Page 42

“Yes, I’ll be fine.”

He walks out of the living room and leaves me alone. I wonder if his housemates can hear any commotion. Will they come downstairs to see what’s happening? Or, like Joseph said, will they sleep through and never notice I was here?

It takes a while for him to come back into the living room. He has a small pile of fabric in his hands—it looks like clothes—and there’s a toothbrush on top. He nods in a gesture for me to come with him.

I get up. My legs feel a little firmer now, much better than the initial jelly-like state they were in. I follow him as he walks up the stairs. On the landing, he pauses near one of the doors.

“I know it’s late, but I thought a hot bath might help you get rid of some of the tension. There are some spare clothes here. They should fit you to sleep in and something for tomorrow.” He hands me the pile of items and then gestures to a door at the far end of the hallway. “That’s my room. You can stay in there tonight. The sheets are clean, and I left a clean towel on the bathroom cabinet.”

I clear my throat. “Where will you sleep?”

“On the sofa.”

“You can’t sleep on the sofa. I can sleep there. You shouldn’t be put out by my disasters,” I protest. The sofa downstairs isn’t huge, and I’m sure I’d fit on it better than he would.

“Have a bath, get to bed. Enjoy a good, safe night of sleep, okay? If you need anything, I’m right downstairs,” he assures me. He pushes the door to the bathroom open.

“Thank you,” I murmur.

“Goodnight, Dee,” he says.

“Goodnight, Joseph.”

I step into the bathroom and shut the door behind me, listening as his footsteps retreat down the stairs.

There’s a lock on the bathroom door, so I slide it shut, then put the pile of clothes and items on the floor, rummaging through to see what’s there. There are two pairs of socks, two pairs of soft, jersey-style boxer briefs, a loose-fit tee-shirt, and a lumberjack shirt. I look around the bathroom and notice the bath is already full. The bubbles look inviting, and the scent of the bubble bath is sweet.

I strip out of my clothes. When I catch sight of my reflection in the little bathroom mirror, I’m shocked at how I look. My mascara and eyeliner are smudged around my eyes and have run down my cheeks. My skin looks pale, but there are blotchy red patches across my cheeks from the tears.

Any reluctance or scepticism about having a bath vanishes. I feel dirty and disgusting, so I get into the tub and slip underneath the water and bubbles. I wash my face and scrub away all the evidence of the tears I shed, going through the motions of making myself feel clean and refreshed. The hot water is soothing me and making me feel better.

Once I’m done in the bath, I dry off with the towel Joseph left for me, then dress in one of the pairs of socks, shorts, and the tee-shirt. I clean out the bathtub before gathering my things and heading towards the door he pointed out.

Joseph’s bedroom is neat and tidy. There’s a double bed with dark navy bedding on it. The door to his wardrobe is shut, and everything looks precisely arranged. Even the little laundry hamper looks organised rather than clothes haphazardly thrown in and half hanging out, as is Felix’s style. On Joseph’s desk are the folders he carries into school, his pens and notebooks, and his messenger bag is tucked against the side.

As I put my items onto the empty section of his desk, I notice the picture he has framed on his wall. It’s the sketch I made of him. Seeing it makes me smile, but then I accept that I’m too exhausted to think properly. I pull the covers back before sliding between the sheets, tugging the heavier quilt around me. I’m sure I’m asleep before my head even hits the pillow.

***

I jolt awake in an unfamiliar bed, in an unfamiliar room. It takes a moment for everything to flood back into my head. The play. Duncan. The phone call to Joseph. The bath. The deep sleep. I check my watch. It was close to three by the time I got into bed, so I’ve only had three and a half hours of sleep, but it feels like more.

I get up and make the bed, organizing everything so it’s like I wasn’t even there. I gather my things and tiptoe to the bathroom, where I freshen up, then dress in the second pair of jersey shorts and clean socks, my bra and jeans from yesterday, and the dark grey and white lumberjack shirt.

When I head downstairs, I’m surprised to find the living room empty. I half expected to see Joseph asleep on the sofa, maybe lying in an uncomfortable position, but I find him in the kitchen. He’s fully dressed for work and moving around the kitchen with an energy that suggests he’s been awake for hours, nothing like the stiff movements people usually have when they first wake up.

The scent of the brewing coffee is intoxicating. The banana on the countertop makes my stomach rumble.

“Morning,” he calls. “Did you sleep well?”

“Did you? Are you up because the sofa was like torture?” I ask as guilt washes through me.

“The sofa is far more comfortable than you give it credit for. I haven’t been up long, but I’m usually up around this time anyway. Sit. Eat. I’ll finish the coffee and make you some toast.”

I let him work without disturbing him. Sitting on one of the stools against the countertop, I peel the banana and eat it slowly. I’m finished by the time he pushes a mug of coffee towards me.

“I appreciate everything you did last night, but I won’t make a habit of it. I don’t want you to get into trouble,” I state. I wonder if he’s one of those overly generous people who is likely to let people walk all over him, taking advantage of his compassionate nature, regardless of the consequences.

“I won’t get into trouble because all I’m doing is helping a friend who happens to be studying in the sixth form of the school I’ve been placed in,” he reasons.