Page 29 of One More Day
She looks a tiny bit taken aback, shifting from one blue leather ankle boot to another.
‘I suppose we don’t.’
I swallow. I’m tempted to scrunch up the paper and forget about it all, but then I remember why I’m here. I don’t need a new room buddy. I need peace and quiet. I need this Christmas to be nondescript, to come and go, and to get plenty of rest and sea air. I don’t need or want company.
‘Now I was also thinking we could swap phone numbers, so if anything major does happen to do with the cottage, wecan drop a message since we’re likely to be doing different things at different times of the day?’
She is staring at me now, her mouth slightly open, as if I’m a mumbling freak which, let’s face it, I probably do resemble. Her face is puzzled.
‘So … what you’re saying is that you’d prefer if wemessageeach other instead of – instead of talking? Is that what you’re saying?’
Gosh, it does sound a bit over the top when I hear it back. But I’m sticking to my guns. There’s no need for small talk about the weather or the price of fuel or how lucky we are to be in such a beautiful location.
We need to keep it almost professional. It’s an agreement. It’s a contract of sorts, to make sure there are no hiccups in what has become a very surreal situation.
I nod. ‘Well, yes. Exactly.’
She laughs. I don’t think for one second she is finding it funny. I think she’s finding it a bit ridiculous.
‘Is that OK with you?’ I ask. ‘Look, I know it probably seems a bit cold, but I think boundaries will be useful for us both. It’ll help us give each other the space we came here looking for.’
‘It’s totally fine,’ she says, picking up her phone from the worktop. ‘Boundaries are good, I guess. And it is a tiny cottage. OK, shout out your number and we can text each other if an emergency comes up.’
She thinks I’m an asshole.
I relay my number. She rings it to make sure she has it right. She does.
‘Anything else?’ she asks, one eyebrow raised and the twitch of a smile on her lips that hints that she’s mocking me.
‘The tap’s dripping.’
I noticed the tap was dripping into the sink behind where she’s standing as soon as I walked in here. She didn’t turn it off properly. I did my best to ignore it, but I can’t.
She glances back towards the sink, rushing to turn it off.
‘Oh. Whoops, I didn’t even notice – sorry. I’m not exactly off to a great start, am I?’
She has a sense of humour which I’d normally find very appealing, but again, I’m not even daring to go there. We are strangers who have been thrown together in a unique way at a very sensitive time of the year and we must keep our distance.
‘It’s OK, no big deal. Just a waste of … anyhow, never mind.’
This feels very cringey.
I glance back down at my hand-written list. Maybe I should ask her for some of her own suggestions now? Or do I wait until I’m done and then let her put in her own penny’s worth? No, I’ll just keep going now I’ve started.
‘OK, so I like to shower twice a day, once in the morning around six a.m. and then again in the evening around nine before I go to bed.’
‘Cool.’ She yawns into the back of her hand. ‘Sorry, excuse me. Gosh, I didn’t realise I was so tired. I don’t mean to be rude.’
Heryawning makesmeyawn which in turn makes me a bit uncomfortable. We laugh, then we stop laughing swiftly.
‘Anyhow.’
‘Yes, go on.’
She nods at the sheet of paper. I know I sound a bit nit-picking in all this. I know it isn’t exactly exciting or riveting conversation, but I need to push through and then we can both move along and keep out of each other’s hair.
‘This is just so we don’t clash,’ I continue. ‘So, I was thinking that if we took turns to get in basics like bread, milk, butter, et cetera, it would save doubling up and would leave more room in the fridge.’
