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“Yeah, okay,” I say, grasping the idea like a lifeline. “Sounds fun.”
“Good. It’s decided then.” He claps his hands once with finality. “Figured you need a break after the fire, take your mind off it. Anyway, I’ll swing by around seven, meet me on the corner.”
“I will,” I answer, grateful for the distraction. “Right then, I’ll see you later.”
Once inside my room, I shut the door behind me, leaning against it with a sigh. The room feels too big, too grand. Who am I kidding? This isn’t my world.
Deciding to get ahead with my reading for classes on Monday, it’ll hopefully take my mind off this situation. I pull out my textbooks, scattering them acrossthe bed. My fingers trace the spines, landing on ‘Modern British Literature.’
As I flip through the pages, my mind wanders. I should be looking for a new place, a normal place, where the walls don’t whisper secrets or judge me for my lack of a title. But the thought of house hunting exhausts me before I even begin.
I don’t have that many friends. All my real friends lived in that house with me. I don’t really have anywhere else to go. Would it be so bad staying here until the landlord gets the kitchen fixed?
Pushing that question aside, for now, I lose myself in the poetic tragedies of Thomas Hardy, where the stakes are high, hearts are broken, and everyone is beautifully doomed. It’s strangely comforting.
By the time I glance at the clock, hours have slipped by, and hunger is gnawing at my stomach. Time for food. I skipped breakfast, but I can’t go without lunch. Leaving my room, barefoot this time, I pad down the grand staircase to the kitchen.
Charles is in there, raiding the fridge. Before I can escape back to my room to try again later, he looks up, his hazel eyes lighting up with a spark of mischief. “Hey, Ever,” he says, closing the fridge door with his elbow. “You hungry?”
“Yeah.”
“You skipped breakfast.” It’s not an accusation, merely an observation, but it unnerves me all the same.
“Had some reading to do.”
“Well, make yourself whatever.”
“Thanks, Charles. I guess we will have to sit down and work out how that will work.”
“Call me Charlie, and how what will work?”
“Food, bills, rent...”
I let that last one hang there, and he shrugs. “There’s no rent, and Alistair’s trust manager sorts the bills, so I wouldn’t know what was what, even if you asked me.” He shrugs nonchalantly. “If you want to buy your own food, be my guest, I guess.”
I nod slowly, deciding that clearly, Alistair is the one to talk to regarding these matters.
“Okay, Charlie,” I say, smiling despite myself. His ease is refreshing to the intensity of the others. “Have you eaten?”
“Was just looking.”
“Well, allow me. Sandwiches good?” I ask, opening the fridge and staring at the contents.
“Sandwiches are king,” he replies with a loud laugh.
“Good,” I giggle and finally feel at ease here, although I doubt that will last.
I cobble together a meal, sharing bits of bread, ham and cheese, laughter mingling with the clink of cutlery. It feels normal.
“So English Lit, huh?” Charlie says through a mouthful of sandwich. “That’s some heavy reading.”
“How did you know?”
He gives me an eye roll. “Everyone knows who you are, Ever Knight.”
“Of course,” I murmur. “You?”
“Drama. We’re all playing parts, aren’t we? Justdepends on the stage. So might as well capitalise on that.” He winks, and I laugh.
