“Did you get any sleep last night?” Oliver asked as they settled into the car.
She shook her head, starting the engine. “Some,” she said. “It was all right.”
Charlie’s sleeping patterns had been a major point of conflict with Berty. During her spells of insomnia, she would feel almost stiflingly claustrophobic, lying there still as a corpse with her eyes wide open. But if she allowed herself to roam, she’d wake him, and he’d huff about it. Oliver was so chilled out, in contrast—he’d just head back to his place if she was struggling to sleep. He made everything easy.
“You binge-watchGrey’s Anatomyagain?” he asked, with one of his tiny smiles.
“Absolutely,” Charlie said, though actually she couldn’t even remember what she had watched—sleepless nights tended to turn blurry the next day. “I’m basically a doctor now.”
She reached for her thermos, then glanced down, fumbling fingers unable to find it in the drink holder.
“Charlie!”
Her head whipped back to the road just in time to catch a white car in the lane beside her with its signal on—she was in their blind spot. She braked hard, eyes flying to the rearview mirror. The white car switched lanes, the driver holding up a hand in apology.
“Oh my God,” Charlie breathed, pressing a hand to her chest. Her heart had already been thundering—now she could feel its beat right down to her toes on the pedal.
Oliver let out a trembling breath. “Are you OK?”
“Yeah, I’m fine, no biggie.”
He said nothing. She glanced at him.
“What?” she said.
“That was quite a close shave,” he said carefully, after a moment.
“Not my fault, though.”
“No, but I just…I’ve been wanting to talk to you for a little while about…You’re not always that careful? With yourself, I mean.”
“Careful with myself? What does that even mean?”
“Like yesterday, on the stairs at my place…”
Charlie frowned, bewildered. Oh, yes, she’d tripped—but she’d always been clumsy. They joked about it: she was the classic rom-com heroine, destined to stumble into some charming man’s lap or spill her drink down the back of his shirt.
“And you trapped your finger in the door, too? Last week. The tiredness doesn’t help, but I do wonder if we need to talk about it,” Oliver said. “The—the accidents. Your concentration always seems to be—”
“Interrupted by my boyfriend? This is our junction, please just let me get in the lane.”
Oliver went quiet, startled into silence, perhaps. She’d snapped more than she’d meant to, but Oliver had never talked to her like this before, and it was making her hot and panicked. She could feel an argument brewing—they never argued, and it felt even nastier for being new.
Charlie drove with aggressive care, indicating loudly and early, checking her mirrors as though she was taking her driving test. Then she stopped doing that, because it felt odd, and actually made it a lot harder to drive. What did her trapping her finger have to do with someone pulling into her lane unexpectedly? She simmered resentfully as the satnav’s voice filled the car.
“I’m sorry,” Oliver said, a little wretchedly. He didn’t like conflict, either. “I really didn’t want to upset you, just to say that you seem quite distractible at the moment, and—”
“I am not distractible!”
In fact, when Charlie set her sights on something,nothingdistracted her. She’d been this way with the shop. For months, all she had talked about was retail costs, rent prices, Pinterest boards of decor inspiration. She’d driven everyone mad with it, even Fearne. The trouble was, her fixations didn’t usually quite reach completion, which then made the whole business seem less like focused productivity and more like whimsy. She loved to plan, but actualexecutionwas so much harder.
“I mean distractible like…struggling to concentrate,” Oliver said. “I’m not trying to be critical, honestly, Charlie, you know I think you’re amazing. I’m just trying to say I’m a bit worried about you.” He took a deep breath, turning to look at her properly. “I wonder if you should go to the doctor.”
“Thedoctor? What would I say, my boyfriend thinks I’m pathologically scatty?”
“I’d say you’re sleeping worse than when we first got together, and you’re forgetful, less coordinated…”
“I’m just tired! And I’ve always had patches of bad sleep when things are stressful, you know this.”
