‘There’s nothing perfectly fine about this. You must be crazy.’
‘You must be crazy!’ I laughed to soften my words. ‘I told you on the phone that everything was sorted and yet here you are, sticking your nose in.’
‘You phoned me, remember.’
‘Only to let you know that everything was fine. I didn’t expect you to come straight round, threatening to cave his head in.’
‘Emily, listen to me.’ Lydia gripped my arms and stared at me with anguished brown eyes. Her usually sleek blonde hair was uncharacteristically ruffled and fluffed up around her pink cheeks. ‘You don’t know this man. He could be anyone. He could be a psychotic murderer for all you know. A rapist or a violent criminal. A thief… Look how nice your place is.’ She swept an arm out to indicate my lovely flat with its mushroom-coloured carpet and cream sofa. ‘Do you really want him in here, messing up the place?’
‘I’m sure he won’t. He’s seems really nice.’ My throat closed as I said this, making my voice sound strangulated. I wasn’t sure about anything any more. And Lydia was right, I was funny about my flat. I was having a real “what have I done?” moment, but I’d phoned Lydia to make me feel better, not worse. Sam hadn’t said two words to me since we’d got back to the flat. Granted, he’d been in the bathroom for most of that time, but still…
‘Oh yeah, that’s what he wants you to think so you take him in. Now he’s here, he’ll be impossible to move. Do you really think he’ll want to go back to sleeping rough after Christmas?’
‘It’s not like it was his idea. I had to practically beg him to come with me.’
Lydia’s eyes nearly popped out of her head in disbelief. ‘You begged him? You begged?’
‘Well, maybe beg is too strong a word.’ I cleared my throat. Yeah, right. I glanced nervously over my shoulder in case Sam should appear out of the bathroom. ‘But you know I had to do something. Mum’s going to be here tomorrow. What else was I going to do?’
Lydia frowned. ‘Well, not ask a homeless guy to move in with you for a start.’
I shrugged. ‘Have you got a better idea?’
‘How about asking a friend? Someone you know and trust?’
‘Like who? All the guys I know are already married. Their wives aren’t going to be impressed if I borrow their husbands for Christmas, are they?’
‘I don’t know. Isn’t there anybody at work you could ask? Or what about that Will you went out with last year? Dave still sees him down the pub. He broke up with that girl he left you for so I bet he’d help you out.’
‘What?’ I looked at her, incredulous. ‘Why would I want to ask for his help?’
Lydia shrugged. ‘You only went out with him for a month or so, didn’t you? You didn’t seem that bothered when you broke up. I thought you were still on friendly terms.’
‘He went back to his ex-girlfriend, Lydia. I haven’t seen him since.’
‘You weren’t upset about it though.’
‘I wasn’t exactly pleased, either.’ I shrugged and sighed. ‘I suppose I wasn’t that bothered about him really. Which only adds to the question why would I ask him for help? I have no wish to even see him again, let alone spend time pretending to be married to him.’
‘Oh, but you want to spend time with some homeless loser that you don’t know from Adam? He could have lice or scabies or anything.’ She screwed up her face in disgust.
‘Will could have lice or scabies for all I know,’ I snapped. ‘Besides, Sam seems like a really nice guy who’s down on his luck, that’s all.’ I picked up the kettle and filled it with water.
‘Emily!’ Lydia sounded exasperated. ‘Why don’t you just tell your mum the truth? It’s gone too far now. You can’t deceive her like this.’
‘Oh that’s rich! Weren’t you the one who said I should tell her I’d met someone to shut her up?’
‘Met someone, yeah. Not say you were married.’
Sighing heavily, I leaned on the oak worktop and rested my head against the cream cupboard door. ‘It’s going to be okay. Mum’s checking into a hotel so she’s not even staying here. She might only have to meet him a couple of times. We’ll get through Christmas and then in the New Year I’ll tell my mum that we’ve split up. No worries.’
‘Emily!’
‘Well, what else can I do? I don’t have time to do anything else. Mum was really excited about meeting him. She’s bought him a Christmas present and everything.’
‘Oh my God.’
‘I know. It’s a right mess.’
I bit my lip and stared up at the chrome spotlights above my head. The kettle boiled, the water inside bubbling away in much the same way as my stomach.
‘So what’s Sam’s story then?’ Lydia said. ‘How come he ended up homeless? Oh no, please don’t tell me he’s some poor troubled teenage kid and you’ve gone all Cougar on me.’
‘Don’t be daft. He’s a bit older than us, I’d say. Late thirties, early forties?’
‘Oh great. I bet he’s an alcoholic. “Alcopops”.’
‘Don’t!’
‘Or a junkie.’
‘No. I don’t know.’ I covered my face and groaned. ‘I keep telling you: he just seems like a decent bloke who’s down on his luck.’
‘So you don’t know how he became homeless?’
‘No.’ I turned my back to her, reaching up into the cupboard for the mugs. ‘But anyone can become homeless these days. You’ve seen the news. People lose their jobs and get behind on their mortgage repayments and it all goes tits up. Or their relationships break down and they leave. There are loads of reasons. Grief, even. Or illness. And yes, addiction is a big factor, but isn’t that another form of illness? It’s really terribly sad. Circumstances change, and people find themselves out on the streets with no way of getting back on their feet. It’s terrible.’
‘Yeah, I get that.’ Lydia stepped forward to stand next to me and looked into my face, trying to make me look at her. ‘And I know you care about this stuff. But you can’t just bring homeless people home with you. It’s all right feeling sorry for them – for him – but the fact is, he’s a stranger. You don’t know what his story is. He could be a right nasty bastard for all you know.’
‘Or he could be really nice. I do sort of know him, you know.’
Lydia shook her head. ‘No, you don’t. Listen, Emily, I know your interest in this sort of stems from your father.’
‘No, it doesn’t. Not this, anyway. My interest in the homeless, maybe. But Sam’s just this cool guy that I buy coffee for and chat to in the mornings. I needed a favour, and he said he’d help. There’s no need to overanalyse and get all suspicious about it.’
‘But you don’t know his story? You don’t know that he doesn’t have some violent past? Or some crazy personality disorder? He hasn’t told you anything?’
‘Not yet.’ I tried to sound breezy. ‘We’ve only been in for about an hour and he’s spent most of that in the bathroom.’
Lydia rolled her eyes. ‘He could be shooting up or anything.’
My stomach did a slow flip-flop, making me feel sick. ‘Lydia! Stop it. Even if he is, that’s not my business. I’m not actually marrying him, after all.’
‘Don’t be naïve, Emily. He’s going