Once we get back inside the flat and close the door, I can smell a gorgeous aroma that reminds me of the wholesome casseroles Aunty Polly used to cook when I still lived with her.
‘Go lie down, Nelly,’ instructs Oliver, pointing to the sofa. ‘I’ll bring you a bag of frozen peas to put on your head.’
‘I’m fine,’ I protest. This is a lie, but I’m curious to see what he’s cooked.
On entering the kitchen, I gasp. It looks like Oliver has been cooking for half the town. The oven hob is covered in dirty saucepans, and the kitchen work surface is strewn with vegetable peelings, empty sauce cans, and bottles of herbs. The sight intensifies the pain in my head.
‘I will wash and clean up,’ he assures me.
I can’t take my eyes off the chaos and mess. Turning my attention to the kitchen table, I let out a silent groan. It has been set for two. If I sit directly opposite him, one of his legs might nudge or kick mine under the table. I will have to sit further back from the table and hope that food doesn’t topple off my fork and onto my lap.
He’s looking at me. ‘I know what you’re thinking.’
‘What?’
I watch as he glances back at the table. ‘There’s not much space, and with how long my legs are, we’ll end up playing footsie under the table. I can’t break your no-touching rule twice in the first half-hour of the flat share.’
‘You remembered my rule?’
He smiles. ‘I didn’t when we banged heads. I’m sorry about that. You look awfully pale.’
‘I’ll feel better after food,’ I say, optimistically.
‘Let’s do trays,’ he suggests, and relief floods through me.
I stand behind the kitchen table while he serves. He keeps glancing over his shoulder at me. ‘Do you need a bag of peas?’
‘I’m fine, honest.’
‘Here’s your tray,’ he announces. ‘I checked with Miranda that you eat meat. It’s a beef casserole with dumplings. All homemade.’ With a smile, he picks up his tray. ‘See you in the living room. Race you to the chair.’
My eyes must have glowed red or something because his smile disappears and is replaced by a look of concern. He emits a nervous chuckle. ‘Only joking.’
We both devour his casserole. He’s on the sofa and I am in my chair. I know he’s made a mess of my kitchen, but his casserole tastes divine, and his dumplings are perfect.
After we sit for a while avoiding eye contact, I break the awkward silence. ‘This meal was nice, Oliver. Thank you. How was the move?’
‘Good. I only had a few boxes to carry up three flights of stairs. I’m sorry again for Lenny’s escape. It won’t happen again.’
‘He’s fine, so it’s okay.’
Lenny makes an appearance and, to my dismay, heads straight for Oliver.
‘I’m off out for a beer with Jamie tonight,’ Oliver says. ‘How’s your head?’
‘I’ve got a slight headache, but I will be okay.’
He smiles and scratches Lenny’s chin. ‘I’ll tidy the kitchen before I go out, don’t worry.’
After he washes up and tidies the countertops, he shouts goodbye and leaves the flat.
Exhaustion washes over me. ‘Lenny, we’re going to have an early night,’ I say, lifting him off my lap. ‘It’s been an eventful day.’
He follows me into the hallway, and I glance down at him. ‘I know you’re not going to like this, but I am going to put your dirt tray in with me tonight as I don’t want you escaping when Oliver comes home.’
After sorting out Lenny plus his dirt tray, I place a chair in front of my locked bedroom door. Lenny is glaring at me.
‘Mummy is busy protecting us. Oliver could be the flatmate from hell and could come in here with wandering hands.’
