‘You don’t need to say anything.’ She perched on the edge of the sofa, clasping her hands between her knees. ‘In fact, I’d rather you didn’t. I feel stupid enough as it is.’
‘Why?’ Coming to sit next to her, he placed his mobile carefully on the cushion beside him.
‘Why what? Why do I feel stupid? Because he took everything, and I’ve had days to demand it back. Yes, I rang and messaged him the day after, but I haven’t since. I’ve just left him to it.’ She dug her fingernail into her palm. ‘Or are you asking why he took everything in the first place?’ She took a sharp breath in and continued, not waiting for an answer. What did it matter what he’d meant by his question? He’d no doubt ask the next straight after, anyway. ‘Because he and his new girlfriend – mistress, if you like – moved in together and didn’t have anything to furnish their new place with.’
‘So they took everything?’
‘They took everything.’ Ellie nodded in agreement.
‘They even took the saucepans?’ He shook his head in disbelief.
‘They took everything.’ Emphasising the word ‘everything’, Ellie hoped he’d get the picture, but, just to be sure, she continued. ‘The TV, the coffee table, the rug, even the laundry basket.’
Slumping back against the sofa cushions, Murray rubbed the palm of his hand across his face. ‘The laundry basket. You are kidding, aren’t you?’
She shook her head, the anger she’d felt towards him quickly dissipating. ‘But don’t worry, they left me a set of cutlery for one, my clothes, the kettle and the loo roll holder.’
‘Heck, that’s rough.’
‘Thanks.’ She collapsed back against the sofa cushions too and looked at him. ‘I don’t need you feeling sorry for me, though. I don’t need anyone feeling sorry for me.’
Turning to face her, he gave her a little smile. ‘He left you the loo roll holder?’
‘Uh-huh.’ She nodded as a sudden urge to laugh washed over her. Struggling to keep it in, her shoulders began to shake. ‘He left me the loo roll holder.’
Murray let out a loud guffaw. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t be. It’s…’ She shrugged, unsure how to explain herself. ‘I don’t know what it is, but it’s something.’
‘He sounds a delightful bloke. Very… umm… particular about where he hangs his toilet paper. And it seems your loo roll holder just didn’t live up to his standards.’
Leaning forward, she gasped for breath as she continued to laugh. As fast as the urge had begun, though, it disappeared, and she flung herself back against the sofa cushions, covering her face with her hands.
‘Come on.’
She felt the cushions shift beside her and lowered her hands as Murray stood up and held his hands out towards her. ‘Where?’
‘Well, we can’t cook here. Not unless we want a one-pot stew the size of the tiny saucepan you have left, so I’m taking you out for dinner.’
‘You are?’
‘Yes.’ He nodded firmly, his hands still held out towards her.
‘Okay.’ Why not? It was hardly worth her refusing and spending the evening sitting here alone, mulling everything over. She might as well go out and let Murray take her mind off the sorry state her life was in.
Placing her hands in his, she allowed herself to be pulled to standing. As they stood, their hands still clasped together, Ellie searched his eyes. Could he feel it too? That unmistakable electricity between them? The tingle of her skin against his? Briefly closing her eyes, she gently pulled her hands away. Of course he couldn’t.
18
‘How did you find this place, anyway?’ Ellie stabbed her fork in her pasta bowl filled with mac and cheese and watched as the stringy cheese finally pulled free. ‘This is so delicious that I could eat it for breakfast, lunch and dinner.’
‘Before I signed for my workshop, I came to look at a unit here in Nettleford. I was starving and popped in here. They haven’t been able to get free of me since.’ Murray grinned as he reached for his glass.
‘I certainly don’t blame you.’ Ellie spoke between mouthfuls. She’d never been much of a cook, had never really had the time, but when she’d tried her hand at making her and Rick a nice meal, they’d invariably ended up with a beige plateful of barely edible sludge. ‘And you can cook now too? Tell me about that? How? When did you learn?’
‘My dad’s wife – or should I say my stepmom – taught me.’ He shrugged. ‘Please don’t give me too much credit though, not without trying my food. I can find my way around a kitchen, but I’m no chef.’
‘Well, I’ve not changed in that department, so I’m sure whatever you can cook is much more edible than what I can offer.’
