Page 61 of Five Things I Love About You

But the cupboards are immaculate, everything neatly lined up, nothing out of place.

I pause, overcome with a sudden urge to find out a bit more about Jay – or at least to look for some sort of confirmation that he is actually ‘my’ Jay – the man who I’ve fallen in love with during my sleeping hours.

I wander over to the fridge. There are no photos pinned to the front, no evidence at all of anyone even living here, which strikes me as odd. I turn back to look at the kitchen. The whole place is very neat and tidy, almost obsessively so. I pull open a couple of drawers but there’s nothing but kitchen stuff – four knives, forks and spoons lined up in regimental order, four matching dinner plates, four small plates and four bowls stacked in the cupboard below. The bin has a clean liner in it, the dishwasher is empty and there are no dirty plates or cups anywhere. There’s a splash of water on the tiles by Alan’s bowls but I assume that was done in Jay’s absence.

I leave Alan finishing the rest of his food and, with a quick check to make sure no hidden security cameras are watching me, I head towards the front of the house. The hallway is immaculate, the wooden floors shining, the paintwork without a scratch. I wonder how long Jay’s lived here. It certainly doesn’t look like the sort of place children have ever lived. The staircase faces the front door, and there’s a room either side of it. I hesitate for a moment. Should I really be doing this? It feels wrong to intrude on someone’s life this way.

But then again, this is the man who’s haunted my dreams for the last few months, and it would be good to know a little bit more about him. And he did give me – a complete stranger – his key.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I push open the right-hand door. It leads into a square living room, with a corner sofa, a coffee table just in front of it on a geometric-patterned rug, a TV mounted on the wall and a small bookcase in the corner. That’s it. There are a couple of photos on the mantelpiece above the fireplace so I walk over and peer at them. One is of Jay with two children and another is of an older couple who, I assume, are his parents. I wander over to the bookcase next. You can tell a lot about people by their taste in books.

But it’s a disappointing collection of non-fiction books including Jeremy Clarkson’s autobiography which I seriously hope was a present he hasn’t got the heart to get rid of, and a handful of battered-looking Lee Childs and Michael Crichton paperbacks. Well, at least he reads. I try not to think about the discussion I had with Matt about books. It’s not a make-or-break thing. Reading isn’t everyone’s cup of tea.

There doesn’t seem to be much more in this room that’s going to tell me anything about the person that lives here, so I go back out into the hallway and poke my head into the room on the other side of the staircase. It’s a small office with a pin-neat desk with a laptop on it, a folder beside it and a few shelves holding files. I wonder what he does for a living, but a scattering of books on a small bookshelf in the corner seem to reveal he’s a lawyer. I step inside and cast my eyes over the rest of the room. There’s a pinboard above the desk and I’m surprised to see it’s not as neat as the rest of the house, scraps of paper and leaflets pinned on haphazardly. The desk has a couple of stacks of paperwork, and a quick glance reveals it to all be work-related.

It’s clear I’m not going to find much here, and I’ve intruded enough, so I turn to leave – then something catches my eye and I stop.

Heart thumping, I reach over and pull a pin out of a piece of paper stuck to the pinboard and bring it closer. My legs feel like jelly and I sit on the chair in front of the desk and stare at it.

British Skydiving membership renewal application.

I let the paper drop to the desk and lean over to see if there’s anything else to confirm that it’s Jay who’s the skydiver. And then there it is, tucked behind a leaflet for a local curry house: a photo of a man who is undeniably Jay, with his parachute spread out beside him at the end of a jump.

He’s a skydiver.

I feel elated and dizzy at the same time, and grip the back of the chair. It seems surreal that lightning could strike twice – but in this case it really does appear to have done so. At least, my bad cycling seems to have done.

I’m about to leave when I notice something else. I reach over and pull out a couple of books propped up against the monitor. They’re diaries. This year’s – and last year’s. Someone else who prefers a paper diary, like me.

Should I look?

Of course I shouldn’t. I lean over to put them back, then hesitate. I could just…

No. It would be totally wrong.

But then again…

Shaking my head at my inability to make a decision, I open last year’s diary and search for 21 July, the day of my accident. I’m not sure what I’m hoping to find, but my heart hammers in anticipation anyway. And then, as the page falls open, my heart stops beating entirely. Because there, written in black and white, is the proof I need that the man lying in a hospital bed (thanks to me) is ‘my’ Jay.

9a.m., Islington Town Hall.

He was in London that day.

It’s him.

With shaking hands, I put the diaries back where I found them and head back to the kitchen. Alan sniffs around my feet and I bend down to stroke behind his ears. He immediately rolls over onto his back exposing his belly to me. I scratch it idly, trying to process what I’ve just discovered. But I can’t settle, so I stand, unplug my phone and type a message to Sophie.

Miranda

I’ve found Jay! Will ring you tonight and explain all. M x

I’m about to put my phone back in my pocket when it buzzes and I almost drop it in the sink. Expecting it to be a very quick reply from Sophie, I’m surprised to see it’s Jay. I click it open.

Jay

Just checking everything’s okay with Alan? Jay

Shit.Of course I should have let him know his dog’s fine, rather than poking around in his personal things. But then again, I would never have discovered for sure who he was if I hadn’t.

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