The Show Must Go On

Chapter Forty-Five: Ode to a Conversation Stuck in Your Throat

Chapter Forty-Five Soundtrack: Ode to a Conversation Stuck in Your Throat by Del Water Gap

My swim comes at a terrible cost.

Because as I emerge from the glittering water, shaking my hair like I'm in a Pantene advert, the world goes quiet. The splashing sea is replaced with a tinny ringing. I've felt this before: I have water in my ear.

This was my curse as a child. Not that I was particularly sporty, but whenever I braved the pool for a few laps on holiday, I would become deaf for a week. It's been so long that I completely forgot about this evolutionary failure. And now, with my head breaching the surface but hearing nothing but ringing, I feel like a beached whale.

'My ear,' I moan. Some melodrama is called for. Everyone else in the water ignores me.

The trip home is much easier when I can't hear the work conversations around me. It turns out that nodding and looking intrigued make up 99% of human interaction.

I text Mei about my troubles, but even before she replies, I know what I have to do. This isn't my first rodeo.

Nas catches me in the kitchen oiling my ear.

'Eleanor,' he asks, and I jolt upright in surprise. 'Correct me if I'm wrong, and I know you will, but... are you pouring extra virgin olive oil into your ear?'

'...Yes.'

I turn to face him and the towel around my shoulders drops to the floor. Strangely, with cooking oil dripping down my neck and my hair in a rat's nest, I feel less self-conscious than I did only a few hours ago. Maybe I'm just pleased to be out of the swimsuit and home in sweats. Maybe I'm just pleased to be home with him.

He's delighted. This image will arm him with mockery for months.

He asks, 'And you know that we have bowls in the kitchen? It's not necessary to use your ear canal as storage.'

'I can't hear.'

'Don't pretend to ignore me. It's beneath you.'

'No, I literally can't hear. I have to pour oil into my ear to fix it.'

'I don't think that much oil will make hearing easier. A little oil, maybe. For seasoning.'

'Shows how much you know.'

I turn my back on him to demonstrate my indifference. Also, if I can't see him, I literally can't hear him. Win-win.

He evidently realises this because he walks around to face me. 'Give me the bottle.'

'I actually have to pour this. I'm being serious.'

Rolling his eyes, he says, 'Obviously I'll pour it for you. You're going to break your neck if you keep that up. Plus you're dripping it all over the floor.'

'That's the rudest way you could have offered.'

'Eleanor, I promise it wasn't even close.' He snaps at me and I hand over the bottle.

He inspects my ear carefully. He's not wrong: very little of the oil has made it into my ear. It's so hard to pour oil sideways into your own ear canal. Do not try it at home.

Tentatively, he drops a little in. I can feel it sliding down, like a tiny tadpole, and thank God Nas is doing it because I shudder at the sensation.

He pulls back and looks very seriously at me.

'Eleanor, I'm sorry to tell you, but oiling your ear isn't sexy.'

I wrap my arms around his shoulders. 'Nasir, I'm sorry to tell you, but I'm naturally sexy. No effort required.'