few toiletries such as shampoo, aftershave and toothpaste were out on display. Unfortunately it didn’t look like there was a first-aid kit, which meant no bandage for Toby’s wrist.

Toby looked to be nearly asleep when I returned with the coffee; he started awake with a jerk as I put the mug down carefully beside him.

“Oh! Making a guest do the work, Mum’d kill me. Thanks, Richard,” he smiled ruefully at me.

I couldn’t help but smile back. “That’s okay, Toby. You’ve had a nasty shock this evening and you should rest. But we need to see to that wrist first. Have you got a first-aid kit or a bandage anywhere?”

“First-aid kit?” Toby said blankly. “No… I don’t think I’ve got one of those. It might be in one of the boxes if Mum got me one. I’ve not unpacked everything yet,” he added.

“Have you only just moved in?” I couldn’t help but quiz him.

Toby blushed. “Well, not so recently. I’ve been here several months. Um… maybe six? Gosh, I didn’t realise it was that long.”

“And you’ve not finished unpacking yet?” My voice must have sounded quite stern, as Toby rushed into hurried excuses.

“I’ve been meaning to unpack, I just haven’t got round to it. I didn’t realise it was so long. I need to get some furniture first and I can’t do that because I’m so busy at work…” his voice trailed off and he looked down, abashed.

“Never mind about that now,” I reassured. “All I’m worried about at the moment is your wrist. You need to get some ice on it and a bandage. You probably also want to take a painkiller for overnight. If you don’t have that here, is there anyone nearby you can call on? You mentioned your Mum?”

“No, she lives in Leeds. I moved down here for a job, I don’t know anyone but my team at work.”

“Right,” I said briskly. “You’re coming home with me, then. I’ve got the first-aid stuff, and I’ve got a spare room. So, get your pyjamas and toiletries and some clean clothes for tomorrow, and I’ll call a taxi.”

It was obvious that Toby was much happier with someone taking charge of the situation. After a token protest about not wanting to be a bother, he went off to put a bag together quite willingly. I called a cab, and within half an hour we were on our way again.

By now it was after ten o’clock and Toby was yawning, the stresses of the day no doubt having taken their toll. I wasted no time hustling him inside and straight up to the spare room when we reached my house in the suburbs. I told him to get changed into his nightclothes while I gathered the first aid materials, and by the time I returned to the room he was curled up on the bed in stripy blue cotton, looking like a little boy with the partially unbuttoned top hanging off his left shoulder.

“I don’t know why I’m so tired,” he complained, yawning, when he saw me. “I’m usually up a lot later than this.”

“You’ve had a stressful evening. An early night will do you good,” I replied mildly. “Here, take these – you’re not allergic, are you?” I handed him a couple of aspirin and a glass of water; Toby shook his head in answer to the question and obediently swallowed the tablets.

I sat down on the bed next to him and reached for his wrist. He extended it to me trustingly; I could see that it was already swollen. Not being able to treat it immediately hadn’t done it any good. It must be aching quite badly now and I was amazed that the lad hadn’t uttered a single word of complaint. He’d held up under the strain of the evening very well – obviously he’d been frightened and shaken, but his fear hadn’t turned to the usual reaction of anger and blame. He must naturally be a sweet-tempered, uncomplaining person.

I’d decided just to bandage the strain rather than use ice at this time of the evening; I wanted to get Toby off to sleep as soon as possible. He bore the procedure well, merely wincing a time or two.

“Well done,” I congratulated him when I’d finished. “You were very good, thank you,” I smiled warmly and his eyes dropped before mine as he blushed a little. “Now, I want you to hop into bed and try and get some sleep. I’ll call the local police and report the attack.”

“But won’t they want to speak to me?” said Toby.

“We can always fill in any extra information tomorrow if they need it,” I reassured him. “But as you said, you didn’t see enough to identify anyone.” I got up from the bed and briskly pulled the covers back, waiting expectantly for Toby to shift up and under them.

“I don’t usually go to bed at this time,” he objected, frowning slightly, but I merely waited patiently and after a moment he moved without offering any further objection.

“Good boy,” I said, tucking him in tightly. “You can put your glasses on the nightstand, and I’ll leave the glass of water here for you. Good night, Toby.”

“Night,” he replied, and as I switched the light and left the room, leaving the door ajar, I could see him already snuggling down into the pillow.

I checked on him once later in the evening as I prepared to go to bed myself; he was sleeping soundly, huddled under the blankets, copper hair shining darkly in the landing light all that was visible. I smiled to myself – so much for his mild protest about not going to bed – and settled down to sleep with a light heart. Somehow, and I didn’t know how it was, it felt natural to have Toby here in the house.