Page 120 of The Man Upstairs

She pointed to the beautiful new leather chesterfield I’d selected.

“Can we please keep the old one?”

I chuckled, and shot the old one a glance. It was uncomfortable as hell.

“Really? You want to keep that thing?”

“It’s sentimental, don’t you think? I love it, even though it’s crappy to sit on.”

I looked it over once more, and sure enough, I felt it too. The first time we’d talked on there, and fucked on there, and shared pizza. So many memories already. I tried to engage my spatial awareness, considering whether we could add another small sofa to the room, rather than straight out replace our sweet old obsolete one, and I believed we could do. Just about. We’d need some more seats if we were having visitors.

“Let’s keep it, then. We’ll just make a little addition,” I said, and switched out the chesterfield choice onscreen to one a little smaller. “Anything else?”

She shook her head, eyes glowing. “It’s going to be insane, how great this place looks. I’ll be too nervous to touch anything.”

“That’s the last thing I’ll be wanting. I want you to feel as comfortable as can be. You can piss all over the new coffee table as soon as it arrives for all I care.” I touched her face. “And this is just the beginning. The bare essentials.”

“The bare essentials are all right here in this room,” she told me. “Me, you, and the old sofa.”

I laughed. “I think we’d need to count the kitchen in that shortlist as well, sweetheart. Unless you wanted to starve to death in my arms on the chesterfield.”

“Would be a good way to go.”

She had a point there. It would be a considerably better way to check out of existence than alone with a pile of pills.

So, I ordered the selection, with urgent, premium delivery times right through the week, and every day my goddess would jump with joy and admire the differences to our apartment when she’d get back from college. It made every single purchase ideal, and bit by bit, the place began to look like a real abode, not just a shambles disguised as one.

Deliveries weren’t the only things I was basing my schedule upon. Around those, while Rosie was busy with college, fucking, eating, sleeping and riling me with tales of romance novels she’d been reading, I found the time to take some other necessary steps towards life building.

I looked through car dealerships online, and on Friday afternoon I took a taxi to one in particular that had taken my fancy. I didn’t want something Oxford style extravagant, just something nice, and reliable, that would get Rosie and I around the country, to explore more than the dereliction of this crappy estate and the modest size of Worcester city centre.

Getting into the old Ford and taking it for a test drive months after having abandoned my vehicle at home was quite an experience. I had no idea how much I’d missed it. I had the vendor at my side pointing out the benefits, but I largely ignored him, tuned in to just how good it felt to be on the road again. I couldn’t wait to take Rosie out in it.

The deal was already sealed, the paperwork was just a necessity. I drove back to the apartment block and took advantage of the communal parking spaces, admiring the silver car as I walked away. It was nice. Well worth the money, unlike a load of the superficial monsters I’d had over the years.

Rosie was all set to read another chapter when she got in that evening. She definitely wasn’t expecting me to be standing in the hallway awaiting her, jangling the car keys in my hand.

“It was about time I got one,” I told her. “Nothing too wild, just a decent mode of transport.”

“Let me see!”

I took her down to the parking area and opened the passenger door for her. She got in with a squeal as though it was a limo I was about to take her for a drive in, and it put a smile on my face as I put my foot down on the accelerator and pulled away from the block. I drove straight out of the city and headed through Malvern towards Much Arlock, a little town I’d heard plenty of good things about. The rumours weren’t wrong. It was lovely. A quaint place with a Tudor market house on huge black stilts. There was a lovely looking hotel opposite, and I opted for that, parking up in the street outside.

“I’m not dressed for this,” she said, but I grinned at her, heading around to open the passenger door. She looked absolutely great as she was, with a pretty, blue summer dress on and white sneakers, her hair swept up in a high pony. It was only when we reached the bar that it became obvious just how big the age gap was for onlookers. The barmaid looked taken aback when Rosie leant in to kiss my neck and take hold of my arm, but I brushed that aside along with the screaming memories of Katreya and Grace looking at me like I was a piece of shit, worthy of roasting in hell.

Much Arlock was quite busy on a Friday night. We got a table for two by the window at the restaurant, talking quietly amidst the thrum in the restaurant and gazing at the street outside.

It was a world away from Crenham, and very different to the city of Oxford. The contrast was a welcome relief. Something fresh, and new, like the beautiful creature sitting opposite me with a glass of wine in her hand.

Having a car had other benefits alongside transport. It would stop me drinking.

I was sipping on soda water, immune to the call of whisky. Tonight, at least, that immunity was enough to see me through.

“I’ve never done anything like this before,” Rosie said as she finished up her chocolate fudge cake. “Nobody has ever taken me out like this.”

“I’m pleased to be your first.”

If my sensitivity to the way some of the guys were shooting glances in her direction was anything to go by, I’d be pleased to be her last, also. The very idea of another man sitting opposite my angel for a romantic dinner was enough to churn over the freshly eaten steak in my guts.