‘I know you’re worried about sharing a bed with me, and I want you to feel safe, so take this, stick it under your pillow and feel secure in the knowledge you are armed.’
‘Really?’ I stare at the wooden rolling pin.
‘I wouldn’t dare to enter your side of the bed, but I don’t want you to feel in any danger. Do it,’ he beams.
His wall separates the bed into two parts. If it doesn’t topple over us in the night and we don’t touch, I will be fine.
We pull back the covers of our respective sides of the bed and climb in.
Even though pillows and cushions separate us, I can hear him breathing. My nostrils have detected his Whispering Cedar aftershave.
Anxiety courses through my body. What the hell have I agreed to?
Despite being tired when I got home, I am wide awake now. The prospect of sharing a bed with Oliver has put my body on high alert.
I am lying on my side and facing away from the pillow wall.
‘Nelly? If you’re nervous about this new arrangement, I don’t blame you. Are you impressed by my wall-building skills?’ He sounds like an excited boy scout.
‘It’s the best I’ve ever seen, Oliver. You have a hidden talent.’
He’s rearranging his pillows. ‘I respect you, Nelly, so please don’t worry. This is why I gave you the rolling pin.’
‘I’m not worrying,’ I lie, slipping my hand under the pillow and touching the wooden rolling pin. He better not try anything because I will use the rolling pin.
‘Can you believe we’re sharing a bed?’
‘I blame Gary for this,’ I groan.
‘Gary is an interesting character,’ he says. ‘My thriller author friend would love to meet him.’
‘Why?’
‘Claire loves meeting creepy people. Gary would give her so much book fodder.’
We both giggle, and I can feel myself start to relax.
‘We hardly know each other,’ he says, which makes me emit a nervous laugh.
‘Yes, and now we’re sharing a bed,’ I say with a deadpan tone.
We go silent, and I listen to the creaking pipes and footsteps on the floor below.
‘Nelly,’ he says.
‘Yes, Oliver.’
‘I know this is nosey, but I saw the book you were reading earlier. Can I ask what it’s about? It has an image of seawater on the front.’
‘It’s about the author, Margo Lane, who turned to swimming to process her grief. The water healed her. Can you swim, Oliver?’
‘Very well, Nelly. Can you?’
I smile at his confident response. ‘What’s your best stroke?’
He rearranges his pillows. ‘Front crawl. You?’
‘I excelled at backstroke and won numerous competitions when I was eight. Although I preferred front crawl.’
