Hanging on the tip of my tongue, those words wouldn’t come, despite him filling up my kitchen and making my dad laugh. I hate how easily he unlocked that sound. The sticky marmalade knife taunts me from the sink. I hate how Alaric leaves his rubbish lying around, too. Irritatingly, I don’t hate his glossy, lush lips.
“I’m going out,” I say instead. This time I do shoulder barge him out of the way. I don’t know where the fuck I’m going, probably pointlessly around the block for half an hour, in the sodding rain without a coat.
That’s the trouble with grand gestures; you end up having to follow through.
“Good idea, why don’t you?” Alaric calls after me as I open the front door. Yep, fucking pissing it down again. “And don’t forget to take your fucking imaginary dog with you.”
CHAPTER 9
ALARIC
Sutton Common will be fine,Luke said. Gerald’sreally nice once you get to know him.
I’ve been awake for an hour or so, though for as long as possible I resist looking at the time. If it’s after 04.30, I count it as a win, except rarely go back to sleep. Every time my eyelids threaten to close, a car trundles past or the neighbour’s heating system kicks in. I tend to get up, have a snack, then wait until a more civilised six a.m. when I can go for a run.
If I wake before 04.30, it’s 80/20 whether I’ll nod off again. Tonight, however, I’m fucked. Fighting with the automaton you share seventy square meters of living space with can do that to a person. Hands up, I’m not the best housemate; I’ll admit to being a bit messy, and I talk way too much, butjeez, I’ve never had quite this effect on my cohabitors.
What did I do wrong? Why’s Gerald so unreasonable? His dad seems a perfectly okay kind of guy, in a conventional, middle-class-dad sort of way. And there’s nothing wrong with having a conventional dad. Alan’s a bit of a silver fox, to behonest, if older men are your jam. Gerald’s going to mature very nicely indeed—unless I kill him first.
Twat.
Like an insatiable tourist, my mind wanders, alighting on things that don’t matter, replaying meaningless words and faces. Such as the cute Filipino nurse in theatres yesterday, laughing but proud about his kid’s school play. The streak of blue in the last patient’s hair and pondering why she had it. What led her to choose blue, not purple or any other colour. A pissy email ordering me to change my password on the painfully outdated blood results system and to choose one with twenty letters, six roman numerals, and three fucking hieroglyphs. Equally outdated, a 1980’s earworm on the radio in the coffee room still buzzing around my head. And, on the subject of ears, Gerald’s—big—to match his hands and feet, sticking out like a pair of sentinels and attuned to my every false move. Misinterpreting genuine interest as a personal slight.
I shouldn’t have got involved. When I joined him in the kitchen, I should have read the room better. I’ve deduced he’s the world’s biggest introvert, but surely his inability to look people square in the eye and behave cordially doesn’t extend to his own father. Of course, their relationship is none of my business. I don’t know either of them, and Gerald clearly has no desire to change that. Tomorrow, on the endless journey to work, I’ll sign up to a lettings agency and check out some cheap rentals as close to Stefan and the hospital as I can afford.
I examine my chipped nail polish in the phone charger’s faint blue glow. I used to cover up the light with electrical tape; it made not a jot of difference to my sleep cycle so now I don’t bother. Giving in, I check the time. 03.52. There’s a text from Stefan, sent at midnight. Marcus is sulking because Stefan forgot to pick up elderflower cordial on his way home. I press delete without replying. Thankfully, Marcus’s unpredictable moods areno longer my problem. I check the time again. 03.54. Hmm. Early enough I might nod off again if I can stop mulling over bloody Gerald.
Five minutes pass spent getting all comfy and dozy. On the dot of the sixth, my bladder hints it’s going to prevent that from happening. Bugger. The bed’s warm; the bathroom floor tiles are cold. I roll over, convincing myself I’ll fall asleep before it becomes an issue, until a more insistent twinge, like a toddler tugging my sleeve, suggests that’s not going to happen. Heaving an enormous sigh and not bothering with lights, even keeping my eyes shut to cling onto sleepiness as much as I can, I slip out of bed and stumble along the short corridor to the bathroom.
An unyielding wall of muscle slams into me.
“Wah—shit! What the hell?”
“Ow!”
Am I sleepwalking? Doesn’t this only happen to hapless, beautiful young virgins in romance novels?
Seemingly not. A nanosecond before I smack down onto my arse, two warm, strong hands grab my bare shoulders, righting me. Okay, so thatdefinitelyonly happens in spicy books. In real life I’d skid to the floor and crack my head open.
Regretfully, the solid hands disappear. A male voice curses. “What the fuck are you doing wandering around in the dark?”
“What the fuck are you?”
The bathroom bursts into light, jolting me fully awake, searing my eyeballs.
“Bloody hell, Gerald. Turn that thing off.”
“No. You might trip over something. Or piss on the seat.”
“The only thing I’m going to trip over is your great lubbering body. And I’m a thirty-year-old fucking urologist. I think I’ve got to grips with the mechanics of pissing straight. Even in the fucking dark.”
Just because I’m an old hand at insomnia doesn’t mean I’m always in a great mood at four a.m.
Grumpily, we eye each other. Or rather, I squint at Gerald, all snuggly in his tartan, brushed cotton jim-jams, whereas Gerald’s heavy-lidded gaze is directed…lower.
He blushes—even his big ears turn scarlet—and I make zero effort to cover myself up. His stupid attitude is the reason I’m fucking awake and trying to access the bathroom. In fact, seeing as I’m a provocative twat and half hard anyhow, from needing to piss, I give myself a little squeeze.
A few painful seconds of silence add to our growing stack before Gerald’s eyes cut away. Apart from the bright crimson bits of him, he’s pale, and his dark hair sticks up like he’s been electrocuted. I’m the naked one, but he looks vulnerable.
