Mr. Nice Guy by Belinda Williams

Chapter Thirty-One

Tom’s weekkept going from bad to worse. For several weeks, he’d held off advertising the spare room—Chelsea’s room—but had finally caved last weekend and put an ad online. While he could survive without the rental income, it was a hell of a lot easier with the money coming in. In truth, he shouldn’t have waited so long to advertise it, but something had held him back. He wasn’t sure what.

Chelsea.

But Chelsea had moved out and she wasn’t coming back thanks to his complete ineptitude at having an adult relationship. He’d successfully pushed her away to the point that she never wanted to see him again, while her best friend hated him enough to keep sending him insulting text messages.

The messages had eased off now it had been a month, but just when he thought he wouldn’t receive another one, Nadia never let him down.

He’d received one last weekend that had made him burst out laughing and almost miss Nadia as well as Chelsea.

My talents now extend to changing a tyre thanks to you being a complete spineless wimp douchebag. I tell you, I’m a catch. Shame you can’t say the same x

She’d taken to signing off the messages with a kiss, and Tom was too scared to wonder what it meant.

Speaking of messages, Tom looked guiltily at the several he was still yet to reply to from people who had applied for the room. A cute twenty-something schoolteacher who was lovely enough, except she was perky and reminded him too much of Chelsea, so he knew it would never work. A serious guy in his thirties who worked in finance and had just come out of a divorce and spent their entire meeting complaining about being single. Big no. Or the surfer dude who seemed nice enough, but was rather vague about his line of work. As far as Tom could gather, the guy did some occasional building work, played lead guitar in a band, and made a mean coffee. Tom would much prefer to rent the room to someone who had permanent work.

So he’d spent the last few days feeling guilty about not replying to any of them. He supposed he should at least tell the surfer dude no. Which left the perky schoolteacher who was perfectly reasonable but reminded him of Chelsea. And so the cycle of guilt and indecision rebooted.

To top things off, his week at work had been intense and draining. Tom had actually wondered if all the sweet old people had passed away overnight, because all the call-outs were cases like drug overdoses and mental health issues. It had been a tough week.

Now it was their final call-out of the day, and they were on their way to transport a critically ill cancer patient.

Carla glanced over at him from the passenger seat as they rounded the last corner. Her brown eyes were concerned. ‘You going to be OK with this?’

‘What do you mean? I’m an old hand at this stuff,’ he quipped, then smiled. ‘But thanks for asking. I’m sure I’ll be fine, but I’ll give you a signal if I’m not.’

‘What signal is that?’

‘Oh, I don’t know. Running from the room sobbing? Nah, I’m good.’

Carla shook her head at him, but he did genuinely appreciate her checking in. The patient they were about to see was a middle-aged woman in the last stages of lung cancer, and this was likely to be her last trip to the hospital.

The family were waiting when they arrived. Husband, two grown kids, and what looked to be the woman’s parents. Tom didn’t feel the need to run from the room sobbing, but it did feel much too familiar despite his mum suffering ovarian cancer, not lung cancer. Tom told himself that’s why he’d been sent to this job. Because he’d been here. He’d gone through this. This sort of experience was his superpower. It was the reason he did this job.

The woman, Kath, looked to be around fifty, and at one time she would have been quite beautiful. Now her fair hair hung limply on her shoulders, her complexion was pale, and she was brutally thin. She was literally fading away before her family’s eyes, and there wasn’t anything her loved ones could do about it.

Carla and Tom made conversation as they worked to transfer Kath onto a stretcher for transport. A large part of this job wasn’t just dealing with the patients, it was also reassuring the family. While they couldn’t do anything to save Kath, they could make her last days as comfortable as possible.

Once Kath was in the back of the ambulance, Carla turned to him.

‘I’ll drive,’ she said.

‘You sure?’

She patted him on the shoulder. ‘You’re the best man for this job. I shouldn’t have been worried about you. You’re amazing.’

Tom wasn’t sure about that, but riding in the back with Kath felt like the right thing to do.

He hopped inside and spent a few minutes making sure Kath was comfortable, then they set off slowly. No sirens blaring. Just a relaxed drive because this would most likely be the final ride for Kath.

Her family was going to meet them at the hospital. At first, the husband had wanted to ride in the ambulance, but practicality won out. They needed to pack some supplies, not for Kath, but for them. Whether it turned out to be hours or days, it was going to be a long, gruelling ordeal ahead.

A few minutes into the journey, Kath released a sigh that sounded more like a gasp. ‘This is hard on them.’

‘It’s hard on you, too,’ Tom pointed out.

‘It’s harder on them.’

Tom didn’t argue, because he knew from experience it was true.

‘I’d say you’re right,’ he agreed.

Kath’s eyes should have been dull. Possibly even lifeless. Tom had seen more than his fair share of critical cancer patients, and it wasn’t uncommon. But Kath’s were so bright they were almost otherworldly, and he had to look away. His mum’s had been similar.

‘Have you ever lost someone?’ Kath asked, closing her eyes.

Tom was sure the term “deathly tired” had come from situations like these. He wasn’t sure if he was referring to the patient or himself.

‘At work, you mean? I like to boast that I’m good at my job, but it’s kind of an occupational hazard.’

A ghost of a smile appeared on Kath’s lips. ‘Not what I meant. I meant you personally.’

‘Yes, I have lost someone. My mother.’ There was no point lying to her. By this time next week, she was likely to be gone. He couldn’t change it, but he’d treat her with the utmost respect.

‘How?’ Kath asked, her voice barely audible over the sound of the engine.

‘Cancer. A different sort to yours. We lost her when I was sixteen.’

Her eyes still closed, she reached around for his hand, which he made available to her. She tried to squeeze it, but if felt more like a twitch.

‘I’m sorry,’ Kath said. ‘We don’t ever lose each other though, do we? We’re always here in spirit, don’t you think?’

Tom gave her a sad smile, but Kath was too exhausted to open her eyes to see it. ‘I think so.’ He didn’t know for sure, but it would ease Kath’s distress about leaving behind her family to believe so.

‘Your mother,’ Kath whispered. ‘Do you ever sense her?’

Tom frowned at the unexpected question. ‘At times,’ he admitted. ‘Not often.’ But for some reason, he felt her presence now.

‘Good.’

They drove in silence for a while longer, then Kath’s eyes fluttered open briefly and closed again.

Tom shifted in his seat. ‘It’s OK. I’m here, Kath.’

‘I know you are. Would you have any regrets if you died right now?’

It wasn’t the first time Tom was surprised by something his patients had said. This job was both weird and wonderful in that way.

‘Apart from dying and leaving people behind, you mean?’ he asked.

‘Yes.’

Chelsea.

He’d messed things up with Chelsea so badly. He’d said things he shouldn’t have. Or more accurately, not said things he should have. And now it was too late, because she didn’t want anything to do with him. The empty ache inside him that had been sitting in his stomach like a dead weight this last month throbbed and threatened to become a chasm.

‘Your silence tells me you do have regrets,’ Kath said.

Tom didn’t know what to say. He didn’t want to deny it, but he wasn’t great at talking about things either. The situation he was in with Chelsea was proof enough of that.

Kath attempted to grip his hand again, and it was almost a genuine squeeze this time. ‘Humour a dying a woman and heed my advice. I like to give advice lately. It makes me smile to think that people will say, “A dying woman once told me”.’ She laughed, which turned into a breathy cough.

Tom watched and waited to see if she required further assistance, but she recovered on her own.

‘Want to hear my advice?’ Kath asked.

Tom smiled at her again, although her eyes were closed. ‘Hit me, Kath.’

Kath’s lips twitched. ‘OK, how’s this? You think it’s hard to live with regrets? It’s harder to die with them.’

Tom was stunned into silence.

He’d never heard it put quite that way before. It was the sort of advice worthy of a book or a meme or a poster or something.

‘I’ve got more where that came from, don’t worry,’ Kath said. ‘Wanna hear another?’

‘Sure,’ Tom said without thinking, still reeling from her last words.

She ever so slowly slid her hand from underneath Tom’s then, once, very deliberately, then a second time, she patted the back of his hand.

‘You’re a paramedic, so I’m guessing this isn’t one that you like to hear. But here goes. You can’t save everybody. I’d go so far to add that some people don’t want to be saved.’

‘You’re a wise woman, Kath.’

Kath exhaled a weak breath. ‘Must be why I’m not long for this world, hey? Now if you don’t mind, I’m going to take a catnap. Wake me when we arrive. Or not. If you can’t wake me, no stress. That’s OK, too.’

Tom nodded, like she could see him. ‘Whichever you choose, I’ll be here.’

* * *

After his shift,Tom went for a walk along the beach. The late afternoon was grey, reflecting his mood, and the waves crashed noisily to the shore. A cold front had been beating the coast for days and only a few surfers were braving the conditions. Many of the walkers nodded as they passed as if to acknowledge the mutual need to be outside despite the wild weather.

Tom definitely needed space to breathe and think, and besides, the apartment would be empty when he got home. Too empty.

If you can’t be honest about the good things as well as the bad things, what’s the point in having a relationship? Your own wise words are coming back to haunt you, Mr. Nice Guy.

Chelsea was right to call Tom out on his hypocrisy. The problem was that it was pretty hard to be honest in a relationship when you hadn’t been honest with yourself for the longest time.

Tom walked from one end of the beach to the other. It took about twenty minutes each way. That was the thing about walking. It gave you distance. He’d been seeking distance for so long now, it was like he didn’t know how to stop anymore. Like if he tried to stop walking, he wouldn’t be able to.

Tom didn’t know how to make things right with Chelsea. He’d told her he didn’t trust her. That had to hurt. But really, it was the fact he didn’t trust himself when all was said and done. It was ironic. Mr. Nice Guy didn’t trust himself to do what was right.

Towards the end, his mum had told him that she’d taken the time to notice signs. A bird in a tree. A song on the radio. She’d become convinced the universe was trying to communicate with her somehow. Tom had humoured her and gone along with it, but it wasn’t in his nature to believe that sort of thing.

Part of him wanted to be like her right now. It would be so easy if the universe sent him some sort of sign about how to move forward. Did he just let things with Chelsea go? Accept that he wasn’t ready, and that it hadn’t turned out the way either of them wanted, and try to move on? Or should he try to speak to her, and attempt to tell her why he’d held back the way he had?

Most of all, it was times like this he wished for his mum. He might be a grown man, but he still imagined what it would be like to be able to ring her up and say, “Hey, Mum. So there’s this girl. You know Chelsea?”

But he couldn’t talk to her, see her, or most of the time even sense her anymore, and it hurt.

‘Goddammit,’ he said under his breath. He shoved his hands in his pockets, chilled through from the relentless wind, and turned to walk back to his car.

As he reached it, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He waited until he’d shut the door to extract it from his pocket. It was a message from Nadia. Tom actually smiled to himself, which meant he really must be desperately missing Chelsea if he was happy about receiving abuse from her friend.

Are you going to be home tonight?

He stared at the message in surprise. Where was the creative insult? He kind of missed it.

He typed a reply.

I’m on my way there now. Why?

The three dots bounced for an unbearable thirty seconds or so.

Chelsea is going to pay you a visit tonight, you unworthy girl’s blouse. If you try to close the door in her face, I will send you messages like this for the remainder of your natural life. Got it?

Tom stared at the message in shock, but also drew comfort in the fact that Nadia had resorted to threats and insults, restoring the status quo. He must have Stockholm Syndrome or something.

Chelsea wanted to see him?

His first instinct was absolutely not, but he pushed the thought aside. That was his fear talking. A kneejerk reaction. Of course he wanted to see her again. That’s all he’d longed for this last month, but he hadn’t been in a position to ask. He’d already hurt her and let her down too much. Besides, what could Tom offer Chelsea? Jack shit.

This is your sign, Tom. You need to talk to her. Tell her everything.

‘Is that you, Mum?’ he whispered to the empty car. ‘Are you trying to tell me something? Or have I finally lost it thinking that Nadia’s sending me a sign?’

The only answer was the wind buffeting the car.

Damn it. Was Tom brave enough to do it? He put his head in his hands for a brief moment, then forced himself to type a reply. His hands were shaking.

OK. Is that a promise?

Nadia’s reply came quickly.

You know it is, pretty boy.

Pretty boy? This was progress. Maybe Nadia didn’t hate him as much as he thought.

Whether he would hate himself more than she did after tonight remained to be seen.