Page 125 of The Man Upstairs

I knew that Rosie shared that need. She needed contact from her mother, too. I’d been holding her through plenty of tears, even though she was trying to play it down. I knew being away from Beverly was stabbing her deep in the heart, as it would any young woman losing her parent.Or any child losing their parent.

A flashing image of Grace and Ryan came to me that I had to push aside. Hard.

Peter liked drinking whisky, as did I. We tried a few different blends after delivering the girls the rest of the bottle of wine to the coffee table. It was clear Peter was seeking a friend in me, just as I was unknowingly seeking out a friend in return. He stayed alongside me as I began to fry the potatoes, even taking care of them himself while his partner and I shared a cigarette out of the window.

“Lola said you’re an author,” Peter said, when I returned to the kitchen.

I chuckled. “Awannabeauthor. I had a massive pile of rejection letters when I was younger, and gave up when I became a lecturer. Limited time and a bigger dose of realism.”

“I used to draw when I was younger. I was normally busy helping my dad out on jobs around school, but when I wasn’t, I’d get a sketchbook and do some scribbling. It was all shit, but I liked it.” He paused. “Lola says your writing is great, though.”

I chuckled again. “Lola hasn’t read any of my writing. She’s heard that second hand from Rosie, who is very biased.”

“Will you let her read some of it? She’s been harping on about it for days.”

A few whiskies had definitely helped lighten me up. The idea seemed more appealing than I’d anticipated.

“Maybe. It’s quite extreme.”

“She’ll like that. She likes it extreme.”

“So I’ve heard. I’m sure you’ve heard the same in return.”

I saw him look at the whisk in the utensils pot, and yes, he knew. Lola enjoyed talking to Peter, just as Rosie enjoyed talking to me.

“People say I’m a nasty freak,” Peter sighed. “They’d think I was a lot nastier a freak if they knew the full story. They’d say I’m a filthy piece of shit.”

“Rosie has helped me a lot with self-reflection. She asked some key basic questions about my past that couldn’t help but hit home. I’ll grace you with her wisdom. Is it consensual? With Lola?”

“Yeah, of course, always. Totally.”

“And she’s legal age. She knows her own mind?”

He laughed. “Yeah, she definitely knows her own mind.”

“There you go, then. You aren’t a criminal.”

He watched me take another swig of whisky before I resumed stirring the potatoes.

“Do you believe that now? That what you did was right? Back in Oxford, I mean. Not just here.”

“I’m trying to, but regardless of the answers to those key questions, it was an abuse of professional power, and I was a married man. They are very different circumstances to yours.” I looked at him in honesty. “The people in Dine’s Green are after you purely because of the age gap between you and Lola. Brush it off. You’ve fallen for her, she’s fallen for you. You shouldn’t be a convict. You were neighbours who fell in love.”

“I love your take on it.”

“It’s true. My crimes are tenfold of yours.”

“Maybe in the past. Not with Rosie, though. Same scenario. Here it’s just about the age gap. You were neighbours who fell in love.”

I smirked, repeating his sentiment. “I loveyourtake on it.”

“Maybe we should take each other’s take on it, then.”

“Quite.”

He was correct. I didn’t judge Peter and Lola’s relationship as anything other than a large age gap that people had an aversion to. Was my own situation any different in this instance? No. It wasn’t.

“Rosie’s really cute,” Peter said. “Lola’s been singing her praises every five seconds.”