Bellow - Random prompt word

Jess fell over the cat, which promptly hissed and lacerated her shin, as she plummeted to the hall carpet. The doorbell chimed again, Jess struggling to her knees, almost certain she'd broken an ankle, and fumbled for the catch. The letterbox flapped open, a card beginning to poke through.

“Wait.”

Jess was relieved to hear the retreating footsteps falter and still. Footsteps returning, landing on the scrubbed, red-painted step. The bellow which followed added a ruptured eardrum to her list of woes, but help was needed.

“Is someone there?”

“Yes, me.”

“Who's me?”

The voice was overwhelming, even through the narrow slit of the letterbox. Tempted as she was to tell the man to look at the letters in his hand, Jess hissed her name over lips clenched tight against the pain.

“Jess Parker. Any chance of some help?”

“What's up then, lass?”

Later, when she had time to think, far away from Derek, Jess wondered why she'd felt a sudden urge to spill her guts to this disembodied, booming voice.

“I'm waiting for a cheque... to pay my rent. It's late. I saw you coming, ran down the stairs, missed the last one, fell over the cat and I think I've broken my ankle. It hurts...”

The last came out in a tearful little whimper. She was most unimpressed but it seemed to work like magic on the voice.

“Don't you fret, girly”, Girly? Really?, “Got a spare key out here?”

“No. I never thought it was safe. Woman on her own...”

Jess clammed up, aware she had just told a complete stranger she was alone and injured. What the hell had happened to her brains? It didn't seem to affect her would-be rescuer.

“Back door open? Window?”

“Bathroom window, upstairs. There's a ladder in the shed...”

Too late, she thought as heavy steps receded around the side of the cottage. Just my luck he's an axe murderer!

The strangest thing was the fact that his voice grew no dimmer. All the way round to the rear of the house he called to her, reassuring her, confirming he'd found the ladder and was proceeding – his exact words; like some TV cop – to work his way in. For a while the booming voice was silenced. When he started up again the volume was not impaired but the rescue was.

“Er... Miss Parker?”

“Yes.”

The surreal actions were getting to her, giggling becoming harder to suppress.

“Your bathroom window is extremely...narrow. More of an arrow slit really, if you think about it...”

She hadn't. It took her a moment of listening to some thumps, a strange ripping noise and a lot of huffing before she realised what had happened. She yelled up again.

“Your stuck, aren't you?”

“It would appear so.” came the reverberating reply.

“Bugger!”

It had seemed like such a good idea at the time. Buy a pretty cottage in the back of beyond. One with no land-line, no internet, not even a regular electricity supply. It had appealed to her need for solitude, peace and space to write and think. Her only contact with the outside world came via a weekly delivery from the local store (which had arrived the day previous) and a mobile which she hadn't charged in as long as she could remember. Not to mention said phone resided in her bedroom cabinet – on the upper floor.

“How stuck are you?”

“Not to be indelicate, Miss, but if I move I may never have children.”

“Ah...”

“Indeed.”

They lay and balanced in silence for a few moments. Eventually Jess made her move.

“The pain in my ankle can't get any worse. I'm going to try and drag myself upstairs to the mobile in my bedroom.”

“Good thought.” came the booming reply, followed by a small pause, “I suppose I ought to introduce myself, as I am semi-visiting. Derek, Derek Arkwright, substitute postman.”

“Not the day you expected huh?”

“You could say that.”

A little softer would be good, Jess thought as she hauled herself to the stairs, pain flaring and dying constantly. Maybe he didn't realise how ..big his voice was. On the third stair she nearly lost it. The cat had decided it was time to return. It stalked up the stairs, walked over her ankle a few times, rubbed up with what seemed like a chin full of razors and then tried to curl up on her leg. Jess' instant, and unfortunate, reaction was to rear backward, away from the pain.. and she head-butted the stair-post with considerable force.

“Miss Parker? Jessica? Jess?”

It was probably the sheer volume which brought her round. She sat up groggily, glared at the cat – who ignored her and headed off for lunch next door – and called back, wincing.

“I think I knocked myself out, Derek. I'm ok, I think. I'm coming up.”

It took five minutes of dragging, wincing and an increasingly mammoth headache, but she made it. Catching her breath on the landing, she risked a glance into the bathroom. The door was half open and she couldn't see much. Just a shaggy mop of brown curls.

“Derek?”

He looked up, tried to blow hair out of his eyes. There was no rhyme or reason, but they were laughing, instantly. The situation probably couldn't have been more ridiculous, so perhaps they were excused, but it didn't help Jess' headache, and Derek winced hugely as he tried to catch a breath.

Of course, the phone wasn't charged. Half hour of hauling herself around the bedroom on her bum, constantly being encouraged – at 'turned up to 11' – by Derek, produced the charger. An hour later they couldn't get a signal, but they had discovered a shared love of Spiderman comics and Sugar Puffs without milk. Jess sat with her bottom half supported on a pile of pillows and her top half hanging out the window, arm waving frantically, hoping to catch a bar and ready to press 999. A glance to her right caused more hysterics as she realised she was talking to Derek's feet, sans shoes – which had fallen off in his heroic efforts to squeeze through the window – and he was wearing Winnie the Pooh socks. She preferred Tigger, she explained, but they both liked Eeyore, so that was good.

“Bar!”

“Press!”

“Done.”

Half an hour later they were sitting in her kitchen, coffee in hand – they both liked it without sugar but lots of cream – grinning and trying to ignore the knowing looks of the retreating police and firemen.

Two years later they were married. Jess invested in earplugs, and Derek did his best not to shout. It turned out he was a little slip of a thing, all sinew and barely scraping her shoulder on a big hair day (but bigger than an arrow slit!). He'd learned to shout to make his presence felt. Some days, Jess thought his lungs must have filled the entirety of his narrow chest.

Three years later they were blessed with twins, one of each. The little boy, DJ, was robust, bigger by a pound. The little girl, Deedee, was tiny... but she'd inherited her father's lungs!