The following morning I'm rudely awakened by the all too familiar sensation of my heart racing, my body tingling and hands trembling. This is what we diabetics commonly refer to as a 'hypo' which is when our blood sugar drops too low.

Forced to leave the comfort of my narrow, but warm, bed, I heave myself up and head for the kitchen. In search of something to eat in order to remedy the problem.

Opening a cupboard, I quickly grab the first thing that comes to hand, which in this instance is an unopened packet of Jammie Dodgers.

I've no sooner sat down at the kitchen table when the door opens and my father; dressed in his well-worn, navy towelling dressing gown, comes trundling in.

"You're up early." He points out rather needlessly.

"I'm going back to bed now." I tell him, between mouthfuls of biscuit. I'm still tired, plus low blood sugar always wipes me out for a couple of hours.

"What's wrong? Are your sugar levels playing up?" He's looking at me all worried as usual, so I quickly reassure him that I've got it in hand and I'm not about to keel over and die at his feet on the lino.

"Is that because you've been drinking?"

I don't want to admit to him that it very well might be, for fear that he might not let me out again. His concern is kindly meant, but his overprotectiveness sometimes borders on ridiculous.
I'm turning eighteen in a couple of weeks, yet he wouldn't hesitate to forbid me from going out again if he thought my health was at risk.

"I am allowed the occasional drink dad, as long as it's just one or two."

He shakes his head disapprovingly "It's probably best not to drink at all. You don't need alcohol to have a good time."

Resisting the urge to roll my eyes, I slowly head for the kitchen door. Eager to avoid yet another lecture, and return to the warm nestiness of my duvet. "I know that dad."

"And did you have a good time?" He asks quizzically, no doubt subtly trying to fish for information. Except I see straight through his attempt. My dad isn't over endowed when it comes to subtlety.

I nod, perhaps a little too enthusiastically, and I'm unable to keep from smiling. The memory of the previous night, and Damon in particular, suddenly takes the edge off how rubbish I feel as a result of the hypo.
"Yeah, I really enjoyed it."

"Hmm. Thought as much."

I freeze, confused by his remark but I've just taken a huge bite from what might be my third or fourth biscuit, so I'm not yet able to ask him what he means. Hurriedly I begin to chew, but he speaks again before I have chance to say anything.

"I saw him, the young fella you was with. He seems keen."

"W-what?" I splutter, almost choking on several crumbs that suddenly fly to the back of my throat.

"Oh yes. I saw you both together. Queer looking chap, but at least he walked you home and didn't try anything on." He continues, unperturbed by my coughing fit.

Gradually the coughing subsides, leaving my eyes watering and my face flushed. I try to open my mouth but my teeth seemed to be glued together by jam.

"I'm not having him leading you astray though. Keeping you out until gone midnight and buying you booze. He better not have been trying to get you sozzled." My dad ploughs on, seemingly on a roll now.

Finally I rid myself of the offending jam, and hastily begin to set him straight. At first I had feared that he'd somehow seen me with Damon outside the pub, but soon realise he must've been looking out of his bedroom window, and had in fact seen me with Brett.

"No, it wasn't like that. He wasn't buying me drinks. Well actually he bought me one, but it was just coke--"

"He only bought you one drink all night? Sounds tight to me." Dad interrupts, a deep frown forming on his lined brow.

"No he wasn't being tight. We weren't, I mean we're not.." I fumble for the right words to explain. Knowing that if I mention a second man now, it's bound to raise more than just his eyebrow. He's already on medication for high blood pressure. So instead I choose to withhold that information just for now.
"What I mean is, he's just a guy from one of the bands, and there's nothing going on between us. Honest."

Dad pauses and narrows his eyes skeptically at me. I can practically hear the cogs whirring as he stands there in deep contemplation. His suspicious mind kicking into overdrive.

During his lengthy pause my own sleep-fuddled mind suddenly seems to wake up. Disturbed from its slumber by something my dad has said, and I'm immediately overcome with curiosity and confusion.
"What did you mean when you said he seemed keen?"

"Well he had the common courtesy to walk you home.." He explains, and then his face seems to colour slightly. Growing a little red around the gills. "And....I saw the way he had hold of you."

"What?" I cry, my voice sounding suddenly shrill. "What do you mean? I lost my balance a bit that's all, he barely touched me!"

"Well he seemed keen to me. He stood there staring after you long enough. I heard you come in but he was still there, looking up at the window. Cheeky sod."

"He, he what?"

"He looked up at the window. Like he was waiting to see you or something." Dad continues, a clear tone of indignation in his voice.

Feeling slightly baffled, I choose to dismiss this new information and put it down to dad's paranoia. He must be mistaken. Or even if Brett did look up at the window he was most likely just being nosy. I can't imagine he'd specifically be looking to catch sight of me.

We're not exactly Romeo and Juliet.

**********

Later that evening I leave the flat feeling decidedly rattled.
As I'd emerged from my room wearing my knee-length denim skirt, with tights of course, coupled with my pride and joy...a David Bowie T.shirt, I was immediately accosted by Jane, who seemed to have been hovering around outside my door.
After questioning me briefly about where I was going, and who with, et cetera, she proceeded to tell me that my dad had been on the phone to the local hospital and arranged for me to see one of their diabetic consultants tomorrow.

To say I was slightly peeved would be an understatement. Not about the questioning, that was only to be expected, and I was relieved that my dad was still yet to return from work. Otherwise it would have been a full-on interrogation. Jane on the other hand, appeared pleased that I'd actually found somewhere to go.

Not that I blame her, admittedly since my arrival a little over two weeks ago I'd barely moved out of the flat, and quite possibly no further than three feet away from the sofa. Choosing instead to lounge around in my ratty pyjama pants, snacking on junk food and wallowing in self pity.
My ex boyfriend Mark, never too far from my thoughts and most days I still cried hot tears of frustration at least once.

On the odd occasion I had left the building to buy cigarettes, I'd been mostly accompanied by a less-than-thrilled Jane, who had rather unfairly had the role of glorified babysitter thrust upon her. So it was no wonder she wasn't opposed to me venturing out, and if anything had encouraged me to 'go out and meet people' as she put it, before I became a fully fledged hermit, or ate my own weight in chocolate.

But my dad arranging for me to go to the hospital vexed me.
I had my own diabetic doctor at the local hospital back home, and I wasn't really due a check-up. I'd been looking forward to the break from hospitals, and doctors. They were like vampires in white coats, armed to the teeth with syringes at the ready, wanting to fill vial upon vial with my blood. It was so tedious...

After hurrying to the underground I took the Jubilee line to Bond Street, then changed to Central where at last I arrived at Notting Hill Gate station. The journey should've only taken around thirty minutes but the first train was delayed, so by the time I meet Damon I'm slightly flustered and out of breath after having ran up the escalator so as not to keep him waiting. Terrified that he may have thought I wasn't coming.

He's wearing a blue and white Kappa sports jacket, from underneath which peeps a Chelsea football shirt. His fringe is perfectly tousled, and his baby blue eyes seem bluer than ever.
He smiles at me, places a kiss on my cheek and I melt.
I had been hoping for another kiss on the lips, eager and hopeful that I must, surely, at some point experience the sensation of the earth moving, or fireworks, or electricity or...or something.
Anything.

You read so much about that sort of thing in books, and see it portrayed in the movies but I've yet to come anywhere near to having it happen to me. None of my past boyfriends came close, at the age of sixteen a lot of them were all tongues and teeth, and even Mark, whom I loved to bits, still didn't make me tremble whenever we locked lips. In fact, if anything I'd have to admit he was a bit of a sloppy kisser. Snogging him was always a little bit like being given the kiss of life by a cod fish.

But, with Damon I feel confident that he could be the one. I mean, I'm not allowing my imagination to run wild...I don't expect him to marry me or anything...but he's so gorgeous, how can I not get that magical 'spark' when we kiss?  That special 'zing' feeling.
If it's going to happen with anyone, it's got to be with him. Once the moment is right, I'm sure I'll feel it. If such a thing exists - I've never been brave enough to ask anyone for fear of being laughed at - then the odds are now in my favour, having somehow managed to catch the interest of a guy like him.

"So your dad let you out then?" He chuckles, as we set off walking towards the nearest bust stop.

"Yeah. I've escaped." I joke, feeling slightly self conscious. I really don't want him to think that I'm just a silly girl. I'll be eighteen soon, so hopefully then my dad will loosen up a bit.

"So, d'ya want to go for a drink?" He asks suddenly, shattering my thoughts.

"You mean like a coffee?"

He scrunches his nose in apparent distaste, and before he says a word I can already guess his answer.
"A coffee? We've got coffee back at the house, no point paying west end prices for a cup of coffee when there's a jar of Nescafé at home."

Okay. So no coffee. That's fine. So presumably he means a drink in the pub, and my guts churn slightly at the thought of consuming alcohol two days in a row.
Call me a lightweight, but I'm really not used to drinking that often. And my head is absolutely pounding, so the thought of having to sit amongst the racket of a pub right now fills me with dread.

"I've got a bit of a headache." I smile apologetically at him, as if it's somehow my own fault. "Sorry Damon, but I don't think I could stand the noise."

He seems to ponder this for a while before answering, seemingly having made a decision "Okay. Back to mine it is then."

As if by a miracle, the bus comes almost immediately and we're soon crawling through the early evening traffic.
On route, Damon tells me the exciting news that the band have secured some studio time for next week, and they're hoping to begin recording their second album.
Politely I ask about Blur's first album - fleetingly wondering whether or not he'll be perplexed that I've never heard it, or even the band themselves - and he proceeds to explain in great detail how he wasn't completely satisfied with their first attempt at making a record, and how he's now hoping to "go in a different direction" this time around, both lyrically and musically.

His in-depth description continues as we get off the bus, and lasts the duration of our five minute walk to his house in Moorhouse road.

Damon's residence is a very large, traditional stucco fronted terrace, nestled in the Artesian village area of Notting Hill.

Once inside, he leads me into the spacious, yet slightly shabby looking living room, where I'm met by the likeable Alex who is sprawled across a sofa that's adorned with throw blankets.
He beams at me, mumbles a "Hey Sam." then introduces me to their other housemate, who is at present perched on one of the moth-eaten armchairs in the corner.

Jarvis is, without a doubt, the oddest - and skinniest - looking man I've ever seen. He's dressed rather smartly, in a burgundy coloured velveteen suit jacket, complete with purple shirt and pink tie. On his ludicrously long, gangly legs he's wearing what appears to be mauve corduroy trousers, and beaten-up winkle-picker shoes complete his strikingly eclectic look.

"Hullo Sam." His deep, rather deadpan voice seems to reverberate around the walls of the room, as he grasps my hand and shakes it warmly. "I've heard all about you. It's nice to meet you."

Smiling back at him, I take a seat on one end of the sofa as Alex politely makes room for me. "It's nice to meet you too."

"Would you like a cup of tea, or coffee?" Jarvis asks, reaching out to take my jacket as I shrug out of it. "I was just about to brew up."

"A cup of tea would be lovely, thanks."

He disappears off into the hall on his stick-thin legs, and I find myself wondering how on earth he manages to walk on them. Without sounding rude, they remind me of stilts.
However, stick-man frame aside, I've already decided that I like Jarvis a lot. Call me biased but he seems to exude that typical Northern friendliness that I miss so much. His face, though undeniably gaunt, is friendly and open looking. He has the warmest smile, and the twinkliest green eyes that seem to sparkle at me from behind his black framed glasses.

In his absence, Damon plonks himself down on the sofa, sandwiching himself between Alex and myself.
Now we're away from the scent of exhaust fumes, the closeness of our proximity affords me a whiff of his aftershave. Which I instantly recognise as Calvin Klein's One. I know this scent only too well, because Mark used to wear it. Ugh.

Still, it is a delicious smelling aftershave, so I hastily force all unwanted thoughts of Mark from my mind. Which is relatively easy to do, as I'm distracted by Damon and Alex arguing over the TV remote.
Alex has been watching MTV, and Damon is adamant about checking the football scores.

I watch in amused silence, giggling to myself as the pair squabble like a pair of fractious, disagreeable little kids until Jarvis reappears and puts an end to their bickering.
It would seem that this older man - Jarvis is thirty, and therefore the oldest inhabitant of the household - has somehow fallen into the role of a surrogate father or older brother. He's the voice of sense and reason, and I listen with growing amusement as he talks calmly, keeping his voice level as though handling two toddlers throwing a tantrum. And something tells me that he's handled these particular toddlers before.

The disagreement is settled by Damon being told he should check his football scores albeit quickly, so long as he permits Alex to continue watching his most beloved TV channel as soon as he's finished.
Somewhat sulkily, Alex surrenders the remote to a smug looking Damon, who immediately switches over to catch the sports update.

I at last receive my tea, Jarvis takes his seat, and for the next half an hour we chat amiable about the North.
Jarvis asks me where I'm from, and delightedly informs me he's a native of Sheffield - which is little more than an hours drive away from my own hometown.
In between our conversation, Alex chips in at certain points, joining in the friendly debate concerning dialect ("a sandwich is a sarnie, not a buttie.") and so on.
All the while Damon, I notice with mild irritation, remains utterly engrossed by match of the day highlights. To the point where I'm convinced that if the three of us all burst into an impromptu rendition of 'Consider yourself' from Oliver, he still wouldn't bat an eyelid.

It is then that we hear the sound of the front door opening, and slamming shut again.
Jarvis pauses mid-sentence, as right on cue the living room door opens and Brett wafts in, hair wet as well as his clothes, and once again clutching a folded newspaper that's looking a little bit soggy.
Dressed in dark denim jeans, simple black T.shirt, and matching denim jacket, he cuts an imposing figure due to his brooding good looks and lofty height.

Incidentally, with both Jarvis and Alex standing at over six feet tall, Brett hovering at around the six feet mark and Damon coming in at a close 5' 11", amidst this veritable land of giants I rather feel like Gulliver in Brobdingnag.

Ordinarily I wouldn't be the first one to speak, but his damp, slightly bedraggled look spurs me on. Mostly because I'm thinking if it's raining now then I'm going to get drenched on the way home. Typical. This is just my luck.

"Is it raining out?" I ask, my voice coming out more unsteadily than I would've liked.

"No I took a shortcut through a car wash." Brett replies coldly, without even so much as glancing in my direction.

Hmph. Tetchy bastard.

"Y'all right mate?" Alex asks, immediately picking up on the negative vibes that seem to surround Brett's presence.

Negative is putting it mildly, the man is practically radiating anger. He doesn't look none too happy, and perhaps it's my imagination but since I spoke to him his expression seems to darken further.

"Not really Al." He grumbles, and tosses the damp newspaper at Alex, where it lands in his lap.

"Cup of tea Brett?" Jarvis swiftly interjects, and he's already up on his feet before Brett even responds. Clearly Jarvis has been brought up in a household where tea is seen as the solution to any problem, or at the very least an antidote for shock.

"Yeah please Jarv. Is there any Earl Grey left?"

For the first time in perhaps the last forty minutes or so, Damon makes a sound, snorting under his breath "We should have. You're the only one who drinks that poncy stuff."

I watch Brett with growing curiosity, as he slumps into the other armchair which is positioned in front of the huge bay window.
He's barely even looked at me, which I find inexplicably annoying.
I don't know what I was expecting exactly, but after the hush-hush, ensuring I got home safe incident, I suppose you could say I at least thought he'd have the courtesy to acknowledge my existence. I don't know why his indifference towards me effects me so deeply, but I am lengthily quite seriously pissed off by it.

"Fucking hell!" Alex suddenly blurts out excitedly, and I almost spill what remains of my own tea.
He's staring wild eyed at the front cover of the newspaper, which I now see is the Melody Maker....again.
"Damon, have you seen this?" He thrusts the newspaper into Damon's face, ignoring his protests.

"Yes, I've seen it." Damon snaps, batting the paper away "I saw it on Wednesday when it came out."

By now I'm intrigued, and reach for the soggy paper myself. I am admittedly more a fan of the NME, so I'm curious to see what could possibly be causing such a stir. "Can I see?"

Alex passes it to me, and as I gaze down at the front page I'm rendered temporarily stunned by what I see.
Brett's barely recognisable visage stares back at me from the printed page, his pale, handsome face all but covered by his long hair - almost as if he is attempting to hide behind it like a curtain. His band mates surround him, and emblazoned to the left of the image in bold letters screams the headline 'Suede; The Best New Band in Britain'

"Why didn't you tell me about this?" Alex is demanding now of Damon, who shrugs his shoulders in a couldn't-care-less manner.

"I forgot." He replies flatly, which earns him an incredulous look from his bassist, and quite rightly so.
I myself find it hard to believe that something so monumentally important could've slipped his mind. Whether he likes Suede or not, it's not every day your housemate becomes the cover star of a popular music magazine. And especially whilst simultaneously being dubbed as the best new band in Britain.

Then all at once I'm struck with a sudden realisation, as the familiarity of the photograph and it's headline dawn on me. It has been a slow, and somewhat long descent, but the penny finally drops. "I've seen this before too!" I cry, startling both Damon and Alex.

"Why didn't you mention it?" Alex asks Brett, who I notice is now sat in the manner of a worried child, with his knees drawn up to his chest.

"Well I wasn't gonna brag about it Al." He states simply.

Hastily I find myself speed-reading the article, still trying to come to terms with the fact that I've seen this cover several times since it's publication on Wednesday, adorning the shelves of the local newsagents. But even after having met Brett yesterday, I hadn't joined the dots.

Well, his face is partially covered by his chocolatey brown hair. So that would explain why I wouldn't have recognised him, I tell myself, feeling more than just a tad stupid.

"Is this about the Melody Maker article?" Jarvis enquires upon returning, this time brandishing a steaming mug which he proffers to Brett.

"You knew about it as well?" Alex cries, looking seriously disgruntled now. "Brett this is huge!"

"Didn't Damon tell you?" Jarvis asks, before nudging one of Brett's knees with his elbow. "Shoes, off!" He commands like a master addressing an unruly dog.

He must be using the term 'shoes' in the broadest possible sense because it's not how I would described them - as Brett sighs heavily and begrudgingly kicks off a pair of tatty moth-eaten moccasins which have clearly seen better days - tucking his black-socked feet underneath him.

"But this is great!" I chirp, now having read through the article. Perhaps I should keep my opinions to myself, being as I'm a virtual stranger, but I'm genuinely excited for Brett and his band. "What's the problem?"

He takes a sip of his tea, and eyes me steadily above the rim of his cup. There's something about the intrusiveness of his gaze that does strange things to my stomach.
"The problem is this means we're going to have to crack on with the single now. It's gonna have to be released sooner."

I look back at him blankly, and I see him bristle with agitation because I'm still none the wiser. I can't see why such a minor thing is causing him such great annoyance, and his terse reaction to my questioning is unprecedented and a bit hurtful.
How am I supposed to know after all?
Yet he's looking at me as if I'm a slow-witted child.
And is that his teeth I can hear grinding?

"I don't think I'll be able to record anything unless this clears up." He indicates towards his ear, and his expression grows thunderous when I'm still as equally baffled by his vague explanation.

"Oh, is your ear still giving you grief?" Alex supplies, but before Brett answers Jarvis cuts in.

"Oh that reminds me, your sister rang to say she's coming round to speak to you about that."

Leaning forwards to set the cup down on the floor, Brett rubs his face with his large hand "Fuck. I spoke to her this morning, she doesn't need to come over."

"She's just showing her concern. She said you could barely hear her on the phone."

"Which isn't necessarily a bad thing." Brett retorts, and I get the impression he'd rather hold a séance  to contact the malevolent spirit of a psychotic axe murderer than telephone his own sister.

"Well, tough shit mate. She's coming round." Jarvis chortles, to which Alex declares,

"I don't mind. Let her come round. I like Blandine."

I try, but fail to keep from frowning. Blandine? Is that even a name? Really?

"I thought you fancied Saskia." Brett points out to Alex, who's grinning widely now as he shakes his head slowly.

"Nope, I got over Jarvis' sister. Sorry mate, I've always had a bit of a thing for yours."

Saskia? Blandine? Are they making these up? If not then clearly neither sister would ever date Alex. Name shame you see. In a world filled with all these très cool, unusual names, surely plain old Alex would be far too 'normal' for them.

"What's wrong with your ear?" I ask Brett, interrupting the topic concerning which sister Alex prefers. But it is Damon, who is being uncharacteristically quiet, that answers.

"He's been moaning about his poxy ear all week, it's driving me mad."

"Yeah? Well it's been driving me mad, since last weekend's gig! I've not been able to hear a bloody thing out of it." Brett growls, shooting Damon a look that could strip paint. "And the pain's getting worse. I feel like someone's hammered a nail into my head."

I fleetingly recall Damon having taunted Brett about his loss of hearing the previous day, and am at last then able to fit all the puzzle pieces together.

"Ah. So you're worried about having to record your single early because you can't hear properly."

"Yes." Brett says rather impatiently "Damon's really struck it lucky this time I see. Finding a girl with brains as well as beauty."
His tone is heavily laden with sarcasm, and I feel as if I've just been punched in the gut.

I wait for Damon to jump to my defence, to reproach him for his uncalled-for meanness, but my new beau is now engaged in yet another battle for the television remote with Alex.
So instead I affix Brett with my most withering death stare, in order to show my rapidly growing dislike of him.

The atmosphere between us is silent but volatile, kind of fraught with a simmering tension. I'm quietly confident that if looks could kill, then he would now be reduced to a crumbling pillar of salt, yet in spite of this the bastard smirks at me.
Brazenly, openly, smirks at me, and perhaps it is the light in here because I can't quite see properly, but I could swear he just winked at me.

No, I must be mistaken. Or even if I'm not, either way I still dislike him now. But the quickening of my heart rate is suddenly back, and I'm desperately trying to ignore it.
He puts me in mind of a lazy, but potentially lethal, big cat, as he sits casually now with one long leg thrown negligently over the arm of the chair.
God, I wish I didn't find him so aesthetically pleasing. He's like some other-worldly creature. Elegant, mystical, beautiful, and inscrutable as a sphinx.

Just then a loud rapping on the front door catches everyone's attention. And Brett is up now, kneeling on the arm of the chair, peering out of the window.
"Shit! It's Blandine. Jarv will you tell her I'm out?"

"No I certainly won't." Jarvis protests, sounding deeply offended as he stands in order to answer the door "I spoke to her and said I'd tell you she'd be calling. So I'm going to look like a right tit if I say you're not in."

Alex is chuckling now, and rubbing his hands together like a mischievous school boy. Clearly eager to see the object of his desires again.

Groaning, Brett sinks back down onto the chair and buries his face in his hands in apparent despair.

Out in the hallway I hear a female voice conversing with Jarvis, and suddenly I become aware of Damon growing increasingly fidgety, as though uneasy. Willingly he surrenders the remote to Alex, and quickly turns to me. "D'ya wanna go upstairs?"

"W-what?" I stammer, the suddenness of such an invitation taking me completely by surprise.
I self consciously cast my eyes in Brett's direction, and unexpectedly catch him peering out at me through his long fingers. As if he's awaiting my response also.

If Damon, for whatever reason, is hoping to make a quick get away before Brett's sister makes her entrance, then he's already too late. As the the door seems to open in animated slow motion and a slim, pretty brunette elegantly glides into the room, clutching a wet umbrella.
So graceful are her movements, that if it weren't for the heels of her leather ankle boots clicking across the laminate flooring, one might be inclined to think she were on wheels.

She's wearing a beautiful knee-length, emerald green dress and a bubblegum-pink cashmere cardigan - an odd combination you'd think, but surprisingly on her it seems to work - her long brown hair is swept back off her face efficiently in a low ponytail, and I can't help but notice what a striking resemblance she bears to her brother. Except her features are smaller, and she's petite in stature. But similarly to him also, she looks effortless cool.

She smiles and greets Alex fondly, much to his delight, but I can't help noticing how she and Damon ignore each other completely.
For a moment there's a lengthy, rather awkward silence until Damon suddenly stands and mutters something about going to get a drink.
On his way out of the door he catches Alex's eye, who in turn stands like a reluctant yet obedient puppy, and follows Damon out.

To say I'm feeling a little abandoned right now, is an understatement. In fact, I can't believe I've been deserted like this. Perhaps I ought to leave too, and allow the siblings some privacy. Maybe that's why Damon has so rudely departed, and eyeballed Alex into following suit.
However just as I'm about to excuse myself and beat a hasty retreat, Brett's voice cuts through my thoughts and immediately gains my full attention.

"Blandine this is...erm.." He falters, and looks genuinely confused. But not nearly as confused as how I am feeling.

He's forgotten my name. Dear God, I think. I know he's no doubt a very busy man who has lots of rock and roll type things to do, but am I really that insignificant?

"I'm sorry." He says, and looks distinctly awkward "I don't think I caught your name."

"Sam." I croak, but desperately try to keep my tone light and breezy so they don't detect the embarrassment I am feeling.

But he somehow manages to see straight through it, and he's looking at me very apologetically. His sad expression almost bordering on pity, and I hate it. I don't want this moody, obnoxious, irritatingly handsome man feeling sorry for me.

"Damon didn't tell me your name."

"It, it's fine." I smile falsely, despite being struck by yet another blow. Damon hasn't even told Brett my name.

"Oh. You're Damon's new girlfriend are you?" Blandine asks, and she gives me an almost sympathetic look which I duly register.

"No. Um, I mean yes...well...maybe." I really can't provide a definite answer to this question and for reasons unknown to me I find myself not wanting to place too much emphasis on the fact that I might be. For a split second, I even want to say no. But as usual I just gibber like an incompetent fool.

Flustered now, I feel my cheeks begin to burn but Blandine reaches out and takes me gently by the hand.
"Don't worry, If you are I won't hold it against you." She laughs, and my awkwardness subsides "I'm Blandine, and it's lovely to meet you Sam."

"You too." I go to withdraw my hand when suddenly she catches it again as her eyes are drawn to my medic alert identity bracelet.

"Oh, so you're the young lady who has diabetes." She states cryptically. And whilst I do find it amusing the way in which a woman who only appears to be in her late twenties is addressing me as 'young lady', I'm more intrigued by how she has come to learn of my diabetes.

"Well yes I am diabetic but--"

"I did wonder why Brett rang me up and out of the blue started asking me about Louisa." Blandine clarifies, seeing my look of bewilderment "Louisa is my best friend, she also has diabetes. Brett mentioned you."

My mouth suddenly goes dry, and my stomach seems to do a little flip which I find unnerving and annoying in equal amounts. "He....he did?"

My eyes slide over to Brett, who's usual pale pallor now bears a dusting of pink. He doesn't speak, and refuses to meet my gaze. Choosing instead to stare with avid interest at the slight cracks in the plastered walls, as though they were newly discovered hieroglyphics that give directions to the tomb of a yet-to-be-found Egyptian Pharaoh.

"Oh dear, have I said something I shouldn't have?" Blandine asks, and her brother begins to shift uncomfortably in his seat.

"No, not at all." He clears his throat "When I met Sam yesterday, her condition got me thinking.....about Lou. That's all."

After getting over the weird sensation I feel due to hearing him speak my name for the first time, I wonder then if Brett shares a history with this Louisa. Or maybe he carries some hidden torch for her, which would explain his blushes.

"Well how are you keeping in general? Is your diabetes well controlled?" Blandine asks keenly, like she's a friend who's known me for years.

Touched by her genuine kindness, I smile at her fondly. "It's fine. In fact I'm having a check up at the hospital tomorrow, so...yep. It's definitely in hand."

"Oh that's good. I know how nasty it can be when things are left unchecked....and speaking of which, brother." She rounds on Brett now, who mutters an inaudible word under his breath which she opts to ignore. "Have you made an appointment yet to get that ear of yours looked at?"

"Gimme' a break B, by the time you get an appointment to see one of the local doctors you're either dead or well again."

"Then go to the hospital."

"No, it's not that bad." He argues defiantly.

"You can't hear out of it Brett, you might've burst an eardrum. Which is hardly surprising given the unholy racket that band of yours makes, which leads me to my next point....how exactly are you going to make this record of yours when your hearing is impaired, hm?"

"Even so, my dodgy ear doesn't warrant a trip to the A and E. It's not an emergency."

"But it is, you've not been able to hear anything properly in over a week. And it's causing you pain."

"The pain isn't that bad."

"You said it feels like a nail being hammered into your head." I point out, much to his irritation and my amusement.

"Alright...so it is quite bad." He admits reluctantly, clearly irked that I'm adding fuel to the proverbial fire."But I'm not going to the hospital."

"But you are going to be recording your single earlier now, right?" I continue boldly "So you do need to have it checked sooner rather than later. You should go."

"See! Thank you, Sam." Blandine gestures towards me, grateful to have back-up in her argument. "Go to the hospital tomorrow, Brett. I'll take you--"

"No thank you. I will go, alright? But you don't have to come with me. I'm not a child." He huffs sulkily, ironically sounding like one.

"I know you though, you won't go." She points a finger at him accusingly "You're just saying that to stop me from nagging you."

"I do want you to stop bloody nagging." He mutters between swigs of tea. "But I've said I'll go. What d'you want me to do, write it in blood?"

"Oh wait a minute, I've got it!" Blandine exclaims, and turns to look at me. And I note with alarm, the conspiratorial smile evident on her baby-pink lips "Sam is going to the hospital tomorrow, you could go together."

Brett and I almost spit our tea out at each other in our haste to reject Blandine's suggestion. We both gabble various polite excuses simultaneously, but she carries on unperturbed.

"Oh come on you two, why not? It's not as if I'm setting you up on a date. You can just keep each other company while you wait. That way you don't have to go alone Sam, and you can make sure that Brett actually goes."

I blink rapidly, unable to comprehend the very thought of me trying to make this fully grown man do anything.

"But who's to say Sam is going alone?" Brett protests "Isn't someone going with you Sam?"

"No actually. My dad will be busy at the shop all day." I admit reluctantly "But I'm sure if I ask, my stepmother will take me. She'll have to actually otherwise I'll never find the place."

"But Brett needs to go and be seen anyway, so it makes more sense him going with you. He can go to the accident and emergency department whilst you're having your check up." Blandine says cheerily.

"But Sam is most likely going to a hospital near where she lives. I can just go to St Mary's which is right around the corner."

Phew. I think. Nice one Brett. Very nicely done.
But my relief is short lived.

"What does that matter? You can go to any A and E department Brett, it won't kill you to get on a bus or take the tube."

Brett looks over at me helplessly. His look suggesting that he's given it his best shot, and it was now down to me to come up with a valid objection and save the day.

"But I...I don't know what time my appointment is yet." I fumble hurriedly for words. "So we won't be able to arrange anything."

From across the room, Brett nods approvingly.

"Well that's easily sorted." To our mutual dismay, Blandine waves her hand dismissively. "Brett give Sam the house number if she doesn't already have it, and take hers so that you can confirm the details over the phone later."

I look back to Brett, but like me he seems to be all out of ideas, so I sit there in silent horror as Blandine clasps her dainty hands together in triumphant glee.
"There, that's settled then. Now you need to go and change out of those wet clothes, before you catch pneumonia."

Brett and I stare at each other like two children that are being forced into doing something they don't want to do. He looks like he's lost the will to live, and I sort of know how he feels. Blandine has just basically organised our lives for us, but she's so friendly and lovely, and neither of us are able to say no to her.

Oh shit. How am I going to get out of this one?