I don’t know what to make of it.
My mind is a mess.
A real mess.
Where is she getting at?
“Here, dearest,” says my neighbour and closes the drawer. “Key to your flat, Isabella gave it to me months ago after she locked herself out the third time in a week.”
I gape at her with wide eyes.
“You could’ve told me that before,” I say, “Would have calmed me down a bit.”
“I could,” she says, “But you wouldn’t have joined me for tea then.”
I don’t know if I am happy, sad or relieved, probably all three. I take the key.
“Well, now I have to find my cat,” I say.
Pebbles isn’t hard to find. She sits on an old armchair in the living room and presses her nose against an aquarium.
I grab her, she hisses, and we’re back to normal. I take my package, the letter, and the old lady opens the door for me.
“Just knock and ask,” I say, “Whenever you’d like to have some tea.”
“Oh, I’d love to,” she says cheerfully. “I have to know how your story ends.”
I laugh. “We’ll see to that. I don’t think there even is a story.”
I am pretty sure I am her highlight of the week, and I can’t help but wonder if I’ll be the same one day. Old and lonely, forced to lure in neighbours to have some change in my life.
No, I don’t think so,I tell myself in my head. As long as I have books and cats, I will be more than happy.
Bella’s father calls me the moment I am about to make myself an early dinner to tell me that she is awake.
I reach the hospital half an hour later. It takes me ages to find the room, because I am too proud to ask anyone for help. I don’t want to bother the people who work here.
I knock on the door when I find it, and Bella shouts.
“Come in!”
“Bells,” I say when I walk inside. She’s sitting on her bed, looks pale, and yet she has some rosy cheeks. The room smells like a bar.
“Hi, Mr Thorne,” I say quietly to Bella’s father, who’s standing at the window, apparently on a call. He always is.
“What the hell,” I whisper when I hug her.
She laughs.
It’s the appeasing laugh we do when parents are present.
“How are you?” I ask Bella as I sit down on her bed.
Bella signals to me with her eyes not to dare ask any questions, so I don’t.
“I have to tell you something,” I say, to get the conversation in a different direction.
“Does it have anything to do with Victoria Fitzroy?” Bella asks, ready for me to spill the tea.
