Chapter 1
Beth’s keys were already in her hand. The corridor was empty, quiet in the way shared buildings became after dark, carrying faint smells of cleaning fluid and other people’s dinners. Home was ten steps away.
She was reaching for her door when the sound stopped her. A breath dragged in through clenched teeth, followed by the scrape of a shoe. She turned towards the fire door.
He was down on one knee beside it. One hand braced against the wall as if it were the only thing holding him upright. The other pressed hard into his side. Blood had already soaked through his shirt, spreading dark against the white. A few drops marked the floor beneath his hand. His head was bowed, his shoulders set too tightly for someone resting. He shifted his weight, tried to straighten and stopped.
She should have gone inside. She could lock her door and call for help without getting any closer. She’d learned a long time ago how to mind her own business, how to keep moving when things didn’t concern her, but she stayed where she was, the keys digging into her palm.
The man lifted his head. His eyes found her and stayed there, moving briefly to her hand before returning to her face.
“Don’t call anyone.”
His voice was low and rough. Beth looked at the blood working between his fingers, then back at him.
“You need help.”
“I know.”
Another breath left him. His shoulders dipped, and for a moment she thought he might fall sideways, but he caught himself against the wall. She glanced at her door. She could be inside in seconds. Instead, she moved closer and crouched beside him.
“Can you stand?”
He shifted his foot beneath him without answering. When she reached for his elbow, he pulled back, his hand scraping against the wall.
“Don’t touch me.”
Beth withdrew her hand but stayed close. He tried to push himself upright, got halfway and faltered. She caught his arm before he could go down, taking more of his weight than she was ready for. A low sound escaped through his teeth.
“Put your arm round my shoulders,” she said. “My flat’s just there.”
He looked towards the door she indicated. For a few seconds she thought he’d refuse that too. Then he moved his arm, letting her get beneath it while he kept his other hand clamped against his side.
Straightening him sent an unpleasant pull through her back. He was badly balanced, his weight dragging towards her despite his effort to hold himself up. She waited until his feet were beneath him before trying to move.
Somewhere beyond the fire door, footsteps sounded on the stairs. He stopped so abruptly that she nearly lost her grip. His head turned towards the noise, his arm tightening across her shoulders.
Beth listened with him. The footsteps continued down, followed by the heavy close of a door below.
“You expecting someone?” she asked.
“No.”
He was still watching the fire door when she urged him forward.
They reached her flat slowly. Beth kept one arm round his back while she tried to get the key into the lock. Her fingers were slippery, and she had to adjust her grip before she could turn it. He leaned against the wall beside her, breathing through his mouth.
The door opened onto the small hallway. A pair of shoes stood beside the radiator, and the washing she’d meant to put away that morning was still folded in a basket beside the bedroom door. She nudged the shoes out of their path and guided him inside.
“Just through here.”
He made it as far as the sofa before his knees started to bend. Beth helped him lower himself onto the edge, then went back to shut and lock the front door. When she returned, his eyes were on the hallway.
She fetched the first aid kit from beneath the kitchen sink and a clean towel from the cupboard. By the time she knelt in front of him, blood had reached the waistband of his trousers.
“You need an ambulance.”
He shook his head.
“I’m not going to be able to deal with this.”
“Don’t call one.”
“Why?”
He looked towards the front door again. Beth waited, holding the towel in both hands, but he gave her nothing.
“Please.”
That made her hesitate. He’d said it so quietly she’d almost missed it. She looked down at his hand, then unfolded the towel.
“Let me put this over it.”
He lifted his fingers just enough for her to press the folded cloth against his side. His breath caught, and his hand closed over hers.
“Hold it there,” she said.
She waited until he had a firm grip before easing her hand out from beneath his. There was blood across her palm and caught beneath her nails. She wiped it on a clean corner of the towel, then opened the kit on the coffee table.
“I need to cut your shirt so I can see.”
He looked at the scissors.
“Go on.”
She worked from the hem, cutting towards the blood-soaked section while he held the towel out of her way. The fabric clung to his skin. She eased it back carefully, stopping when he stiffened.
“Sorry.”
He shook his head, his jaw clenched.
The wound was worse than she’d hoped. She couldn’t tell how deep it went, only that the edges parted when he moved and fresh blood appeared as soon as she lifted the towel. Her stomach tightened. She pressed it back into place, keeping her hand over his.
“That needs a hospital.”
“I know.”
“Then let me call.”
He closed his eyes.
“I can’t go.”
She wanted to ask what he’d done, who he was frightened of, why he’d ended up outside her flat. None of it would tell her how to stop the bleeding. She kept the towel pressed against him and watched his face while she waited.
He’d lost colour. His hair was damp at the temples, and each time he shifted, his breathing caught. She’d brought him in because she couldn’t leave him in the corridor, but now he was on her sofa and she had no idea what to do beyond the thing she was already doing.
“What’s your name?”
His eyes opened.
“Luca.”
“I’m Beth.”
He looked at her for a moment, then lowered his gaze to their hands. Blood had soaked into the towel beneath them.
“Can you hold this yourself?” she asked.
He nodded. She left his hand over it and went to wash hers, keeping the kitchen door open so she could hear him. When she came back, he was leaning against the sofa, his head tipped back.
“Luca?”
“I’m awake.”
She knelt beside him again. The blood hadn’t spread much further across the towel. She couldn’t tell whether that meant it was slowing or whether the folded cloth was simply hiding it from her.
There were sterile dressings in the kit, tape and a bandage still in its wrapper. She laid them out within reach, reading the packets twice because she couldn’t seem to take in the words the first time.
“I can cover it,” she said. “That’s all. It doesn’t mean it’s alright.”
“I understand.”
She waited longer before lifting the towel. This time the blood came more slowly. She cleaned the skin around the wound as carefully as she could, then covered it with the largest dressing in the kit. Luca watched her hands. Once, when she reached too close to the torn skin, he caught her wrist.
She stopped at once.
“Give me a minute,” he said.
Beth stayed where she was until his grip loosened. Then she finished securing the dressing, careful not to pull at his skin.
He looked down at it.
“Thank you.”
She put the tape on the table and sat back on her heels. Her knees hurt from the floor, and there was a dull ache across her back where she’d taken his weight. She’d barely noticed either until then.
“I still think you should let me call someone.”
He didn’t answer. His hand rested beside the dressing, stained dark to the wrist. When he tried to sit forward, his face tightened and he stopped.
“Stay there,” she said.
“I’m tired.”
“I can see that.”
She gathered the empty wrappers, needing something to do with her hands. The sudden quiet from him was worse than the resistance. He’d been watching everything when she found him. Now he seemed to be struggling to keep his eyes open.
“Luca, look at me.”
He did, though it took him a moment.
“You’re frightening me.”
She hadn’t meant to say it. He was a stranger, and she didn’t owe him an explanation, but she was kneeling in front of him with blood on her clothes and no idea whether she’d made things worse by listening to him.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
Beth looked away and pushed the used wrappers into a pile.
“There’s a spare room. Can you manage that far?”
He nodded, placing his hand on the sofa beside him. She moved the first aid kit out of the way before helping him stand. He did most of the work, but when he swayed she had to brace herself and hold him until he steadied.
They took the short hallway slowly. The spare room was mostly used for storage, although the bed was made and the sheets were clean. Beth moved a stack of folded blankets from the mattress with her free hand, then helped him sit.
He stayed on the edge for a moment, looking down at the floor. She waited beside him until he began to lower himself onto his uninjured side, then eased a pillow behind his back.
“Is that pulling on it?”
“A bit.”
She adjusted the pillow until he nodded. His eyes closed, and she stood there watching him breathe before going to fetch a blanket.
When she came back, he was awake again.
“You should’ve called someone,” he said.
Beth stopped at the foot of the bed.
“You asked me not to.”
“I know.”
She waited for him to explain. He looked past her towards the open doorway.
“I’m leaving that open,” she said. “If you get worse, I’m calling for help.”
“Alright.”
She drew the blanket over him, leaving it loose around his injured side. There was blood on the cuff of her cardigan. She folded it back so it wouldn’t catch against the bedding, then stepped away.
Beth returned to the living room and looked at the damage. There was blood on the sofa, a smear on the carpet and fingerprints along the edge of the coffee table. The towel lay beside the open first aid kit.
She listened for him while she put the used dressings and wrappers into a rubbish bag. The towel went into the kitchen sink. She washed her hands, then washed them again when she found blood beneath one fingernail. Through the open doors, she could hear him move against the mattress.
She went back to check.
He was staring at the wall, his hand resting over the dressing.
“Has it come through?”
He glanced down.
“Don’t think so.”
She moved close enough to look. There was a small mark on the dressing, but it hadn’t soaked through. She stayed a moment longer, watching for fresh blood before returning to the kitchen.
The floor took longer than she expected. She wiped what she could from the carpet, then gave up on the sofa and covered the stained cushion with an old towel. By the time she’d finished, her hands were sore and the flat smelled of disinfectant.
She put the kettle on. While it boiled, she washed her face and checked on him again before making tea.
“Need anything?” she asked from the doorway.
He shook his head.
“Is there someone you can ring?”
His eyes moved to her.
“Not tonight.”
She wanted to press him, but he looked exhausted. She stayed until he settled, then went back to the kitchen and poured water over the tea bag.
Her phone was on the coffee table. Beth sat beside it with the mug between her hands, looking towards the hallway. She knew his first name and nothing else. She didn’t know how he’d been hurt or whether whoever had done it knew where he was. There was blood outside her door, and she still needed to clean it.
She put the untouched tea down and fetched another cloth.
The corridor was empty when she opened the door. She wiped the drops from the floor, watching the fire door while she worked, then came back inside and turned the lock. In the spare room, Luca hadn’t moved.
She stood beside the bed long enough to see that the dressing looked the same. His eyes were closed, his breathing shallow but regular. She said his name quietly, and he opened them.
“Just checking,” she said.
He let them close again.
Beth returned to the sofa with her phone. She could make the call from there. She wouldn’t have to ask him again or persuade him to agree, and she knew someone on the other end would tell her what to do.
She unlocked the screen, then sat with it in her hand while she listened to him through the open doors. After a while, she put it beside her, the volume turned up.
She left the hallway light on and lay down without getting ready for bed, pulling a blanket over herself. Every time she started to drift, a movement from the spare room brought her awake again. Twice she got up to check the dressing. Once he asked her the time, and she had to look at her phone before she could answer.
