Page 116 of (Not) The One
‘Something tells me you enjoy trying each other. Hang on, I didn’t mean it that way.’
‘Oh no, I get it,’ she agrees. ‘I also get that you’re trying to distract me from your news. You want me to dig? No need. You know Heather can’t keep a secret.’
Both of our attentions turn to Heather again, who appears not to have heard. Or maybe she only appears that way to Olivia because, hunched over her laptop, I still register her flinch.
But no. She wouldn’t squeal. The girl is a vault.
‘You don’t believe me? Heather let it slip last week that you have a beau.’
‘I didn’t realise we’d slipped back in time. I have a beau, do I, Heth?’
But beau sounds better than baby daddy or pregnancy fuck buddy, my mind supplies. I push away the thought as I turn my head again, this time like a turret on a tank. I think my smile must be just as frightening.
‘Nooo.’ Heather draws out her response over a dozen syllables. ‘I did not. But good try, Ols.’ She sends her a wink. ‘I know better than to get involved in this discussion.’ She sits straighter, and adds, ‘Just think of me as the embodiment of the three wise monkeys. I see, hear, and speak not at all.’
Good.
‘If you must know what I was thinking about,’ I say, my words directed towards Olivia. ‘I was thinking that we could add some metallic accents to the teal. A little copper and gold, nothing too tinny.’
This time, Olivia’s expression changes, clouding with what I’m callingthewedding wow. I’ve never seen her as happy as she’s been lately. It’s as though she’s suddenly fully embraced being married. And while she’s happy, more like ecstatic, to hear about my plans for the day—the colours, the catering, the contingency plans for an autumnal wedding in rainy old England—she’s also happy to leave the planning to me. Which I’m loving. And loving getting paid for.
I might have a flat before much longer.
‘Copper would be gorgeous with teal,’ Heather agrees, happy to help in moving Olivia along from the topic of my love life. ‘You can add some subtle touches to the tables, maybe gold shoes, if you haven’t bought them yet.’ The pair begin to talk shoes as my phone buzzes with a text.
I believe I left something at your house last night.
My house?My thumbs fly over the screen of my phone as a warm glow heats my chest.You mean Muffy and Buffy, the house rabbits?
Rabbits? I thought they were strange looking fluffy dogs.
Nope, giant Angora rabbits.The size of small dogs, but still.
That would explain a lot. Anyway, getting back to the thing I left there.
I hope you haven’t left anything there, I type back.My week is up.The owners are back this evening; bunny services no longer required.
Because I’m not supposed to have overnight guests, before we left, I’d fed and locked away the bunnies in their room, popped the sheets from the guest bed into the washing machine, thrown last night’s pizza box and wine bottle into the recycling, before doing one last sweep of the house for evidence—I mean, belongings. Then James had thrown my little suitcase in the back of my car just as his driver, turned up ready to whisk him off to wherever.
And that’s it. The keys were popped through the letterbox, never for me to return.
Or until next time the couple goes on holiday.
How does he not remember this?
Play along, darling girl.
I try and fail to curtail my smile as I type out my answer.Oh, dear. What did you leave, oh, gorgeous one?
I appear to have left a blow job on your sofa. I was wondering if it’d be all right to come over this evening to collect it?
Chancer, I respond, actually biting my lip to restrain my smile now.
That’s actually my middle name.
Really? Do you mean Chance?It seems unlikely.
Near enough. It’s Charles. About this blow job...
