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“Honey, that isn’t going to happen.  But you know they wouldn’t have wanted to leave you, not for anything.  Especially not on your own.  Do you know how badly they wanted to give you a brother or sister?”

“They did? They never mentioned it.  Never.”

“When you were young, they went through so much wi
th the doctors. It just didn’t happen though.
This was their ni
ghtmare: to see you left alone. That’s why I’m here.
You need company, and I can’t be here all the time, so I’m going to help you make a plan.” Her eyes were serious, and I knew I had no choice, so I didn’t bother to argue.

“What do you suggest?”

“I think you need a flatmate, another student to share this house with you – it isn’t such a hardship – you’ve moved into your mum and dad’s room, so you have an en-suite, and your lodger can have
her own bedroom and bathroom.
The money would help you with ongoing expens
es and they would give you some company.”

“A flatmate?
Like some old mature student keeping tabs o
n me and reporting back to you?
My parents wouldn’t
ever do that to me!”
I was infuriated at her suggestion.

“No, not like t
hat, you could pick the person.
It just has to be s
omeone you’re comfortable with.
Anything to make sure you don’t fall any further into this depression.”

I could see the concern in Sandra’s face, the worry she carried in h
er shoulders.
It wasn’t fair
of me to increase her anxiety.
I wrote the advert with her sitting b
eside me, both of us in tears.

I put the advert in the paper with the hope of getting a female lodger – well actually, I’d hoped for no lodger at all, b
ut beggars can’t be choosers.

Several students answered my
advert.
Rental wise,
I’d been lucky with the timing.
The new semester started in September and
my advert ran in early August.
Also, the new halls of residence that were meant to be built by the university had overrun on their building schedule and wouldn
’t be complete until Christmas.
Perhaps that was why the university were so keen to keep my place ope
n despite my personal problems.
There was a definitive shortage of student lettings in our town, and I had a prim
e spot for a potential renter.

I’d read through all the applications of the people that asked to let my spare room
and there were two I favoured.
Claire was a maths student who, from her application, kept a
low profile and enjoyed Sudoku.
Julia was studying English and liked watching chick-
flicks.
They both sounded like girls I could live with.

However, strangely, they both found places to live the day before Aunt Sandra an
d I were due to interview them. Together.
As had al
l the other applicants but one. Marty Glean.
He was a fourth yea
r medical student.
I argued for over an hour with Aunt
Sandra that he must be a loser.
Who managed to get through three years of university without making enough friend
s to find someone to live with?
He truly must be a loser – some skinny, spotty nerd w
ho would make my life hell.
My words had hung in the air as a confident knock rattled on the door.

Aunt
Sandra got up and let him in.
Thank God, as I would have probably fainted at th
e sight that entered the room.
Tall, well-built, light brown hair with
blue eyes and thick, full lips.
A rugby player’s build, but he’d clearly never taken a hit to t
hat beautiful face in his life.
He smiled as he entered the room, revealing perfect dimples on his cheeks and teeth that
even a dentist would kill for.
I’d never seen a more attractive person.

“You’re Marty Glean?” My voice sounded squeaky
and young, even to my own ears.
Aunt Sandra indicated that he should sit down an
d she started pouring out tea.

“Yes.
I bet you’re wondering how someone manages to get through three years of university without making enough friends to find someone to live wi
th; he must be a loser, right?”
His voice, unlike mine, was smooth and lilting, his tone frien
dly, his blue eyes sparkling.

I stuttered and turned red. “Well, I was curious.
You’ve been here for three years, why aren’t you living with a friend?”

He smiled sweetly, like he knew my thoughts. “The strangest thing happened: my two flatmates fell in love and before they knew it, they w
ere having a baby of their own.
I felt it was only fair to give them space, let them adjust to this wonder
ful change in their own lives.
I’m told that sort o
f love can be all encompassing.
It was right to let them experi
ence that without my trespass.”
He stared right at me, as though he knew I had belittled the thought of a student who needed to
rent a room from a first year.
“What are you studying, Claudia?”

Now it was my turn to feel belittled – this beautiful man was going
to be a doctor and save lives.
My voice sound
ed almost ashamed as I answered:

“Drama and English.”

“That sounds interesting – I do ad
ore poetry, especially Blake.  ‘
Once a dream did weave a shade
’ – you know that one? It’s one of my favourites.”

I shook my head, not wanting to embark on a discussion of poetry.

“Shame.  Blake was such an interesting soul, having visions and…”

“So you know why I am
looking for a flatmate, then.”
I rudely interrupted him, not wishing to listen
to him talk about a dead poet.

“
Your aunt told me on the phone.
You need company, your parents died tragically, and there is a worry that you will get lonely withou
t another person in the house.”
His statement ripped through me, even though there wasn’t a hint of antagonism in his voice, merely fact.

“That pretty much sums it up.
You ha
ve your own room, own bathroom.
We share th
e downstairs.
The thi
rd floor is out of your bounds.
Is that OK?”

“Sure.”

“Well, OK then.”

And that was it, I had a new flatmate.

In the first few days, I
didn’t see that much of Marty.
He ca
me and went without much noise.
On the odd occasions where I did encounter him, he would try to make pleasant conversation with me and I would respond in vague grunts, not wishing to
engage in small talk with him.
I resented his presence, viewing him as a constant reminder that m
y parents no longer lived here.
I didn’t want to get to know him, because I did
n’t want him to be in my house.
He seemed quick to pick u
p on my wish to isolate myself.
He only tried to talk me in
to going out of the house once.
On that occasion, I’d ended up in the kitchen at the same time as him.

“Hello, Claudia.” Marty smiled warmly at
me, as I walked into the room.
The moment before he spoke, I had considered returning to my room and coming back later to avoid talking to him – even in my short-tempered state, I wasn’t bitchy enough to leave now he’d spoken.

“Hi.”
I kept my eyes down, striding past him and gra
bbing a mug from the cupboard.

“Are you having tea?
I’
ll make a pot for us to share.”
Marty flicked the kettle on.

“I’m having coffee.”
I had actually wanted tea, but I didn’
t want to spend time with him.

“Are you busy this afternoon?”  Marty seemed to be immune to my attempts
to shut down the conversation.
He looked a
t me, managing to catch my eye.
I wanted to look away, yet somehow his blue eyes held my gaze and I felt unabl
e to break away from his stare.
I almost fo
rgot to reply to his question.

“Why?” I finally muttered.

“I wondered if you wanted to come to the rowing club – they’re preparing for a competition, it c
an be very exciting to watch.”
His eyes stayed locked on mine, and
I struggled to say no to him.
I finally snapped out of the stupor his eyes had put me under.

“Why would I want to do that?”
I sounded hard, harsh, unfeeling.

“You might have fun, do
ing something new for a change.
They say a change is as good as a rest.” Marty’s smile was equally alluring and infuriating to me.

“I don’t wa
nt any more changes in my life. I don’t want to go.”
I hoped that would be enough to dismiss him, but his blue eyes stayed
hypnotically staring at mine.

“You don’t
want to go?”
He sounded like I’d just told him I’d drowned a puppy – like he couldn’t believ
e I was capable of such an act.
I suspected with his looks he wasn’t u
sed to people saying no to him.
It made me more determined to fight against his attempts to involve me in normal life.

“No.” I folded my arms across my ch
est, in a gesture of defiance.

“You have to co
ntinue your life at some point.
You’re not the only person to have lost people they love.”

“And you’v
e lost your parents, have you?”
I wanted to hate him for his interference, but my bitchiness was an act; he was too attractive to hate.

“No…”

“
Then you don’t get an opinion.”
I spun around out of the kitchen, not bothering to get my drink.  I now had another reason to resent Marty.  I resented him for the fact that, as much as I tried to ignore it and fig
ht it, I was attracted to him.

The third floor became my sanctuary – I could have showers, watch TV, go online and read my beloved books without having to interface with anyone. I began to think Marty had followed my advice and was leaving me alone, until a knock on my bedroom door on the fourth day of his tenancy.

“What do you want?”
I’d practically bellowed at the poor soul.

“Umm, I’m sorry, Claudia.
I didn’t wish to disturb you, but I have to tell you there are two policemen here to see
you.”
He’d sounded so apologetic I felt awful for being so terse with him,
and opened the door wordlessly.
My throat was full and thick, and I
didn’t have words to apologise.
My eyes must have said everything for me, as all Marty did was gently pat my shoulder as I walked down the stairs
to talk to the police officers.
Silently,
I knew Marty was following me.
I stumbled when I saw the policemen, but Marty’s swift hand ca
ught my elbow and steadied me.
Seeing the same policemen that had delivered the awful news, standing in the same hallway, triggered emotions that felt
too powerful for me to handle.
Marty’s hand stayed strong on my elbow.

“Hello, again.”
I would have liked to smile at the officers, but some
how it just didn’t seem right.
I could see the pity in their eyes.

“We’re sorry to bother you, Miss Lee, we have some items that belonged to your parents which were
recovered from the collision.”
One officer spoke whilst
the other held out a small box.
I didn’t move, so Marty took the box from the officer.

“Thanks,” I stuttered.

After the policemen had left, I sat at the kitchen table wi
th the box, afraid to open it.
I could hear the tick of the clock, and knew there was no way to avoid this moment, but I
couldn’t bring myself to do it.
This felt more final, more irreversible,
than even the funeral had been.
Opening that box meant the
y were truly never coming back.
I don’t know how long I sat at the table,
staring trance-like at the box.
The scrape of one of the other chairs stirred me out of
my frozen state. Marty sat down next to me.
I didn’t even realise I’d been crying until he wiped tears
off my cheeks with his thumbs.
It seemed like such an intimate gesture,
but it brought me some comfort.