It’s Wednesday, two days on from my meeting with Adriana and I’m just in the middle of packing all my belongings into boxes and a couple of old trolley suitcases that have seen better days. I don’t have masses of clothes, to be fair, I’ve never been into designer gear the way Jasper is. I’m more about comfort. More of a jeans, jumper and trainers kind of guy.
What I do have a lot of, though, and which take up most of the boxes I got from a local Big Yellow Storage branch, are books. Plus Mum’s old CDs, which I can’t bear to part with. Living in the digital age, the era of Kindles and Spotify, I should probably shelve some. Or at least give half away to charity or some other worthy cause. And I definitely shouldn’t buy any more books. It would be friendlier to the environment and way more cost-effective. But I guess I’m the old-fashioned type. I love the feel of a book – the cover, the pages – turning them, inhaling their unique scent. Books and music have always been a sort of addiction for me. Which I tell myself is far healthier than relying on drugs and alcohol to give me my kicks. I like the way I can get lost in both. The way they soothe my soul when I’m stressed or feeling particularly worried about something. More importantly, books remind me of my mum, who read to me as a boy, teaching me the magic of stories and the worlds they could transport me to. After everything that happened to me as a teenager, I needed that more than ever. The ability to lose myself in another world, a world that helped me escape the hideousness of what was happening in my own reality.
There’s a knock on the door. ‘Mate, can I come in?’
It’s Jasper. I heard the front door slam a few minutes ago, surprised he was home this early. It’s just on six and normally he’s not back before seven. The editor he works for is a bit of a tyrant from what I can gather, and what with Jasper being ambitious and keen to make his mark on the publishing world, he knows he can extract his pound of flesh from his obliging rookie.
‘How’s it going?’ Jasper asks on entering the room, his eyes taking in the scene. He’s removed his tie, his blue checked shirt open at the collar, his floppy red hair as crazy as ever. I love Jasper like a brother, he’s been so good to me since we bonded on the football pitch at uni, and I’ll miss our chats, our vocal Xbox sessions on the sofa, watching footie on the telly with a beer and a curry on the weekend. But despite all that, and although I’m grateful to him for putting me up for a pittance, I’ll be glad to have more space. There’s barely room to swing a cat in his spare bedroom.
‘Not too bad,’ I say, taping up the last of the boxes. Moving house is always exhausting, and right now, having been at it for a few hours, I feel done in. ‘That’s it, last one boxed up and ready to go.’
Jasper grins. ‘Looks like you’re in need of a beer?’
I grin back. ‘You got that right. Listen, are you sure you’re OK to help me move on Friday? I feel guilty you having to take a day off work.’
It’s all been a bit of a whirlwind since meeting Max last Saturday. After I somewhat cagily signed on the dotted line agreeing to Adriana’s special set of rules on Monday, Max emailed me the standard lodger’s agreement yesterday which I duly initialled and emailed back. He said Adriana had a fairly busy schedule next week with various appointments and her charity work occupying her time and therefore it would suit her better for me to move in by the end of this week so she could be around to help me settle in. I did wonder, though, if this was code for keeping an eye on me. Something I don’t begrudge her for. She doesn’t know me well enough yet to trust me. But hopefully, with time, I’ll earn her trust.
Jasper shakes his head, then runs his hands through his unruly mane. ‘Mate, it’s fine. I couldn’t have helped out on Saturday as you know, what with Rochelle and I having lunch with her sister and fiancé. So, it had to be Friday.’ He comes up and places a hand on my shoulder. ‘You’re my best friend, and I want to help. I know you’d do the same for me.’
I smile appreciatively. ‘Course I would.’
‘Besides,’ Jasper says with a grin, ‘I’m keen to meet this mysterious landlady of yours.’
At this, I feel my cheeks burn. ‘Oh God, please don’t say anything to embarrass me.’ Unlike me, the one thing Jasper isn’t, is shy. Head of the debating society at uni he was never backwards about coming forwards and would always speak his mind if he believed there was something that needed to be said. I tell him constantly that publishing is wasted on him, and that he should have gone into law or politics. For this reason I’ve not had the nerve to tell him how stunning Adriana is, let alone admit I’m attracted to her. He’d only give me grief. Try and convince me it’s a bad idea moving in with her. Which it may well be, but I’m trying not to think about that. His outspokenness is why I’ve not mentioned the other reason I came to London. He’d only say I was asking for trouble in dredging up the past, a potentially futile exercise that may only cause me further grief rather than provide me with the peace I seek. He may be right, but I have to try.
‘Calm down, I won’t,’ Jasper says as I usher him out of my bedroom and close the door behind me. We head for the kitchen where Jasper grabs two beers from the fridge. ‘But you can’t blame me for being a little curious. What with those weird rules she’s set. I mean, what the fuck is number seven all about? You have to admit it’s kind of creepy.’
‘I don’t know.’ I shake my head. ‘And it’s not my place to ask. When you think about it, none of her rules directly affect me or my ability to live in her house comfortably. Including the last one.’
‘Not that you know of,’ Jasper says while handing me a beer. He gives me a long, lingering stare, as if to make a point.
‘What the hell’s that supposed to mean?’ I say.
He looks away briefly, shaking his head. ‘Nothing, really. Look, don’t get freaked out. I know what a stressor you are. All I’m saying is – be careful. Fact is, this woman is a total stranger to you. Even if she’s loaded and her husband was some big-shot businessman, it doesn’t mean you should be any less wary. I don’t blame you for taking up the offer, the place is frigging awesome from the photos you showed me, bloody perfect, in fact, and really, you’d be mad to pass it up. But, and forgive me for sounding so cynical, I’ve never trusted perfect. Perfect scares me because there’s no such thing. In my experience, there’s always a catch.’