Читать книгу Marry Me Tomorrow: The perfect, feel-good read to curl up with in 2017! - Carla Burgess - Страница 12
ОглавлениеIt was weird waking up the next morning, knowing that Sam was in the next bedroom to mine. Winter sunshine slanted through the gap in my curtains, pooling warm and golden on my duvet. Rolling onto my side, I squinted at my alarm clock: eight o’clock; about the time I usually saw Sam on my way to work. I wondered if he was up yet and if he was, what he was doing. My phone beeped to say I had a text. Lydia.
Are you still alive?
What was she like? Rolling my eyes, I replied: Of course!
Then, smiling to myself added: Emily’s not. She’s dead. Love Sam x
My phone rang immediately. Snatching it up, I said, ‘I’m joking, I’m joking!’
‘You stupid cow! You had me worried then.’
‘Oh as if! Calm down.’ Chuckling, I swung my legs out of bed and shrugged on my dressing gown.
‘You know what happened to the boy who cried wolf,’ she said, darkly.
‘I’ve only just woken up. I haven’t even seen him this morning.’
‘I bet he’s been watching you sleep.’
‘Oh shut up!’
‘Did you lock your door?’ I glanced to where my dressing table had been dragged in front of my door. In the cold light of morning, I doubted it would have kept anyone out, but it had made me feel safe enough to fall asleep. Eventually.
‘I haven’t even got a lock.’
‘Well get one.’
‘Did he really look that dodgy? You know, when you saw him emerge from the bathroom, bare-chested in all the steam, I could have sworn you went a bit starry-eyed.’
‘Get lost! He’s not bad-looking, I’ll give you that, but he’s still some stranger you’ve pulled off the street.’
I sighed and sat back down on my bed. ‘What are you doing today?’
‘Dave’s parents are coming for lunch. What time does your mum arrive?’
‘Not until six. I need to take Sam to get his hair cut actually.’
Lydia chuckled. ‘You make him sound like a child. What if he doesn’t want it cut?’
‘I’ll ask first, obviously.’
‘He’ll say no. He’s a right arsy bastard.’
‘You don’t know that.’
‘Yes I do. Goodbye.’
‘Bye.’
I tried to make as little noise as possible as I moved the dressing table out of the way, but it still made a loud dragging noise, followed with a loud bang as my hairdryer fell to the floor. I winced and peered at it, hoping it hadn’t broken; hoping Sam hadn’t heard and sussed out what I was doing and that basically, I didn’t trust him. I paused before going out into the lounge, my hand on the doorknob.
Closing my eyes, I thought about the Sam I saw every morning on the way to work. He always got this intense look in his eyes as I approached, and he’d smile and get to his feet. I’d pass him the coffee and he’d thank me, ask me how I was, tell me to have a good day. I wondered how he’d be this morning after our chat last night. I’d been a bit pushy about him visiting his brother and he’d gone quiet after. I hoped I hadn’t offended him.
Sam was standing in the lounge, staring out of the window. He turned when I opened the door, and pushed his hair back from his face.
‘Morning!’ I plastered on a big smile and tried to forget about my just-got-out-of-bed look. ‘Did you sleep okay? How long have you been up?’
He shrugged. ‘I woke up about four. I never sleep that well.’
‘Four o’clock? That’s the middle of the night!’ I wasn’t sure if I wanted him to fall to his knees thanking me for the best night’s sleep of his life or something, but I was disappointed that he hadn’t slept better.
‘It’s weird sleeping in a bed. Inside.’ He shook his head and went back to staring at a flock of starlings, black against the pearly sky. ‘I woke up and didn’t know where I was.’
I hovered for a moment, staring at his back, not knowing what to say. It must be strange for him to be staying here after the life he’d been living for the past year and a half. After a moment, I went through to the kitchen and filled the kettle with water. ‘Do you want a cup of tea or coffee?’
‘Guess I’ll have a coffee, seeing as it’s your speciality.’ He came and leaned against the door frame, watching me. I smiled at him over my shoulder, tucking my hair behind my ear. ‘Are you sure? I thought you didn’t like coffee any more.’
‘You know I was just being an awkward, ungrateful twat.’ He looked down at the floor, shuffled his feet, tense and uncomfortable.
‘That’s all right then.’ I reached up for some mugs, then got the milk from the fridge and the coffee out of the cupboard. ‘Feel free to help yourself to anything in the kitchen. The cereal’s in here.’ I pointed a toe at the cupboard next to the oven. ‘Or I can make you a bacon sandwich? You can make something if you want. It’s fine, whatever.’
He frowned and pulled a face. ‘Stop being so nice.’
‘What?’ I turned to look at him.
‘Stop fussing.’
‘So, I can’t offer you anything to eat now?’
‘You know what I mean.’ He looked irritated, which instantly irritated me.
‘Well, get yourself something to eat then.’
He went to the cereal cupboard and pulled out the Weetabix. ‘Is it all right if I have two?’
‘Have three if you like.’
‘Now that would be greedy.’
I laughed, more to break the tense atmosphere than anything else. ‘Bowls are up there, above your head.’ I watched him reach up and take down a blue bowl, the sinews in his forearm knotting and twisting, reminding me that he was real, that this was really happening and not some strange dream I’d conjured up in the night. ‘Speaking of your head,’ I said, ‘shall we get your hair cut today?’
‘What’s wrong with my hair?’ He pushed it away from his face again and looked at me.
‘Nothing!’ I said, with mock innocence. ‘It’s just a bit long, that’s all.’
Sam grunted as he poured milk onto his Weetabix. ‘I thought your mum was coming today.’
‘Not until teatime. We’re driving to Manchester Airport to meet her and Len. Their plane gets in about six.’ Opening the cutlery drawer, I passed Sam a spoon, before closing it with my hip.
‘Thanks.’
‘We need to get you some clothes too.’
Raising his eyebrows, Sam dug the spoon into his Weetabix and stirred. He didn’t look happy. ‘You already did that last night.’
‘I only got you pyjamas and underwear and stuff.’
‘I have a bag of clothes with me.’
‘Yes but you’ve been living rough in them. They can’t be in good condition. And you know…’ I screwed up my face ‘…my mum is quite glam. I think you need some better clothes, like some new jeans, a coat and some trainers. And a few tops. That kind of thing.’
He rolled his eyes. ‘Are you sure you don’t want me in a dinner jacket or something?’
‘This is no time to be proud.’ I put my hands on my hips, ready for an argument. ‘You need a better coat anyway. The one you wear is too thin.’ I passed him his coffee and he took it, lifting it to his lips. ‘We’ll wash your other stuff. You can keep it, no problem. But I’ll have to smarten you up a bit for when you meet my mum.’
He took a deep breath before letting it out as a sigh. ‘I’m not happy about this.’
‘Why? You get new clothes. Yay!’
‘I hate shopping. And I hate taking handouts off people like you.’
‘People like me? What’s that supposed to mean?’ I couldn’t help but feel a little offended.
‘I don’t mean it like that. I just meant… Oh, I don’t know what I meant. I don’t want charity and I don’t want you spending loads of money on me.’
‘Don’t think of it as charity then. You’re doing me a massive favour, aren’t you? I’m asking you to play a part and I need to provide the tools for you to play that part. That’s all this is. You’re acting.’
‘Well, I have to warn you that I was crap at drama at school.’
I shrugged. ‘I’m sure you can pull this off. I’ve already told her you’re a quiet person.’ I took my coffee and went into the lounge to sit on the sofa.
‘Will I have to kiss you and stuff?’ He followed me into the lounge and sat on the edge of the armchair. Placing his coffee on the table, he rested his bowl on his knee with one hand and looked at me. I stared at it, concerned about it falling onto the carpet.
‘No, I shouldn’t think so, seeing as we’re married, ha ha,’ I said, trying to appear laid back. ‘Lydia barely talks to her husband let alone kisses him.’
‘How long have they been married?’
‘Five years or so?’
He grunted. ‘And when did we get married?’
‘Beginning of October.’
‘So, we’re newly-weds? Deeply in love? Unable to keep our hands off each other?’
‘Steady on!’ I blushed, laughing.
‘Get real, Emily. What’s your mum going to think if we act like strangers around each other?’
‘Remember she’s staying in a hotel,’ I said. ‘I’ll tell her you don’t like public displays of affection.’
Sam shook his head. He looked as though he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. ‘I don’t know why you’re bothering. Really, the whole thing’s ridiculous.’
I sighed. ‘I thought I’d tell her that we’re having marriage difficulties so we can split up after Christmas. That would work, wouldn’t it?’
‘Oh great, so you’re going to make out I’m a bastard, are you? And your mum’s going to hate me?’
‘No, nothing like that. I’ll say we’ve got intimacy issues and it’s not working. I’ll blame myself.’
‘Intimacy issues?’ Sam laughed. ‘Am I missing the whole point of this or what? Surely this whole thing is to make you look better to your mum, not worse?’
‘Not really, I just wanted her to stop nagging. Maybe she’ll give up if she realises I’m useless with men.’
Sam rolled his eyes and sighed. ‘If we’re going to do this, we may as well make it look as real as possible. So, tell me, where did we get married?’
‘The registry office. A spur of the moment thing. Just us.’
‘I think you have to tell them in advance. You can’t just turn up.’ He pulled a face, unimpressed. ‘What did we do after?’
‘Went for a meal.’
‘Where? McDonald’s?’
‘No!’
He laughed. ‘I thought it would tie in with your “no frills” theme.’
‘It was quiet, not cheap!’ I snapped. ‘We went down to the river.’
‘Oh, a picnic then?’ He laughed again and spooned more Weetabix into his mouth.
‘No. In a restaurant. I don’t think I said which one. A picnic would have been romantic though.’
‘In October? You’re crazy.’
‘Then we went on the river afterwards.’
‘Pedalo?’
‘A rowing boat.’ I rolled my eyes, exasperated. ‘It was romantic.’
‘I bet it was, on your own.’ His shoulders shook with laughter and his eyes crinkled. ‘So, why are there no photos? Everyone has to have a photo of their “special day”, don’t they? What are we going to say when your mum asks to see them? And why hasn’t she asked to see them already?’
‘I told her that you don’t like your photo being taken.’
‘What the hell?! What kind of guy refuses to have his photo taken on his wedding day? I sound like a right knob!’
‘What do you suggest then, genius?’ I stared at him, annoyed by how pedantic he was being. ‘Got any bright ideas?’
He shrugged and scratched his chest. ‘Have you got a computer?’
‘I’ve got a laptop.’
‘Can you superimpose our faces onto another couple’s bodies?’
‘No. Can you?’
‘No.’
‘I suppose I could try.’ I sat back against the sofa. ‘Or, maybe we could post them on the Internet and ask someone to help?’
‘Err, Emily, even I know that’s a really bad idea and I haven’t had access to a computer for over a year and a half now.’
‘What do you mean? There are loads of creative types out there.’
‘People will just take the piss. They’ll be putting our faces on all sorts of things. We’ll be riding camels or sky diving or something. How about we get my hair cut then take a selfie outside the registry office.’
‘We can’t. The weather’s wrong.’ I looked out of the window. Black clouds were looming on the horizon. ‘It was a lovely sunny day when we got married.’
‘Was it now?’ Sam voice was dry as he got up and crossed to the window. ‘Seriously, there are so many holes in this plan it’s unbelievable.’ He turned and looked at me thoughtfully. ‘Are you sure your mum actually believes this story? Do you think she might be coming over to check it’s true?’
‘Of course she believes me,’ I said, indignant.
Sam stared at me. ‘I bet she doesn’t, because I’ve just realised something. You can’t lie, can you? You’re completely crap at lying and there’s no way we’re going to pull this off.’
‘No, we can pull this off. It’s going to be fine, honest.’
Sam shook his head and turned back to the window, muttering under his breath. ‘So what does she think I do then? Or rather, what does she think your imaginary husband does?’
‘I just said you were in sales. I was deliberately vague.’
‘What kind?’
I shrugged. ‘I didn’t specify. You can make something up.’
‘And what’s our surname?’
‘I kept my maiden name. I don’t think she asked about yours once I said that.’
Sam shook his head, still staring out of the window. ‘Weird.’
‘I don’t think she’s that interested, to be honest,’ I said. ‘She’s so wrapped up in her new life and her new husband that everything else goes over her head. What’s your surname, anyway?’
‘Mackenzie. What’s yours?’
‘Fielding.’
He grunted. ‘So, her new husband is coming with her, is he?’
‘Yes. Len.’
‘What does he do?’
‘I don’t know. He’s retired, I think.’
‘So, basically, someone I would have nothing in common with.’
‘Pretty much. But that goes for me too.’ I put my coffee down on the table and got to my feet. ‘I’m going to have a shower, then we’ll go shopping if that’s all right with you?’
**
‘Do we have to go into the city centre to shop?’ Sam said, pulling a grey hoody over his head as we were about to leave. ‘I don’t really want to be seen by any of the other homeless people.’
I stopped and blinked at him. ‘Why? What are they going to do?’
He shook his head. ‘Nothing. I just feel bad about walking past people I know, shopping. Especially as this is all pretend and I’m going to be back with them soon enough anyway.’
I opened my mouth and then shut it again.
‘Plus it’s a bit weird going into shops that I usually sit outside,’ he added with a grimace.
I nodded. ‘Okay. We’ll go to a shopping park then. But I don’t know how we’re going to get your hair cut.’
Sam shrugged. ‘If you’ve got some clippers, I’ll do it myself.’
‘I can get some.’ I opened the door and ushered him out into the hallway. He reached for his coat. ‘Leave it,’ I said, my voice sharper than I intended. ‘I’m buying you a new one, remember. You’ll only have to carry it.’
He rolled his eyes, but left the coat on the rack as he followed me out to the lift. ‘I feel like a kid going shopping with his mum,’ he muttered as I tried to brush some dried mud off the leg of his jeans.
‘Oh be quiet,’ I said, as the lift doors opened with a ping. We stepped in and stood in silence as the elevator travelled down to the ground floor.
‘It’s a nice place you live in here,’ Sam said as the lift came to a stop and we stepped out into the main entrance. He looked around at the freshly painted magnolia walls and grey carpet. It still smelled new. ‘Most places I see are covered in graffiti and smell of piss.’
‘Shh,’ I said, as the couple that lived upstairs appeared from outside, stamping their feet on the mat and shaking their umbrellas. Hearty and happy, they were always up at the crack of dawn and going off on walks in their matching anoraks. ‘Hello! Hello!’ I boomed, enthusiastically like some kind of children’s TV presenter.
‘Hi, Emily. It’s raining cats and dogs out there! You’ll need full waterproofs.’ They looked curiously at Sam who was peering out at the driving rain with a look of concern. Maybe I should let him go back up and get his coat. I dithered for a moment.
‘We’re just popping to the shops in the car,’ I said. ‘This is Sam, by the way.’
‘Hi, Sam,’ they said cheerfully.
‘Hello.’ He smiled at them and I grabbed his arm and pulled him out into the rain before they could ask any questions.
‘See you later.’
‘I’m a bit out of practice with introductions and all that,’ Sam said as we ran to my car and climbed in. The windows steamed up instantly. ‘But I seem to remember that it’s a sort of two-way process. Like, you say my name and then you say their names. Now I have no idea what they’re called.’
‘Well that makes two of us,’ I said, slotting the key into the ignition and starting up the car. ‘We were introduced on the day I moved in and I can’t remember what their names are but they always remember mine so I feel bad about asking them theirs.’
Sam sighed as he pulled the seat belt around him. The shoulders of his hoody were dark with rain. ‘Thanks for making me leave my coat,’ he said, faux cheerfully.
‘You’re welcome!’ I said, equally bright.
The rain drummed on the car roof and the windscreen wipers thrashed backwards and forwards. I reversed out of my parking spot, swiping at the windscreen with my demister pad as I did so.
‘Jeez! Do you think you could do that before you start driving?’
‘Oh shut up!’ Bouncing over a speed hump, I indicated right to join the main road. Sam gripped the handle above his head. ‘Relax,’ I said, spotting a gap in the traffic and accelerating off up the road. ‘I’m a good driver. I’ve never had an accident.’
‘There’s always a first time,’ he muttered. ‘I’m not exactly Mr Lucky.’
‘We’ll be fine.’ I shot him a smile as I fiddled with the radio and music blasted out. He batted my hands away.
‘Concentrate on the road, will you,’ he said. ‘Let me do that.’
‘You’re so jumpy!’
‘You make me jumpy. Keep your eyes on the road, will you. Bloody women drivers!’
‘That’s so sexist!’ I raged. ‘How dare you say that to me.’
‘I’m joking.’ He laughed. ‘Have you got any CDs?’
‘In the glovebox.’
He rooted around in the glove compartment while I focused on the road, irritated by his comments.
‘God, you’ve got some shit taste in music,’ he said after a moment of rooting through my CDs.
‘Oh, so you’re going to insult my driving and my taste in music now, are you? Anything else you want to criticise?’
He laughed. ‘I’ll have a think.’
‘Just because I’ve got stuff that was made after 1995?’
‘Pretty much.’ He grinned across at me, obviously enjoying the fact that he’d wound me up so much. I stared at the road ahead, steam practically coming out of my ears. Sam shoved the CDs back into the glovebox and slammed it shut.
‘I don’t even listen to them,’ I said when the silence got too much to bear. ‘I just listen to the radio.’
‘The Archers?’
‘Oh get lost!’
Sam grinned and crossed his arms over his chest, peering through the steamed-up windows at the fields passing by. I turned the heating up to clear the condensation.
‘Have you got any music on your phone?’ he said, picking it up and staring at it. I glanced across at him and frowned.
‘Yes, I do as it happens. I’ve got that fancy Bluetooth thing going on.’
‘What’s your passcode?’
‘0382.’
‘Is that your date of birth?’
‘No,’ I said, going red.
He laughed and tapped in the code, head bent forward as he concentrated on what he was doing.
‘If you go into music…’
‘Yeah, yeah, I know.’ There was a pause. ‘Have you been telling Lydia I killed you?’
‘Give me that!’ I went to snatch my phone and the car swerved across the carriageway.
‘Aagh! Emily! Watch the road, you flaming lunatic!’
‘Don’t read my messages!’ I shouted, giving up on the phone and grabbing the steering wheel instead. ‘Well, what do you think you’re doing?’
‘I wasn’t trying to. It was just open when I unlocked your phone and I saw my name. Fucking hell! Don’t you think Lydia’s suspicious enough without telling her shit like that? Jesus, Emily!’
‘It was a joke, that’s all. I’ve spoken to her since. It’s all fine.’
‘Well, come on!’ Sam shook his head, sighing. ‘Not exactly helpful, is it?’
The sign for the shopping park appeared and I turned into its entrance. It was busy, as I knew it would be on the last Saturday before Christmas. I tried to get as close as possible to the shop I had in mind but the car park was almost full.
‘This place looks like hell on earth,’ Sam muttered, staring out through the window with his face screwed up in disgust. I ignored him, suddenly spotting a vacant car park space up ahead.
‘Careful!’ Sam protested as I zoomed in. ‘You nearly knocked that old bloke over, then!’
‘I did not!’
‘You did!’
‘I did not! He was miles away. God, you’re such an exaggerator.’ I wrenched on my handbrake with a nasty clicking noise and climbed out. ‘Come on, get out then.’
Reluctantly, Sam took off his seat belt and stepped out into the driving rain. Taking his arm, I dragged him into the nearest shop where he stood, hunched and wet, as I shook the rain off my coat. Wizzard’s I Wish It Could Be Christmas Every Day blared out from the speakers. ‘Here, come on,’ I said, bossily, starting towards the racks of clothes. ‘Take your hands out of your pockets; you look like a sulky teenager.’
A coat, five tee shirts, three jumpers and two pairs of jeans later, we were back outside and heading for a shoe shop. It had stopped raining now and a weak sun was attempting to break through the clouds. A choir of school children were singing Christmas carols next to a burger van.
‘Oh, aren’t they sweet?’ I said, pausing to listen. Sam watched them, smiling a little sadly.
‘Hmm,’ he said, and I remembered his daughter and how painful it must be for him to see other children, reminding him of what he had lost.
‘Do you want a burger or anything?’ I asked, blinking up at him.
He shook his head. ‘Let’s get out of here.’
‘Nope. Shoes first.’
Sam rolled his eyes and sighed deeply. ‘Do you know how much money you’ve spent already today?’ he said. ‘On a lie?’
I shrugged, refusing to feel bad. ‘It’s my money and I work hard for it,’ I told him, my voice calm. ‘You should feel like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman.’
‘Like a prostitute, you mean?’
I spluttered out a laugh. ‘I haven’t asked you for sex, have I?’
‘Yet,’ he said, darkly.
I turned scarlet. ‘You should be so lucky! I suppose you’re going to tell me now that you feel like you’re prostituting yourself.’
‘Well yes, actually.’ He turned to look at me, walking backwards for a few steps.
‘And that all this goes against your beliefs?’ I switched the sarcasm up a notch.
‘Yeah.’ He bent his head towards me a little and nodded.
‘So what are your beliefs, Sam? What are your plans? Do you intend to live your life on the streets for ever? How are you going to get back on your feet if you won’t accept help?’
‘I’ll be back living on the streets after Christmas, won’t I?’
‘I wouldn’t bank on it,’ I muttered, pushing the shop door open and going inside. ‘I’ll probably have killed you by then if you carry on like this.’
‘Charming!’
‘Right, what size shoe do you take?’
‘Eleven.’
‘Do you like them?’ I said, taking a pair of trainers from the shelf.
‘Yeah. No. Fuck! Have you seen the price?’
‘Shh. Which ones then?’
‘I don’t know. They’re all too expensive.’ He scanned the shelves.
‘Look, I like these. We’ll get these. They’re not that dear considering the price of some of them. And they’re reduced, see?’ I showed him the label inside and turned to the shop assistant who was hovering nearby. ‘Can we have these in a size eleven, please.’ I turned back to Sam. ‘Do you want to try them on first?’
He shook his head and I shrugged. ‘Okay.’
We paid and then went to get some clippers to cut his hair. ‘I meant, borrow some, not buy some,’ Sam muttered, looking sulky.
‘Where am I going to borrow clippers from on a Sunday? We’ve got to pick Mum and Len up in a few hours’ time.’ I glanced at my watch.
‘Okay, okay!’
He was quiet all the way home and I began to feel bad, thinking I must have offended him. It must be difficult to watch someone flashing their credit card around when you couldn’t afford a place to sleep at night. I glanced across at him, but he kept his face averted, staring out of the window at the fields passing by.
I tried to throw his old coat away when I got home, but Sam said someone else could benefit from it so I washed it instead. I washed most of his old clothes, in fact. Even though he could get them washed at one of the shelters in town, they’d been stuffed into his bag and smelled damp.
Sam was in the lounge, unboxing the clippers. Placing a cup of tea down in front of him, I said, ‘Do you want me to cut your hair?’
‘No, I’ll do it. I’ve done it before.’
‘Are you sure? Only, don’t do it too short, will you? I don’t want you looking like some sort of neo-Nazi skinhead.’
Sam sighed and squinted up at me. ‘All right, you do it then, seeing as you’re so fussy.’
‘Okay. Go into the bathroom.’ I took the clippers in my hand, suddenly nervous, and went to get a chair from the dining table. ‘Here, sit on that,’ I said, placing it in the middle of the bathroom, in front of the mirror.
‘Have you done this before?’ Sam said.
‘No. But how difficult can it be?’
‘Oh shit.’ Sam passed a hand over his face and sighed. ‘Put it on a high number first. I don’t want any bald patches.’ He pulled his tee shirt off over his head and sat back down, bare-chested. I was suddenly hyper aware of our close proximity in the small bathroom, my stomach on a level with his bare shoulder blade, my breasts next to his head. I attached the number seven comb to the clippers and switched them on. They whirred into action and I placed a hand on the side of Sam’s head. His hair felt soft and slithery between my fingers and I was momentarily regretful that I was about to cut it off. I quite liked his floppy brown hair.
‘Should I start at the back?’
‘Yes.’ He tensed as I put the clippers to the nape of his neck. ‘Don’t cut me or anything!’
‘I won’t.’
Strands of brown hair fell to the floor as I ran the clippers up the back of Sam’s head. Instead of leaving a bald stretch of bright white skin like I’d feared, it left only neatly clipped hair behind. I breathed out a sigh of relief as I moved the clippers around his head, aware of his dark eyes watching me in the mirror. It was quite therapeutic, watching the hair fall to the floor, and it was strange to be touching his head, holding his ear, my body pressing against his shoulder as I reached for the comb. I was unprepared for how intimate it felt. ‘There. How’s that then?’ I said when I’d finished, meeting his eyes in the bathroom mirror.
‘Yeah, looks all right.’ He leaned forward and pulled at his fringe – or rather, lack of one. ‘Could do with a bit more at the front but I suppose it will grow.’
‘What do you mean? A bit kept longer?’
‘Yeah, but no worries.’
‘Sorry, you should have said.’ I brushed the hair of his shoulders, feeling his smooth soft skin beneath my fingertips. The bathroom floor was carpeted with his hair.
‘It’s not a problem. I’ve had it shorter in the past. Besides, it’s not like you’re a hairdresser, is it?’
‘I suppose not.’ I smiled at him in the mirror. ‘I think it looks good anyway. You look miles younger.’
He snorted.
‘Anyway, I’ll get the vacuum to hoover this hair up and then you can have a shower.’
‘Okay.’ He scratched his shoulder and then rubbed the ‘Jessica’ tattoo before standing up and brushing the hair off his jeans.
‘I should have put a towel over you really,’ I said, coming back with the hoover and plugging it in.
‘It doesn’t matter.’
I smiled at him and started hoovering around his feet while he did his best to brush loose hair from his clothing.
‘Right, I think that’s it.’ I stepped out of the bathroom and pulled the door closed. ‘We’ll be leaving in about an hour, okay?’
Sam nodded, his eyes lingering on mine, and shut the door.
