Chapter 17
Excitement floods my body seconds after I open my eyes – my curse has been lifted. This is the start of the rest of my life.
In the shower, I mentally list what I can enjoy now without my curse turning every touch into a steady stream of tragic romantic visions: concerts, nightclubs, socialising at busy bars, public transport, and travel.
Rejoicing in my newfound freedom, I apply far too much Tropical Shower Foam Burst and reflect on how my head has long been filled with the endings of other people’s love stories.
I will finally get to experience what it feels like to have a head full of everyday thoughts, like where I should go on holiday once I have saved some money, which bands are playing locally, and whether I should join a dating app.
The latter makes me shiver. Considering what I know about love, this would require a lot of thought.
The thought of being free from my curse is both exciting and a little unsettling, as I will not have it to guide me.
Maybe I will just enjoy being vision-free for now?
There’s no sign of Oliver. As I am feeling saintly, I leave a packet of painkillers outside his door in case he’s in agony over his toe when he wakes.
Lenny must sense it’s a good day as he doesn’t try to escape.
Even the weather has come out to celebrate my new curse-free life. Above me is a brilliant blue sky, dotted with fluffy white clouds and a warm yellow sun.
I enter the bookshop and wave at Miranda, who looks shocked by my happy appearance.
My first customer is Ken, who runs the local allotments.
He’s buying a book on growing tomatoes. A year ago, my curse showed me that Ken was happy being single and spent his time talking to plants on his allotment.
As I slip his book into the bag, I remind myself that my curse has gone.
If I touch Ken, I won’t see anything. With a big smile, I hand him his paper bag and make sure our fingers brush.
I groan as a flash of light hits. When it clears, I see the vision has changed.
Someone new has entered his life. Ken has watery eyes, and his bottom lip is quivering.
He’s listening to a man tell him he’s going back home to Australia and won’t need his allotment any more. My heart sinks.
The world goes silent as Ken talks to me.
I reach for a boiled sweet. When the sound returns to my ears, Ken is explaining how the book is a gift for his new allotment friend, Eric.
My heart aches as he goes on to describe their late-night talks, sitting in deckchairs on his allotment, sipping whisky and watching the stars.
As Ken walks away, I close my eyes and let out a heavy sigh. My curse has returned.
It’s late afternoon. The bookshop is bustling.
My curse has been busy since its blip. That’s the only logical explanation I can give for its disappearance.
I am trying to forget the tragic, heartbreaking visions I have seen today.
I’m watching eager book customers gather around Miranda’s new display table in the crime section, labelled ‘Suspicious Minds he doesn’t need any more.
Miranda asks me to go to the till.
‘Can I pay for this?’ A man hands me a book about dogs.
‘Certainly,’ I say, taking it from him and scanning the barcode. ‘Are you a dog fan?’
The man appears older, with short dark hair touched with grey, and pale-blue eyes.
The light in his face dims. ‘I never wanted a dog. I didn’t like them.
All the dogs I knew were always barking and were a handful for their owners.
But Sandy… well, Sandy the Labrador stole my heart from the moment I held her as a pup. ’
I pop his book into a paper bag and wonder what happened to Sandy, the Labrador.
The man’s pale-blue eyes are full of sadness, and he’s clenching his jaw.
I sense he’s grieving Sandy’s loss. If anything ever happened to my cat Lenny, I would be a mess and would be buying books about cats to try to fill the gap.
I recall Oliver telling me about Figgy Pudding dying of old age.
I could see from his face that he had found it hard.
‘I miss Sandy terribly.’
I nod and place the bag on the counter. ‘How old was Sandy when she passed?’
The man frowns. ‘Sandy is alive and well in Scotland. Well, that’s what my ex-wife says, but I stopped believing anything she said years ago.’
‘Oh, I am sorry.’
He gestures to the book. ‘This is my way of coping. When we got divorced, my ex-wife took Sandy away. They now live in Scotland with my ex-wife’s new fancy man. The one she was having an affair with while we were still married.’ His voice cracks.
This is a helpful reminder for me about love. When someone breaks your heart, they can stick the knife in further by taking away your beloved pet.
‘The book has a big section on Labradors, and I can sit and think about Sandy,’ he continues.
In my mind, I picture this poor broken-hearted man sitting in an armchair reading a book and longing for his beloved dog.
He’s probably surrounded by photos of Sandy and him on walks, on wind-swept beaches, and perhaps Sandy sitting by his armchair.
‘That’s nice,’ I croak as my eyes start to fill up.
He takes the book and hugs it. ‘I miss Sandy every day. I’ll never forgive my ex-wife for taking her.’
‘Love can be so cruel.’
‘I’ll never fall in love again,’ says the man, shaking his head.
‘Avoid love at all costs,’ I say to him before he walks away clutching his book.
When I arrive home, Oliver is sitting on the sofa with a bag of frozen peas on his foot.
He still looks annoyingly handsome, with broad shoulders, dark eyes housed under thick lashes, and messy hair, despite being slumped with a bag of peas on his abused toe.
He casts me a sorrowful, war-hero-type expression that is probably meant to inspire sympathy, but it makes me want to smile.
‘Sorry about waking you last night.’
‘It’s okay,’ I say, trying not to get too distracted with those buttons on his shirt, which have come undone again. I head for my chair. ‘What happened to your toe?’
He groans. ‘Nelly, I was pissed off about something and kicked the kerb.’
‘What were you angry about?’
Something flickers across his face. ‘I don’t want to talk about it. You know how I said I was no good at drinking – well, I am also not great at getting angry.’
I want to tell him that he’s also rubbish at entering the flat without making a sound in the early hours, but I decide to keep it to myself. Tiredness washes over me. ‘You need to rest your toe,’ I say, after yawning. ‘Maybe an early night will do you good.’