You Are So Not a Fallen Angel

Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Flora came skipping across the square, a wide smile on her face. She wasn’t quite stewing rose petals from a basket, but it wasn’t that much of a mental leap.

“You’re in a good mood,” I remarked. “Good looking, was he?”

“You have no idea.” The smile widened. “You know, I was too hasty to judge before. I used to think this place was a dump, but it really isn’t that bad.”

“Well, I’m glad you’ve come to your senses.”

“At least, it isn’t as bad as I thought it would be.”

“Who is he, anyway?”

Flora shot me a knowing look.

“That would be telling,” she said. I shrugged. Flora’s love life didn’t interest me that much.

“Is this going to become a regular thing?” Flora gripped my arm and giggled.

“I hope so.”

“Are you going to tell your parents, or are we going to continue with this ridiculous charade?”

“Why don’t we keep this as our little secret for the meanwhile?” I opened my mouth to utter a swift rebuttal, to explain I had better things to do than run about covering for her while she went off to meet some stranger, but I changed my mind.

“If that’s what you want.” If Flora was off making doe-eyes at some guy, she was less likely to be getting on my nerves. And it was always good to be owed a favour. And if that didn’t work out, there was always blackmail.

“Thank you, Eliza!” Flora threw her arms around me and squeezed me hard.

I pushed open my bedroom door and my heart pounded as I caught sight of a piece of paper lying on my pillow. I leapt across the room and grabbed it, hoping it was a message from my very own heavenly messenger, but it was nothing but a scrap of waste paper, the remains of a to-do list that must have been blown off my desk. I screwed it up and tossed it away. I was disgusted. What was wrong with me? What was so special about Lorris (apart from the obvious) that he had the power to put me in such a state?

Too riled up to flop onto my bed and wallow in boredom and self-pity, I decided the best course of action was to clean. I hated any form of cleaning and tidying with a passion, but it would take my mind off certain problems. I proceeded to blitz the room from top to bottom, throwing away rubbish, dusting surface, and vacuuming the carpet. I put all my clothes back on their hangers and refolded everything in my chest of drawers. I rearranged all the paper on my desk and put most of them in boxes, which I hauled up to the attic.

Once I had finished, the room was spotless, and I was back to where I had started. Thinking about him. There was no winning sometimes.

I went to bed that evening still seething with rage, which was not conductive to peaceful sleep. I tossed and turned for a couple of hours, before falling into a restful sleep. I woke up at about two, heart racing. I lay in the dark, eyes staring at the ceiling, wondering what had just happened. Had I been dreaming of something? Or had something else woken me up?

 I stood up and tiptoed out to the corridor. There wasn’t a sound, but still I wasn’t reassured. I crept down the stairs, pausing at every landing to listen carefully. I couldn’t hear anything, but I couldn’t make myself go back to bed. I reached the last landing and surveyed the front, looking for anything abnormal. There was nothing.

This is stupid, I told myself. I turned to head back upstairs and, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a flash of light. I spun around, colliding with a ill-placed table, knocking several brass ornaments to the floor with a crash.