Page 27 of The Man Upstairs

I stepped up close and put my hand on the door above her head to convey my seriousness. She was like a little fairy as I looked down at her.

“If that violent prick causes you any more problems, please make sure you call the police, regardless of what your mother tells you. She’s in too deep to see straight, but you aren’t.”

She nodded, looking weirdly disappointed.

“Yeah, I will do. Thanks.”

I didn’t move my hand away from the door.

“I mean it.” I paused, wishing I’d retreat and forget about it. “Please, keep me informed. You know where my door is.”

“Thanks,” she said again.

Shit, I shouldn’t be doing this. I pulled away. I let her go.

I hated how my heart thumped at the sound of her footsteps walking away along the empty corridor outside.

Fuck it.

I lit up another cigarette and watched her bob along up the street on her way to work. She still had a spring in her step. I was still smoking as she turned the corner, then I lit up another as I thought the evening through.

It had been close to disaster, almost more than I could bear.

Yet there was a tiny light at the end of a very dark tunnel, because if Rosie was going to be visiting me again in moments of need, I’d have to make sure I was stocked up for it. She deserved that much, even if I didn’t.

I headed for my wardrobe, taken aback when I reached the bedroom door. The bedsheets were made immaculately. She’d folded down the corner like she really had been in a five-star hotel. My shirt was hanging neatly on a hanger on the wardrobe door, and my flat pillows were laid even and smoothed out.

It was clear she’d most definitely been grateful. There was a folded up note on the bedside table. The back of a corner shop receipt. Her handwriting was a pretty scrawl.

Thank you. I had nowhere to go. x

Neither did I, usually. I was normally in a self-contained pit, with barely any outside contact. I rarely spoke to my work colleagues unless we crossed paths by the photocopier.

Today I did have somewhere to go, though.

I picked a virtually identical suit as yesterday’s. Another pair of black trousers with another striped tie, and I did the unthinkable, even though it was teetering on the edge ofunacceptableto my rational brain. I used the shirt Rosie had worn in bed last night, inhaling her sweet scent as I buttoned it up in the mirror. I made sure my tie was straight, and I made sure to give myself a fresh berating as I pocketed my wallet and set out for Worcester city centre.

This shirt would be the closest I ever came to that girl. That’s what I told myself.

Maybe this time, for once in the past decade, I wouldn’t be lying.

Chapter Eight

Rosie

Julian’sfabric softener had a different smell to ours. Lavender, I think. I kept catching the scent of it as I dashed around the kitchen. It distracted me. I wasn’t up to my usual form.

“Rosie!” Kieran said. “Get with it. The two stuffed crusts need taking out!”

Stuffed crust.

I was right back in Julian’s kitchen, staring into his bright green eyes. I was going out of my mind. All I could think about was him.

Saturdays were always busy. I was exhausted when I reached the end of the day shift and grabbed my bag from the staffroom. It was raining outside when I walked home, so I hit my bedroom as soon as I was through the door, ignoring Mum in the kitchen, since she was busy laughing on the phone.

I stripped off my uniform and ditched it for something dry and cosy – my favourites – some PJ bottoms and a faded t-shirt with a cartoon kitten on. Mum was still chatting away when I went in to make myself a cup of tea. For once, I didn’t make her one. She ended her call with acatch you soon. Eight, right?

I knew from her giggle that she was talking to Scottie as she said goodbye.