Watching breakfast TV, eating chocolate Shreddies with a decent mug of coffee, then feeling snug and safe curled up on the sofa with Al under a fleecy blanket.  Life didn’t get much more perfect for Sarah – apart from the sinister white dressing on her face. She’d set her laptop up and checked, but there was still no word from Millie.  There were several emails from Jenny and other team mates checking that she was okay, so after brushing her hair and putting on a bit of lipstick, Sarah took a selfie of the dressing side of her face, and sent it off with an advisory note that the rest of the team should get some Phantom masks so that she wouldn’t stick out too much.

“Sarah!  You’re on the news!”  Al rewound the digital TV channel so that Sarah could come back to the sofa and watch the news clip.  No pictures fortunately, just information, but according to the announcer a woman had been attacked by two other females in the underground car park, and was saved by the diligence of the security staff.  Sarah’s mobile rang almost immediately.

“Hi Jude.  Yes, it was me. Yes, it was the mad Dutchwoman and Nasty Natasha.  Al was one of my diligent security guards, and henceforth I shall be known as ‘Sarah Scarface’! No, darling Jude, don’t get upset.  She cut my face but otherwise I am unscathed.  I’m at Al’s, and don’t ask me any personal questions because they will only make me smile, and it hurts to do that right now.”

A relieved Jude continued firing off questions, some of which were very personal. and answered with a non-committal ‘Hmmm’.  After assuring Jude that she was taking time off and that Al was looking after her, Sarah promised to visit soon but that she wanted the wound to heal a bit, in case it frightened Dan and the girls.  Sarah could hear Dan snorting in the background when Jude repeated this to him.  He demanded photographs, and Sarah promised to send them once Al had changed the dressing.

Having put the mobile down, and curled up next to Al again, Sarah wondered about the dressing.  A part of her wanted to see the damage but she was worried about looking in case it was too dreadful. Al led her into the kitchen, sat her down, and solved the dilemma by very gently easing off the dressing and dabbing off the worst of the dried blood.  He stood back and admired his handiwork.

“It’s quite sexy as scars go, but I could be biased.  Do you want me to take a picture with your mobile before I put the new dressing on?”

“Are you sure it isn’t that bad Al? You aren’t just saying that?”

“No.  I promise never to lie to you – about anything really important.  If you turn your face away from me, I can focus on the cut.  They’ve done a neat job and the stitches are very small.  Did they tell you whether they will dissolve or whether you need to have them taken out?”

“I can remember hearing something about stitches; that’s why I have to go back next Monday to make sure that everything is healing up.  Do your worst Al!  Take the photo. I can’t keep pretending that it doesn’t exist.  It’s a part of me now, and I have to accept it.”

Al took several photographs so that Sarah could choose which one to send. The process was lengthened by the fact that both of their mobiles were buzzing with texts from other people who had also seen the news clip. Al sent some photos to his friend in the Force so that the case notes could be updated.  He looked through the selection of dressings that the hospital had provided and found one that looked smaller and less obvious.  Happy that the wound was clean, dry and didn’t have any sign of abnormal redness or swelling, Al gently applied the dressing, held Sarah very tightly afterwards, and kissed her on the other cheek.  Sarah’s mobile rang again; this time it was Oliver.  She grimaced as she picked up the call.

“Sarah! Are you okay?  How the hell did this happen?  Al was supposed to be looking after you!”

“I’m fine Oliver.  Al was doing a very good job of looking after me, but our little friend Natasha set up a diversion. It was only a few seconds, but enough time for Marta to grab me. I have a cut on my face, but Al knocked Marta out with a very effective punch, and I think Natasha may have to have her broken ankle reset.  The CCTV was invaluable, and the night security guard Mike was quick to alert the police and ambulance, as he was coming to help us.  I’m afraid that we have to lay the blame on Natasha; without her, Marta would never have got the idea of coming back and stalking me. Judging from the way she was egging Marta on to deliver a fatal stab wound; I would say that she is even more dangerous than Marta. She was better at masking her psychotic tendencies, and no one could have predicted that her delusions could have led her to such extremes.”

“Where are you Sarah? You aren’t coming in today, are you?”

“I am at Al’s, Oliver.  We are both taking the day off – together – and I don’t care who knows that Al and I are most definitely an item now.  I have already assured Jenny that we will be most discreet when we come back.  The cut has been stitched but I need to keep a dressing on it for a while, so I’ll stay out of camera shot for now if that’s okay?”

“Shame.  We could have got some mileage out of it…”

“No! Discretion, or my resignation is on your desk in the morning!”

“You win.  I should have remembered that you social workers have too much integrity for your own good.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment then. See you Oliver!”

Having kept the conversation as light as she could, Al could tell from the half of Sarah’s face that he could see, that she was very angry.  He pulled her onto his lap and kissed her again.

“Oliver is a dick,” he said.

“Aptly put, and I will not miss him if the show is pulled.  I know that his success has been built on self-promotion, and humiliating people, but none of that is in my contract.  Millie warned me that he was difficult, and that she tended to let most of it roll over her.  I’m not quite so tolerant. I know that Oliver was worried about his mother, and that’s why he was so horrible to some of the guests on Friday, but his mother’s illness wasn’t their fault and they deserved better. So did the man who killed himself. Can we really get away with sitting here and snogging all day Al?”

“Sounds absolutely wonderful to me, but what about Buster?”

“Poor old moggie.  I’d forgotten all about him.  We’ll have to get dressed and pay him a visit.  I could do with more clothes if…”

“…if?”

 “If you want me to stay here?”

“There is nothing I would love more.  I also have a washing machine and a tumble drier you can use for your clothes, and a fire pit in the garden if you are serious about burning that blouse.”

“Very serious.  It was never one of my favourites anyway.  It dates back to sensible Andy days, but wasn’t right for Jude’s girls’ dressing up box.  I suppose I shouldn’t have a shower in case my face gets wet. I could have a bath though?”

“You could.  I have both, and if you would allow me too, I could very gently wash your hair.”

“Oh Al! You have so many hidden talents. No one has helped me wash my hair since Millie and I left Uni.  Andy wanted me to cut it short; he said it would make me look more adult and reliable.”

“I hope I never get to meet Andy.  I don’t think I’d actually punch him but …”

“…No need. Rest assured that I gave as good as I got, but if I’d had more gumption, I’d have ended the relationship as soon as I saw the house that he was living in, and met his horrible sister.  I’ll just check my emails again.”

“I’ll start running the bath; it takes a while to fill up.” said Al.

There were several emails, but none from Millie yet.  Jenny wanted to know if Sarah would be in for the show on Wednesday, so did Oliver, and several people from her old social work team were asking if she knew anything about the attack.  She replied to her friends fairly minimally, ensuring them that although she was the one who got attacked, she was fine.  She decided to leave Jenny and Oliver till after her bath.