‘Yes, like hobbies or interests.’
His eyes search my face. I don’t want to say that my social life is non-existent; that I don’t do spontaneous coffee dates, drinks after work, or sports; that Miranda, my toxic boss, is my only friend – and the thought of that makes me want to cry. My curse has turned me into a burden to others.
‘I like going to visit my aunt who lives by the sea,’ is what I settle on. Could I sound any more like a servant girl from the 1800s?
He gives me a polite nod. ‘Are there any flat rules?’
I grip my notebook with both hands and get ready to tell Oliver the most essential rule. ‘No touching. This includes hugs, handshakes, shoulder taps, high fives, accidental brushes, toe taps, knee knocks, and reassuring back rubs.’
Oliver is stroking his chin, like he’s considering each one. ‘I understand the rule, but I think you are missing out on my comforting back rubs.’
‘This chair is mine,’ I say slowly and clearly, like I am talking to a small child. ‘No debate, negotiation, or literary inspiration.’
He lets out a sigh. ‘That’s a tough one.’
I point to Lenny, who is gazing adoringly at him. ‘Lenny chooses who he loves. Do not try to win him over.’
Oliver strokes his soft back. ‘No secret cuddles for you, little guy.’
I watch my cat behave like Oliver’s biggest fan. Lenny needs to get his priorities right.
I recall what Miranda said about Oliver wandering around my flat in just a pair of boxer shorts. I need to stamp this sort of behaviour out from the start. ‘No nakedness in the flat or cooking breakfast in just your underwear.’
He blinks and stares at me. ‘I would never?—’
‘Clothes must be worn at all times.’
I watch him flick his floppy fringe, and I notice a mischievous glint in his eyes. ‘I agree with you about not cooking breakfast in my underwear, but does that mean I can cook lunch and tea in my boxers?’
‘That is not funny, Oliver.’
Leaning back slightly, he studies me with a crooked smile. ‘So, did I pass the interview?’
Glancing down at my notes gives me a shock. My page is a sea of ticks. That’s unsettling.
‘You didn’t completely fail,’ I say, trying to sound indifferent.
‘I’ll take that as a yes.’
‘I didn’t say yes,’ I mutter, but it’s too late. Lenny lets out a purr of approval and climbs on Oliver’s lap.
‘Lenny says yes,’ Oliver says with a wry smile.
‘Fine,’ I say, rising to my feet. ‘But if you sit in my chair you’re out.’
He grins. ‘Message received.’
As I walk towards the kitchen, I hear him mutter to Lenny, ‘Is she always this fun?’
11
‘Oliver is thrilled about moving in,’ gushes Miranda, before handing me a coffee. ‘This morning, he wouldn’t stop talking about your flat and that gorgeous chair by the window. He reckons sitting there and watching the world go by will cure his writer’s block.’
My shoulders and neck feel as though someone has inserted rods of iron into them. Yesterday, I made it abundantly clear that the chair by the window was mine. I set the hot cup of coffee down for safety. ‘That’s my chair,’ I say through gritted teeth. ‘He has the sofa.’
Miranda’s eyes widen dramatically, and her mouth forms a perfect O shape. ‘He’s a writer, Nelly. The view out the window will inspire his books. For goodness’ sake, show the poor man some kindness. He’s in a dark, creative time.’
‘I made it clear last night that the chair is mine.’
