I go to my chair and take out my pencil and notebook. On my page I mark down Jamie’s name and put a line through it. I then circle Oliver’s name. Chewing on the end of my pencil, I decide that I need to undertake more experiments with different people. The thought makes me gulp. I am going to have to touch people intentionally.
On a separate page, I brainstorm some reasons why I can’t see anything when I touch Oliver:
He’s magically protected against curses.
He can’t experience love any more due to heartbreak.
He has written so many happy endings that he’s developed curse immunity.
I sit and stare at my ideas. None of them stand out. I’ll keep this list in case any more ideas come to me.
The kitchen is messy. He didn’t get a chance to tidy up before he went out. I decide to sort it out and restore my high standards of kitchen cleanliness.
To my surprise, an hour later, I hear the door to my flat open and close. I gasp as Oliver walks up the hallway and strides into the living room. He smiles. ‘I’m back. It’s our second night in the bed share. I wouldn’t miss it.’
He sounds like he’s trying to make a go of our new agreement, which is nice. I watch him closely as he removes his jacket and runs a hand through his hair. He pops his head into the kitchen. ‘You cleaned up. Nelly, I was going to do it.’
‘I like cleaning.’
‘If I make a mess, you need to leave it as I will sort it. I feel bad when I see you’ve tidied up for me. Will do that for me?’
‘I promise.’
He watches a film on his iPad while I read more of Margo Lane’s book. The urge to ask where he went is strong, but I refrain and see whether he gives me any clues. He’s wearing his fitted white T-shirt, and I find myself sneaking a glance at how it skims his broad shoulders and clings to every hint of muscle. Oliver has turned something ordinary, like a plain T-shirt, into something dangerously distracting. He catches me staring at him and heat rushes to my cheeks. I remind myself that Oliver is a walking red flag for several reasons: I can’t see anything when we touch, he’s hurting, and he’s a romance author.
Eva sends me a WhatsApp to say hello, and we engage in a bit of friendly banter about the books she’s been reviewing, the trials and tribulations of living with her mum, and how I am getting on with Oliver. While he sits opposite me on the sofa, engrossed in a film, I explain to her how my curse doesn’t seem to work on him. I also screenshot my reasons why it’s not working and send them to her. Her response is interesting. She thinks the idea of Oliver developing immunity through his romance books is funny. She makes me smile by saying that every kiss scene he writes adds an extra layer of curse protection, and that he probably finishes his manuscripts during a full moon. Out of all my ideas, she thinks the heartbreak one is perhaps the most likely and reminds me how much Molly hurt him. I notice that she’s not told me to stay away from him like she did outside my flat door.
It feels nice to be chatting to Eva again, and we both agree to meet up for a cocktail soon. I go to bed early as I am tired. However, annoyingly, I lay awake waiting for him.
27
‘Have you still got your rolling pin, Nelly?’ Oliver says as he climbs into his side of the bed.
I reach under my pillow. ‘My rolling pin is ready. I’ll be watching out for any attempts at knocking down the wall.’
He chuckles. ‘On the way home, I was thinking of good conversation topics. Are you sleepy?’
The second he lies down, my body wakes up. My nostrils go wild at the scent of his aftershave, and my heart beats faster every time he repositions his pillow or shifts to get comfortable. My mind replays the memory of him in his fitted white T-shirt, his toned physique. I am glad a pillow wall separates us and that it’s dark, because I am bathed in a light sweat.
‘Are you okay, Nelly?’
‘Yes, why?’
‘You’re breathing very fast.’
Damn my traitorous body! I need to change the subject. This could be a good opportunity to find out what he’s hiding. ‘How was your evening?’
‘Fine. I enjoyed hanging around the flat tonight as opposed to staying out.’
‘Did you meet your friend?’
He goes silent, avoiding my question. I listen to the rain ticking against the window, the strange creaks of an old house, and a peal of laughter from the floor below.
‘This place comes alive at night,’ says Oliver, breaking his silence. ‘It’s relaxing to lie here, listen to the rain and hear the fun that is going on downstairs.’
‘It’s one of the many reasons why I love this place.’
‘Do you ever lie here and think about the servants who once lived in these rooms?’ His words light me up inside.
