One in a Million

by Lindsey Kelk

  ‘My neighbours are wankers,’ I shouted. ‘The ones on the left like to play video games in the bedroom at four a.m. on weekends and the ones on the right steal my post. Sod my neighbours, Sam. Besides, it’s not even late. Get up and dance.’

  I opened one eye just in time to see him shaking his head at himself and dusting crumbs off his hands.

  ‘Sometimes you’ve just got to crank up the music and go with it,’ I told him, gyrating my way into the middle of the living room as he began to step from side to side, elbows still firmly fixed to his body. I flailed around even more wildly, jumping in time to the music. ‘Come on, Sam, Britney expects more from you. And we both know you’ve got it in you.’

  He stopped. He picked up his whisky and took a long, deep drink.

  And then the fun really began. First his hips started to move, then his shoulders, then his arms. Eyes closed, mouth open, he was all in.

  ‘I don’t know if it’s Britney or the whisky,’ Sam bellowed, punching the air as he jumped up and down. ‘But this doesn’t feel terrible.’

  ‘That’s the spirit,’ I called back, moving away to give him room. Dear god, I had awoken a beast. ‘Work it out, Sam, work it out.’

  There we were, two idiots jumping around a dark living room, very slightly tipsy and singing at the tops of our voices. It was fantastic. I smiled as we locked eyes, mouthing the words to each other from across the room, throwing some serious shapes and chucking in some very important dance pointing. The space between us seemed to dissolve and soon we were face to face. I could hear him singing, I could feel the floorboards bouncing as he danced. Just for one moment, everything felt right.

  Until the song ended.

  ‘Right,’ Sam panted, scraping his hair back from his face as his body came to a standstill. ‘Excellent.’

  ‘There’s more where that came from,’ I assured him, darting over to my phone to see why the next song wasn’t playing. Hmm, texts from both neighbours. What a coincidence.

  Sam’s chest heaved and he studied me closely, both hands planted on his hips.

  ‘Are you sure?’ he asked.

  ‘Never been more certain of anything in my life,’ I replied.

  ‘Maybe one more,’ he said with a grin. ‘I have to say, I do feel a little better.’

  Deleting my neighbour’s texts without reading them, I cranked up the bass and restarted the music. This time Sam didn’t need any encouragement. Before I could even think to stop him, he grabbed my hands and began to twirl me around and around and around until everything was one big swirl of happy that I never wanted to end.

  ‘You’re never going to fit on that loveseat,’ I said, hanging around the living room door as Sam puffed up his pillow. I hoped our dance-off looked just as becoming on me but I had an inkling my mascara had not been up to the job.

  ‘Annie, I’ve been sleeping on an inflatable bed on my office floor,’ he reminded me. ‘This will be wonderful.’

  He had a point.

  ‘I’m just in here if you need anything,’ I told him. Exhausted from our dance-a-thon and more than a little woozy from too much wine on an empty stomach and half a cheese toastie, I hung onto the door frame and stared. He’d put away the best part of half a bottle of whisky but it didn’t even seem to have touched the sides. Impressive. ‘Otherwise I’ll see you in the morning.’

  ‘In the morning,’ he replied, clearly waiting for me to vanish so he could take off his trousers.

  ‘Sleep tight then,’ I said, flushing at the thought. ‘Oh! Do you need a spare phone charger? I’ve got loads of different ones.’

  ‘It’s been dead for hours,’ he said, producing the ancient artefact from his back pocket and practically giving me a seizure. ‘I’ll charge it up tomorrow.’

  ‘At least you won’t be able to send any regrettable texts.’ I scrunched up my face as he set his ancient phone down on my coffee table. ‘Are you really, really sure you’re going to be able to sleep out here?’ I couldn’t see how he was going to fit his long legs on to that tiny Ikea loveseat.

  ‘Quite sure,’ he confirmed with a theatrical yawn. ‘Wellington and I will make do.’

  ‘OK, if you say so,’ I said with a reluctant wave. ‘Goodnight, Sam. And Wellington.’

  An unseen miaow echoed from somewhere in the living room as I closed my bedroom door and smiled.

  Maybe Sam could sleep without a fully charged phone but I couldn’t. I changed into my pyjamas, tossing my clothes into the general vicinity of the wash basket, plugged my phone in beside my bed and shuffled myself under the duvet, exhausted. A quick check on the Hip Historian’s followers and comments. Five hundred new followers and a hundred comments on his latest post. An old gif of Rihanna getting into a car with a single raised eyebrow along with the caption ‘One of Russia’s greatest rulers, Catherine the Great was a fraud. Her name wasn’t Catherine, nor was she Russian’.

  ‘Did not know that until today,’ I muttered to myself.

  My wine and dance buzz was beginning to wear off, the minty taste of toothpaste hastening my hangover, and I felt that odd feeling in the pit of my stomach hiccup into life again. I did feel guilty. And I did feel anxious. And I did like Sam. That didn’t mean I was in love with him. You could be friends with a man without wanting to sleep with him, couldn’t you? You could appreciate his personality without imagining the two of you on a beach at sunset, holding hands while your best friend officiated a small but tasteful wedding ceremony which you decided to do barefoot but bought a nice pair of Jimmy Choos for the party you were planning to have back in London a couple of weeks later.

  ‘Ah, shit,’ I whispered.

  Just then, a god almighty crash came from the living room. I shot bolt upright, completely awake and aware.

  ‘Sam?’

  A quiet knock on my door came next.

  ‘Sam?’ I said, my heart thudding against my ribs as he opened the door. My bedroom never got completely dark and I could see the embarrassment on his face. I could also see his boxer shorts but that was neither here nor there.

  ‘I broke your settee,’ he said. ‘I am so dreadfully sorry. All seemed to be well until I turned over and the legs just went out from underneath me. I thought I could fix it but I fear I may have made matters worse.’

  ‘It’s fine,’ I replied, relieved he was not dead, we had not been invaded by murderers and almost relieved to have a reason to get rid of that bloody loveseat. ‘Really, I’m sorry.’

  Had there ever been two more English people? Arguing over who was more apologetic about a broken Ikea settee?

  ‘I may be able to fix it in the morning,’ Sam said. ‘I didn’t want to turn on all the lights and wake you.’

  ‘Honestly, don’t worry,’ I insisted. There was only one problem. Where was he going to sleep?

  ‘Right, good night,’ he said, backing out of the bedroom. ‘Sleep well.’

  ‘You should sleep in here,’ I said, pulling the covers up to my chin even as I offered up half my mattress. ‘With me.’

  He froze.

  ‘I mean, you can sleep in here. In my bed. Not sleep-with-me sleep with me, but I am going to sleep in here as well so, er, you know what I mean.’

  Sam stayed exactly where he was.

  ‘What else are you going to do?’ I asked. ‘Sleep on the floor? You can’t kip down on hardwood floors, Sam. We can put a pillow down the middle of the mattress if you really must.’

  Muttering under his breath, he came into the bedroom and immediately tripped over my discarded clothes.

  ‘Sorry,’ I said as he recovered himself. ‘My room is usually a bit of a mess.’

  ‘A bit?’ he replied as he climbed under the covers on the other side of the bed. The mattress gave under his weight but only slightly and I felt the sheets shift over my legs as they moved to accommodate him.

  The unfamiliar sound of clicking claws tapped along the hardwood floor of my bedroom before another body made itself comfortable on my bed. From another ni
ght on my own to a girl-man-cat threeway, just like that.

  ‘I hope you don’t snore,’ I joked weakly, taking off my watch and resting it on its charger, the light from the face briefly casting Sam’s face in a green glow, like a superhero.

  ‘I don’t but Wellington does,’ Sam said. ‘I can shut him in the other room, if you’d like?’

  ‘No, I don’t mind,’ I replied as I felt the cat taking a tour of the bed before turning three small circles around my feet and settling down. Now he was in the bed, I didn’t want to give Sam a single reason to get back out.

  We lay side by side in the almost dark room, not even nearly touching but so unbelievably close. Any chance of sleeping was long gone. Every flinch, every breath felt as though it were under scrutiny, as though I could somehow take a false step without even moving. I could feel Wellington snoozing at my feet, too hot in the sticky summer heat, but I didn’t dare move him.

  ‘Goodnight, then,’ I said in a small, careful voice.

  ‘Thank you, Annie,’ Sam said, soft and sleepy. ‘Can’t thank you enough for all you’ve done.’

  ‘What are friends for?’ I replied, almost choking on my words. ‘All in a day’s work.’

  ‘Your work is very different to mine,’ he mumbled, before taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. ‘I’m very glad not to be alone tonight.’

  ‘I’m glad you’re here,’ I whispered, daring each word out of my mouth.

  ‘What would I do without you, Annie Higgins?’ he murmured back.

  That was it, I was done. My mouth was dry and my palms were sweaty and every word he whispered made my skin prickle from head to toe. But it was too soon, too soon, too soon. And I was tipsy and we’d been dancing and it would be such a terrible idea. But still. Here he was, in my bed, in his pants and saying the nicest things.

  Maybe if I just stretched out a foot, I thought, just touch him with a toe and see what happened. My leg felt like lead. Why was this so hard? Steeling myself, I turned my head towards my bedmate, not even nearly ready for what could come next.

  Sam’s eyes were closed and he had a peaceful smile on his face. He was fast asleep.

  Exhaling heavily, I rolled back onto my back, turning my head to look at him. He was utterly gone. Maybe that whisky had had an effect after all. I clasped my hands together under my cheek and watched him, listening to the rise and fall of his breathing. It began to slow, deep heavy sighs of sleep whispering out of his lips as he fell deeper and deeper.

  It’s nothing, I told myself as I memorized his profile. It’s just a crush. It’s been so long since there was a straight man in your apartment who wasn’t here to fix the dishwasher, you’re freaking out.

  It made perfect sense when you thought about it logically. I was stressed about work, my ex just got engaged and we had been spending a lot of time together. I’d probably have developed faux feelings for anyone in this situation. Although I did spend an awful lot of time with Lily and I was a long way from feeling warm and fuzzy about her. The fact it was Sam was entirely coincidental. Sam with his flip-phone and history books, with his research and his sweet dance moves and unparalleled skill at hook-a-duck. Who wouldn’t have a bit of a crush on his curly hair and blue eyes and that hidden dimple and the way he’d had my back with my family and at my presentation and the way he always frowned whenever he was really, really listening to me and, oh no.

  Oh no.

  Rolling over onto my back, I stared up at the ceiling, eyes wide open, heart pounding.

  This would not do at all.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Wednesday, 25 July: Nine Days to Go

  At first I thought I was having a heart attack. A heavy weight was planted in the middle of my chest, my breathing was shallow and I couldn’t feel my right arm. My eyes snapped open only to find the back end of a tabby cat perched happily on my chest, backed right up to my chin and purring loudly.

  Sam, however, was nowhere to be seen.

  I squeezed the fingers of my right hand until the feeling came back to my arm and tried to work out how to remove myself from my own bed without upsetting my new bedmate. With a contented sigh, Wellington shuffled his backside even closer towards my face, slapping my nose with his long, fluffy tail.

  The front door clicked open and Sam let himself in, red Puffa jacket over his jeans and shirt from last night, loaded down with a packed reusable shopping bag in each hand.

  ‘Would you look at that,’ he said, nodding towards my current cat situation. ‘He likes you.’

  ‘That or he’s trying to suffocate me,’ I replied through a mouthful of fur.

  ‘One or the other,’ Sam agreed. He held the shopping bags aloft. ‘I’m making breakfast. Whenever you’re ready.’

  And then he disappeared.

  None of my dates since Matthew had resulted in an adult sleepover. Even if they made it as far as shenanigans, they usually ended in me making excuses to leave, followed by an awkward but agreed upon taxi ride across London. I had no idea what to do with myself the morning after the night before. Why were there no articles on this? There were a million features on getting the man into bed in the first place and I could point you in the direction of a million more stories of what to do once he was there, but the morning after? A complete mystery.

  I tried sitting upright, hoping the cat might move of his own accord but apparently that was not to be the case. Who needed a bikini body when you could be a cat bed instead?

  ‘Sorry, Wellington,’ I said, sliding my hand under his warm, furry belly. ‘I have to get up.’

  He protested softly before rolling onto the neatly made side of the bed his owner had vacated, circled once, twice and then curled himself up into a tidy pile and promptly went back to sleep.

  It was so odd. To have someone else in my kitchen when I was still in my jammies. I stopped in the hallway for a moment, watching him empty his shopping bags on the worktop. He’d brought all sorts from the supermarket; bits and pieces I’d run out of, other things I wouldn’t have bought for myself. I fit in my kitchen, every gap in my flat was Annie-shaped. Sam was moving around like a new piece in an old puzzle, but I had to admit, he fit in as though he’d been there all along.

  I moved into the bathroom before watching him got weird, locking the door securely behind me. The Annie that looked back at me in the bathroom mirror had panic written all over her face.

  ‘Shower first, inexplicable feelings later,’ I mumbled, tying my hair up on top of my head and turning on the taps. Even though there was a locked door between us, I was embarrassed to strip off my PJs. Without warning, everything had become awkward. Clean my teeth, wash my face, step under the steaming hot stream of water and wash any trace of nonsense clean, clean away.

  ‘You’re imagining things,’ I told myself, taking off the top layer of my skin with the scorching water and a spot of overly enthusiastic loofah-ing. ‘The first time a straight man walks into your flat in twelve months, you’re practically salivating over him. Get a grip on yourself.’

  That’s all it was. My poor hormones were confused by an entire evening’s exposure to testosterone. And I felt so sorry for Sam. I felt bad about what had happened with Elaine. This wasn’t love or lust or even like, it was guilt, masquerading as a crush.

  ‘Easier to live with the horn than to feel responsible for what happened last night,’ I reasoned. ‘Classic compensation tactics brain, good try.’

  I couldn’t have a crush on Sam. I didn’t care about his full lips, just inches from mine when we were locked in that airing cupboard. I wasn’t even slightly interested in running my hands through his blond hair, even though it looked so soft, even though it curled around his ears just so.

  Turning off the water and wrapping a towel around myself before I stepped out of the shower, even though the door was locked, I swiped the steam away from the mirror and gave myself a good, stern look. Damp curls that had fallen out of my topknot were stuck to my neck and my face was glowing from the
hot water.

  ‘OK, stop it,’ I ordered with a determined point. ‘You’re being silly.’

  Mirror Annie did her best to look ashamed.

  ‘Good,’ I muttered, wrapping the ugly, full-length dressing gown my dad had bought me for my last birthday over my towel and belting it tightly. ‘This is why you should stick to computers. Real people are altogether too confusing.’

  I slipped out of the bathroom and locked myself in the bedroom while Sam clattered around in the other room. I dried myself quickly under Wellington’s slightly seedy, watchful eye. He rolled over onto his back and stretched out, baring his bright white belly before giving me a long, slow blink.

  ‘Filth,’ I stated, clambering into my underwear and pulling on the closest pair of jeans I could find. ‘I thought you were supposed to be shy?’

  Fully dressed, somewhat made up and hair half-dry, I walked into my kitchen to find Sam slathering something onto a piece of rough-looking toast.

  ‘You didn’t,’ I said, walking around the breakfast bar and marvelling at his skills. ‘Sam, is that avocado toast?’

  ‘I looked up the recipe on the internet,’ he admitted grudgingly. ‘Turns out it isn’t hard.’

  ‘May I?’ I asked, gesturing to one of the pieces of toast in front of me. He nodded eagerly, weaving his hands together as he awaited my feedback. ‘It’s delicious,’ I said, holding a hand over my mouth as I talked and ate at the same time. ‘Are you converted?’

  He took a bite of his own and chewed for a while before he replied.

  ‘It’s no cheese toastie but the nutritional value is hard to argue with.’

  I swallowed, laughed and choked all at the same time as the panic hit me again. Sam, stood in my kitchen, making me breakfast. Oh shit. This guilt thing really did feel an awful lot like love.

  ‘I wanted to talk to you about Wellington,’ Sam said, pushing a second piece of toast towards me.

  ‘Wellington?’ I replied, hoping I wasn’t sweating through the thin white T-shirt I’d pulled on in haste. ‘What about him?’