The Black Path by Paul Burston Page A

When she smiles, her teeth are startlingly white.
    Helen tries to smile back, but it’s too much of an effort. She’s been hungover before, but never like this. Her head is pounding. There’s a terrible taste in her mouth. And there’s something unnerving about this strange woman standing in the doorway to her bedroom. She doesn’t know her. She can’t even remember her name.
    ‘I’m Siân,’ the woman says. ‘Remember? I was there when that cow shoved her chips and curry sauce in your face.’
    Helen puts her hand to her cheek.
    ‘You’re alright,’ Siân says, stepping into the room. ‘It looks a bit red, but it’ll soon fade. I brought you home in a taxi last night. You weren’t looking too clever so I stayed over to make sure you were okay. I crashed on the sofa. I hope you don’t mind.’
    Helen tries to take it all in, but all she can feel is the pain in her head and a flush of embarrassment. She can’t remember getting home. But at least she is home. She’s in her own bed. She’s safe. And it’s all thanks to the woman standing a few feet away.
    ‘Thank you,’ she says. ‘I’m Helen.’
    ‘I know. I couldn’t get much sense out of you last night, but at least you knew your name and address.’ Siân shrugs. ‘Now, I’m not one for outstaying my welcome. So if you want me to clear off, just say. I won’t be offended.’
    Helen hesitates for a moment. Then her manners get the better of her. ‘No,’ she says. ‘Stay for a bit.’
    ‘Okay. But tell me when you want me to sling my hook. You’ve probably got things to do.’
    Helen smiles despite herself.
    ‘Not really. Just as well. I don’t think I’m in any fit state.’
    ‘You’ll be fine in a few hours. It’s just a hangover. And the shock. You did seem pretty freaked out.’
    ‘Weren’t you scared?’
    Siân shakes her head. ‘Nah. It takes a lot to scare me. I’m from Sarn, remember?’ She holds her fists up like a boxer. ‘I’ve dealt with a lot worse than them before.’
    Helen laughs.
    ‘So how come you were out on your own? Where’s your husband?’
    She must sense Helen’s discomfort because she adds quickly, ‘I saw the wedding photo downstairs. Tell me to mind my own business if you like. I’m just a naturally curious person.’
    ‘He’s away,’ Helen says. ‘On business.’
    ‘Army business?’ Siân smiles. ‘Sorry. I saw that photo too.’
    ‘He’s on tour,’ Helen says, then quickly changes the subject. ‘My head’s killing me. I think I’ve got some paracetamol somewhere.’ She starts to haul herself out of bed, then suddenly feels self-conscious about exposing her bare thighs in front of a stranger. Silly really, after the show she’s already made of herself.
    ‘Stay there,’ says Siân. ‘I’ll bring you something better.’
    She turns and disappears. Minutes later she’s back with a glass of water. She drops two large white tablets into the glass.
    Helen props herself up and watches as the water fizzes. ‘What’s that?’
    ‘Solpadeine. It’s a mixture of paracetamol and codeine. The codeine works like endorphins.’
    Helen looks at her blankly.
    ‘Endorphins. Y’know, like the buzz you get at the gym?’
    Helen doesn’t know. She hasn’t been near a gym in years. ‘And you carry these with you?’
    ‘Only when I’m planning on getting completely wasted.’
    ‘But you weren’t, were you? Wasted?’
    ‘The night was still young.’
    Helen looks at her. ‘Sorry I spoilt your night.’
    ‘Don’t be daft. Now are you going to get that down you, or not?’
    Helen raises the glass to her lips and takes a sip of the cloudy liquid. ‘It tastes bitter.’
    Siân smiles. ‘Mind if I sit down?’
    Without waiting for an answer, she perches herself on the foot of the bed. ‘Do you know the best cure for a hangover? Porridge. Warm milk, a bit of honey. Works wonders. I can make some for you if you like.’
    Helen pictures the sorry state of her kitchen cupboards. She hasn’t