Box Set – Sandra 41

 

[For back story go here: Story so far at 30 Nov 2020 and more recent Sandra episodes especially this one.]

[Other back story through in-links.]

“Sorry,” said Sandra, “I... I didn’t mean to pick up.”

She was stretched out on the bed, face down, arm extended having reached the phone which was now in her hand and now against her face. It wasn’t cold, but it was hard, smooth, unforgiving and she may as well have been holding a brick against her face for the sensation it gave her.

It was the first time she’d answered her phone this week. She wasn’t certain how many days that was. She hadn’t spoken to anyone over the weekend. She had seen someone though. A rather nice delivery person had brought her a cardboard box stacked full of luxury drink. Luxury drink with alcohol. Three types of gin, two mixers, five bottles of wine. So that was the weekend very much taken care of. A box set or two on Netflix and lots and lots of relaxing.

She’d managed to stumble into the bathroom on Monday morning to find a bath run and waiting for her. But she couldn’t remember running it and in any case the water was cold and whatever luxury bath thing (float? bomb? bubbles?) she’d selected had petered out and now just made the water look dirty and stagnant. She didn’t empty it though. She went back to bed having forgotten to empty it and having forgotten to have the shower she thought she’d have instead. 

The box set watching was a great idea to begin with and Sandra had planned her viewing meticulously so she’d get through entire two series – one drama one mystery – before the weekend showed any signs of coming to an end and work kicking in. Except of course the luxury goods kicked in and she fell asleep halfway through the third episode, waking up later in the evening to find her television asking her if she was still watching at the moment? Damned screens, she thought, they’re way too clever.

Having returned to bed on Monday she wondered if she should answer David’s question from the end of the previous week but then decided he was being rhetorical or at least didn’t want an immediate answer. Or a not so immediate answer. And in any case she still didn’t have one. Maybe things would become clearer with another luxury drink or two. And so that was the end of Monday.

Tuesday had been promising but Sandra didn’t have a clue about this promise, more concerned for the interesting blend of gin and elderflower she’d found through her delivery service. 

When she woke up of Wednesday she really hadn’t meant to pick up the phone, at least not until she’d checked out her email for anything significant. And yet by some fluke she’d answered it – maybe she was on autopilot. Drunk autopilot.

“That’s OK,” said the voice at the other end. “I didn’t mean to ring you. But since I did Daisy wants to know what your favourite supermarket is.”

Sandra blinked to try and unscramble her brain. It didn’t work but it did bring home to her how much her brain hurt.

“Who is this?” she asked.

“Daniel,” said Daniel. “And Daisy of course, although she’s not here right now. She’s looking up Rylan Clark-Neal on the internet.”

“Rylan?” uttered Sandra. “Why the who hell?”

“Tell me about it,” said Daniel. “Apparently he’s better looking than Mr Sparklehat. If you’re Daisy of course.”

“Don’t know,” said Sandra, still grappling wildly around for sense. She was trying to get to grips with the world around her and bits of it were swimming back into her consciousness, making some kind of sense in some kind of way, but it was pretty hard to get to grips with anything in the current circumstances. Maybe it would all sort out in a few minutes or whoever this was would move on and she could work everything out without someone else throwing in ideas and suggestions.

“Can I call you back?” she asked, hopefully.

“Might not be possible,” said Daniel. “We’re on a fairly tight schedule today. It’s English next – or story time I think. I’m trying to work out if I need to read it or if she needs to write it.”

“Oh, you’re Daniel,” she said suddenly as a piece of the jigsaw fell into place. “I remember. You work for Trinny. How’s it all going?”

“To be honest I’m not entirely sure,” said Daniel.

“Yeah,” said Sandra, rallying now and warming to a subject she knew, “that sounds like you’re working for Trinny.”