Page 124 of 56 Days
He waves a hand, indicating the bedroom. “I don’t mind if you take the bed, I could sleep here.”
“No, no. It’s fine.” She reaches for his hand, squeezes it. “Do you want to eat first or...?”
“Better if I don’t.”
“I might order something. Or run over to Georgie’s.”
“Your keys are still on the hall table,” he says.
“Thanks. I’ll try to be quiet.”
“There’s really no need. You could have a rave in here and I wouldn’t hear it. Those things completely knock me out.”
Oliver goes into the kitchen to pour a glass of water from the sink, and then into the bathroom to get a tablet. In his experience, they take a few minutes—maybe as many as ten—to start to kick in, at which point you’d better get yourself into bed because the next stage falls like a curtain, like a heavy object from a great height.
If he’s standing he will fall down, wherever he is.
And God, he’s ready for it, this blissful unconsciousness. He wants to stop feeling as awful as he does. He wants to wake up tomorrow feeling rested and energized and ready to start building a life with Ciara, for the rest of his life—his After—to finally begin.
He swallows a tablet.
He goes back into the bedroom, takes off his shoes and socks and then, too exhausted to bother with the rest, pulls back the blankets and climbs into bed. He hears theliving-roomdoor close with a softclickand then the muffled sound of the TV on at low volume.
He closes his eyes.
He opens them again.
From this angle, he has a line of sight out into the hallway. Ciara’s bag is sitting on the floor there, her large black leather one with the handles that doesn’t close at the top. She would normally drop it on the floor of the bedroom, but she hasn’t set foot in here since she returned.
What has got his attention is what he can see sticking out of it: a large black Moleskine notebook, with the corner of a paper napkin sticking out ofthat.
The napkin has the logo of the Sidecar Bar printed on it.
That’s the bar at the Westbury, where they had their first date. Did she take it from the bar the night they went there, to keep as a souvenir?
The thought that all the way back then—only a few weeks in reality, but what feels like years in lockdown time—she was thinking thatthis, him and her, was going to be something fills him with a sleepy warmth.
He raises his head, holds his breath, listens.
The fridge door opening and closing; Ciara is in the kitchen.
Oliver throws back the covers, gets up and goes to the bag. He already feels a little woozy, so he keeps his hands held out for emergency wall contact, should the need arise. He’s not planning on snooping, he just wants to know for sure. He wants to be able to take the promise of Ciara’s love with him to bed, to infuse it into his dreams. If she still has that, even after Wednesday, and if she’s carrying it around with her...
Thathasto be a good sign, right?
He bends to reach for the napkin, pulls it out.
Something is written on it. Notes, it looks like, in blue pen.
French 75
NYCbar—no sign/secret door
Only child
He blinks at it, confused. It looks like a list of things they talked about on the night but...
Why would she write these things down?
