Jealous Storm by Jack Stroke (classic literature books TXT) 📗

but it was marginally better than running away.

Ignoring Shake’s voice in his head, reminding him failure was not an option, he settled in. It was better than the alternatives. The plan lasted a good three seconds before someone knocked. Ben’s heart jumped into his throat. Was it Shake? He put an ear to the door. Light singing drifted in through the door. Ben couldn’t imagine Shake to be a singer. They knocked again. Bad luck. How many bathrooms did this place have? Whoever it was could find another. They would give up eventually.

Except they didn’t go away, knocking again.

“Occupied.”

An older male voice replied. “Sorry, buddy, but I really need to go.”

“There are plenty of other bathrooms.”

“Sure. I’m just not sure I’d make it to one in time.”

Ben couldn’t be that mean, could he? Deny some old guy a bathroom when he really needed one? He decided to let him in. Ben could wait outside. Once whoever it was had finished, he could go right back to hiding. Not terribly dignified, but still.

He opened the door to an old guy standing there.

“Thank God,” the old fella said. “Thought you were never coming out. Don’t know how much longer I could hold on.”

Ben smiled and stood in the hall to wait.

It was quiet up here, the party a distant hum. The minutes dragged on. How long was this old guy going to take? The corridor left Ben exposed. The bathroom felt more secure.

A flush sounded from inside. That was a good sign.

More singing drifted through the door. He couldn’t be much longer.

Then there was a loud crash.

32

“Hello?” Ben knocked. “Hey, mister. Are you all right in there?”

No response. Ben tried the bathroom door. It wasn’t locked. He opened up, not sure what he would see.

The old guy lay sprawled on the tiles. He wasn’t singing now.

“Are you all right?”

“I… I slipped. Think I hit my head,” the guy said. A large gash ran across his forehead, blood spilling everywhere.

“It’s okay,” Ben said. “Can you stand?”

“I don’t know.”

Ben helped him sit up and tore some paper from the toilet roll, mopping up the blood. It quickly turned red, so he grabbed some more.

“What happened?” he asked.

“I’m not sure. Old age. Don’t get old, young fella.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

The bathroom floor, clean as it was, was not all that pleasant a place to sit.

“Can you stand?”

“Not by myself.”

Ben helped the guy up.

“Where are we going?”

“I don’t know. Somewhere more comfortable.”

Supporting the old guy’s weight, Ben made sure he moved slowly. The old guy’s arm shook Ben’s as they moved.

“What’s your name, sonny?”

“Ben.”

“Thank you, Ben. I could have been stuck there all night.”

“Yeah, I know how you feel.”

They found a sitting room with a couple of armchairs. Ben lowered the old guy into one.

“Let’s have a look at that wound.”

Ben moved the toilet paper as gently as he could.

“How bad is it? Be honest with me. Will I have a scar?”

“Do you want to scar?”

“Sure, if it’s a sexy scar. Not so much if it’s ‘an old guy fell over in the bathroom’ scar.”

“Sorry, buddy. No sexy scar. Doesn’t look too bad actually. More like a scrape. It’s just bleeding a lot.”

Perched awkwardly on the arm of the chair, Ben dabbed the old guy’s forehead as lightly as he could before holding the toilet paper in place.

“It should stop soon.”

“Okay. Enjoying the shindig?”

“Me?”

“No one else here, sonny.”

“Not really.”

“Me either. I only come for the free alcohol. Of course, they don’t like drinking. That’s why I have to hide up here.”

“Should… Do you want me to take you somewhere?”

“Where?”

“I don’t know.”

“Not really. I’m fine right here.”

So, they sat.

“Did Gloria tell you about the seagulls?”

“Seagulls? I don’t believe so, no.”

“Damn nuisances. Crapping all over the house. We called in this guy, supposedly an expert, but the guy was just a putz. You know what he told us? Get a cardboard cutout of a falcon. Idea being gulls are scared of falcons. Seriously. That’s what this guy’s expert advice was. Couple hundred bucks to tell us to get a cardboard cutout. Putz. Gloria said we should do it. Yeah, because that will help… a picture of a bird.”

“A bit like a scarecrow, maybe?” Ben asked.

“Yeah, I suppose. But stupider. You ever go to Venice?”

“Venice?”

“It’s in Italy.”

“Yeah, I know. No. I’ve never been to Venice.”

“You should go. The gulls there are huge. Hang around the fish markets. They look the same as the ones we get here, but twice as big. Like they’re on steroids or something.”

“Okay.”

“I always thought I would go back to Venice one day. Not sure I’ll get the chance now. Shame.”

The door to the sitting room opened, and Nicole burst in with one of her friends.

“Uncle Jimmy. We’ve been looking everywhere for you.” She scowled at Ben. “What did you do to him?”

“Me? Nothing…”

“Oh, Nicole. He hit me.”

“Wait, what?”

“Whacked me right in the face. Can’t you see?” He pointed to his still-bleeding head.

“You hit him?!”

Uh oh. “No… No…”

Nicole turned to her friend. “Go get Francis.”

The friend ran off. Probably wasn’t a bad idea. Ben should probably run off too.

33

For whatever reason, Ben didn’t run. He didn’t try and defend himself either.

“Why would you hit him? He’s an old man.”

Uncle Jimmy cackled. “Nicole, you’re so gullible. Just like your mother. Of course he never hit me.”

Confusion crossed her face. “What happened?”

“I fell in the bathroom. This young fella was nice enough to help me.”

“What were you doing up here?”

“I was falling. He was helping me.”

“Okay,” she said after a moment. Not thankful yet not aggressive either. “Have you been drinking, Uncle Jimmy?”

“No,” he said with an exaggerated wink to Ben so obvious there was no way for Nicole to miss it.

“You’re not supposed to be drinking, Uncle Jimmy. You know that.” She turned to Ben. “He’s not supposed to be drinking.”

Ben nodded. She was even prettier up close. She had a small nose and brown eyes that perfectly matched her hair.

Nicole’s friend appeared with Francis and Jakob Baumer in tow.

“What’s going on here?”