42
Nigella is on her best behaviour as I drive her home. There’s no seatbelt strangulation or stalling. She also doesn’t spit out the CD I listened to.
My legs ache as I climb the stairs to my flat. All the swimming I have been doing is good for my mind but it’s hell for my muscles.
Oliver isn’t home when I get in. After making myself some beans on toast, I sit with Lenny on my chair and think about my aunt and Hilary. I want to sit down and talk to my aunt about what I’ve found and ask her why she’s not replied to Hilary. She has probably been trying to forget about her, but from what I saw earlier, Hilary is still on her mind. The vision I see whenever I touch Aunt Polly is bugging me as well. For years I have assumed the silver bracelet with the padlock belonged to Sandra; now I am wondering whether it’s Hilary’s. The problem I have is that my aunt gets defensive whenever I talk about Hilary and right now, she’s going through a tough time, and I don’t want to cause her any more pain. Perhaps when she’s in remission I could take her for a long walk on the beach and talk to her.
I still haven’t read Mum’s notebook. With everything that has happened with my aunt and Hilary I feel emotionally and physically spent. It will keep.
Oliver is not home by the time I go to bed. I try to stay awake, but exhaustion takes hold of me.
CRASH. I sit up in bed with a thudding heart. What was that?
The flat door slams. I can hear someone staggering up the hallway. The bedroom door bangs open and Oliver bursts through and falls onto the bed, knocking over the pillow wall. I can smell beer.
Anger floods my body. ‘Oliver,’ I yelp. ‘You said you wouldn’t wake me up in the middle of the night.’
‘Fucking Rory,’ he slurs, rolling onto his back. ‘I hate him.’
‘Oliver, I need to go to sleep.’ The clock is telling me that it’s half past one in the morning.
‘I hate Rory.’
He’s so drunk. I can’t sleep here. I snatch a pillow and get out of bed.
‘Where are you going?’ Oliver groans.
‘I’m not sleeping here.’ I stride across the bedroom. ‘You’re drunk and you’ve ruined the pillow wall.’
‘Nelly, I’m not that drunk. I had two pints.’
‘Oliver, we both know drinking is not one of your strengths.’
He rolls over onto his back. ‘Rory made me angry.’
‘This is not healthy, Oliver.’
‘Tell Rory that.’
I turn to him. ‘Oliver, you need to sort out your issues with Rory because this is not right.’
‘What’s not right?’
‘This…’ I point to him. ‘You should be focused on Alfie, not Rory.’
He sits up and rubs his face. ‘Rory is playing happy families with my son. I want to…’ He falls back on the bed and shuts his eyes. His words fade and are replaced by loud snores.
I can’t sleep. I’m so angry at him for doing this. I stupidly assumed he was dealing with his issues. I hug my knees and sit in my chair.
My anger subsides after a while.
* * *
‘Nelly, wake up,’ says Oliver. ‘Your alarm is going off.’
I wake up in a fright. I must have fallen asleep here in my chair.
He’s standing opposite me, and he’s dressed. He’s even tamed his hair. What’s going on?
