A teenage girl wanders into the magical garage holding a phone. ‘Mum, I’m trying to buy Drake tickets on your credit card, but it keeps getting declined.’
‘Cassandra!’ screams Cynthia, ‘I never said you could use my credit card, and right now I am on a bloody Facebook Live.’
‘Mum, I need Drake tickets,’ snaps Cassandra. ‘Your card has been declined seven times. I thought you were minted.’
I close Facebook. I can’t work for Cynthia. My curse, combined with that level of chaos, would make me lose my sanity.
After a deep breath, I open Instagram and check out Oliver’s profile. The only thing I know about him is that he’s a romance author and his father is Frank’s boss.
Scrolling through his Instagram grid, I notice it’s filled with pictures of bookcases, stacks of notebooks, jars of pencils, a cat curled up on various chairs, and selfies of him writing alone at café tables. It feels so… nice, which is a little unsettling.
There are no photos of any girlfriends, which contrasts with Sam’s Instagram grid, where his ex-girlfriend appeared in nearly every other picture. I asked Sam about this, and he said it would have been a hassle to delete all her photos, as they had been together for six years. Looking back now, I should have seen this giant red flag and listened to my curse.
Oliver might like to keep his personal life off social media, which is probably the case. Perhaps Sam isn’t a good comparison?
I go onto Google and look at a couple of his recent author interviews. His debut book topped the book charts, and his subsequent books have gone viral on TikTok. I look at Amazon – all his books have thousands of positive reviews.
After returning to Instagram, I stare at his profile picture. ‘You are my last resort, Oliver James.’
9
‘I’ve had a rethink.’ After taking in a deep breath, I squeeze my hands together. ‘About my flat.’
Miranda is busy telling me where she bought her leopard-print dress and its eye-watering price tag. It takes her brain a few seconds to process what I have just said. She stops talking, and her face lights up.
‘I do need a flatmate and…’ I’m struggling to push the words out.
‘You’re going to flat share with Oliver,’ Miranda squeals, pulling me into an unwanted hug. I try to resist her, but she’s stronger than I am. We end up in a strange tussle that ends with us banging foreheads and my vision of Frank pushing a pram. The sound of the bookshop disappears, and I shove a boiled sweet into my mouth. Miranda is speaking while doing a strange celebratory dance.
When my ears start to work again, I rub my sore forehead. ‘I’ll need to meet Oliver before I confirm anything.’
Miranda smiles sweetly. ‘Of course. I’ll call Frank. He can tell Oliver the good news.’
I watch as the pound signs in her eyes make her half-walk and half-run across the bookshop towards the till. My heart is thudding, and I feel sick. What am I doing?
If Francesca the reality TV star, Steve the magician, or Paula the DIY enthusiast had been normal, I wouldn’t be in this position. I begin to tidy the shelves behind the display table in the science fiction and fantasy section. Aunt Polly’s face flashes in my mind. This is all for her. Oliver’s money will pay for my weekly visits. I will be able to hold her hand while she undergoes chemo. He will move out once his flat in London sells. This is not a long-term arrangement. It will just get me through this difficult time.
‘Can I collect my boyfriend’s book?’ a familiar voice says, making me whirl around. Marcus’s girlfriend is standing in front of me, clutching his receipt.
I nod and walk over to the till counter. She follows and lets out a heavy sigh. ‘He sent me as he’s terribly busy with his academic paper.’
‘Here it is,’ I say, taking out J.K. Fielding’s book, which is heavy and lands on the counter with a hefty thwack.
‘That’s a tome!’ she exclaims. ‘Gosh – I didn’t realise J.K. Fielding had done so much research.’
‘He got carried away,’ I say, casting her a sugary smile. ‘If you ask me, your boyfriend should conduct his own research.’
She stares at me. ‘Marcus is working on his PhD. I think he will be the judge of whether J.K. Fielding’s work meets academic standards.’ Her eyes travel up and down my body before resting on my face. ‘I hardly think he needs your input on a published scholar.’
I make sure our hands brush as I hand her the bag with Marcus’s book. The flash of white light clears, and I see her walking along a library and turning a corner to find Marcus passionately kissing a woman with short blonde hair in the ancient history section.
Her phone starts to vibrate. ‘Hello, my love,’ she coos, turning away from me. ‘What are you up to? Oh… you’re going to work in the library. See you later then.’
As she walks away, I let out a sigh and hope that today is not the day she discovers that her beloved Marcus is doing more than working on his PhD in that library.
‘Nelly – where are you?’ Miranda has spoken to Frank. Her voice is annoyingly shrill. ‘Oliver can meet you tonight. If you’re free?’
‘Doesn’t he have to travel up from London?’
