Page 50 of Milo
“Well hello, Milo. I thought you’d moved out,” an amused voice calls out.
I turn and face him on the stairs. “You know very well that I haven’t.”
Oz shrugs, his face alight with mischief. “How would I know? You never call. You never write. You use this place like a hotel.”
“I’m sure this lecture is being recycled from your mum.”
He laughs. “If it was it would be minus a lot of expletives. You try not calling her for a week and see what you get.”
I turn and walk up the stairs, the sound of my feet on the wood as familiar as the skin on the back of my hands. I clear the stairs and look around the attic rooms that are mine. I claimed this area when I moved out of Niall’s rooms as soon as I felt better. Silas had offered me a lovely room with a view over the lavender garden, but somehow this place at the top of the house seemed more me.
I came up here and fell in love with the beamed ceilings and the sloping wooden floorboards that were scuffed and worn to a soft, dusty sheen by generations of Ashworth servants. I remember clearing away the cobwebs from the windows and seeing all the way down the majestic gravelled driveway until it curved away into the distance. Another window gave a panoramic view of the sea and I placed my bed directly opposite that, so now I can curl up at night watching the moonlight sparkle on the waves.
Despite the uncomprehending objections of Niall and Silas, I spent a few weeks up here clearing out the attics of all the broken furniture and old boxes. I then sanded the floorboards and varnished them. Niall had insisted on helping, and I’m sure if we’ve left any remnant of ourselves here for future generations, it will be Niall’s curses that will echo down time. One dayMost Hauntedwill visit and all their machinery will pick up is an endless repetition of the wordmotherfucker.
Once that was done, I set about painting the walls. Niall had taken one look at my colour choices and blanched, refusing to do any more and saying it looked like a brothel. I look around and hum contemplatively because actually, it looks like a lovely, warm boudoir.
One wall is painted a deep purple. In front of it is the golden-coloured sofa that I’d found in the corner of the attic and cleaned up because it was insanely comfortable. Now, it’s stuffed with cushions and soft throws and it’s my favourite place to read, like a warm jewelled nest.
The other walls are painted a deep golden colour. Against one wall is my bed, which is a huge cast iron monstrosity that generations of children have probably been born in. But it’s wide and has the most comfortable mattress I’ve ever lain on. And when I lie with the sheets and blankets piled around me, I feel warm and safe.
Through one door is a small bathroom with a cast iron bath and a shower that’s inserted neatly into the slope of the ceiling. It’s painted a bright peacock blue, and when candles are lit it’s like sitting inside a sapphire.
There’s also a small kitchen, which Silas insisted on putting in. I still remember him looking around with a half-sad smile on his face, saying that he hoped I would feel free up here and safe from everyone. At the time I didn’t understand his sadness because safety and solitude were things I yearned desperately for. Now, I think I get it because this place has been my sanctuary for too long and I recognise that fact now that I don’t want to retreat here anymore like a tortoise into its shell. It’s like I’ve been asleep for a long while, but now I’m coming awake slowly and at times painfully.
I look around and have a sudden yearning to be back in Niall’s bed with the curtains billowing in the wind while I snuggle under covers that smell of a mix of our sex and nestle into the heat of his body as he grabs me tighter. I remind myself that he’s probably wrapped around Gideon and Jacinta’s bodies at the moment and feel the dip of my stomach like I might throw up.
The clattering of footsteps is a welcome interruption to my thoughts, and I turn to see Oz pushing into the room. “Fucking hell,” he gasps. “You must be part mountain fucking goat, Milo. Only that could explain why you aren’t purple in the face after climbing those stairs.”
“The stairs aren’t that steep,” I say, smiling. “You just need to work on your fitness.”
“I’d have to have the fitness of Tom Daley to cope with those stairs.”
He throws himself onto the sofa, disappearing into the cushions for a second. Wriggling around, he reappears and pats the seat next to him invitingly. “Come to Oz, Milo. Let’s have a look at you.”
“Please don’t say that. Our old nanny used to use the phrase shortly before she made us clean our ears out.”
“Well, I’m sure you’re perfectly capable of cleaning your own small appendages.” He pauses. “At least I hope so.” I chuckle, and he grins. “Come and sit down. I need to talk to you.”
I grimace. “Is it something to do with Niall?”
“Nooo,” he says somewhat unconvincingly. “I just want to know why you’ve come home.”
“So, it is about Niall.”
“Ah, but you mentioned his name, not me,” he says somewhat triumphantly. “Please remember that if Silas questions you.” He turns suddenly serious, giving me that far-reaching look that always makes you think that he really knows you. I look at the smile in his eyes. Knows and likes you.
I shake my head defeatedly and slink over to the sofa. “Okay,” I sigh. “Let’s get it over with.”
He makes a moue of distaste. “Please,Milo. You’re making this so much more painful than it should be.”
“How is that even possible? Okay, I’m home because it was time for me to come back.”
Silence reigns for a second. “And that’s it?” His disgust is my undoing and I snort. “No, seriously, is that it? No drama, no throwing of pots, no cutting up of clothes?”
“You’ve been watching one of theReal Housewivesprogrammes again, haven’t you?”
“It’s either that orIn the Night Garden,which is a lot less exciting than the name makes it sound.” He stares at me. “No argument at all?”
