Jemma's Dilemma

And he seemed polite, rather old fashioned in fact, although a little intimidating with his size and his muscles, but still, he had been gentle when she was crying, could she trust him?

She was still tossing the idea around in her head when there was a knock on the door, an hour had passed already. Unsteadily she got to her feet and opened the door just a crack, uncaring about her reddened eyes or tear-stained face, he knew she was coming to him because she had no other choice.

"Yes!" She said, before collapsing at his feet, exhausted, the strain showing on her face as he lifted her as if she were nothing more than a child. Resting her head against his chest, the stress and lack of sleep caught up with her and her eyes drifted closed.

She did not see the way he tenderly carried her to his waiting car or the way he laid her gently in the back-seat as if she were some precious cargo.

She did not see the battered old Ford pull into the driveway as they left and the man jump out carrying a tatty leather suitcase. Didn't see him fall to his knees at the open door and empty flat. Didn't hear his cry, like a wounded animal as he realised she was gone. Didn't see him tear off the letter pinned to the front door before reading it as tears poured down his face. Didn't hear him whisper "too late, too late."

The debt collector saw though and smiled to himself, before giving instructions to the driver. And as the car pulled off he stroked her hair from her face as her head lay in her lap, congratulating himself on a job well done.