Page 82 of The Man Upstairs

Since she was going to be obnoxious and ignore my question, I was going to do the same to her. I was relieved when the cashier finished ringing through my items and I could swipe my card on the machine.

“Have a nice day,” I said to the idiot neighbour, but that was all. I didn’t give her so much as a backwards glance.

I was out of there as quickly as possible, jumping into the taxi with my haul. Our forbidden cocoon time was running out, especially now that I’d given Trisha more fuel for the fire. The egg timer had most certainly been turned.

Rosie was organising her stash of clothes in the wardrobe when I returned home with my armfuls of shopping. I put the bags on the floor and presented her flowers with a kiss on the cheek.

She looked at them in delight as she took them. “Wow! They’re just beautiful. Thank you.”

Her joy was infinitely more beautiful than a bouquet could ever be.

“Have you never been given flowers before?” I asked, and she shook her head.

“No. I just…” She threw her arms around me, still clutching them tight. “Thank you. I don’t know what else to say.”

“Flowers are only the beginning of today’s festivities,” I said, smirking as I took up the rest of the shopping from the floor.

She followed me, and used one of my pint glasses as a vase as I began to unpack the supplies.

“No peeking,” I said from the refrigerator. “Tonight will be a surprise.”

“A surprise?”

“Yes. I’m going to show you the full extent of my culinary talents.”

“You’re going to cook a meal? A posh one, I bet.”

“I’ll certainly be making more than just a fry up. You can rate it forposhnessonce it’s completed. I just hope you enjoy it.”

“I’ll enjoy anything you make,” she said. “Anything. Always.”

Her heart shone through her eyes, and I got a flash of adoration that warmed me through to my soul.

My conscience prickled at that, because maybe I should have told her about my run in with Trisha, but I didn’t want to take away from her happiness in that moment. I would save that news for later.

Beef wellington took a while to prepare that afternoon. The crisscross of perfect pastry needed to be made to perfection.

“Smells amazing!” Rosie called from the living room at regular intervals, sitting cutely cross legged on my sofa with my laptop on her lap. Turns out, it wasn’t just my voice reading my old documents that she was interested in, since I was busy. She was curious enough to be scouting through them onscreen. I felt strangely on trial, even though I’d been the professor doing the marking for years.

She was wide-eyed with affection when I took a solitary rose from the kitchen and placed it on its own in a small glass on the table. I laid out our mismatching cutlery and took the champagne bottle from the fridge, inviting her over by pulling out her chair as I was ready to dish up our main courses.

She clapped her hands together as she took her seat. Her childlike excitement was a joy.

“Bon appetite,” I said as I presented her dinner, quite proud of my work.

I’d forgotten just how much I enjoyed cooking, just as I’d forgotten how much I’d enjoyed life itself. I was alive to a new tune as I poured our champagnes and raised mine in a toast.

“To us, Rosie. And to the beautiful way you saved me.”

“To us, Julian,” she said. “And to the beautiful wayyousavedme.”

She tucked into her meal withmmmslike I was a Michelin starred chef. I watched her eat the last of her roasted parsnips in fascination. She glowed with such enthusiasm over such simple pleasures. I could only begin to imagine her level of joy at the wider world.

She praised my writing, and she praised my attentiveness, and for the skills I’d shown in the kitchen. It felt incredible to be so appreciated.

She was sitting finished, her hand on her stomach as she turned the conversation to more serious angles.

“What do you want me to do?” she asked. “If Mum throws me out, or she lets me stay, because I don’t know. I think there’ll be a lot of shouting, but for once I’m going to stand up to her, and anyone else that wants to talk crap at me. They’ll be wrong. Every single one of them that thinks bad of you will be wrong.”