Dragging her aching limbs back into her bedroom, she looked in her wardrobe for something to wear which weighed as little as humanly possible. She sat on her bed, then lay on her bed – hair wet and limp – naked and shivering even though the room was hot, but too tired to dressed.
It took almost half an hour before Libby finally hauled on a light cotton summer dress over her most comfortable (therefore oldest) underwear. She pulled her damp hair into a ponytail without brushing it and slipped her feet into a pair of battered Converse she normally reserved for wearing around the house when she was doing her cleaning.
The exertion was enough to cause her to break out in a sweat, but she was determined not to give into it. It didn’t matter that her mum had told her she had to rest. It didn’t matter that both her dad and Noah were on top of things at the shop. She needed to feel useful. By the time she reached the kitchen, and needed another sit-down, her head was fuzzy and her limbs like concrete. But she had to get to work – so she hauled herself to her feet and reached for her bag and keys, only to find they felt much too heavy.
She became vaguely aware of a voice fading in and out beside her.
‘Libby, what on earth are you doing?’ she heard and turned her head to see her mum’s face swim in front of hers.
‘Work,’ she muttered. ‘The shop.’
Her mother eyed her up and down, then Libby could hear the sound of her mother’s gentle laughter. ‘Oh, pet, you’re going nowhere.’
She felt herself being led out of the kitchen and towards the bottom of the stairs.
‘But the shop…’
‘Didn’t that big handsome friend of yours say he would help? And your dad has already left. I’m going to nip in later and see if I can help too.’
Libby tried to argue, but she was finding it hard to think of the right words to say, so reluctantly she let her mother guide her back upstairs and into bed.
When sleep finally loosened its grip mid-afternoon, she lifted her phone to find even more messages.
Ant wanted to know if he could call round. But only if she was sure she wasn’t infectious because he had a busy week ahead. ‘I hope you understand,’ he said. At least he had put a solitary ‘x’ at the end of this message. Jess had also messaged, to check if she had been taking her medicine and saying she would be round after tea, and to let her know if she could bring anything with her. Libby took this as a positive sign that there was hope for their friendship after all. If they could both move past all the things they had said.
The next message was a picture from Noah, of him and her dad standing in front of the draper’s counter in the shop – their thumbs raised and cheesy smiles on their faces. She could see that the exposed brickwork behind them had been repointed. It made her smile. Noah wrote:
I hope this makes you feel better. We’ve got it covered. And I’ve changed my mind. You owe me at least 500 shifts in the pub