Chapter 7
‘Far be it for me to comment on a creative vision, but this wasn’t quite what I had in mind for the spectacular welcoming Christmas tree that will be the first thing our visitors see when they walk in.’ Ollie bends down and picks up my loo roll innard with the word ‘tree’ scribbled on it.
‘They’re placeholders, obviously,’ I say, even though I know he’s teasing.
I’m on my hands and knees in the entrance hall, trying to persuade a tape measure to run around a corner, and I stop and look up at him.
‘I’m visualising. I found the Christmas tree skirts and washed them, and now I’m measuring what length of lights I need to buy to reach the plug sockets.
It helps to have a visual representation of where they need to go. ’
I get to my feet and go over to him, intending to take it back.
‘Hi.’ He gives me a bright grin and I take in the smart navy suit, the grey tie, the kind of briefcase that only very serious people carry, the way his brown hair is parted on the left and swept sideways, held in place by product.
Wholly professional, and a world away from the messy-haired, cardigan-wearing guy I met last night.
He’s even wearing a different aftershave.
‘Hi.’ I let out an exhale when I realise I’d been looking forward to seeing him again.
I go to take the loo roll innard, but his fingers hold onto it tightly, and he meets my eyes with a smile that feels mildly flirtatious. I immediately forget why I wanted it back in the first place, even though I’m certainly imagining the flirtatious part.
‘What?’ I intended it to come out as a demand, but it comes out as a whisper and I have to wet my lips that are suddenly dry.
‘I don’t know. It’s the first time in years that I’ve come home and the castle hasn’t been empty. It’s… nice.’
‘Nice,’ I repeat, and then realise that we’re having a tug-of-war over a toilet roll middle and take a step back. ‘Isn’t Nancy always here?’
‘Not at this time of day. She and Hamish leave me to my solitude to decompress after work. I do know they watch from their cottage to make sure the lights come on so they know I’ve got home safely though.’
I smile at him and he smiles at me, and then he realises that we’re just smiling at each other and holds the loo roll innard out to me. ‘I don’t know why I’m holding this.’
I take it from him and put it back in the centre of the tree skirt that I’ve laid out in the entrance hall. ‘I’ll stay out of your way. You won’t even know I’m here to interrupt your after-work decompression.’
‘No, don’t, please,’ he says quickly. ‘I was actually hoping… have you eaten?’
I shake my head.
‘Then will you join me for dinner? Nancy will have left something in the slow cooker, and…’
‘It’s chestnut and apple soup, and there’s fresh crusty bread. The whole kitchen smells incredible and it took me most of the day to persuade her to tell me what she was making.’
‘I knew she’d like you. She doesn’t let just anyone in on her soup of the day,’ he says with a fond laugh. ‘So, shall we? You must be hungry too?’
On the one hand, I’d love to. After everything I’ve heard today, I’d like nothing more than to get to know him better, but on the other hand, I’ve been crawling around musty storage rooms for most of the day and I’m in no way fit for human company.
‘Looking like this? I’m dusty and sparkly and nowhere near done for the night yet. ’
‘I assure you, I will not be looking like this for much longer. I’m only formal for work. At home… the more dust and sparkle, the better.’
I laugh out loud. I’m reasonably sure that no one wants more dust in their homes, but I appreciate the sentiment, and the fact that he’s openly invited me to encroach on his decompression time. And that chestnut and apple soup does smell really good…
Ollie must take that as a yes. ‘Give me ten minutes. I’m just going to… when I get home every day, the first thing I do is jump in the shower to wash away the office. It probably sounds weird, but…’
‘Not at all. That’s exactly what I do too. Or more like wash the London transport network off, in my case, but same principle. I can’t relax until I’ve showered and changed.’
He beams at that and his smile makes my heart skip in my chest because it’s so bright, and I feel that familiar sense of ease with him.
It’s such a little thing to have in common, but it’s somehow important too, and I once again feel like I can be completely myself around him, which is something I almost never feel around anyone.
* * *
By the time Ollie comes back, I’m in the kitchen, trying to remember which cupboards are which as I find bowls, spoons, and mugs, while surreptitiously making sure the dust bunnies are out of my hair and I don’t have some unidentifiable grime smeared across my forehead and brushing as much glitter as possible out of the cream cardigan I’m still wearing.
I turn around when I hear him come in and can’t help smiling at his appearance.
He’s changed into black jogging bottoms and the most oversized blue hoodie that’s ever been invented because it looks like you could fit three of him in it and there’d still be room for a small car too.
His hair is wet and looks like he’s done nothing more than run a towel over it, yet he somehow manages to look far sexier than he did in the suit just now.
‘You look nice,’ I say without thinking, and then wonder if I should have said something like that.
I’m his wife in a professional capacity only.
I shouldn’t be commenting on his appearance, should I?
‘Better,’ I correct because this has inadvertently turned awkward.
‘You look better without the suit. More relaxed. I like the hoodie.’
‘If only loungewear was deemed appropriate for an investment accountancy firm’s office.
’ He laughs a little awkwardly and continues hovering by the chair he sat in last night, right at the opposite end of the long dining table in the kitchen, like he’s trying not to crowd me.
While I appreciate the way he’s hyperaware that we’re strangers, he doesn’t need to be quite so much of a gentleman.
Instead, I take across the two mugs of tea I’ve just made and place one in front of my chair from last night, and one very deliberately at the chair nearest to it, so we’ve got a corner of the table between us.
‘You can’t eat soup and have to shout to be heard from all the way down there, it would get messy. ’
He smiles when he thinks I’m not looking and his feet pad across the kitchen in the same slipper boots as last night, and if nothing else, I appreciate his dedication to cosiness.
I’m cutting the loaf Nancy has made and inhaling the scent of freshly baked bread, while he dishes out two generous helpings of chestnut and apple soup from the slow cooker and we go back to the table together.
Ollie tears into his bread and dips it in his soup, and I do the same. The self-consciousness about making a mess in front of him is gone. I hadn’t realised how hungry I was, and Nancy’s soup is as good as it looks. Neither of us hold back the noises of appreciation.
Mealtimes in Mira’s house are awkward. There’s only one kitchen so I don’t want to encroach on their family dinners, even when she makes a point of inviting me to join her, Brian, and Rocco.
I usually end up either grabbing a shop-bought sandwich on the way home from work, or making something fast and easy so I can vacate their kitchen as soon as possible, but here, everything feels so easy.
When we’re both stuffed, Ollie sits back with his mug of tea, and I pluck up the courage to mention what Nancy said earlier. ‘Nancy told me about your parents… I’m sorry, it must’ve been indescribably awful to lose them both so suddenly.’
He lets out a sigh, looking like he was expecting this topic at any minute. ‘Aye. I probably should have explained last night, but we’d only just met and existential trauma isn’t always the best conversation starter.’
He says it flippantly, but existential trauma can’t even begin to cover what he must’ve dealt with. ‘Do you want to talk about it?’
He leans further backwards and runs a hand through his damp hair, looking like he’s not quite sure if he wants to talk about it or not, but he will anyway.
‘It was in March, fifteen years ago. We’d been for lunch with one of Dad’s colleagues.
I was sitting in the back of the car, still nursing a hangover from the night before.
Mum was trying to persuade Dad to detour to the garden centre on the way home, and he was saying that it would be too busy on a Sunday afternoon, and… bam. A car hit us head on. I…’
‘You were in the accident too?’
He lifts a finger towards his face. ‘That’s where the scars come from. You were probably wondering. Most people do.’
‘Oh, God, Ollie, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realise. Nancy didn’t mention that part…’ I feel like I should have put two and two together, but nothing Nancy said earlier suggested that he was in the accident as well. That’s worse than anything I can imagine.
‘She must’ve been leaving me the choice to tell you myself.’ He lets out a shuddery breath and sits forward. ‘Are you sure you want to hear it?’
I nod, so unsure of what to do with my hands that I end up wringing my fingers together, because it’s easy to forget he’s my employer and this is supposed to be a job.
‘Mum died at the scene. Dad in the ambulance before it reached the hospital. And me… I was fine. I had to be cut out of the wreckage, but I didn’t have much more than cuts and bruises.
My most severe injury was a broken nose.
Nothing but memories of the sound of Mum’s pain.
Dad’s hand reaching back, trying to reassure me that everything was going to be okay.
’ His eyes are welling up and he looks away, shifting in his chair like the memories are making him uncomfortable.