I yawned and turned off the light next to my bed. Just as I started to drift off, my phone began to buzz on the bedside table. I snuck a quick glance at the time – almost midnight – and wondered if I could get away with ignoring it.
I quickly checked who it was, and sighed into my pillow. After a moment, I answered the call.
‘Katy?’ I grumbled. ‘It’s late.’
‘I know, and I’m sorry.’
‘It’s a worknight.’
‘It is?’
‘Katy!’
‘Right, sorry,’ she caught her breath. ‘I just… remember that time I helped you get out of those compression stockings?’
I looked around my empty apartment to double check that nobody was listening.
‘We said we’d never talk about that again,’ I hissed into the receiver.
‘I know, I know, but… I need your help now.’
I frowned. She sounded scared. ‘Is everything alright?’
‘Yeah, yeah,’ she reassured, clearly trying to sound calm. ‘I just… look, I tried it, okay.’
‘What?’
‘The compression stockings. You were right, they made your legs look amazing.’
‘They were children’s compression stockings,’ I said, squeezing the phone.
‘I know, I know, so I thought I wouldn’t make the same mistake, I’d try these circulation socks I saw online instead, and–’
‘You can’t get them off, can you?’
‘I’m definitely stuck, but if you could just–’
‘Dammit, Katy!’ I said, flicking the light on and getting out of bed. I tapped the call onto the loudspeaker and threw it onto the bed so I could still talk while I got dressed. ‘Where are you?’
‘Cheltenham.’
‘Cheltenham?’ I paused, half in a shirt. ‘Why are you there?’
‘There’s a local foot specialist near Cheltenham that I thought I’d be able to convince to give me some that were too small, but they were… unreceptive.’
‘Wait,’ I said, pausing half in my jeans this time. ‘So you don’t have the socks?’
‘Not exactly.’
‘Where are you stuck then?’
‘Uh… the window. Of the foot specialist.’
‘The window.’
‘Yes.’
‘You were breaking in?’
‘It was open!’