Page 51 of The Best Ex of My Life

‘For breakfast, yes. As an entire diet, no. Let’s see what you’ve got, and I’ll rustle you something up. Preferably hot. It’s freezing in here.’

‘Is it? I’ll put the heating on for you.’

‘Yes, please. And why don’t you get changed too while I put the kettle on?’

He looks down at himself, at his crumpled shirt and his chinos with a stain on the thigh.

‘Yeah, I probably should. Will you be all right for five minutes?’

‘I’ll be absolutely fine. Take all the time you need. You don’t need to be worrying about me, OK? I’m here to help you,’ I remind him, gently.

Elliot goes off down the hallway, and I move to the kitchen, flicking on the kettle before opening cupboards and the fridge to see what I’ve got to work with. The only things of note are an almost empty bottle of milk, some gone off hummus and two cans of tuna. I’m well trained in the art of making something from nothing when I can’t be arsed to go to the supermarket, but even Jamie Oliver would be buggered trying to concoct a recipe from that pile.

‘Take your time, El,’ I shout from the kitchen as I put the milk back in the fridge. ‘You’ve nothing in, so I’m going to nip to the shop. I’ll be ten minutes.’

He doesn’t reply, and I presume he’s in the shower, but when I pass his room, I hear nothing. No water running, no rustling about as he gets changed. I pause outside the shut door, unsure whether he’s heard me.

‘Elliot?’

When he doesn’t answer, I open his door a fraction, shielding my eyes in case he’s getting changed. I might have put my feelings to the side for now, but seeing Elliot naked is going to help no one. There are no shouts of objection, so I dare to peek. I find Elliot on top of the bed, still in his work clothes, fast asleep.

I shut the door gently behind me and creep out of the flat.

Teddy’s texted me three more times looking for updates. I hesitate before replying, not sure how much to tell her knowing that she’s going through her own stuff right now. But I can’t lie to her and tell her he’s fine. Teddy got it spot on, recognising something was wrong with Elliot, and she deserves to know the truth. I tell her he’s a mess with his workload, but that I’m helping him. I also tell her that I’m tapping in on the school stuff, so she needn’t leave work to rush over, but that she should definitely check in with him later.

A lime basil and mandarin candle is burning, there’s a pot of tea on the counter, with a bottle of white in the fridge as a back-up, and I’m putting the finishing touches (grated cheese) onto a risotto when he walks back into the living area of his now warm flat.

‘You stayed?’ he asks, voice groggy. His work shirt is untucked and held together by only the two bottom buttons, revealing a column of smooth, taut skin that makes my stomach dip and my breath catch in my throat, but I push past it.

‘I left for a bit to get supplies, but yeah, I stayed.’

‘You didn’t need to. How long was I asleep?’

I look at my watch, like it’s the first time I’ve considered how long Elliot’s been asleep for, like I haven’t been checking it every few minutes and already know it’s been two hours and forty minutes, and I was beginning to wonder if he’d be flat out all night.

‘Just a couple of hours. Are you hungry?’

He thinks about it before answering. ‘Yeah, I suppose I am. What’s cooking?’

‘Nothing as fancy as burnt beef wellington and beer cream, I’m afraid, just a plain old risotto.’

He smiles briefly before looking back into the lounge, towards the sofa where the pile of work is waiting for him – a predator lurking in the shadows. His face when he turns back is miserable.

‘Tea? Although I have more extreme supplies in the fridge if needed,’ I say, gesturing to the teapot and then the bottle in the open fridge door.

‘Hmm, I shouldn’t, but actually, yeah, that sounds nice. You know you didn’t need to do this. I’m fine.’

I pop the cork, pour and hand him the glass before turning my back to him, letting him enjoy the wine, the peace and the nice smells while I serve out the risotto. He sits down on one of his charcoal velvet bar stools, so I hand him his bowl and move around the counter to sit next to him.

‘This is good,’ he says. ‘Really good.’

‘Is that a note of surprise in your voice I hear?’

He half smiles at that. ‘No, not at all. I wouldn’t dream of being surprised when it comes to you.’

‘Glad to hear it.’

We carry on eating and don’t say much. He asks for more, and I make an Oliver Twist joke that elicits another half smile, but for the most we finish our food in companionable silence.