They were hanging around the van. One of the boys went to sit on a picnic bench nearby; Gwen and the other boy followed. Miles stood up and turned back the way he came. Today was not the day for small talk with old acquaintances, especially not old acquaintances of Elliot Sheeny’s.
‘Where’s my ice cream?’ Sinead screwed her face up as he returned to the bench empty-handed.
‘Sold out.’
‘You’re joking. It’s only twelve thirty.’
Miles glanced over his shoulder and saw no sign of Gwen, but she could appear at any moment. ‘We’ll stop off on the way home. Come on, let’s go.’
‘What’s the hurry?’
‘Traffic wardens are doing the rounds. I didn’t put enough money in the meter.’
‘Okay, okay.’ Sinead pushed herself up and grabbed for the crutch that leant against the bench. Miles reached out to help, but she waved him away.
‘I can manage, thanks.’
He shuffled impatiently while she got herself upright.
‘Guess what I just did?’ said Sinead. ‘Messaged Dylan. We might be going out Friday night. He’s gonna let me know what time he can pick me up. What the hell, right? It’s just a date, no big deal. Like you said, I can’t be sitting around the house all the time.’
Miles headed off towards the park entrance. ‘Are you coming or not? I’m not getting a bloody ticket.’ Behind him he heard Sinead scrabbling to catch up.
‘Elliot – wait!’
He heard her, but didn’t break stride. If she was going to be of any real use, Sinead would have to keep up with him from now on.
25
While she waited for the washing machine to finish its spin cycle, Sinead leant against the countertop and gazed through the utility room window at the overgrown garden. It was a beautiful late May morning, warm and dry; nothing would have been nicer than sitting outside and catching some rays. This garden, however, was getting close to jungle status; the clumps of grass were knee-high and the flower beds colonised by thick, winding weeds. On the patio area near the back door, the round glass and metal coffee table was doused in bird shit and the chairs were brown with rust. If she intended to stay all summer, Sinead would make getting that garden sorted a priority. But she had just decided to move out when the trial period finished.
The washing machine beeped five times, followed by a longer sixth beep that indicated the cycle was complete. Sinead dropped the blue plastic laundry basket in front of the machine and waited until the door release was activated so she could open it. Something about Elliot was bothering her and she couldn’t quite put her finger on what it was. She still didn’t know what he actually did for a living. He was currently in his bedroom, where he spent most of his time, doing whatever business it was he did. When Sinead had asked him about it a second time he was vague and told her it mainly involved answering hundreds of emails.
Being housebound for the past fortnight had given her time to think and she realised her judgement had become cloudy. Obsessing about her personal life had meant she’d not been paying attention to this strange man whose house she was living in. She had made excuses for his weird quirks: he was just a bit eccentric, posh, and not very sociable. She had quite liked those things about him at first. But there was no denying it now: the guy was seriously odd.
Sinead tried the washing machine door and it opened with a click, swinging out to the side. Supporting her weight on one crutch, she used the second one to scoop the damp clothes out from the drum and into the laundry basket on the floor. It was no more than a gut feeling, but she intuitively knew that she couldn’t share a house with Elliot in the long term. Sometimes the way he looked at her was unnerving; it wasn’t sexual, but it was kind of creepy. As though he knew something she didn’t, or that he was about to tell her a piece of important news but had then changed his mind. Also, the condescending and controlling tone when he spoke to her was starting to grate. He reminded Sinead of her A level media studies teacher. Despite being in his thirties, Mr Bolton would act like he was your friend, but then out of the blue make some snide remark just to embarrass you in front of the class. Then he’d be your mate again the next day as if nothing had happened.
Elliot seemed to be putting on an act as well, like he understood what you were going through and wanted to help, but secretly disapproved of how you lived your life. Spending so much time together in the bungalow had magnified his irritating traits and Sinead knew they would really bug her if she stayed on here.
The problem was she felt guilty even having these thoughts. He was obviously lonely, and that made her feel sorry for him because she was lonely too. Elliot was looking after her when everyone else had abandoned her, and for that she was sincerely grateful. He had cooked for her and done all the shopping and cleaning. She had been genuinely glad of his help, but now she couldn’t help thinking that what he’d done wasn’t entirely altruistic. He hadn’t said anything directly, but she got the sense that he would be expecting something in return.
In her bedroom, Sinead hung the damp laundry onto the standing clothes drier. She hadn’t done a wash since the accident and there were too many items to fit on the drier so she put T-shirts on coat hangers and hooked them onto the wardrobe’s handles. She was down to her last pair of clean knickers: every other pair she owned was now draped across the clothes drier’s horizontal bars.
When she finished, Sinead sat on the bed and rested her aching leg. House-hunting would be difficult, but she hoped her forthcoming check-up would show that she was on the mend. Money was going to be an issue, too. If she had to stay on at the bungalow for a third month, the security deposit she’d paid would cover the rent of £600. But if she was lucky enough to find somewhere before then, would Elliot try and withhold the money? It was hard to say how he would react to her wanting to leave. He had been so reluctant to let her move in that she hoped he would be glad to have the place all to himself again.
Except that his attitude had changed recently. They had become close, and he might be offended by her choosing to leave. And what had he been talking about the other day? Wanting them to move somewhere else – to another city?! She thought he was joking, but actually that was pretty weird. Anyway, it had taken several weeks to find this place, so what made her think she could find somewhere else that was even half as nice? With her luck, she’d be stuck in this bungalow with the weirdo landlord forever.
Sinead slapped her palms over her face and massaged the skin underneath her eyes. How did she ever get into this mess? Where had she gone wrong? Back when she graduated, she thought she was da bomb: independent, intelligent, industrious and raring to go. But nearly four years on, London living had well and truly burst her bubble. Everything was so fucking difficult. Money, friends, houses, men – all hard to come by and impossible to keep hold of.
As far as her so-called friends were concerned, she had deleted WhatsApp from her phone, and hadn’t checked Facebook or Instagram since finding out about the engagement. She could manage the physical pain of her broken leg with painkillers, knowing that the bone would eventually heal. But the emotional pain of being ghosted by her mates was something that would destroy her if she allowed it to. Blocking them from her thoughts was much easier without obsessively checking social media all the time. Sinead flopped back onto the mattress and looked up at the sky through the window. God, she really needed to sort her life out.