He'll have to break all the rules to keep her, but first she has to break just one and let him in...
It's taken four years, but Anna Fray has finally put the past behind her. Mostly. She fills her days working in a bar and her nights watching bad ro...
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I stood for a moment at the threshold, looking into the kitchen ahead of me.
It was narrow like mine, but instead of a wall at the end, it had been opened up onto the living room. A sparkling stainless-steel cooker sat on one side, hugged by white cupboards and faux wood counterspace. On the other, a sink sat looking out over the back lane and my yard.
I inched forward, giving the world outside one more look before I turned and shut the door behind me. I could hear the soft muffled voices of the police downstairs and the low thumping of footsteps as they echoed against the wooden floors. I wondered if they would hear me up here, or if I too would be silent just as Book Boy was.
As if aware I was analysing his silence, Book Boy broke it. "Black one sugar?" he asked.
I nodded, pushing aside how he knew my coffee order.
He flipped on the kettle with a satisfying clunk. It looked brand new, but then again most of the furniture in the flat did. I reasoned that maybe this was their first unfurnished place. Perhaps if I'd had the money, mine could have looked just like this when I first moved in.
I sidled past Book Boy to the living room while he busied himself gathering cups and finding the sugar. The large square living room before me was a blank canvas with pristine white walls and gleaming glossed woodwork. Even the floor seemed to shine, like the floorboards had been freshly varnished and left untouched. I'd never seen the flat when the old lady was living up here, but it looked like it had been redecorated since she'd left. Either that or she'd been the first old woman I'd known who didn't have an obsession with all things chintz.
As my eyes cast over the room, I noted with envy how clean it all was. Impossibly clean. Usually old houses like this one seemed to produce dust. Whether it was the small delicate cobwebs nestled in the ceiling roses, or the residue of soot compressed in the cracks of the ornate fireplaces. No matter how meticulous the occupant was, they were never completely clean. Somehow, this flat was.
I looked around at the sparse furniture. The room had everything it needed to have, a plush L-shaped sofa, an expensive looking TV, a low oval coffee table perfectly positioned to place a morning coffee. It was all very ordinary, but there was something off about it.
"Gina said you lived here with someone else," I said as I hovered. The sofa looked plump and inviting, but at the same time it looked like it had never been sat on.
"Yes, Olivia."
"Girlfriend?" I asked as I fiddled with my fingernails, picking nervously at the remainder of the dark nail polish.
"No." He smirked as he came towards me, a spotless white cup steaming with hot coffee.
I nodded as I took the hot cup from him and made a mental note to tell Emma and Callum of his single status. They didn't seem fazed by any of Book Boy's weirdness.
