Page 19 of Lost Souls

“Nothing! It’s nothing, my sweet!” He is thinking impressively fast for someone with possibly permanent brain damage. And talking surprisingly quietly. “Y’know, it has been just so great, Noreen,” he whispers. “You, me, the stars, the carrot. Funny, I feel like I’ve known you all my life. Longer, even. And I feel like we’re truly bonded. You know.Soulmates, in fact.Please, call me Arnie. Now go away.”

Noreen has no idea whether to feel flattered, valued or dismissed. But she has a lifetime’s experience of knowing where she isn’t wanted. Which round here is practically everywhere. Except perhaps where she is doing her good work, and even then she senses that the people who value her contribution immensely and are totally overawed by her self-sacrifice (she has even volunteered to catch salmonella in place of someone more vulnerable) still can’t help feeling that she is a royal pain in the arse. So, despite being somewhat taken aback, she graciously shrugs and retreats, with her helmeted head bowed low, down the precarious stairs.

“Goodnight, Mr Garth,” she mumbles.

As she arrives at the first semi-lethal turn of thestaircase, Noreen Millburn reaches deep into the over-generous pocket of her most intimate home-knitted cardigan and produces a small, white ferret.

“That is a very odd person, Stanley,” she informs the bemused rodent.

***

Rosie gives the room’s paying guest a massive beam – but not a Tudor one – as he gently closes the door.

“Thank you for winning the war,” she smiles, allowing the bed linen to fall where it may.

Arnie smiles at this lovely and incredibly hospitable young woman. He had heard that the Brits could be a bit frosty, but this is a standard of room service for which even Fodor’s would award five stars.

“Is this just because I’m a major Hollywood producer looking to cast his next big movie with local talent?” he asks.

To which she simply grins.

“Hey, it works overseas too!”

Despite the near-concussion, Arnie Garth moves towards Rosie, instinctively unbuttoning his mud-splattered shirt. Remember, this is a guy who found his way here without any moral compass.

Yet a sudden sound from outside in the street makes him pause at the foot of the bed. It is the sputtering of Noreen’s ancient motorbike, with its empty sidecar. He immediately drops the button business and offers the expectant young woman an apologetic smile, tinged with more than a hint of genuine, lust-sodden regret.

“Y’know, Annie—”

“Rosie.”

“Whatever. Y’know, maybe this ain’t such a good idea. Tell you the truth, sweetheart, it’s a weird old time for me and… I need to concentrate all my energies on… er, well…”

Rosie slinks out of the bed and glides towards him, draped in a very thin and not entirely pristine sheet.

“Don’t tell me you’re saving yourself for batty Noreen?”

Now she is standing right next to him. Arnie, who has never refused a good thing – or, indeed, a mediocre thing – is in a mental agony almost the equal of his musculoskeletal one.

“N-n-no way. I-I-I’m married, Rosie! That’s it! I’m a married guy!”

She runs a delicate Cumbrian finger down his unshaven face.

“Oh – and I’m gay!I’m a gay, married guy! A gay, married, fundamentalist Christian guy.” Now he’s imploring. “‘Y.M.C.A’… ‘Chapel of Love’… ‘Amazing Grace’.”

Rosie, who is no stranger to the classics, appears to regard this as catnip and begins to blow in Arnie’s ear.

“Rosie!” he begs. “Please, baby – you’re putting my weak heart at risk. Not to mention my immortal soul.”

“You’re a big Hollywood producer. You probably don’t have a soul.”

“I’m frigging working on it!”

Our soulless Hollywood producer watches with something approaching terror as the young woman’sluscious lower lip begins to tremble and her soft hazel eyes go frighteningly moist. This whole business, it should be stressed, is not Rosie’s customary MO. Far from it. The inferno of her own ambition has actually begun to terrify even her. But opportunities don’t grow on trees, not even in the fertile Lakes, and she is just too damn big for Rough Fell.

“So, you don’t want me? Is that what you’re saying?” She rustles the sheet.

Arnie immediately bites his knuckles, until the skin begins to crack. But he knows without looking that he is more than a little aroused.