She heard the front door rattle. Elliot was back. She’d been thinking about his dead dog. That was some heavy shit. Why did he tell her about that? It was probably his weird way of making her feel better – at least she hadn’t been put down like poor old Monty. She wondered if Elliot had grown up on a farm. When she was a student, she’d worked in a pub with a guy who grew up on one, and from what he said killing animals was normal, just a part of everyday life. She remembered saying she was glad she’d grown up in a town.
Sinead’s leg was itching like a bastard. It was a regular annoyance that had to be endured. She tried to slip her fingers underneath the cast and scratch, but couldn’t reach the itch. Digging her fingers further under the cast, she felt a fingernail tear. Sinead pulled back her hand, stretched out to the bedside table, and grabbed her make-up bag. Elliot knocked at the bedroom door as she rooted around inside the bag for her stainless-steel nail file.
‘Come in.’
Elliot entered, clutching a bulging plastic bag. He pointed down at his new trainers. ‘I preferred the navy blue but… these should do the trick.’ Modelling the shoes for her, he paced up and down the carpet. ‘What’s the verdict? Am I getting too old for these?’
She gave them the once over while filing her broken nail. The trainers looked weird paired with the smart trousers. ‘No, no. They’re nice. Yeah.’
‘Glad you approve. I tried out your birthday ruse, but a discount was denied.’
‘My what…?’ The nail file stopped. She wasn’t paying close attention. ‘Is it your birthday?’
Elliot smiled enigmatically. He was in a weird mood. He lifted his arm to show her the plastic bag. ‘I picked up your magazines. And some chocolates; I wasn’t a hundred per cent on which ones you’d like, so I bought a variety.’
‘Cool. Thanks.’ She resumed filing. ‘How much do I owe you?’
‘You don’t owe me anything.’
‘That’s all right.’ She pointed to her purse on the dresser top. ‘Should be a tenner in there.’
Elliot cleared his throat. ‘I’m giving them to you.’ He placed the bag on the bed. ‘My treat.’
‘Don’t be silly, I’ve got the money. Pass me my purse, please?’
He looked over at the purse on the dresser. Sinead waited for him to pick it up. But he just stood there, frozen. His fists were clenched and a strange look passed over his face. He seemed deadly serious all of a sudden. He leant over the bed and snatched up the plastic bag.
‘I’ll return them, get myself a refund.’ He lurched towards the door.
Sinead ceased filing again. ‘Elliot! What are you doing?’
He stopped in the doorway, keeping his back to her. ‘Forget it. My mistake.’
‘What are you talking about – what mistake?’
Elliot half-turned. His brow was furrowed; the tension in his neck and shoulders was visible. ‘It was my understanding that friends bought things for each other occasionally. Isn’t that the custom? Like a round of drinks in a pub?’
‘We’re not in a pub!’ Sinead couldn’t help sniggering. Why was he being so weird about this?
Elliot tapped his fingers against the door frame. He stepped back into the room. ‘Very well,’ he said.
With a face like stone, he strode across the room. Just then Sinead had an unpleasant feeling. What was he going to do?
‘Elliot…’
At the foot of the bed, he opened the plastic bag and flicked his wrists, spinning the bag over and depositing three magazines and four or five assorted chocolate bars onto the duvet. Instinctively, Sinead’s hand went up and covered her open mouth. Elliot shook out the paper receipt and it floated down to the carpet. He scrunched the bag into a ball and stuffed it into his back trouser pocket, moved over to the dresser, grabbed Sinead’s purse, unzipped it and plucked out a ten-pound note. He hesitated before swapping it for a twenty. Sinead watched dumbstruck as he pocketed the cash, turned and walked out.
***
Sinead entered her Facebook login details on the laptop, shifted her broken leg into the centre of the footstool, and relaxed her back into the sofa. From the kitchen, she heard the dishwasher door closing and, after a few seconds, water pumping into the appliance. For the past three days Elliot had been taking extra-long with household chores. Mostly he was in his bedroom or out of the house for hours on end. Avoiding her. Sinead couldn’t really blame the guy. She shouldn’t have laughed at him, but now she couldn’t apologise without making him uncomfortable all over again. Why had he been so weird about accepting the money? She didn’t want him buying her things, even if they were just chocolates and magazines. He was her landlord and she didn’t want to owe him anything.
But then he was just being nice – had she forgotten what it was like when someone did you a favour? Maybe she had genuinely offended him. She didn’t need the extra guilt, though. Christ, she already had enough of that. The best thing to do was just pretend it had never happened. Like always.
She scrolled down the home page, and it occurred to her that she hadn’t posted anything for well over a month – when she’d announced that she’d found an amazing new pad out in the ’burbs. Ultimate birthday present to myself followed by that stupid smiley face wearing sunglasses. That had warranted only three likes from her forty-five friends; one from Heidi, one from Dylan and one from her mother’s cousin’s wife, whom she’d met once when she was eleven but hadn’t seen again until the funeral. A friend request from her dad was the only new thing, which was so blatantly uncool she’d just ignored it. What the hell was he doing on Facebook? They hadn’t spoken since before the funeral back in January – not that they ever had much to say to each other, anyway. Sinead didn’t want to think about him, so she clicked through to Heidi’s home page.
Elliot entered the living room, chewing a pencil and studying a newspaper crossword. ‘Eleven letters. Sixth one begins with p…’
‘Don’t ask me about crosswords, I never get the clues.’
‘To take for one’s own use,’ Elliot continued, his lips curling up slightly. ‘Ap-pro-pri-ate,’ he said, scribbling the answer onto the paper.
Sinead noticed something Heidi had recently commented on and clicked the link.
‘You’ve got to be fucking kidding me… Come on!’
An event page declared: Save the date – Imogen & Joel’s Engagement Party. A Photoshopped image showed the smug couple embracing each other in front of a beach sunset, surrounded by hearts, glitter and champagne bottle emojis.
Elliot stopped by the sofa and looked over her shoulder at the laptop screen. ‘Imogen… and… Joel. Looking rather pleased with themselves, aren’t they?’
Sinead shut the lid and slung the laptop onto an adjacent cushion. ‘Is there any wine in the house?’
‘I don’t believe so. I’ve been meaning to pop into that new wine shop and stock up.’
‘There’s half a bottle of voddie in the top cupboard. I can’t reach it, though.’
‘Not the best idea, is it? Mixing alcohol with your medication?’
‘Elliot – I need a drink.’
This wasn’t the time for pleasantries and she wasn’t asking for permission. He put his newspaper on the armchair seat and then fetched the bottle and a juice glass from the kitchen. When he returned, Elliot poured out a tiny measure. ‘There’s nothing to mix it with.’