‘She’s been gone a long time, but I still miss her a lot.’
Mum and Dad’s faces appear in my mind. ‘I can relate to that.’
‘It’s not easy losing a parent.’
‘How is your dad?’
Oliver chuckles. ‘Dad is doing great. He still can’t surf properly, and he’s terrible at paddleboarding, but he’s good. He does a lot of work for charity when he’s not working.’
‘Has he found anyone special?’
‘He says his marriage to Mum was enough for him. He has a lot of women who are friends, but there’s no one special.’
This is different from what Miranda told me. Perhaps relying on Miranda to tell me the truth about a situation is not a good idea.
‘It was Mum who got me into writing,’ explains Oliver. ‘She was a novelist.’
‘Really?’ I wasn’t expecting that.
‘She wrote under the pen name of Penny Groves.’
I stare in shock at the pillow wall. She was a prominent romance author in the nineties. I always noticed her book covers in shops when I went shopping with Mum. Penny wrote Regency romance, and her covers were always dramatic, showing a man on horseback rescuing a pretty woman in distress. Mum hated romance books and always mumbled things under her breath when I pointed them out to her.
‘Your mum was Penny Groves?’
‘Yes, that was her. When she died, I decided to carry on the family tradition of writing romance novels.’
‘That’s nice.’
‘I hope she’s proud of me.’ His voice wobbles ever so slightly.
‘Oliver, I am sure she’s proud of you.’
He sniffs. ‘I wish she were here. I’ve lost faith in what I write, Nelly. How can I write romance novels when I’ve stopped believing in love?’
‘I don’t believe in love either.’
He chuckles. ‘This is why we’re two perfectly matched bed sharers.’
I smile.
‘How do you cope working in a bookshop surrounded by romance novels?’ he asks.
His question makes me laugh. ‘It’s bloody hard. I try to spend as little time as possible in the romance section.’
‘I have newfound appreciation for you, Nelly.’
‘Thanks.’ It’s then that I notice the time. I groan. ‘We’d better get some sleep. Oliver James, you are a bad influence on me and my sleep.’
‘This is better – isn’t it?’
‘What is?’
‘Us talking like this.’
I fall asleep with a smile on my face.
In the night, I’m woken by him talking in his sleep. He’s mumbling but I can make out the name Alfie. I close my eyes and go back to sleep.
