There’s definitely a twitch at the corners of his lips now.
“You’d be exceptionally generous to save me from the overwhelming amount of guilt I’m currently drowning in,” he states.
He’s playing along. This serious, buttoned-up man in the foam-covered suit is playing along.
“Okay, my good deed for the day will be letting you find me somewhere I can stay,” I concede.
Leo reaches for his pocket and pulls out his phone. “I’m on it.”
Chapter Five
Leo
The NHS takes four hours to confirm what we already know—Archie’s ankle is broken. They can’t cast it yet because of the swelling, so they strap it into a temporary splint and hand him a fracture clinic card for the following week.
By then, I’ve engaged Zenith, a luxury concierge agency, and secured a ground-floor apartment close to Archie’s current bedsit in Kentish Town.
This is where throwing money at a problem actually helps.
It’s one o’clock in the morning by the time we reach the apartment I’ve booked.
Zenith executed the brief perfectly, providing an accessible, modern ground-floor apartment. After A&E’s fluorescent purgatory, the place feels absurdly civilized. Everything gleams with the particular blankness of somewhere no one has ever lived.
Archie blinks around at it. “This is where you’re putting me?”
I stand there awkwardly. “It was available on short notice.”
I move ahead of him to switch on the rest of the lights, checking that the layout works for crutches. Doorways wide enough. No steps. No rugs to trip on. There are two bedrooms,each with its own ensuite, plus an additional bathroom off the hallway. Zenith has earned their fee.
“This kitchen is bigger than my entire bedsit.” Archie hobbles farther into the room on his crutches, taking in the sleek appliances.
I watch as he opens the fridge.
“Oh my god, the fridge has an ice dispenser,” he says in an incredulous tone. “My current fridge doesn’t even stay cold. It’s more of a suggestion box for temperature.”
“There’s also a water filter,” I say, which I know is the conversational equivalent of bringing a spreadsheet to a party, but I’m not sure how else to cope with Archie’s gratitude.
He flicks me a grin. “Stop. You’re going to make me emotional. I didn’t even realize a place like this existed in my neighborhood.”
“Now, someone needs to go to your bedsit to retrieve what you need.” I revert to management mode.
“I can get your stuff for you,” Jaymee says.
“I’m high-maintenance, so there will be a lot to carry,” Archie warns.
I can understand his skepticism. Jaymee is tiny. If I had to guess, she’d need a step stool and some optimistic rounding to hit five feet on a height chart.
“I’ll come with you and help you carry everything,” I offer.
Jaymee eyes me up and down. “You want to isolate me from my friends so you can murder me in a bedsit? Classic serial killer move.”
“Yes, you’ve seen right through me. I deliberately spilled syrup on your friend, foreseeing he would break his ankle, and because of the circumstances of where he lives, his reduced mobility would require me to find him a new apartment. All that just for the chance to get you alone in a bedsit.”
“You do look like a planner to me,” she says darkly.
I can’t help chuckling.
Archie and his friends are definitely more entertaining than the tech industry people I usually spend my time with.
