‘Do you want a hand clearing up?’ Oliver asks.
‘Thanks, but I’m okay.’
‘I’m going to look at some flat-sharing sites.’
I glance over my shoulder at him. He offers me one of his dazzling smiles, and annoyingly, I feel a flutter in my chest. I quickly suppress it. This man is troubled, I tell myself. Right now, he’s a walking red flag. I need to remember what Eva said.
‘Drink the tea, and I’ll change my bedding for you.’
His room smells of cedarwood and lemon aftershave. He’s changed the bedding for me but left his belongings and toiletries out on the desk. I can hear him in the kitchen, so I seize the opportunity to have a snoop. I must say that Oliver owns more beauty products than I do. His aftershave, Whispering Cedar, sounds like something out of a romantasy novel. He has a serum called Essence of Renewal, which sounds like a chapter from one of the spiritual-awakening books we sell, and his hair is styled with Alpine Meadow clay, which sounds more like a posh cheese. I bet he spends a fortune in Boots. On the desk are a few books and the board game Monopoly. I hope he doesn’t ask me for a game. Aunt Polly used to say I laughed like an evil villain when she landed on one of my properties and was forced to hand over an eye-watering amount in rent. She struggled to beat me. It would not be enjoyable for Oliver to watch me bankrupt him.
I notice he’s pinned a few photographs on the corkboard above the desk. One shows a younger Oliver standing with Jamie. There’s another person beside Oliver, whose black shoes are visible, but I can’t see any more as their part of the picture seems to have been torn off. There is a photo of Oliver and an older man, whom I assume is his father, on a beach. The third photo is of a little boy clutching a large teddy bear. He has Oliver’s dark eyes and facial shape. I wonder whether this is a photo of him when he was little.
23
For the past few days, I’ve slept in Oliver’s bedroom, and he has taken the sofa.
He’s maintained his social schedule but hasn’t woken me up. I’ve slept like the dead and feel human again. He’s also cooked some excellent meals, and last night I found myself telling him that if the romance-writing career doesn’t work out, he should go into food.
Today was spent with Aunt Polly. I read Margo Lane’s book on the train to Tide-Leigh. It was a good distraction from the tragic visions I observed. Water was on my mind when I got off the train and spotted the shimmering blue horizon in the distance. I found myself delaying going to Aunt Polly’s house and walking down to the pier. Watching the salty waves break along the shore made my hunched shoulders sink. A mischievous sea breeze raced around me, and I could feel it encouraging me to step onto the beach and head for the water. For the first time in years, I felt the pull of the sea. My mind reminded me that Aunt Polly, and her new hairstyle, were waiting, so I told the waves I would come back soon.
Thoughts of the water stayed with me like a loyal friend as I stood on the doorstep, staring in shock at my aunt’s newly shaved head while she grinned. One of her friends, a hairdresser, had taken some clippers to her black hair, which was looking patchier by the day. ‘I feel like I am young again,’ she gushed. ‘A skinhead at my age.’ I was still thinking about swimming when I took her to chemo, bought her a cap because her head was cold, and when she cried in the car afterwards.
The thoughts of the sea have been stronger than those of my curse, which has been refreshing. For once, I have been consumed by something other than all the sad things about love I have seen.
I’ve just entered the flat. Oliver greets me from the far end of the hallway. ‘I’ve made you dinner. Come and eat.’
As I walk down the hallway, I smell the familiar scents of bleach and furniture polish. He’s been tidying up. The living room appears spotless. He has vacuumed the floor and polished all the surfaces to a shine.
The kitchen is relatively tidy for Oliver. I can see he’s trying. His French chicken casserole is divine and makes all my frustration with him slip away.
I join Oliver in the living room. He waits for me to pull my chair over and sit opposite him.
‘You didn’t need to sort the kitchen,’ I say. ‘I was going to do that.’
‘It’s okay, I like cleaning.’
He reaches behind the sofa and brings out Mum’s vase. It’s been glued back together, and he’s done a fantastic job. The sight of it makes my eyes water. He stands it on the coffee table. For a few seconds, the white vase goes blurry. After wiping my eyes, I inspect it. ‘Oliver, you’ve mended it.’
‘I’m glad you’re happy with it.’ He smiles at me, and I find myself wondering whether he’s a decent guy who’s just going through a tough time. ‘I’ve seen a few flats today, and none are as lovely as this. They’re either miles outside of town or are in a bit of a state.’
‘Oh.’
We both go silent until he says, ‘Gary came again today with a builder.’
‘Did they start work on fixing my ceiling?’
Oliver shakes his head. ‘They need to sort out the roof. It’s a loose tile which has caused this. Once the roof is done, they need to put in a new ceiling board and plaster and paint it.’
‘That’s going to take longer than a few days.’
Oliver nods. ‘We’re talking ten days minimum. More like two weeks and Gary kept saying there was no rush.’
My heart sinks.
Oliver points to the half of the sofa he’s not sat on. I can see a mound under the material.
‘A spring has come loose. It happened last night and gave me the fright of my life.’
