Page 57 of Birds of a Feather

His smile dropped.

‘I’m joking,’ I said, standing up as the pod neared the base of the attraction.

‘Ha! Bloody hilarious,’ he said dryly. He wrapped his arm around my shoulder as we stepped out onto the platform and onto solid ground.

Chapter 26

Beth

By the time we’d made it off the London Eye, the sun had disappeared behind the clouds and the temperature had dropped. I was glad I had my jacket, which conveniently tucked away into a small bag that fitted easily into my backpack.

‘It’s getting chilly,’ Nick said, looking to the sky as if searching for answers about what it had planned for the rest of the day. ‘I should have brought a jacket. You’d think as a meteorologist who’s lived in London their whole life I’d know better.’

I had learned the hard way that Australia’s autumn and spring temperatures were not the same as those in London. My first trip to London was in an April, when I wrongly assumed light sweaters, T-shirts and jeans would suffice. After enduring the freezing elements for days, I finally relented and bought a woollen jumper, thick tights, a scarf and gloves to protect me from the elements.

‘My place isn’t far from Kensington Palace. Do you mind if we duck in quickly so I can grab my jacket?’ Nick asked, crossing his arms for warmth.

‘Of course not,’ I replied, happy to have an opportunity for a nosy at where he lived. ‘I can hang back, if you need to rush ahead to stash any dead bodies you’ve got lying around.’

‘No need,’ he replied with a coy grin. ‘The trash went out this morning.’

We took the tube, which offered some welcome respite from the plummeting air temperature, and then emerged from the underground station as big heavy raindrops started to tumble.

‘This way,’ Nick said dashing off up the street. ‘It’s not far.’

We arrived at his front door a few minutes later, both puffing but only slightly wet. Nick led me through a lovely light foyer and up the stars to his flat. We stepped into a large, light room, with a modern white marble kitchen on one side and a tastefully decorated lounge area on the other. The dark timber parquetry floor was stunning.

‘Sorry about the mess,’ he said, rushing to put a plate, which carried a scattering of toast crumbs, and an empty coffee cup in the dish drawer under the island bench. The rest of the room was immaculate. But it wasn’t just that it was tidy; there was a sense of precision and order that reminded me of my house. The few items stuck to the front of his fridge were arranged neatly and evenly spaced; it certainly wasn’t the haphazard jumble of mismatched fridge magnets and old electricity bills that my parents had. And I was impressed to see a whiteboard meal planner set his culinary intentions for the week. I tried not to smile when I saw ‘fried rice’ had been crossed off and replaced by a big circled star on the night we met at the pub.

‘I was in a hurry to get out the door this morning to come and see you, so I didn’t quite get to putting my breakfast dishes away.’

‘Are you kidding? I grew up in a house that could have been in an episode of Hoarders,’ I said. ‘This place is amazing.’

Apart from a large television mounted opposite a plush cream couch, the walls of the rooms were bare. A thriving fiddle-leaf fig occupied one corner of the room, while a bookshelf ran the length of the opposite wall. I moved towards it for a closer look; I have always thought you could tell everything you needed to know about a person by the books they kept.

The top two-thirds housed all the usual suspects: biographies of noted world leaders and sporting heroes, a couple of the classics, a number of New York Times bestsellers and an impressive collection of travel guides. The books were interspersed with a few framed photos and a selection of small ornaments. The bottom two rows were a block of sunflower yellow, created by what I immediately recognised as the spines of National Geographic magazines.

‘Have you lived here long?’ I asked.

‘Sort of,’ he replied, making his way through the lounge to one of two closed doors. ‘I’ve lived here for about five years. But it’s been in my family for a while. My family …’ He paused as if carefully selecting his words. ‘… has a few properties around the place.’

From what Gran had told me, it didn’t surprise me that his family would hold an extensive real estate portfolio. While he needn’t have downplayed his family’s wealth on my account, I appreciated he didn’t flash it around. In my experience, this spoke to how much they had.

Nick entered the room off the lounge, leaving the door open just enough for me to spot a bed with a light grey linen cover, which had been roughly pulled up over the mattress, and a stack of books on one of the bedside tables.

He appeared a few moments later with a jacket in hand and three scarves – one black, one grey and one blue-and-maroon striped.

‘Do you think you’ll want a scarf?’ he offered, holding out the selection of scarves for me to choose one.

I was touched by his thoughtfulness. I thanked him, took the black one and wrapped it around my neck. It was incredibly soft – a quick check of the label told me it was cashmere – and it carried the subtle spiced notes of his aftershave. I inhaled deeply. He draped the grey scarf across his shoulders.

‘Is that your soccer team?’ I asked, pointing to the blue-and-maroon scarf he’d placed on the arm of the couch with the amount of care that might be afforded to a sleeping baby or an unexploded ordnance.

‘Soccer? You mean football,’ he said with a smirk. ‘Yes. I’ve been a mad Aston Villa fan since … forever. I live for their games, actually.’

I nodded noncommittally. I knew nothing about soccer, but being Australian, I understood the hold that sports teams have on people.

‘Do you mind if I use your bathroom before we go?’

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