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“Oh my God,” I gasp, “Daniel. You made me jump.” My hand flies to my chest, the photograph slips from my fingers and flutters to the floor like a feather. “I didn’t hear you come in.” He tosses a newspaper onto the bed angrily. It lands on top of his other keepsakes. Clearly, he’s cross, and who could blame him? I glance down at the photograph at my feet and then slowly bend down to pick it up.
“Leave it,” he demands as if I were a dog in training. The wooden floor creaks beneath his weight as he strides towards me. I’m on my knees, I look up at him. I’ve never seen him angry before. His eyes have almost doubled in size, his jaw is clenched, fists balled against his sides. I get up and find myself in front of him.
“Daniel, I can explain.” He folds his arms tightly against his chest. I can smell his cologne infused with perspiration.
“Well? Go on then,” he says, confrontationally, “I’m waiting.”
“Daniel, this isn’t what you think. I—”
But he doesn’t let me finish. “Oh, isn’t it?” He starts pacing the room irritably. “Then can you please tell me why and how you broke into my flat and started rummaging through my personal belongings?”
“I didn’t break in,” I say defensively, “I used a key.”
“Oh sorry, silly me.” He wobbles his head incredulously. “You let yourself in, did you? What did you do, slip out of bed one morning and pop to the locksmiths around the corner? I’ve a good mind to call the police!”
“Daniel!” I can’t believe he’s talking to me like this.
“It’s all you deserve,” he spits. “I could have you for breaking and entering.”
“I can’t believe I’m hearing this. Look, I didn’t break in, what do you take me for?”
“I dunno.” He pinches the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes briefly, “Bunny boiler springs to mind.”
“Oh, don’t flatter yourself.” I’ve heard enough. I cross the room, pushing past him and start gathering my belongings. “Connie gave me your front door keys. I’m waiting for a delivery for, for…” It’s supposed to be a flipping surprise, if I tell him the truth now I’ll blow it. “Oh, what the bloody hell are you doing home so early, anyway? I thought you were going straight to The Pizza Bar?”
“I wanted to freshen up! I’ve had a tough day. Why are you in my bedroom, anyway?”
“I had to use your loo,” I huff. “If you stocked the guest cloakroom properly I’d never have come in here in the first place.”
“What are you talking about? There was a full roll in there this morning.”
“Well, it’s not there now!”
“You’re lying,” he storms, “I tore off a few sheets when I cut myself shaving this morning.” He touches an aberration on his chin.
“Well, maybe the cleaning fairies had a boozy party and used it all up,” I scream.
“Oh, don’t be so infantile,” he rages, then gesticulates at the papers strewn across the bed with a sharp flick of his head. “How did you find all this, anyway?”
“Your t-shirt was sticking out of the drawer, I went to tidy it back and –”
“Oh, don’t give me that –” He air quotes, “I can’t stand seeing things out of place, malarkey. That envelope was buried under a stack of clothes. You were just being bloody well nosey, as usual!” I’m too shocked to answer. “So, come on, how much have you seen, hmm? He charges towards me. “Read all my bloody personal letters have you?”
“Whoa.” I put my hands up, “Hang on a moment, I…”
“What gives you the right to look at my stuff, hey?” he talks over me, pointing his finger, raising his voice. “This part of my life has nothing to do with you. It’s none of your damned business.”
“What’s bloody wrong with you? They’re only a few old photos, for crying out loud. You’re acting like I’ve read your diaries or something.” I throw my hands up in anger.
“Those photos are MY property – MINE!” He taps his chest hard and I take a step back, a bit of his saliva spits from his mouth and lands on my chin. “You had no damned right, Audrey.” He’s scaring me. I need to get out of here before something bad happens.
I pull my sleeve across my chin. “I don’t have to listen to this. I was only trying to do you lot a favour.” I grab my bag and head for the door and just at that moment the intercom buzzes. Great, the courier, ten minutes too fucking late. He follows me to the door.
“Did you read my letters,” he demands, his jaw muscles throbbing, “Well?”
“No, I didn’t. Now just get out of my bloody way, will you!”
“Just tell me what you were doing here then, alone in my flat?” he demands as if I’m some hustler out to fleece him. Right, that’s it!
