We were both giggling as we came up the steps to his house, tipsy from two bottles of wine but also on a natural high from what had been the best first date of my life. We'd met online, on a dating site reserved for people who had just come out of long-term relationships, meaning we were both recently divorced (me from a seven year marriage, with ten years before the wedding) and looking for companionship.
We met up in a pub in Camden Town, a small place with big comfy sofas. I had got there first, and when he'd walked through the door my heart had leapt into my throat. He was tall, and had a look of wiry strength; there were no bulging muscles, but you could see from the way he held himself that he was by no means soft. He had jet black hair, light stubble on his chin, tanned skin and piercing green eyes. He spotted me and smiled questioningly, so I stood up.
"Mark?" I said, my voice coming out as little more than a croak. He smiled more freely now, and such a disarming smile it was.
"You must be Jessica." His voice was somehow instantly relaxing, like someone had just dipped me in a hot bath. And just like that, I was relaxed.
We must have spent the whole evening laughing. He was genuinely funny and charming, and I wasn't too bad myself either. He had an air of sophistication, particularly when ordering wine, but wasn't at all snobbish. In short, he was the complete fantasy of every divorced woman in the country.
He had been nothing but a gentleman, and was outrageously attractive, but as we stood on his doorstep I found that I didn't want to put out, not tonight. He seemed like a genuine catch, but I wanted to take things a little slower. I had only been single for six months, and wasn't quite ready to be that intimate with another man.
"You want to come inside? I make a mean cuppa coffee." He said it so charmingly that I almost agreed, but I shook my head. "Look, I don't want to mislead you. You're really great, and I hope this continues, but I'm not quite ready for anything like that just yet." I pulled an apologetic face. "I'm sure that'll change soon enough, though."
For a second something seemed to flash in front of his eyes; something almost primal. It seemed to be a combination of anger and triumph, but it was so quickly replaced by his disarming smile that I assumed I had imagined it. He held up his hands. "Of course, of course, that's completely fine. But you could still come in, just for the coffee?" I paused, and he carried on. "You know it sounds good. Dark, delicious, authentic... Plus I make a good cup of coffee, too." That made me laugh out loud, holding onto his arm for support. I hesitated, trying to weigh up whether or not I should.
Suddenly my vision doubled, and my hand on his arm became the only thing holding me upright. I swore. "Ah Christ, my insulin pen. I was meant to use it two hours ago, I completely forgot."
He looked concerned. "Diabetes?" He helped me sit down on the side by his door.
"Yeah. I get all woozy and weak when I don't keep up with the dose." I tried for a laugh. "You distracted me with your fine wine."
He acknowledged the joke with a good natured smirk. "Do you have your pen on you?"
"No, it's at home. Sorry, I'm gonna have to give that coffee a rain check."
He dismissed this with a wave of his hand. "Nonsense, you can't go anywhere like this. Come inside and lie down, I'll drive round to the pharmacy and pick up an emergency prescription, I'll only be gone five minutes."
I tried to protest, but I knew he was right. I let him help me inside the house and up the stairs, into his room. He hauled me onto the bed and lay me down, tucking the duvet over me. "Wait right here, I'll be back in five," he said, but I barely heard him. His voice seemed to echo slightly.
He left, and I was alone. I slowly looked around his room. It was quite bare, with a bedside table and what looked like a walk-in cupboard at the far end. He had an en-suite bathroom, too. Very fancy.
I began to slip in and out of consciousness, barely managing to open my eyes after every blink. There was no clock that I could see, but it seemed like far longer than five minutes that Mark was gone.
Then all of a sudden he was there, standing by my bed. He held a standard box of five pens, and got one out and started following the instructions for assembling the needle. "How many units do you need?"
I tried to tell him sixty, but it came out more like "Shicky". He seemed to get the gist, however. He held it up, turning the dose selector, but he reached nineteen and then stopped. I could see it said nineteen, on a clear display on the side. That wasn't right. Could he have misheard my sixty as a nineteen?
"Shicky." I tried to say it more urgently, but it came out the same.
He stroked some hair out of my eyes. "This will do you just fine for now, I reckon." He pulled out my arm, and stuck the pen into the fleshy part between my elbow and shoulder. I could feel some strength returning to me already, but knew even then that it wouldn't be enough for me to move about okay. I did now, however, regain my ability to speak.
"You only gave me nineteen units. I need sixty."
"Nineteen will keep you alive, no? You seem better already."
He seemed to genuinely not understand. "Yes it will keep me alive, but I won't be able to move around properly or balance or lift anything up. Sixty is my required dose."
"Well you don't need to move around properly right now. You can stay in bed, just let me do all of the work."
