Page 9 of Seen
“If it’s something medical, then I always suggest people make an appointment with their GP. The other night was more of an…emergency. That’s different.”
“It’s not medical. I need someone to help me with some paperwork, and with Ezra out of the country, I couldn’t think of anyone else.”
He must have hundreds of people he can call on. “Alaric’s around,” I offer.
“Yeah.” His shoulders tense like he’s holding something in. “It’s kind of awkward. Not something I want to share with…uh…close friends.”
“Okayyy.”
“And I bought you a plant as a thank-you in advance.” He smiles again, a charming one. Whatever he wants, he’s anxious I cooperate. “So can I?”
“Can you what?”
“Come in for a few minutes.”
Holding the plant, I can’t reach for my bracelet. “Listen. Neil. I…um…it depends. I’m trying to…um…avoid problems at the moment. I don’t want to explain why. I just don’t think Ican handle any…uh…conflict, you know? Sorry, that’s too strong a word, maybe aggravation or potential disagreement might be better.”
I’ve got used to saying stuff like this. The first few times were embarrassing. No one likes to face up to facts about their inner makeup others might view as weaknesses, never mind sharing them with someone who’s barely an acquaintance.
“This will only take five minutes. I swear. Then I’ll be out of your hair. And it won’t upset you, I promise. It’s…it’s a nothing, really, just some paperwork I need someone to cast their eyes over. I simply don’t have anyone else right now I can ask.”
If it wasn’t for Neil’s beautiful chestnut eyes, wide and raw and beseeching, I’d decline. He brushes a lock of dark hair back from his head. Most of it is tied up in a bun. Neil rocks the romanticised, world-weary look of an angst-ridden Byronic poet even more convincingly than Ezra. But I’m still unsure. Alaric’s been friends with Neil for years,intimatefriends for some of them, and even he advised me to give him a wide berth.
Not that Neil’s interest in me lies in that direction. Despite the clamminess spreading under my arms, I’m intrigued as to what could be the problem. Some of the anxiety and exhaustion looks real.
“Five minutes, you say?”
“Yeah. Maximum. I promise.”
My flat isn’t what people expect. Alaric says it’s decorated like I ran through a Moroccan souk covered in Velcro and brought everything I stole back home with me. I haven’t—I haven’t been well enough to travel much at all in recent years—but I have spent a lot of time browsing charity shops. Facebook Marketplace is a goldmine if you know where to look. Everything is mismatched but works, a little like me, most of the time.
“Nice place.” Neil follows me to the kitchen, letting out a low whistle. “Nice location, too. Must be worth a few bob.”
He seems cautious, as if he’s worried he’s going to damage something, in the way of someone wandering through an antique shop. It’s weird, for a person usually oozing confidence. I can’t make him out.
“Thank you. My…um…my grandfather left me some money in his will. I wouldn’t have afforded it otherwise.”
“Cool. Is it okay if I sit here?”
“Sure.” I pour myself a glass of water, more as a prop than because I’m thirsty. Does he think I’m odd not removing my hood indoors? He doesn’t seem to, busy unzipping his laptop bag.
“Would you like one?” I ask, politely.
He seems puzzled. “One what?”
“Um…” I wave my glass at him and his eyes land on it.
“Oh, yeah. Didn’t spot it. Thank you.”
I settle in a chair adjacent to him.
“It might be better we sit next to each other,” Neil suggests, scooting round. My table’s not huge, and I’m very aware of his knee against mine. He smells lovely, outdoorsy like he did at the club, except minus the iron tang of blood.
“Oh, okay.” My fingers stray to each cool blue bead on my wrist. “So, what’s this all about?”
“I’m dyslexic,” he explains, pointing to a moderately busy Excel spreadsheet on the screen. “These are the Earth bar accounts which I need to go through and make sure they make sense within the next day or so, before they’re filed. Ezra usually does it, but he’s away and I don’t want to disturb his trip.”
“Is that it?” I almost laugh. He looked so stressed out on the pavement. “Sorry, I don’t mean—sorry—don’t think for a second I’m belittling your dyslexia. Not at all. I know it’s not great if you have to go through paperwork, but…I assume dyslexia isn’t anew thing for you. How do you normally manage? What I mean is what strategies do you normally employ?”And why aren’t they working this time?
