He pauses before saying, ‘I would have looked inside. In that envelope could be a clue as to why they fell out.’
‘Would you?’
‘Yes. They could have fallen out over something insignificant and now be too stubborn to apologise. I already feel strongly about Aunt Polly, and she needs all the support she can get right now.’
‘You might have a point.’
‘If I had someone as special as Aunt Polly in my life, I would move mountains for them.’
I lie awake for ages thinking about Aunt Polly, Hilary, and what he said earlier about healing. The word ‘healing’ makes me think of Margo’s book.
Once again, I hear him talking in his sleep. This time, he’s murmuring something about big red trucks. I lie awake for a few moments and wonder whether he is a fan of them. He’s never mentioned this. I make a mental note to ask him.
30
There’s a time and a place for Oliver James’s dazzling smile, and seven in the morning, after he’s spent over an hour in the bathroom, is not it.
‘Good morning, Nelly,’ he chirps.
I’ve been waiting outside the bathroom door like a Dickensian orphan, listening to him apply a hair mask and talk to himself about how long his bout of writer’s block will last.
My eyes are puffy, my patience is wearing thin, and he’s standing there dripping, fresh from the shower, his damp hair cascading down his forehead like he’s stepped out of a romantic comedy. His dressing gown slips slightly. Just enough to reveal a triangle of tanned skin on the chest. Something inside me stirs. It looks divine. I try to suppress it. I tear my eyes away, my cheeks flushing.
‘Everything okay, Nelly?’
‘Yes,’ I mumble, and he walks away whistling.
‘Oliver, last night you were talking in your sleep…?’
He stops. ‘Did I say anything interesting?’
‘You talked about your love of… trucks. Big red trucks.’
Something flickers across his face. ‘I’ve no idea where that came from, Nelly.’ He gives his damp hair a flick. ‘You also talked in your sleep.’
I blink in surprise. My heart has started to pound inside my chest. I am now praying I didn’t mention my curse. ‘Me? What did I say?’
‘Water,’ he says. ‘You said something about it being your friend.’
Relief spreads through me. ‘Margo’s book. It was on my mind before I fell asleep.’
The memory of him fresh out of the shower stays with me and, to my frustration, is still on my mind as I board the train to Tide-Leigh.
As I leave the station I catch sight of the sparkling blue sea beyond the pier. On my way to Aunt Polly’s, I pass a little beach shop. In the window is an array of swimming costumes and caps. There is a navy-blue one-piece costume which catches my eye, and a pink swimming cap which makes me think of Mum. Without hesitation, I go to the shop and buy them both. After stuffing them in my bag, I head for Aunt Polly’s house.
‘Hello, Nelly.’ She casts me a weak smile and pulls her dark grey cardigan around her. Today she’s sporting a black woollen hat. ‘I didn’t like the cap, so I bought this.’
I smile. ‘You look good in both. Are you okay?’
‘I’m feeling a bit tired. Nothing we can’t handle.’ I reach out and squeeze her hand. The same vision featuring the little silver chain with the padlock remains unchanged.
I drive her to the hospital, and Nigella is her usual difficult self. At one point, Aunt Polly tells me off for muttering bad things about the car under my breath.
Aunt Polly’s chemo day at the hospital is lengthy but event-free. We play cards, discuss celebrities in a gossip magazine someone left behind on a chair, talk about the novel she’s reading, struggle over a crossword and talk to the nurse.
After I drive us back, Aunt Polly tells me she wants to sit on her bed. I get her settled, and I even manage to get her TV working, which makes her happy, as it’s been playing up.
‘I’ll be downstairs,’ I explain. ‘Shout if you need anything.’
