52. Ollie
Chapter 52
Ollie
Lunch is awkward as fuck, mostly because Megan refuses to look at me, only making eye contact to pass the potatoes.
“Well, aren’t you lucky you have Ollie living with you now?” Mrs Porter says after we fill her in on the ceiling drama. “Hattie would have been no use sorting all that out.”
Megan is unimpressed. “Hattie is a perfectly capable adult, Mum. I’m sure we would have figured it out together.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Mr Porter laughs. “You should have seen those two when they were teenagers, Ollie. Smart girls, but utterly useless in an emergency.”
“Remember that time the cat brought in a dead bird?” Mrs Porter says, and Mr Porter hoots at the memory.
“Oh my days,” he says, jabbing in Megan’s direction with his thumb. “She and Hattie and Kara were up on this very table, shrieking their heads off when I got in from work. God knows how long they’d been there.”
“Oh, Danny! What about that time they got the wrong train home from Cambridge and you had to pick them up in King’s Lynn?”
“I was fourteen,” Megan sighs, burying her head in her hands.
“Strap in, lad,” Mr Porter says, jabbing his thumb in her direction. “We’ve got a lot of stories about this one.”
“OK, that’s quite enough. I’m thirty-tw—” she stops herself. “I’m older now and much more worldly, thank you. Can we just eat in silence, please?”
“Why are you so grumpy?” her dad asks.
“I barely slept,” she answers, and I almost choke on a forkful of peas. “From the stress of it all.”
I know that’s bullshit. After cleaning up and changing my shorts in the bathroom, I came back to bed and found Megan totally fast asleep. When I crawled in next to her, she rolled right into my arms and stayed there until I carefully slipped out in the early hour, and went to pick up the van.
If anyone’s barely slept, it’s me. I wanted to, but I also wanted to experience all of it. All of her. Her gentle snore, her soft hair. Hours I lay there, twirling my fingers through it, hoping she wouldn’t wake up.
Her dad talks me through our adjusted job schedule for the coming week, and once we’re finished, I help her mum clear the table. Megan’s fingers brush mine when I take her plate, and she looks away quickly, as if that brief touch will set off a signal alerting her parents to our recent activities.
This is horrible. Ignoring her, avoiding each other’s gaze. It’s nothing like how we are at home, and so far from how I want to be with her. Her being my boss’ daughter was a good reason not to get involved with her in the first place, but we’ve gone too far now. I’m in deep.
In the kitchen, I slip my phone from my pocket and fire off a quick text.
Ollie: You OK?
She’s on her phone when I sit back down, and soon enough there’s a buzz in my hand.
Megan: Yes. You? Sorry this is awkward.
Ollie: I’m good. Think we can sneak away for a minute?
“You young folk, never off your phones,” Mr Porter tuts. “Who are you texting?”
“Hattie,” she lies, hiding her phone away. If he leaned over to look, he’d definitely see my name on the screen.
“Oh yeah? Ask her if she’s gotten any wrong trains lately.”
“Oh my god, Dad,” Megan groans. “That was twenty years ago. Get over it.”
Mrs Porter reappears with a dish of apple crumble, and a jug of piping hot custard. She serves me first, and it brings to mind days in the kitchen at home, Marian teaching me to rub flour, butter, and sugar together until it looks like crumbs. She takes the seat next to me, tucking herself under the table.
“So how’s Max?” she asks Megan, and my eyes snap up to see her whole body stiffen.
She scoops up a piece of pie, all her focus on that one bite of food. “That’s over.”
“Well halle-fucking-lujah,” her dad cheers.
“Danny!” Mrs Porter scolds, kicking him underneath the table and turning back to her daughter. “I’m so sorry, love. What happened?”
“Wasn’t meant to be,” Megan shrugs. “It was a while ago. I’m over it.”
“Well, I’m not sorry,” her dad says, wrapping one arm around her shoulders and pulling her in close. “I always had a bad feeling about that guy. If he wouldn't move here permanently, he wasn’t worth it. You’re better off without him.”
It’s been ages since the subject of her ex has come up, but I already know her parents don’t know the full story. It’s not my place to say anything, but I hate seeing her put on the spot like this. I slide my foot across the floor to rub the side of hers, but she pulls away, tucking her fists into her sleeves and her knees up to her chest.
“You want to be dating someone closer to home,” he continues. “Like Ollie.”
I choke on the food for the second time today. “Excuse me?”
“Not you , obviously. You’re far too young for her, but someone like you. You’re a good-looking lad, hard-working, down-to-earth, not living a million miles away.”
Megan looks like she wants the ground to swallow her. Pushing her bowl to one side, she makes her excuses and heads upstairs. I want to follow her, but there’s no good reason to, and I don’t want to look suspicious.
There's nothing else to do but drive home to the quiet house where my pillow smells of her.