‘Not when it is self-inflicted,’ I say, lightly.
‘Did I say anything whilst drunk?’
‘You wanted me to hug you.’
He groans. ‘This is embarrassing.’
‘You also were talking about how you hate someone called Rory.’
He falls silent, gazing up at the ceiling. I make a mental note of the name Rory.
My mind feels like a snow globe. When I didn’t see a vision earlier, it was like someone shook the snow globe. My mind is now full of hundreds of thoughts about my vanishing curse, which are like tiny snowflakes.
His phone buzzes. After glancing at the screen, he rises from the sofa. ‘Have a nice evening, Nelly.’
I watch him stagger out of the living room. He doesn’t look like he can handle another night of partying, but maybe this is how he is in London? Perhaps this is normal for him?
As the flat door slams, I leap up from my chair. I get up and go to my record player. It’s time to dance to Coldplay. My curse has gone. I turn up the volume and dance like crazy. Lenny gives me one of his judgy cat looks, but I don’t care. This is a historic day.
After I have danced out my excitement, I sit down and think about all the things I have tried over the years to get rid of my curse. The recent attempts were from J.K. Fielding’s writings and his advice on lifting curses. His book came with the bold promise, ‘Guaranteed Results.’ I should have been freed from my curse after his tenth herbal cleansing bath, burning fifteen sage sticks, and scattering a magic salt trail that made my flat look like a margarita cocktail rim. Instead, my curse remained, and I was left with an angry skin rash, a flat that stank for days, and no money. I had to spend a small fortune on skin creams to stop the itching and bathroom cleaning products, as my bath never fully recovered.
Lenny and I have a wonderful evening together. We sit and watch the busy street below, filled with evening restaurant-goers, groups of young people embarking on their night out, and tired workers enjoying a drink before heading home. ‘I’ll be out there soon,’ I say to Lenny. ‘Now that I’m curse-free, I can socialise like normal people.’
It takes me a long time to fall asleep as I am worked up. As part of my ‘curse has vanished’ celebration, I have put on my pink pyjamas, which are adorned with little grey cats. Lenny snuggles up to me as he loves my outfit. I finally drift off and dream about going to a Coldplay concert and standing in a packed music crowd without seeing any troubling visions. Just as my dream gets interesting – Chris Martin has spotted me in the crowd and by the look on his face, he likes what he sees – I am woken by the flat door slamming.
‘Not again,’ I wail, throwing back my duvet.
Through the wall, I can hear someone in agony or pain. ‘Ouch… it bloody hurts.’
I open the door and turn on the hallway light to see Oliver on the floor in my hallway, holding up his bare foot, and Jamie bent over inspecting it.
Oliver looks up at me. ‘Help, I think I have broken my foot.’
Jamie turns to me and smiles. ‘Hello again. He’s not had any beer tonight, but he has stubbed his toe.’
Oliver lets out a yelp. ‘Jamie, I havebrokenmy toe.’
Jamie rolls his eyes and looks at me. ‘Oliver got frustrated about something, kicked the kerb, and stubbed his toe.’
‘Will you stop belittling my serious injury?’ wails Oliver, clutching his foot.
Jamie bends over and studies Oliver’s big toe. ‘You’re moving it, so it’s not broken.’
‘It’s shaking,’ says Oliver. ‘My toe is broken so bad it’s trembling.’
His friend places a hand on his shoulder. ‘I’ll think you’ll live.’ He turns to me. ‘Oliver has a vivid imagination, which is great for writing books but not so good for minor injuries.’
I suppress a smile. Oliver nods and hauls himself to his feet. ‘You don’t understand, Jamie.’ He hobbles up the hall towards me. ‘Nelly, I’m sorry for waking you again. Do you have any painkillers?’
I go to the kitchen and get him some paracetamol and a glass of water. After handing them to him, I glance at Jamie. ‘What time is it?’
He checks his phone. ‘Two thirty.’
‘I have work tomorrow,’ I groan. ‘Goodnight, both.’
‘This won’t happen again, Nelly,’ calls Oliver. ‘I love your cat pyjamas by the way.’ I turn back, and he flashes me a smile which gives me a flutter in my chest.
17
