Free Time of My Life by Cecelia Ahern Page B

neighbour’s name; I’d forgotten it the moment we met and it seemed rude as the time went by to ask so I just never addressed her, there was a lot of hey and hi and hello you and I had a strong suspicion it was Ruth but I’d never had the full confidence to go for it.
    ‘I’m Claire.’
    And it was just as well.
    ‘Hi, Claire.’
    Riley was giving her one of his best cute but sweet but strong and masculine, you-can-trust-me, flirtatious looks, which freaked me out but Claire wasn’t completely delusional, she untangled herself from his web of silent promises, and quickly said her goodbyes.
    ‘Must be losing your touch, Riley.’
    He looked at me, serious again.
    ‘Don’t worry, it happens to us all.’
    ‘No, not that …’
    ‘What, Riley?’
    ‘Nothing.’ He aborted the thought, and made his way to the elevator.
    ‘Thanks for the shoes,’ I said more gently.
    He didn’t turn around, just lifted his arm up in a salute and disappeared into the elevator. Just before I closed my door I heard my neighbour – whose name I’d already forgotten – open her door and quickly say, ‘If you ever want to come in for a coffee or anything, just come straight over. No notice needed, I’m always here.’
    ‘Oh. Okay.’ It felt awkward. It had been at least a year since I’d met her and apart from the chat in the elevator it was the longest sentence either of us had ever said to one another. She used to never speak when I saw her. Probably spending all that time cooped up inside had made her desperate to talk to anyone, including me.
    ‘Thanks. Eh … likewise.’ Then I couldn’t think of anything to say so I closed the door.
    Only I never wanted her to call over for a coffee and I never wanted Riley to come into the apartment. He’d never been in before, none of my family had. None of my friends had either. It was my space. But it was becoming an eyesore even to me. The carpet had to be cleaned. I would clean it myself without telling the landlord because I didn’t want him checking it and seeing the burns and then charging me for the damage. I searched for where I’d written the company name on the carpet and grabbed the phone and quickly dialled directory enquiries before I changed my mind. I knew something monumental was happening. I was doing something that needed to be done and I felt the burden of it every step of the way. As they connected me and the phone rang, I began to think of hanging up. It wasn’t just the phone call; it was having to follow through that bothered me. I’d have to stay in from work one day, I’d have to wait for some stranger to arrive hours after he’d promised and then I’d have to show him all the personal private stains that I wanted removed. How humiliating. It rang and rang, and then it sounded like it was about to be answered or go to an answer phone when it went through another bout of ringing. I was about to hang up and abort the situation when a man answered.
    ‘Hello?’
    It was noisy. Pub noisy. I had to move the phone away from my ear.
    ‘Sorry, just be a minute,’ the voice shouted and I wanted to shout back that it was okay, that I’d got the wrong number, partly because I’d changed my mind – I didn’t want the hassle of a stranger in my home – and partly because I was beginning to think I had genuinely been connected to the wrong number. I searched for the business card I’d been given by American Pie to see if it matched the number on my screen. But the phone wasn’t by his ear to hear me explain, it was being rubbed against his body or dozens of other bodies as he made his way to somewhere quieter.
    ‘Just a minute,’ he shouted again.
    ‘Actually it’s okay,’ I yelled despite being in a silent room. But he was gone again.
    Finally there was silence, I could hear footsteps, then laughter in the distance, then, ‘Hello? Are you still there?’
    I fell back on the couch. ‘Yes, hi.’
    ‘Sorry about that, who’s this?’
    ‘Em, actually