Page 7 of Pretty Mess

“You live here?” I say again.

“No, I just said that to pretend.” The doors open, and he gestures for me to enter the lift.

“This is bigger than my bedroom,” I marvel.

He rolls his eyes. “Surely not. How ever did you, with your large mouth, fit?”

I suddenly remember I’ll never see my room again and feel a hollow ache in my chest.

“No, no,” Julian says in a slightly panicked voice. “No sad faces.”

“Are they not allowed in this building?” I snap.

He smiles, obviously happy to see my sarcasm.

I stare at him. Have I walked off with a lunatic? Maybe he’ll chop me into little pieces in his flat in the clouds. I try to summon up some fear, but after the day I’ve had, it’s just not coming.

Instead, I follow him meekly out of the lift, standing quietly as he swipes a keycard and then walks through the door. I stop dead. “Fucking hell. This is epic.”

It’s open-plan, and light streams into the room through huge windows. On one side is a kitchen with shiny white units and a breakfast bar, and on the other is a big lounge with a sectional sofa that could easily seat ten people.

He walks past me, dumping my rucksack on a chair. “Come along. I’ll show you to your room.”

I stand still and carry on staring. Then an idea occurs to me. “Wait. Will your mum and dad mind me staying?”

He stares at me. “Pardon?”

I hesitate. “Your parents. Are they at work?”

His forehead creases in a frown. “I don’t live with my parents.”

“So, who do you live with?” I ask following him through the flat.

“No one. Now I’ll put you in this room.” He opens a door. “Luckily, the cleaner has been, and the linens are fresh.” He looks back. “Why are you standing there gaping at me?”

“You live alone?”

“Yes.”

“Here?”

“No, a flat down the road. I thought I’d break in here to search for the excitement that your company lacks.” He smirks. “Of course, this is my place.”

“And you live here on your own?”

“Are you having some sort of episode? I just said that.”

“This place must be mega expensive.”

His mouth twitches. “Mega. Now, do you want to see the room or maybe you’d like to sleep in the hall?” He looks me up and down. “Or maybe the laundry chute.”

I roll my eyes and march into the room. “Oh my god,” I say slowly.

It’s three times the size of my bedroom at home, and it has a bed I bet I could get lost in. It’s decorated in blue and cream, with a soft chair and a big wardrobe. Double doors open onto a small balcony, where I can see an iron chair and table.

I sink down on the bed and it cushions me like it was made for my body. He sits next to me and smooths the already smooth duvet. For some reason, I’m absolutely positive he’s nervous, and it’s such a novel concept that I stare at him.

“What?” he snaps. Then he blanches. “Do I have dirt on my face?”