Page 81 of Save Us
I look from one of them to the other in confusion, about to ask James what we’re doing here, when I catch sight of the folder that Shaun Cornell has jammed under his arm. There’s a logo on it. In fact, it’s the logo of the estate agency whose sign I saw outside the house.
“James,” I whisper as we follow the estate agent into the place, “what’s going on?”
James strokes his thumb over the back of my hand. “We’re looking at a flat.”
I stop dead. He sees my startled expression and rapidly shakes his head.
“For me,” he adds hastily. “I can’t live with your parents forever, and I need somewhere to go once I’ve finished school.”
“I thought you didn’t want to come to Oxford,” I say quietly.
“You’ll ruin my plan if you keep asking questions now. Let’s just go up and see what the flat’s like, OK? I’ll explain everything the moment we get a minute’s peace.”
I hesitate. The questions are piling up in my head, and I’mburning to ask them all. But then I catch sight of the man walking up the stairs ahead of us and force myself to be patient. James clearly has an idea, and I don’t want to mess things up for him.
“OK,” I say in the end.
James squeezes my hand.
Up at the top, Mr. Cornell unlocks the door and holds it open for us.
“The property is a two-bedroom flat in a charming older house,” he begins. “It’s well laid out and boasts a large shared garden and parking for one car. Feel free to have a look around.” He gestures, taking in the hallway and the rest of the flat. “I’ll wait outside and pop back in once you’re done, if you have any further questions.”
James nods. “Thanks, Shaun.”
The estate agent nods politely and leaves the flat. I hear his feet on the stairs, and then it goes quiet.
Slowly, I look around. The flat is in good condition, even if the floorboards creak the moment you move an inch.
“Shall we go through?” James asks, nodding toward the first room, on the right of the hallway.
I lead the way, walking into a small, rectangular living room. The walls are painted terra-cotta, and there’s fancy plasterwork on the high ceiling. There’s a fireplace and a little bay window, with the afternoon sun shining into the room. By the window there’s a rather shabby dining table, and the chairs with it don’t look particularly solid, but that doesn’t change the fact that I instantly feel comfortable here—like this is already a home, and not just a sterile space waiting to be filled with life.
“Next room?” James asks quietly.
“Yeah,” I reply, and we head back into the hall. Next, we seethe kitchen, which is a bit on the small side but has genuine granite worktops (which my dad would kill for) and is fully equipped with a fridge, gas hob, and electric oven, although that—as I see on closer inspection—is in dire need of a clean.
James has no need to ask this time. I’m the one who tugs on his hand to lead us on.
Unlike the living room, the bedroom is square, with pale gray walls. The only furniture in here is a wooden bed and a small built-in wardrobe, about the same size as mine at home. There’s a large ceiling light in the middle of the room, with a white lampshade.
Then we look at the bathroom. It’s not huge either, but the grout is clean and I can’t see any marks on the walls.
Lastly, we check out the second bedroom. It’s much the same size as the other, but the current owner seems to be using it as an office. There’s a large antique desk on one wall and a black executive chair. Above that is a whiteboard covered in scribbled notes that make no sense to me.
The best thing about it is the view you get from here of the garden. When I walk over to the window, I can see one of the neighbors playing with her beagle, and next door, a man is hanging laundry on the clothesline. I watch them for a while, then turn, lean against the windowsill, and look at James, who is standing close behind me.
“It’s a nice flat, although it needs some work done.”
James looks back at me. He lifts a hand and strokes a strand of hair that’s worked free from my plait off my face. “Yeah, it’s great.”
I wait to see if he’s going to say anything else, but right nowhe seems more fascinated by my ear, as he slowly runs his finger along it. I shiver pleasantly.
“So, would you like to explain why we’re here now?” I ask.
He nods, but it takes a moment before he starts speaking.
“We’ve never talked about where we’re going from here,” he says in the end. “After A levels, I mean.”
