Daniel, naturally, had been no help at all, watching her struggle with obvious amusement.
‘You could have helped.’
‘I was enjoying the show.’
She shut the bathroom door. ‘Privacy is needed.’
With the bath finally hers, Fern turned the taps on full blast, pouring in a generous amount of the vaguely floral-scented bubble bath she had found in the cabinet. It was probably older than she was, but at this point, she’d take anything that didn’t smell like antique furniture and despair. The moment she slid into the hot water, a groan of pure relief escaped her lips. Bliss. Absolute, unparalleled bliss.
From the other room, she heard the rustle of Daniel shifting on the bed. ‘You alive in there?’
‘Barely,’ she called back. ‘I may never move again,’ she said.
He laughed.
‘I feel like I’ve been exhumed.’ She stretched out, sinking deeper. ‘That shop was disgusting. How did you live in this place before I came along?’
‘Low standards,’ Daniel said cheerfully. ‘And an ability to ignore the horrors of my surroundings. It’s a skill.’
Fern rolled her eyes, though he couldn’t see her. ‘I think you mean laziness.’
‘Semantics.’
For a while, they lapsed into companionable silence. The bathwater lapped against the sides, and Fern let herself unwind, her muscles loosening after the day’s exertion.
Then, on a whim, she asked, ‘So, Daniel… what did you do before you ended up here?’
There was a pause that was just a second too long. When he spoke, his voice had lost its usual teasing lilt. ‘Bit of this, bit of that.’
Fern frowned. ‘Meaning?’
‘Meaning,’ he exhaled, ‘I didn’t have a real place or purpose for months before I met Matilda. I was crashing on the sofas of friends and acquaintances, anyone who’d let me stay for a bit. Did odd jobs when I could. Enough to keep going.’
She turned her head towards the door. ‘You didn’t have your own place or a steady job?’
‘Not for a while. There was a time when my possessions would fit in one bag.’
Fern absorbed this in silence. She couldn’t imagine it. Not knowing where you’d sleep each night. Living in that state of uncertainty, relying on the kindness or tolerance of others. Her own life was structured, every detail planned. She knew exactly how much she earned and how much went on bills. She had a gym membership, food deliveries every Thursday night, and an exercise class schedule she stuck to religiously. She didn’t live in chaos. She lived in order. And yet here was Daniel, this cheeky, sarcastic, infuriatingly charming man who had lived without any of that stability and somehow, he still found a way to laugh.
‘That’s…’ She trailed off, not sure what to say.
‘It was what it was,’ he said simply. ‘Matilda took a chance on me, though. Gave me a roof over my head. Gave me a purpose.’
Fern’s fingers traced patterns through the bubbles. ‘And now?’
‘Now, I have to put up with you, so I’m questioning all my life choices.’
‘Charming!’
Silence settled between them again, but this time, it was different. It was charged, somehow. He had let her see something real, something beneath the jokes and the bravado. And she felt… Well, she wasn’t sure what she felt.
Then, with a sudden brightness, Daniel broke the mood. ‘Tell you what. We’ve been absolute troupers today. I say we celebrate.’
Fern raised an eyebrow, though, again, he couldn’t see it. ‘Celebrate how?’
‘I’ll go and get us a bottle of wine.’ His voice was lighter again, teasing. ‘Unless, of course, you’re too posh for a cheap supermarket special?’
She huffed. ‘I’m not posh.’
