Page 37 of Under Your Spell

‘Fine.’

‘Fine.’

With that, he sweeps out, and I hear the front door open and slam shut. I slump back against the counter and press the cold juice glass to my forehead. I’ve got a headache coming on and I feel knackered. I try to remind myself that this is better than being unemployed and stuck back at Mum’s house, but then at least Theo wouldn’t be there, and I wouldn’t be completely, utterly alone and feeling like crap.

I’m probably just tired. I glance at the clock and see that it’s midday already. I’ll just take some paracetamol and go and have a quick nap. That will sort me out. I knock back the tablets and then make my way upstairs, crashing wearily into bed and falling asleep almost instantly.

When I peel my eyes open it’s dark. Properly dark. I’m completely discombobulated and also freezing. Teeth chattering, I pull the duvet tighter around my body and lift myself up on one elbow to look at the clock. The room tips around me for a moment before I can focus on the numbers. Almost midnight. Did I just sleep for twelve hours? Why do I feel worse than before?

Gingerly, I swing my feet out of bed, hissing when they hit the cold floor. Right. I’m ill. But I’m a grown-up. I can deal with this. I just need to be sensible. What do I need? The ache in my head is a dull thump behind my left eye. My throat feels dry and scratchy. Water, I decide. That seems like a good bet. Water and painkillers and maybe something to eat.

With that mental list made, I shuffle downstairs, still swathed in the duvet. All I have to concentrate on is putting one foot in front of the other, but unfortunately the floor refuses to behave, tilting occasionally from side to side.

I have to sit on the stairs for a minute to have a little rest, my face pressed against the banister, but eventually I make it down to the living room. There, sprawled on the sofa, the glow from the TV kissing his perfect profile, is Theo. He looks up guiltily, and I see he’s eating my mint choc chip right out the tub with a spoon. He reaches for the remote and pauses what he’s watching, which is an old episode of The Great British Bake Off.

‘Clemmie!’ he exclaims, getting to his feet. ‘I’m glad you came down. Look, about earlier… I didn’t mean to be short with you. I’m sorry. I know you’re just doing your job. I am working on the music. You can tell Serena, all right?’ He says the words quickly, breathlessly, as if he’s been waiting to get them out for a while, and I’m dimly aware that I should care about them, but I’m having to focus all my energy on not face-planting on the rug at my feet.

‘Are you okay?’ he asks, his voice wobbling from far away. Then suddenly his face swims into view, so close to me that I jump, tripping on the edge of my duvet. He wraps his hand around my arm, which is the only thing that keeps me from falling.

‘I think,’ I say ponderously, ‘I think I’m going to be very sick.’

And then I drop the duvet to the ground and run on shaking legs towards the kitchen, where I promptly throw up into the sink.

‘Oh my God, Clemmie.’ Theo’s voice is aghast and I hear his footsteps behind me. I feel a vague sense of unprofessionalism as I vomit some more.

Theo makes a gagging sound, like he’s trying not to be sick himself. Then a hand pulls my hair back from my face, while another hand rubs circles on my back. ‘Okay, it’s okay,’ he murmurs.

‘It’s not okay,’ I manage forlornly, my legs trembling as I lean heavily against the sink. ‘David’s going to be so disappointed. I’m not being a good Victorian chambermaid at all.’

‘Are you finished being sick?’ Theo asks, ignoring this.

I consider the question seriously for a moment, then shake my head and throw up again. After that things get a bit blurry. Theo cleans me up and I find myself sitting on the floor, my back against the cabinet, a famous rock star crouched in front of me holding a glass of water.

‘Drink this,’ he says firmly. ‘Just little sips.’

I try to reach for the glass but my arm is so heavy. ‘Why is my arm so heavy?’ I ask Theo, bewildered.

He presses his fingers to my forehead and it’s just lovely. His hand is so cool and as it travels down to cup my cheek I can’t help but nuzzle into it, only a little bit.

‘You’ve definitely got a temperature,’ he says. ‘Right. Can you drink some water if I hold the glass for you?’

I squint up at him. It’s so bright in here, and the kitchen light hangs over his head like a halo. He holds the glass to my lips and I take a few small sips.

‘Good,’ Theo says. ‘Now let’s get you some paracetamol and get you back to bed.’ He hesitates. ‘I don’t actually know where the paracetamol is.’

‘There’s some in that drawer over there.’ I gesture with my extremely heavy arm.

Theo feeds me the tablets and we have a small, wobbly moment where I’m not sure if I’m going to keep them down, but it seems safe for the time being. Then he puts his arm tightly around my waist and helps me get back upstairs and into bed.

‘I’m sorry I didn’t make dinner,’ I say.

‘Don’t be stupid,’ Theo snaps. Then he huffs a deep breath. ‘That doesn’t matter, Clemmie.’

‘Don’t tell David about all the food,’ I whisper. ‘I told him you’re eating raw vegan sushi rolls and hemp muffins.’

‘It will be our secret,’ he agrees, his voice softening. ‘I’m leaving the water here,’ he says then, gesturing to the nightstand. ‘And some more tablets which you can take after four, okay?’

‘After four,’ I mumble obediently.