By the time my apartment buzzer sounds for the second time at around 11:45 p.m., I’ve cleaned myself up and got ready for bed. Assuming it’s just someone else asking to be let into the building, I ignore it at first, leaving them to try another flat. For reasons of security, I’m not supposed to let in people I don’t know, anyway. However, after a minute or so, the buzzer blares through my hallway again.
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake,’ I mutter. ‘It’s nearly midnight.’
Lifting the handset, I bark an unwelcoming, ‘Hello?’ into it.
‘Lea, is that you?’
‘Shep?’
‘Yeah, it’s me. Sorry I took so long.’
Pursing my lips, I’m unsure whether to be pleased or annoyed. This wasn’t our agreement and the last thing I want is to invite someone into my home who’s going to be elusive and unreliable. Unpleasant thoughts of how this guy could turn out to be yet another nightmare roommate – even if only for a few weeks – descend on me like those scary-ass, cat-sized seagulls on a discarded kebab. I do not want to feel like an enemy in my own home again. But then, shouldn’t I give Shep the benefit of the doubt and at least let him explain why he’s only turning up now – nearly three hours after he said he would?
Buzzing him into the stairwell, I open the door and listen to the echoing sound of him climbing the stone steps to my third-floor flat. Though I can’t see him, I can tell from the pattern of his movements and the odd grunt of exertion that he’s carrying something bulky. When he finally does appear, he’s panting heavily and carrying an oversized black holdall.
‘That’s one steep set of stairs.’ He grins at me, trying to catch his breath. ‘Reckon I’ve just put my back out.’
‘I’m sure you’ll live.’ I open the door wide to let him inside, without returning his warmth.
‘How glad am I to finally put this thing down.’ He lugs his holdall inside, dumps it on the floor and appears to wince in pain as he does so. He then looks at me properly for the first time and his grin falters. ‘Ah, you’re pissed at me, aren’t you?’
I purse my lips in a thin line. ‘I don’t know, what do you think? You’ve just turned up hours later than we agreed and without a care in the world.’
Shep’s shoulders slump. ‘Shit, I’m sorry, Lea. I meant to get here sooner, but things didn’t go to plan.’
‘Meaning?’
‘How about we grab a cup of tea and I’ll fill you in on what happened?’
This time it’s me that hesitates. If I agree to this request, I’m essentially inviting him to make himself at home and letting him off the hook, when I have no idea if I can actually trust him. And there’s a part of me that still wants to send him packing.
‘Actually… I’d rather you fill me in straight away.’ I briefly meet his gaze, before my eyes dart to the kitchen, my brain cataloguing its contents for items that might help with self-defence.
Shep follows my line of sight and his face falls. ‘I’m not a danger to you, Lea, I promise.’
Wincing at his ability to read me so easily, I force myself to look him in the eye. ‘OK… then tell me why you didn’t turn up when you said you would, and why I should trust you.’
‘Of course. You deserve that.’
Shep shifts his stance as if preparing to explain, folding his arms, then unfolding them again. It’s clear that he’s tired and desperate for a seat, but I’m not wavering on this one. Having already had one guy take the piss out of me today, I’m not going to add another to the pile if I can help it.
‘Go on, then.’ I prompt him, my courage returning, most likely through adrenaline from my protective instincts kicking in.
‘All right. When I left you, I went to the station to get my stuff as planned. I picked up my bag and was about to jump in a taxi, when I got a call from the owner of the pub I’m doing my show in. He asked me to swing by when I had a minute, and as I was not far away, I said I’d pop straight over.’
‘So that’s where you’ve been all this time? The pub.’
His eyes go to the floor. ‘Yes, but not in the way you think. I took what I thought was a shortcut from the station, through one of those narrow closes, and… I got mugged.’
‘What?’ My hand flies to my mouth in shock.
My brain is firing out a raft of unpleasant thoughts and questions about what happened next. At the same time, there’s a tiny part of me that’s questioning Shep’s story, wondering if what he’s telling me is true – or whether it’s part of his own plan to do me over.
‘What did they take from you?’ I ask. ‘And are you OK?’
Showing signs of what appears to be genuine distress, Shep presses his palms against the sides of his head, wincing in pain again as he does.
‘There were three of them. It seemed opportunistic, not planned or anything. They took my phone, wallet and watch.’
‘You’re kidding.’ I shake my head in disgust.
‘Unfortunately, I’m not. When they ran off, not only did I not have any money for a taxi, but I also realised your address was in my phone and I could only remember part of it.’
‘But wait, if you didn’t have my address, how did you find me?’
‘I knew enough to get to this street and I could remember it was flat eleven, just not the building number.’
I let out a snort of disbelief. ‘So how many of my neighbours have you pissed off in your quest to find me?’
‘About fifteen to seventeen, give or take.’ He gives a sheepish smile.
‘Oh… my goodness.’
I rub at my tired eyes, trying to take this all in. It’s such an elaborate story, I’m now pretty convinced Shep hasn’t made it up, but there’s still some lingering doubt I need to address.
‘Look, I don’t mean to be disrespectful here, but—’
‘How do you know I’m legit and you’re not gonna wake up to find your stuff gone in the morning?’
‘Well, yeah.’ I shrug, almost apologetically.
‘You can search me if you like. You won’t find a phone or a wallet on me, or in my bag.’ He spreads his arms, inviting me to do so, and I shake my head.
‘I’m not going to pat you down.’
‘There’s also this…’ He lifts his T-shirt and I gasp with horror as I find myself looking at a huge, fresh reddish-purple bruise that’s developing on his right side, running from his ribcage down towards his hip.
‘Oh, Shep! Did they do that to you? I’ve always thought of Edinburgh as being quite a safe place.’
‘Every city has its bad actors. This is what I got for trying to reason with them. It’s partly why I’m so late. I needed to get my breath back before I felt up to the walk, so I stayed in the pub for a bit.’
‘Did the pub owner not offer to get you a cab after what you’d been through?’
He cringes. ‘I didn’t tell him. Call it male pride.’
‘You need to call the police.’ I step forward to inspect his injury. ‘You should also go to the hospital and get checked out in case you’ve a cracked rib – or something worse. I can drive you.’
‘Tomorrow, maybe.’ He waves away my concerns. ‘Right now, I could really murder a cup of tea.’
‘Absolutely.’ I give him a sympathetic smile, then beckon him to follow me into the kitchen, feeling immensely guilty that I made him stand there and explain himself after what he’d just been through.