LITMIR.BIZ

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think so.’

      Really it was shocking the way the state of the country was going. This guy was clearly in a bad way. OK so he had no broken bones, but anyone with an inch of compassion could tell that he was in deep shock. His dark eyes were hollow, his skin tinged with grey and the hairs on his arms were standing on end. What were the emergency services thinking, leaving the poor man in this condition? He should be in hospital being checked over or at least at home tucked up in bed.

      ‘Look, come with me,’ I said, offering my arm, ‘let’s go to my car and then we’ll decide what to do.’

      ‘Will you take me home?’ he asked, his voice lifting.

      ‘Of course, I will.’ I patted his arm gently, the touch of his skin under my fingers sending an icy chill down my bones. ‘Gosh, you’re freezing. Come on, I’ve got a blanket in the car. Do you think I should ring someone? Tell them what’s happened, that you’re OK?’

      ‘No, there’s no one,’ he said matter-of-factly. ‘I, um,’ he faltered, shaking his head again as if trying to make sense of it all, putting on a brave face for my benefit. My heart tugged at his vulnerability. ‘Could we go to yours, maybe?’ he added.

      His imploring gaze touched me deep inside. I didn’t know why, but for whatever reason, he couldn’t face going home yet. For the moment it seemed he wanted only the comfort of a stranger.

      ‘Yes, yes, of course.’ We walked together away from the crash scene, me hanging onto his arm unsure whether I was supporting him or whether he was holding me up. ‘I only live down the road. I think we could both do with a nice cup of tea. Then we can think about having you looked over, seeing a doctor or something.’

      ‘Tea sounds good,’ he said, in barely more than a whisper.

      It wasn’t until I’d put him in the passenger seat and tucked a blanket around his frozen limbs, pulling closed the lid of the car, that the second really freaky thing of the day occurred to me. Manoeuvring the car out of the lay-by, I glanced across at the man whose name I didn’t know yet with a stirring of recognition. And then I looked at him again, examining the defined jawline, the set of his mouth which made him look as though he was permanently smiling, and the deep-set grey eyes which when they focused on you made you feel that you were at the centre of his universe.

      It was the eyes that were the clincher. Intense and magnetic, they’d held my gaze on many an occasion. With a jolt of recognition, I gasped. James McArthur, Mr Daytime television himself, affectionately known as Jimmy Mack to his adoring public, was sitting in my car. The realisation turned me into a gibbering quivering wreck. Oh my gawd!

      His black hair, usually worn short and neat on screen, had grown longer and swept over one eye, offering him a mysterious air. Wayward tendrils skimmed the edge of his collar and I had to supress an urge to lean over and tidy them up with my fingers.

      He was even more gorgeous in the flesh than on the screen, if that was possible, and my breath caught at the back of my throat as my pulse went into overdrive. Being a master in stating the bleeding obvious, I said, ever-so-not-so-casually, ‘You’re Jimmy Mack, aren’t you? Off the telly?’ Talk about losing all coolness and credibility in the space of a few seconds.

      He turned his gaze on me, smiled a megawatt smile that sent my insides to mush, and nodded.

      ‘What’s your name, then?’ he asked, as if it had only just occurred to him that I might have one.

      ‘Alice. Alice Fletcher.’ Now it was me shaking my head. I couldn’t help imagining what everyone would say when I told them I’d acted as a guardian angel to probably the most recognisable man in the public eye and we were planning on sharing a cup of tea together. How amazing was that? Maybe I’d even get to appear on his show. “Meet Alice Fletcher, the heroine who rescued our very own Jimmy Mack from his car wreckage.” That was exactly the sort of sensationalism his show went in for.

      Back at my flat in a flurry of heightened excitement, I clucked around him like a mother hen. I made him a cup of tea, put him on the sofa, threw a duvet over him and generally watched over him. I was desperate to contact someone, anyone to let them know what had happened, but he wasn’t having any of it. Maybe he was on his way to somewhere he shouldn’t have been, I mused, wondering about the private side to this very public man.

      Probably once he’d had a rallying cup of tea, gathered his thoughts a little, I’d be able to get more sense out of him, but for the time being he wasn’t the most forthcoming of house guests.

      ‘I think I might just close my eyes for a moment.’ He put down his empty mug on the wicker coffee table and settled back in his seat, stretching his arms above his head. ‘Is that OK?’

      ‘Yes, you go ahead. I’ve got plenty to be getting on with here. Just give me a shout if you need anything.’

      A little thrill of excitement ran through me. Was Jimmy Mack really sitting on my sofa? Or was I part of some elaborate TV prank? He looked real enough to me. As his eyes flickered shut, I studied his familiar features more closely. The contours of his face, the strong turn of his jaw, the wide lips smiling even in rest; it was like looking at a member of my family. Weirdly, it seemed perfectly natural that he should be sitting there.

      But then again…

      What if something happened to him?

      A ripple of unease rose in my throat. What if he fell into some sort of delayed coma? Or contracted hypothermia, ending up dead in my living room? That would take some explaining. Before I’d even had chance to grab a couple of autographs off him as well. Desperation bubbled up in me. Celebrity or not, I had to get him out of my flat pdq so that the responsibility of looking after the nation’s favourite presenter could be offloaded onto someone else.

      For the moment though, he wasn’t going anywhere. He looked right at home on my squidgy sofa, his head resting on his arm. I supposed it was only natural he’d want to sleep after the ordeal he’d been through. It seemed a shame to wake him so instead I wandered into the kitchen, placing the dirty cups into the dishwasher. I threw some washing into the washing machine. Skimmed the pile of paperwork waiting patiently on the side. Checked my emails. Then I read my horoscope in the local newspaper.

      “A chance encounter could bring unexpected results. Keep an open mind and go with the flow, you never know where it might lead you!”

      Ha, I laughed out loud. There wasn’t much else I could do in the circumstances!

      No, all I could do was wait. I drummed my fingertips on the worktop, frequently gazing over at my guest looking for any signs of life. And then I waited some more.

      At eight o’clock with no sign of my visitor rousing, I made another cup of tea and a lot more noise in the process. I flung open cupboard doors, banged mugs down on the surfaces and hummed loudly. It was no good; a more direct approach was required.

      ‘Jimmy?’ I leant over him, whispering in his ear. A musky earthy scent reached my nostrils. ‘Jimmy,’ I said, gently shaking his shoulder, ‘would you like another cup of tea?’

      He murmured something unintelligible which, after that amount of time, was an almighty relief I have to say.

      ‘Good,’ I said, sharply. ‘Then perhaps you’d like something to eat. Might make you feel a bit better.’ Then perhaps you’ll vacate my sofa and leave me alone to my weekend of domestic bliss, I kept to myself. ‘I’ll put the telly on, shall I? We can catch the news.’

      I zapped the remote at the telly, popped into the kitchen to fetch the mugs of tea and came back into the living room. That’s when I received the third and most spectacularly freaky shock of the day. So much so that I screamed, dropping the mugs to the floor, the contents spraying my cream leather sofa and gardenia walls. That woke him, once and for all.

      ‘Jesus Christ! What is it?’ He leapt up from the sofa, only just escaping the spouting hot liquid, and looked at me accusingly.

      ‘You. It’s you.’ I looked from him to the screen.

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