before. But usually it features women and it’s on the top shelf in the newsagent’s.’
Alex shrugs and grins. ‘It pays the bills.’
‘Hey, I’m not judging,’ I say. ‘Well, maybe a bit.’
We grin at each other for a couple of seconds and the feeling of anticipation in my stomach is almost painful.
‘So, I’m going to grab a shower,’ Alex says.
I take a step backwards. Right. He wasn’t flirting. Of course he wasn’t. But now I’m picturing him in the shower, which really isn’t helpful.
‘Do you think I could get your number?’ Alex says.
I feel my breath catch. ‘What?’
‘Your number? I was thinking maybe we could go out for sushi sometime.’
‘Right.’ I nod and remind myself to breathe. ‘I don’t think that will be a problem,’ I say.
Chapter Thirteen
Oscar’s house isn’t on the canals – it’s on one of the wide tree-lined streets we passed when we arrived. He’s been doing some extra shifts at work, so I haven’t seen him since Tuesday.
He opens the door. He’s wearing a University of Gallifrey T-shirt and camouflage trousers.
‘Whoa!’ I say. ‘Where are your legs? Are they…invisible?’
He looks down at himself, starts to say ‘What?’ and then realises. ‘You’re very funny,’ he says. ‘You should try an open-mic night. You probably wouldn’t get bottled off.’
I grin and follow him inside. The hall is bright and clean and I find that I’m quite surprised. I don’t know why, but I was expecting it to be dark and messy. Maybe because I’m not used to the idea of Michael and Oscar living on their own. Oscar’s mum was always super house-proud and I think I expected them to be rebelling.
‘No Bex?’ he says.
‘No. She and Mum have gone along to an open casting with Emily. She’s not auditioning, Emily just wanted her to see how it all works.’
‘Cool,’ Oscar says. ‘Is that usual?’
‘No idea. Mum seems to think all the preparation’s good though, so who knows.’
‘Has she recovered from Wednesday yet?’ he asks.
‘Just about,’ I think. ‘At least she’s stopped beginning every sentence with “When we were at the studio…”’
He laughs. ‘Well, she did see an original Sorting Hat. That’s not something you just get over.’
‘Which reminds me,’ I say. ‘When we were at the studio…I got you a present.’
I hand him the Warner Brothers bag. He takes the T-shirt out, shakes it out so he can see the front and says, ‘I love it! Thanks!’
‘I tried to nick the Sorting Hat, but the security was too tight.’ I smile.
He holds the T-shirt up to himself and says, ‘Is it me?’
‘You just need the little round glasses,’ I say.
I follow him down the hall.
‘So this is where the magic happens,’ he says, glancing at me over his shoulder.
‘What?’ I say. ‘The whole house? Kinky!’
He looks back at me again, with one eyebrow raised, but ruins it by blushing.
We go through to the living room, which actually does remind me of the house he and Michael lived in back in Bramhall. Some of the same pictures are on the wall – including a photo of me and Oscar when we were about three. We’re sitting on the floor with our legs out straight in front of us. We’ve both got dirty bare feet and we’re grinning into the camera like chimps.
The kitchen’s small and clean and painted bright yellow. Oscar passes me a Coke out of the fridge – a bottled Coke; he takes the lid off with a bottle opener mounted on the wall – and then opens French doors to the garden. It’s lovely. Enclosed and leafy, with raised decking and a chimney thing like we have on our terrace. We sit at a little round table on chairs covered with red-and-white-striped fabric.
‘Thanks for the T-shirt,’ he says again. ‘It’s great.’
‘I thought you’d like it,’ I tell him. ‘It’s good to know you haven’t changed completely.’
‘What? This is clean on,’ he jokes, feebly. ‘What do you mean? You think
Alex shrugs and grins. ‘It pays the bills.’
‘Hey, I’m not judging,’ I say. ‘Well, maybe a bit.’
We grin at each other for a couple of seconds and the feeling of anticipation in my stomach is almost painful.
‘So, I’m going to grab a shower,’ Alex says.
I take a step backwards. Right. He wasn’t flirting. Of course he wasn’t. But now I’m picturing him in the shower, which really isn’t helpful.
‘Do you think I could get your number?’ Alex says.
I feel my breath catch. ‘What?’
‘Your number? I was thinking maybe we could go out for sushi sometime.’
‘Right.’ I nod and remind myself to breathe. ‘I don’t think that will be a problem,’ I say.
Chapter Thirteen
Oscar’s house isn’t on the canals – it’s on one of the wide tree-lined streets we passed when we arrived. He’s been doing some extra shifts at work, so I haven’t seen him since Tuesday.
He opens the door. He’s wearing a University of Gallifrey T-shirt and camouflage trousers.
‘Whoa!’ I say. ‘Where are your legs? Are they…invisible?’
He looks down at himself, starts to say ‘What?’ and then realises. ‘You’re very funny,’ he says. ‘You should try an open-mic night. You probably wouldn’t get bottled off.’
I grin and follow him inside. The hall is bright and clean and I find that I’m quite surprised. I don’t know why, but I was expecting it to be dark and messy. Maybe because I’m not used to the idea of Michael and Oscar living on their own. Oscar’s mum was always super house-proud and I think I expected them to be rebelling.
‘No Bex?’ he says.
‘No. She and Mum have gone along to an open casting with Emily. She’s not auditioning, Emily just wanted her to see how it all works.’
‘Cool,’ Oscar says. ‘Is that usual?’
‘No idea. Mum seems to think all the preparation’s good though, so who knows.’
‘Has she recovered from Wednesday yet?’ he asks.
‘Just about,’ I think. ‘At least she’s stopped beginning every sentence with “When we were at the studio…”’
He laughs. ‘Well, she did see an original Sorting Hat. That’s not something you just get over.’
‘Which reminds me,’ I say. ‘When we were at the studio…I got you a present.’
I hand him the Warner Brothers bag. He takes the T-shirt out, shakes it out so he can see the front and says, ‘I love it! Thanks!’
‘I tried to nick the Sorting Hat, but the security was too tight.’ I smile.
He holds the T-shirt up to himself and says, ‘Is it me?’
‘You just need the little round glasses,’ I say.
I follow him down the hall.
‘So this is where the magic happens,’ he says, glancing at me over his shoulder.
‘What?’ I say. ‘The whole house? Kinky!’
He looks back at me again, with one eyebrow raised, but ruins it by blushing.
We go through to the living room, which actually does remind me of the house he and Michael lived in back in Bramhall. Some of the same pictures are on the wall – including a photo of me and Oscar when we were about three. We’re sitting on the floor with our legs out straight in front of us. We’ve both got dirty bare feet and we’re grinning into the camera like chimps.
The kitchen’s small and clean and painted bright yellow. Oscar passes me a Coke out of the fridge – a bottled Coke; he takes the lid off with a bottle opener mounted on the wall – and then opens French doors to the garden. It’s lovely. Enclosed and leafy, with raised decking and a chimney thing like we have on our terrace. We sit at a little round table on chairs covered with red-and-white-striped fabric.
‘Thanks for the T-shirt,’ he says again. ‘It’s great.’
‘I thought you’d like it,’ I tell him. ‘It’s good to know you haven’t changed completely.’
‘What? This is clean on,’ he jokes, feebly. ‘What do you mean? You think
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