Chapter 21 #2
Ollie burst out laughing. “Oh, my friend, you are in the presence of the world’s premier Indian side dish fiend. Put a samosa, an onion bhaji, or a poppadom near him and it’s gone in a second. Those poppadoms were as good as eaten the second I brought them into the flat.”
I blushed. I mean, he was right. God, I loved poppadoms.
Ollie was laughing but Simon was giving me the strangest look. He wasn’t angry, he was … interested. A new fascinating fact about Arden.
“I like Indian food,” I muttered into my files of names.
After we’d told Ollie the full story, which had taken the best part of an hour, he’d been on board to search the files.
He’d given me plenty of looks over the past six hours, he’d muttered asides, and there had been several moments where I was concerned he was going to start asking awkward questions, but mostly he’d been well behaved.
When the boxes had arrived, Simon had turned into a different person. Gone was sullen, emotional Simon and in was workhorse, detail-orientated Simon. I realised I knew so little about him. I didn’t even know what he actually did. What was a spy anyway? Somewhere between James Bond and Spooks?
Did he go on missions, with a gun and a licence to kill? Did he sit behind a computer all day and analyse text messages from bored Muslim teenage boys in east London in case they googled Syria one too many times?
I had no idea. What I did know was that he was probably quite good at it. He’d spent six hours going through filing without so much as a back stretch, whereas my pampered, work-shy hands were blistered, darling, blistered from having to touch all this coarse paper.
“Can I get anyone another drink?” Ollie said.
He stood, stretched, let his T-shirt roll up a bit to show his flat stomach and then walked past me on the way to the kitchen.
As he did, his fingers glided over my shoulder.
It wasn’t sexual, just affectionate. A long-standing habit of his, from the moment we’d got together.
I nearly closed my eyes in the comfort of it.
Of course, Simon saw all of this and glared.
Needing a break, I too stood up and went into the bathroom for a piss.
I splashed water on my face and tried to rub the tension from my temples.
My head ached. My body ached even worse.
Ollie had asked for more details on my alleged accident.
I had demurred but eventually said, “You know what Kenny’s like.
He saw a squirrel. I’m lucky he didn’t yank my arm out of my socket. ” He hadn’t believed me.
So far, at least, Ollie and Simon had been somewhat civil to one another. Which was a bonus.
When I’d rung Nigella to tell her that it was likely our trip to London was an all-nighter, I’d left them alone for nearly ten minutes. I had come back to the living room with no one missing any teeth, so I assumed they had behaved.
Nigella had, of course, wanted information as to why she was now a dog-sitting service. “We might have a lead,” I said. “Actually, we don’t have a lead. Which is a lead in itself.”
“Good God,” she said. “This is like House of Cards, please tell me that none of you are playing the Kevin Spacey role?”
I left the bathroom and came into the living room, where it was just Simon. “Ollie’s upstairs peeing as well,” he said and took a gulp of his beer.
Ollie had set out a new bottle for me. I took a swig.
“You two still seem very close,” Simon said. He fiddled with the label on his beer.
I shrugged. “As I said, we were practically married.”
“He’s still in love with you,” he said in a voice devoid of expression. “He’s devoted to you. You could turn up here covered in blood with a severed head in your bag and he wouldn’t hesitate to get the bleach out.”
I frowned at the mental image. “Very death-orientated, aren’t you, Simon?”
He shrugged. “It must be nice,” he said after a few seconds. “To have someone love you like that.”
I flopped down on the floor again. “It didn’t stop him from screwing the intern, so no, it wasn’t really that nice.”
The door to the bathroom upstairs opened, and Ollie made his way back down. I took another swig of my beer to make sure I kept my mouth shut.
We worked for a few more hours. At 3 a.m. I called time. “This is useless, and we’re no closer to any clues.”
“You’re right,” Simon said, which surprised me. “Let’s call it a night.” He took out his phone. “I’ll see if I can find a hotel for a few hours’ kip. I don’t think I can drive.” Simon had only drunk two beers over the course of the evening.
“Don’t be stupid,” Ollie said. “There’s a spare room you can have.” He stretched and then turned to me. “I put the fan on earlier in our room,” he said. “It’ll be nice and cool by now.”
Our room.
“Um, I’ll take the sofa,” I said.
Ollie’s face fell. “Oh, but … that’s silly. You know that sofa is horrible to sleep on.”
“I think it’s the best idea. Simon can take the spare room, and I’ll take the sofa.” I was going to stay firm on this.
Simon watched both of us as we talked. “Sounds good to me,” he said eventually. He stood and offered his hand to Ollie. “Thank you for all your help.”
Ollie didn’t take his eyes off me even as he reached to shake Simon’s hand. His eyes were beseeching me. Please come to bed with me. Please lie with me in the dark, and let’s hold each other.
I broke eye contact. No, no, no. It had to be done.
The other week had been fun, but it was clearly a mistake to let anything like that happen between Ollie and me.
My emotions for Ollie were still TBC in the long run, but he had made it obvious that his feelings for me were as strong as they ever had been.
To do that to him again was cruel. For his own sake, I had to keep a distance.
Simon gave us a look over his shoulder as he departed for the bathroom before turning in.
I began to clear detritus from around the sofa. “I’ll get you a blanket and some pillows,” Ollie said, his voice thick with emotion.
In a moment of madness, I watched him go up the stairs to our old room and then followed. He was in front of the large linen cupboard in the corner of the room, finding me a blanket. I walked in, and he turned to stare at me. I hadn’t been in here since the day I took my stuff.
It was the same. My side of the bed was emptier and a bit tidier, but a few things I’d left on the bedside table were still there.
Ollie’s pile of non-fiction political memoirs and pop science paperbacks were still piled up on his side.
Some clothes strewn about. The print I’d chosen to go above the headboard was still there.
I’d seen it in an art gallery in central London and knew it was perfect.
It was a map of the clans of Scotland in the style of a London tube map.
Simple, not particularly original, but it represented our lives and who we were.
After we’d put it up, Ollie put his arm around me and gave me a kiss on the forehead. “We need to find one for Poland.”
“We absolutely do not,” I’d said and shrugged off his arm, but grinned.
I stared at it now. I cleared my throat. “Thank you for doing this. You didn’t have to…” words failed. I sat down on the bed and stroked the duvet cover.
Ollie sat down next to me and took my hand in his own. “You know I’d do anything for you,” he whispered.
I sighed. But then I lowered my head onto his shoulder and nuzzled. “I’m sorry I slept with Errol. If it makes you feel better, he turned out to be a bit of a bastard.”
He chuckled. “Not really.”
“I … I do appreciate you calling me. I do, I promise. It’s … there’s so much between us, Ollie. Sometimes it overwhelms me, and I can’t face it. Every conversation between us feels like some momentous thing. That’s why it was so nice in Surrey. It was just us again.”
“I understand,” he said quietly. “know if you changed your mind about getting back together, I’d be there in an instant. I’d move to Dorset. It could be us again. And Kenny.”
“You’d be bored stupid in days. You think anything further out than Clapham is provincial.”
“I mean, have you been to Streatham? Dear God.”
I laughed, and he gave me a peck on the cheek. “I’m glad you came to me with this. I liked helping,” he said.
“And you did help. Well, truly, not at all. Now it all makes even less sense.”
The sound of a toilet flushing and the door to the main bathroom downstairs opening roused me from my little holiday of self-induced angst. I stood up and took the blankets and pillows that Ollie had dug out for me.
I ran my hands through his hair as I stood above where he sat on the bed. I leaned down and kissed the top of his head. “Goodnight, Ollie,” I said and left the room.
When I got downstairs, I looked up and saw the light from underneath his bedroom door go out. Simon was leaning on the hallway wall. His hands in his pockets.
“I thought you’d changed your mind,” he said quietly.
“What do you mean?” I whispered.
“About sleeping on the couch.”
I shook my head. “Simon, don’t.”
He looked like he wanted to say something. The same expression appeared on his face that he’d had in the car when he’d been trying to apologise. But I was exhausted. I switched off the lights. “Goodnight,” I said.
He turned and went into the bedroom.