I hear shuffling around upstairs. In a panic, I slide the envelope back behind the photo, close the album and shove it under the coffee table.
Later, I exit the station, and spots of rain greet me. We haven’t had rain since the night my bedroom started leaking. Looking up at the sinister grey clouds above, I recall the sheets of paper Gary fixed to my ceiling. Let’s hope the rain isn’t torrential.
As I climb up the stairs to my apartment, I hear voices. One belongs to Oliver, while the other is a familiar female voice. Oliver is standing in the doorway of my flat, talking to Eva. They both look up as I approach.
‘Ah, Nelly, perfect timing,’ says Oliver. ‘Your friend is here to see you.’ He smiles at both of us before disappearing inside the flat.
Eva looks at me. ‘Hello again.’
‘What are you doing here, Eva?’
She gestures into the flat. ‘You’re living with Oliver James – the romance author?’
I nod. ‘He’s my new flatmate.’
Her eyes widen, and her mouth opens in shock. ‘When he opened the door, I nearly fainted.’
‘He won’t be here long,’ I say with a casual shrug. ‘It’s temporary while his flat in London sells.’
‘Why is he here?’
‘He’s no longer a fan of London life.’
She gives me an odd look; the same one we share when she knows something about one of my book customers that I don’t. She always had a good ear for town gossip.
‘Why are you looking at me like that?’
She pushes her blonde hair behind her ears. ‘You know that Oliver James is his pen name – don’t you?’
‘Errrr. Is it?’
‘His real name is Oliver Shadwell.’
My heart has ground to a halt. He hasn’t told me that. ‘I think he told me,’ I lie.
‘You know about the scandal that he was involved in – don’t you?’
Air gets trapped in my throat. Eva is looking at me with what appears to be concern. ‘Scandal?’ I croak.
I think back to how well my day started and how I boarded the train thinking I was once again curse-free. Since I touched the hand of that handsome sex addict on the train and discovered my curse has returned, my day has taken a downward turn. Now I’m about to hear that my troubled flatmate was embroiled in a scandal. Could today get any worse?
21
Eva nods. ‘You’re not a fan of reality TV – are you?’
‘Reality TV?’ Oh, God, is Oliver the male version of Francesca – the potential flatmate I interviewed who was going on a reality TV show where everyone was naked?
I grip onto the doorway of my flat.
‘You need to look at the press stories from a few years ago. His girlfriend at the time, Molly, went on a reality TV show.’ I remember Jamie saying her name.
Eva continues. ‘Molly and the other contestants were flown to a villa in Ibiza, where they were given a lot of money and filmed day and night.’
‘What does Oliver have to do with this?’
‘Molly cheated on him on live TV. It was all over the press, and social media went wild.’
I stare at Eva. ‘Cheated?’
