Page 41 of Under Your Spell

‘You didn’t give me much notice before you started projectile vomiting,’ Theo says, rearranging the pillow behind my head. ‘But I’ll certainly bear it in mind for next time.’

‘I’m just trying to warn you,’ I mumble. ‘We’re not out of the woods yet. I’m going to be a whiney grump for a while.’

‘I can handle it,’ Theo says with what I consider to be misplaced confidence.

‘You say that now…’ I trail off, weakly. ‘I need to phone David. Shouldn’t we be organizing someone else to come here and look after you? Maybe I should just go home.’

‘I don’t need someone to look after me,’ Theo huffs. ‘I’m not a houseplant, I’m a grown man.’

I remain suspiciously silent but the look I give him obviously speaks volumes.

‘I am,’ Theo insists, clearly torn between outrage and amusement. ‘You and David make me feel about three years old, but I promise you, I am almost forty and capable of functioning in the world without a nanny.’

I raise my brows. ‘How much is a pint of milk?’

‘I don’t know. Two pounds? Three?’ he hesitates. ‘Wait, is this one of those trick questions to show how out of touch I am and it’s actually 50p?’

‘How do you pay a gas bill? How do you log in to your Netflix account? How does the washing machine work?’

He looks annoyed now. ‘Just because I don’t do those things doesn’t mean I can’t do those things,’ he insists.

‘Fair enough.’ I slump back, closing my eyes, far too tired to carry on that conversation. I wonder distantly why it feels normal for Theo to sit on my bed, arguing with me. ‘But it doesn’t seem right that I’m getting paid to do a job I can’t do. Not that there was much to do in the first place.’

‘Because I’m so low-maintenance,’ Theo insists, stretching his long body out beside me, hands clasped on his stomach. ‘And just shut up about it. You’re ill, it’s not your fault. You’ll be better in a few days and then everything will be back to normal. You don’t need to lose your job just because you’ve got the sniffles.’

‘The sniffles,’ I snort, my head resting on his shoulder of its own accord. ‘More like the Black Death.’ And then I fall asleep again.

Two days later I’m feeling much better; wan and tired and coughing like I smoke forty a day, but my temperature is normal, my body has stopped aching, and I treat myself to a long, hot shower, changing into real clothes. Sure, they’re a pair of yoga leggings and a crop top which is – at the very least – bra adjacent, but that is all anyone can ask for at this point. I top this off with a sloppy T-shirt that used to belong to Len but which I kept because I had broken it in perfectly. It may not be a huge step up from pyjamas but they’re still clothes, outside clothes.

When I make my way gingerly downstairs, I find Theo sprawled on the sofa.

‘Hey,’ I say, suddenly weirdly shy. I’ve spent the last two days sleeping and sneezing. I have been a sick, sweaty, cross little gremlin that whole time, and he’s looked after me. There’s not really any reason to start feeling shy now. That ship has sailed. That ship is way over the horizon, tangling with sea monsters.

‘Hey!’ He turns to me, a pleased smile spreading across his face, and the dimple is out and it feels like someone has flipped a light switch inside me. ‘You’re up!’ Then he sneezes four times in a row.

‘Oh, no.’ I take a step towards him.

‘I don’t feel too bad,’ he insists, though his nose is pink and his eyes look a little glassy. ‘Just some sneezing and a bit of a headache. Nothing life-threatening.’ I lean over him, touching my hand to his forehead.

‘You’re not hot,’ I sigh, relieved.

‘That’s a matter of opinion, thanks,’ he replies, his voice muffled. I look down and realize that I’m standing bracketed by his long legs, pressing my chest right next to his face.

‘Oops, sorry!’ I take a sharp step back.

‘Didn’t hear me complaining,’ he murmurs, but I ignore that. Flirty Theo has returned, it seems, and I remind myself not to read too much into things, that any feelings of a warm, tingly nature need to be firmly quashed.

‘Let’s get some of those vitamins in you,’ I say over my shoulder, going to grab a bottle of juice from the fridge. When I come back into the living room I throw it at him. He catches it easily, cracks it open to start drinking, and I try not to watch the movement of his throat.

‘Someone sent you something.’ Theo gestures to the coffee table where he’s left a small box addressed to me. ‘There’s another one too, I shoved it over there.’ He points by the window and there’s a giant box sitting on the floor. I can’t believe I missed it. Too busy looking at Theo, which, I chide myself, is not a good idea. Does he have a pretty face? Yes. Does he have the body of an underwear model? Yes. Is he also surprisingly sweet and caring? Sure… I’m losing track of my own point here and I blink, focussing on the boxes instead.

I tackle the giant box first and Theo gets up to help me. It’s an enormous, floppy stuffed unicorn, the kind a child could use as a beanbag. It has a rainbow-coloured mane and it’s wearing a homemade sash, beauty-queen style, that says, GET WELL SOON, CLEMMIE!

‘From Lil,’ I smile. The most perfectly Lil gift, ever.

Theo is still examining the unicorn (‘Can we call him Corny?’ he asks) when I open Serena’s gift. If the unicorn was perfectly Lil, then this is certainly Serena. It’s a jumbo-sized bottle of echinacea and an extremely expensive-looking, all-the-bells-and whistles, also jumbo-sized, purple vibrator.

I snort, reading the card.