He gives me a sad nod and squelches up the hallway.
I think back to the press articles I read before going to bed. The ones from a few years ago, which showed Oliver’s pain and suffering after photos and videos of Molly having sex on TV circulated the country.
The photos of Molly depicted a glamorous blonde young woman with long, voluminous, curly hair, dressed in a tiny bikini. In the articles I read, she chose to appear on the TV show to chase a dream of fame – and to see if she could stay loyal to her boyfriend. Some of the photos from her early days in the luxury villa showed her lying on a sun lounger while a French male model applied suntan lotion to her thighs. They must have been excruciating for Oliver to see. The French model was the man Molly fell for and she ended up in his bed on day five. One article claimed the TV crew had to turn off the cameras as things between the model and Molly became too raunchy.
In the days after the scandal, the only images Oliver was pictured in were of him going to his local shop and talking to a friend in a café. His face was chalky white, and there was a haunting look about him. He was going through hell.
What is clear is that he’s still suffering. She must still be in his life, although I can’t think why she would be after what she did to him.
This is a personal reminder to me that heartbreak can happen to anyone, and it manifests in various forms for years afterwards.
I do feel sorry for him, but I’m worried he needs a therapist and not a flatmate.
I can’t get back to sleep, which is annoying, so I go to the kitchen to make myself a cup of tea. To my horror, he’s slumped over the kitchen table and asleep. There are a series of little puddles around his chair from his wet clothes.
For a few moments, I stand at the doorway and try to stifle my agitation. Why can’t he go to sleep in his bedroom?
He wakes up with a fright, and this makes me yelp.
‘Nelly…’ he gasps. ‘Oh, God, have I been asleep?’
I nod. ‘I’m awake and wanted a cuppa.’
He rubs his face. ‘This is my fault. Oh, God, I will need to move out.’
‘Let’s talk in the morning, Oliver.’
He hauls himself to his feet and falls over the chair. Both he and the chair crash to the floor. I watch as he groans and stands up. ‘This is embarrassing.’
‘Go to bed, Oliver.’
‘I’ve had a terrible night, Nelly. I’m sorry.’ He scratches his messy brown hair. ‘I went home with someone. Not just anyone. It was Rory’s sister.’
He thinks I know who Rory is. I don’t.
‘I knew it was wrong, so I left her house and have spent the last few hours walking in the rain.’
‘Okay, why don’t you go to bed?’ I point across the hallway to his bedroom.
Something flickers across his face. ‘Ah – yes. You’re right. I need to go to bed.’
I stand back as he squelches out of the kitchen. ‘I didn’t sleep with her though.’
This is now incredibly awkward. I don’t want to know about his love life.
‘Oliver, go to bed.’
‘I told her it wouldn’t be a good idea.’
Oh, God, this man is annoying. I’m so tired, and I have work in a few hours. ‘Oliver – go to bed.’ My voice is firm and makes him look at me.
‘I just want to see Alfie, Nelly.’ He rests his forehead against the wall in the hallway.
I have no idea who Alfie is, and right now, I don’t care. My anger is simmering.
‘Oh, God, Nelly – what am I doing with my life?’ He plunges his face into his hands.
That’s it – my head is going to explode. ‘GO TO BED!’ I yell, which makes him jump and look at me like a startled wild animal.
