Page 8 of A Night with Damien Spur

‘Not at all – everything’s fine,’ Anna replied.

‘Good,’ he said quietly. He turned to the nurse. ‘Now then, I suggest that you go somewhere private if you want to tell your receptionist off. Very unprofessional.’

‘I’m sorry. There was no one else in the waiting room and I didn’t hear you come down the stairs.’

‘Just as your receptionist didn’t hear the buzzer.’

‘Point taken. Right then, Anna. I’ll leave you to it.’ Aileen turned on her heels and walked away.

That was great, Damien,said the Voice.What a hero.

‘Thank you so much,’ Anna said. Her eyes shone with undisguised admiration.

Better watch out she doesn’t corner you. Just read her story and proceed with caution.

‘Goodbye, Anna. I’m booked in for next Tuesday morning. Until then,’ he said, and left. Anna shut her eyes and took a deep breath. She was alive again.

***

Damien was tired.It was hard keeping up a facade.

He hailed a taxi. Sat in the back of the cab, rubbed his cheek. His gum felt numb. He’d take a painkiller when he arrived home. Maybe it was best that he was alone. He had all those women ready and willing, but all they wanted was Damien Spur, the sexy, charismatic writer. Why couldn’t he be like most men? Fall in love with a one and only who loved him even when he was a raging nutter.

Because you’re a must-have-can’t-have man, said the Voice.You don’t really want a kind, caring angel; you need the sting in the tail or you’re not interested.

***

It was 2 p.m. when he arrived home. He opened the green doorof his elegant town house. The place smelt of polish.

Marta, his Portuguese cleaner, had been.

He liked Marta. She was discreet. Turned a blind eye to his recreational habits.

He’d come home the night before and drunk half a bottle of whisky and smoked a couple of joints. The empty shot glasses and cigarette papers had been cleared from the glass table in the living room.

He went into the kitchen. Pristine, with no evidence of last night’s debauchery.

In his ravenous stupor, he’d cooked a seafood pasta, but unfortunately, he’d been so plastered that he’d spilt it all over the tiled floor.

He’d keep the kitchen tidy this evening. Order a takeaway. Or maybe go to the Italian round the corner.

He switched on the TV. He loved watching old films in the afternoon. Especially the children’s channel.

Bambi! You’ve got to be kidding, said the Voice.You’re already feeling sorry for yourself. Don’t you remember what happened the last time when Bambi’s mummy got shot? Boxing Day, two years ago. You couldn’t stop crying in front of that Austrian model Clara Voss and her sister, Lena. Swore you’d never go hunting again.

Damien poured himself a couple of shots and rolled a joint.

Bang goes Bambi, said the Voice.

***

Anna came home to find David slouched in an armchair watching the news.

‘Oh, you’re here,’ she said. ‘I thought you were going out with Stevie tonight.’ She’d looked forward to an evening on her own.

‘He’s got the flu and I don’t want to catch it. Haven’t I gotenough wrong with me? Had another blackout today. Lucky I was already on the sofa.’

‘Where else would you be?’ Anna said. She narrowed her eyes at him. ‘Anyway, you seem okay now.’

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