I take a step towards his door, then abruptly stop. It feels too much like taking advantage of the fact he’s next door. I told him he could see me as little or as often as he wanted. He didn’t ask me to come round after I got home, so I’m not going to just assume he’d welcome a visit.
With a sigh, I turn and head to my own house.
I’ll see him tomorrow.
I don’t bother turning on the downstairs lights, heading straight up to bed instead. It’s a little earlier than I’d usually go to bed, but I want to read for a bit. When I see Charlie again, I want to be able to tell him I’ve read more than the first page.
Two hours later,I’m wholeheartedly regretting that decision.
Not that his book is bad—far from it.
It’ssogood that I’ve read way more than I planned to.
It’s also scarier than I expected.
Rain splatters against my window with a sudden gust of wind, and I about jump out of my skin. “Fuck’ssake.” My heart pounds, and I let out a huff of shaky laughter.Get it together, Pete. It’s just a bit of water.
I set the offending book on my bedside table, then hesitate before turning off the lamp. “Stop being ridiculous,” I scoff and flick the switch. I’m plunged into pitch blackness and hold my breath for the time it takes my eyes to adjust.
I’m pretty fucking sure my house has never creaked and groaned as much as it does tonight, and it takes me way longer than normal to fall asleep.
I won’t be telling Charliethat bittomorrow.
Turnsout I won’t be telling him anything.
I get back a little later than planned on Sunday evening, but we’ve been texting back and forth throughout the day. The plan was for me to come over as soon as I got home, so I walk over to the annexe and knock gently on the door.
After a couple of minutes when he hasn’t come to the door, I knock again.
Still nothing, which is odd because his car is on the drive, so he has to be in. Sliding my phone from my back pocket, I call him.
No answer.
A hint of worry stirs in my gut. I’m sure he’s fine, but still, I’d like to make sure if I can. Of course I have a spare key, but I’m not using that unless I see him passed out on the floor. I step away from the door, about to go back to my own house, when I catch sight of something through the lounge window.
I wouldn’t normally try and stare through someone’s windows, but the curtains are open enough that I can see through into the room without having to get much closer.
I shake my head and smile when I realise what I’m looking at.
Charlie’s fast asleep on the sofa, his laptop on the coffee table next to him. He’s got a blanket covering him, and even from here he looks dead to the world. His phone must be on silent.
I know from our texts that he was up late writing. He must be knackered to be so deeply asleep. I could probably wake him up if I knocked louder, but there’s no way I’m disturbing him just so he can cook me dinner. I’m not an arsehole.
I send him a text, letting him know I came round.
Pete: I popped round after work, but there was no answer. I think you might’ve been asleep. We can try again tomorrow.
I’m so, so tempted to add anxto the end of my message but end up adding a smiley face instead. It’s oddly disappointing.
I take myself off home and rustle up some leftovers for tea. Not going to Charlie’s means I’ve got time on my hands, so I crack open his book and start reading.
The more I get into it, the more invested I am. My heart’s in my mouth as the main character enters the murder house to investigate the flash ofsomethinghe saw at the window. The clever way it’s written ratchets up the suspense until I’m practically inhaling each page to find out what happens.
It’s almost midnight by the time I realise I should probably be in bed. The dark staircase is wholly unappealing, and I turn all the lights on before climbing them.
That’s it.
I’m adding fucking fairy lights tomorrow.
