‘So? It’s only for one night.’
‘You don’t understand,’ Bailey says patiently. ‘It’s not a peaceful experience where everyone goes quietly off to sleep. They’ll ask you for bedtime stories and to take them to the bathroom at 3 a.m., and at 4 a.m. You’ll get fingers in your eyeballs, and someone will jump on you and land on your bladder. Then when you finally doze off, they’re awake at 5 a.m. and chasing each other round the room. They’re little monsters. I’m doing you a favour.’
‘But can’t I bunk in with Sarah? Her partner isn’t arriving until tomorrow ...’
‘They’re in the box room, and there’s only a double bed. And I’m sure you’ve already figured out that Sarah is a lesbian. So it’s not appropriate.’
‘So it’s more appropriate to be in here with you when we’re actuallynottogether?’ I scoff.
He rubs his hand over his face, as if I’m tiring him out. ‘Trust me, yes, even if you don’t want to be. As you say, it’s just for one night. You’ll be gone tomorrow.’
‘Sounds like you can’t wait,’ I grumble.
Bailey rolls his eyes heavenwards. ‘I can’t win with you.’
‘You could sleep on the floor?’ I suggest, not really liking the idea of sharing a bed with him. What if he snores or, even worse, sleeps nude? Ugh, my skin crawls just thinking about it.
‘No way, it’s wooden floorboards. I’m not that much of a gentleman. If it makes you feel better, we can put a barrier down the middle.’ He gestures to the mound of colourful display cushions adorning the top of the bed.
‘Fine.’ My eyelids are starting to feel like lead weights, and I can’t be bothered arguing. After the day I’ve had, the bed is starting to look appealing even if it is only 4.30 p.m. I stifle a yawn. ‘I might have a nap.’
‘Sure, I’ll leave you to it. I need to help with dinner anyway.’ We gingerly swap places, Bailey heading towards the door and me to the bed.
‘Just one question.’
‘Yes?’ He turns, and since I’m now sitting on the bed, the gingerbread man on his jumper is level with my head. I ignore its stupid beady eyes.
‘What happens after I leave tomorrow? When your family never sees me again, I mean. Won’t they think it’s weird?’
‘Oh.’ Bailey frowns, as if he’s thinking. ‘I’ll just tell them we broke up in the New Year. They won’t be offended. They’ll probably forget all about you.’
‘But ... but your mum seemed pleased you had a girlfriend, likereallypleased. What’s with that?’And they seemed to quite like me, which was even odder.
He shrugs. ‘I guess I haven’t been out with anyone for a while.’ I wait for him to elaborate, but he doesn’t. His ears have gone a faint shade of pink, though.
Fair enough, I’m not going to probe into his personal life. It’s not like we’re friends or anything. I’m just a random girl he met last night who’s let his family think he’s dating so I can get a decent night’s sleep. What a guy. I’m not entirely convinced Bailey’s intentions are pure, but all I can do is just go with it at this point and be on my guard.
‘So I’ll come and get you in an hour. Dinner’s not ’til seven, but you can help me make my special Christmas trifle if you like.’
I yawn again. ‘What’s so special about it?’
Bailey taps the side of his snub nose. ‘It has a secret ingredient.’
Rum or whisky probably. The thought of ingesting anything involving alcohol after last night makes me balk. I kick off my shoes and reach for the quilt. ‘I don’t like trifle,’ I say resolutely.
His mouth quirks. ‘Trust me, you’ll like this one.’
Hmmm, he seems to say that a lot. But trusting him isnotsomething I intend on doing.
Chapter 8
I lie on the bed, staring up at the model airplane swinging directly above my head. Now I’m alone, I’m not sleepy. My nerves are on edge being in a strange room in a strange house with strange people, and I’m feeling bad at leaving Crumpet with said strangers. He’s a pretty well-adjusted dog, but meeting this many people at once could be beyond his socialisation skills.
Far below, I hear the muffled slam of a door and a muted rumble of voices, like a noisy TV show turned to low volume. The horde must be back inside. My eyes flick to a corkboard with photos tacked to it—a montage of Bailey’s life, I assume. I’m not going to have a nosey at that. Well ... maybe just a quick glance so I know who I’m dealing with.
At first glance, the photos seem to be based around a particularly epic camping trip. Someone got snap-happy and decided to document it in great detail. I start at the top and work my way down. The first one shows the six campers, three guys and three girls in their mid-twenties, standing with arms linked in front of a pile of camping gear in a living room. Then there are several photos of hiking poses and Highland scenery. It must be summer since they’re all in T-shirts and shorts. Bailey is easy to spot. He’s in practically every photo. His hair is longer, and he looks slightly younger, but it’s definitely him. I’d recognise that grin anywhere.
As the photos continue, Bailey seems to be the sole focus. In one, he’s on his own in the kitchen at the table, slurping Pot Noodles. In another, he’s lying on a couch with his feet up. There’s another of him standing legs astride, looking out over a valley. Hmm, someone seemed to like taking photos of him. I reach the bottom, and the last one is a selfie of him and a pretty brown-haired girl with rosy cheeks and plaits. They’re both beaming at the camera. Strangely, I feel a small twist in my gut as I realise she’s the one who’s been taking the photos. An ex-girlfriend? Did they get together on the camping trip? They’re obviously not together anymore. Otherwise, she’d be the one sleeping in his bed, not me. Backing away from the corkboard, I stretch out on the bed again. Maybe he had his heart broken by her. That’s why he hasn’t been out with anyone for a while—
