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.
He mumbles, but I can’t make out what he’s saying.
‘Oliver – it’s four in the morning.’
‘My life is crumbling, Nelly,’ he moans. ‘I don’t know what to do.’ His brow is deeply furrowed, and he looks like he’s carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.
I know he’s struggling, but I am too. ‘Oliver, I spent today with my poor aunt, who has a daily battle with the effects of chemo and every evening must inject herself.’
He nods. ‘That’s tough. I’m sorry.’
‘I have had no sleep due to my leaking ceiling and your lost keys. In a few hours, I must go to work. Please go to bed before I say something I will regret.’
‘I didn’t sleep with…’
‘I don’t care, Oliver. GO TO BED!’ I roar so loud he scurries away into his bedroom and closes the door.
22
Oliver is not up when I leave for work which is probably for the best. Before leaving I slide a note under Gary’s door, which I wrote in the early hours after my dripping ceiling had awoken me. It is written in capitals, and at one point, I was so angry with him that I pressed so hard against the paper that a hole formed. There’s no greeting, and I haven’t even included his name. It reads:
MY CEILING IS LEAKING AGAIN. FIX IT. NOT WITH PAPER.
The bookshop is quiet, which is a relief as I am tired. Miranda is having a day at a spa which is another blessing.
The shop doorbell jangles and I look up to see Henry, my old friend from my childhood swimming club. He smiles and comes to the counter. ‘Hello, I’m back here with work for a few weeks. I have decided that I will keep pestering you for a coffee until you agree.’
I feel a prickle of anxiety and grab a pencil to fiddle with. ‘Maybe next week?’
