Dead Romantic by Ruth Saberton Page B

it out.”
    “Go on, Cleo, do,” says Alex, materialising at my elbow. “Take it from me, this guy’s a creep. Good-looking bastard, but still a creep. Why do girls never see it?”
    “Shut up!” I hiss. “I don’t need you interfering! You make everything ten times worse.”
    “What’s that supposed to mean?” Simon demands, looking hurt. “I’m only trying to help. I just want you to accept that you’re not well enough to be here and that you need to rest. I want the best for you !”
    “You want the competition out of the way, more like!” scoffs Alex. His green eyes glitter with dislike and he’s bristling like one of Stephenie Meyer’s werewolves. Goodness, he really is upset on my behalf, which is very sweet but completely unnecessary. I don’t need a knight in shining armour, or in this case in a battered leather jacket and designer jeans.
    “Can I handle this, please?” I say.
    “Cleo, who are you talking to?” Simon steps closer, right through Alex, and puts his hands on my shoulders. He shivers. “Brrr. Your office is so damn cold. That’s it; I’m taking you home. You’re in no state to be here.”
    I shake him off impatiently. “I’m fine!”
    “Sweetheart, you’re not! You’re talking to thin air!”
    “He can’t see me,” says Alex, helpfully, just in case I don’t get it.
    I roll my eyes at him. “That’s because you don’t exist.”
    Alex rolls his eyes right back. “So why are you talking to me then?”
    “Because you’re a delusion!” I almost yell.
    “Cleo, please,” Simon pleads, now holding my hands tightly. I can see his breath in the air, and he’s very pale. “Calm down. My God, just listen to yourself! There’s no way you’re up to even applying for this job, let alone doing it. You’ve been seriously ill; you’re fragile and you need to rest. I’m begging you not to put yourself through the strain of it. Not when they’ve practically promised the position to me anyway.”
    “Practically promised isn’t the same as having promised,” Alex growls. “Tosser!”
    “Go away!” I tell Alex furiously. “Leave me alone! This is all your fault.”
    Simon’s face is grave. A muscle twitches in his cheek. “I’m sorry you feel like that, Cleo, really sorry. All I can say is, may the best man win. And right now I think we both know that person is me.”
    I stare at Simon. I know that he’s as qualified as I am, but I’ve worked at the museum longer and I have far more experience in the field. I’m the better candidate, and that’s not me being arrogant: it’s just stating a fact. There’s no way Simon’s been promised anything. Our boss, Professor Hamilton, wouldn’t do that.
    Or at least, he wouldn’t have done before my accident.
    “I really do care about you, Cleo,” Simon says, turning and heading for the door. “Just be kind to yourself and get well, please. Your career isn’t nearly as important as your health.”
    My head’s pounding. Alex, hands on hips, is looking at me expectantly while Aamon stands behind Simon pulling faces and sticking his tongue out. Suddenly all the anger and fight drains from me and I slump at my desk feeling dangerously close to tears. Oh God, what if Simon’s right and I’m really not well? The evidence is right in front of me, isn’t it? I’m seeing things that can’t possibly exist. In despair, I bury my face in my hands.
    “I’m still applying, Simon,” I whisper, my eyes still closed and my temples thudding. “I’m still applying.”
    “Then it’s up to you, Cleo. But you know how I feel. You’re unwell and clearly not up to the job. And believe me, if Professor Hamilton and the board ask for my opinion, that’s exactly what I shall be telling them.”
    The door clicks shut. When I raise my face again Simon has gone, our lunch date evidently off the agenda, and so have Alex and all the others. The office is suddenly very quiet.
    I sit at my desk, all alone, and wonder whether Simon’s