‘Tea?’ He cocked his head to one side. ‘You’re crying over a cup of tea? You British.’
Exhaustion washed over her. ‘Look,’ she said, removing the tissue from her face, realising the bleeding had stopped. ‘Can you just go. Please?’
‘I—’
But then, to her relief, there was the sound of a door being opened, laughter. Henri’s voice, unmistakable, at the end of an anecdote that Odette had clearly thought was hilarious.
‘Henri!’ she called out, feeling weak with relief. ‘Help! There’s an intruder! I need help!’
‘I’m coming!J’arrive!’
There was a thunderous noise as her would-be knight in shining armour rushed up the stairs and burst into her room. ‘Bella?’ he said, noticing her bruised face. His eyes went to the stranger. ‘Oh,’ he said.
‘Can you tell him to get out of the house? I think he’s a tramp or something,’ she said, as quietly as she could. ‘He seems OK. I don’t think he’s dangerous. Just— Well, smelly and a bit worse for wear. I don’t know how he got in.’
Henri looked at her. ‘I?—’
But before he could finish his sentence, the man began to speak. ‘Henri, I don’t know how you know this chick, but could you help her or something. I think she’s— Maybe she’s going through something. Unless she’s moved in with you. A girlfriend? Which honestly you should have told me about but…’ he trailed off.
‘Brad, this isherroom.’
‘What?’
‘Yes. She is a lodger here. You must know this, surely?’
Brad’s brow furrowed. Then, as if a switch had been flicked, it lit up, smoothed out. ‘Oh yeah! The English girl.’
‘Yes,’ Henri nodded. ‘The English girl.’
Brad’s face contorted as if reliving the events of the last twenty minutes. ‘Ah,’ he said. ‘Shoot.’
‘Shoot’ indeed.
‘So, I think you’ll have to take the attic this time?’ Henri said, grimacing.
‘Jesus. What an idiot.’ The man rubbed a hand through his hair, looked at the debris scattered on the bed, the wet patch, the burnt nightstand. ‘Sorry. I guess you’re… what, Isabella?’
‘Bella,’ she said weakly. ‘And you are…?’
‘I’m Brad,’ he said, sticking his hand out towards her. ‘Your landlord.’
21
NOW
As the alarm trilled to signal yet another day, she groaned and turned over. Henri’s arms were still wrapped around her and he pulled her into a warm, soft embrace. It would be so easy to allow sleep to overcome her again, but her phone’s beeping was insistent and eventually she tore herself away. ‘Sorry.’
Henri moaned and shuffled away from her. He had what he called an ‘early class’ which meant he had to be up by 9a.m. and at uni by 9.30a.m. He always expressed incredulity at her alarm going off at 6a.m., but then he was a guy, and young and fit enough to get away with rolling out of bed into jeans and sloping to class five minutes before he was due.
Being a woman, and one ten years his senior, meant a lot more work to get to an acceptable standard to be seen in public. There was shaving and plucking and exfoliating and moisturising and hairstyling and make-up application, and all with the hope of looking as if she’d barely bothered and was just naturally gorgeous.
It was exhausting.
Yesterday morning when she’d gone downstairs, she’d been nervous that she might see Brad. After their embarrassing first encounter it was better for both of them to avoid each other for now, she’d reasoned. But luckily, he seemed to keep a similar schedule to Henri, getting up late and going to bed late. He’d been out when she’d returned from work and other than the odd burst of guitar music – which wasn’t unpleasant once she was sure it wasn’t being played by a ghost or an intruder – she’d barely been aware of his presence.
‘He comes from time to time,’ Henri had told her when they’d lain in bed together that night, she still thrumming with anger and embarrassment at the whole thing. ‘But usually he calls first and isn’t so?—’
‘Rude?’
