soft snores tickling Leo’s ear. Until dawn, Leo watched his new friend sleep. And not until the morning sun began to light the dormitory did Leo sneak back into his own bed.
7th October
Twenty-five days . . .
7:11 a.m.—Goldie
I have a confession. I’m sort of stalking Leo. I’m not tapping his phone or following him home—though I happen to know he’s studying law at Saint John’s, and for some reason (probably an overprotective mother—I recognize the signs) he spends some nights at the hotel with his parents. Admittedly, I clean his family’s suite more thoroughly than is strictly necessary, lingering over certain things such as his shampoo and shirts. I know it’s not part of my job description to tend to his wardrobe, or sniff his toiletries, but I like to go above and beyond in my duties.
Last night, while dusting the interior of Leo’s bedside table, I discovered his diary. I didn’t read it. I may be a thief and a liar, but I still have certain moral standards. I haven’t even opened it. And I won’t. No matter how tempted I am. Cross my heart and hope to die.
After the curious experience of commanding Leo, nothing out of the ordinary has happened. Life has been boring and benign, which, though I don’t exactly revel in it, is certainly preferable to strange and unexpected. I go to work, clean lavatories, daydream about Leo, hoover floors, polish mirrors, dust carriage clocks. I go home, feed Teddy, help with his homework, clean the flat, go to bed. After nearly a week of that, I’ve almost forgotten the experience altogether. Which is why I’m shocked when it happens again.
I’m hoovering the first-floor corridors when I glance up to see Mr. Penry-Jones striding towards me. For a second I’m still, since there’s every chance his son might be striding along behind him. He isn’t. But before I can continue hoovering, Mr. Penry-Jones steps past me, treading on the hoover cord without a word of excuse to me, or anything else to acknowledge my existence, and continues on his merry way.
Dickhead, I think. I hope you fall and twist your bloody ankle.
A second later, he trips over the twisting cord and is thrown forward, splayed out on the plush purple carpet like a starfish. I nearly laugh but am stopped by shock. A coincidence, surely?
“Don’t stand there gawping, idiotic girl,” he snaps, half lifting his head. “Call the doctor. I think I’ve twisted my bloody ankle.”
That has me gawping a good few seconds longer, but I pull myself together and go. As I’m hurrying down the hallway, I feel another surge of strength. All at once I’m taller, stronger, faster. I can command armies, I think. I can topple nations. I have magic at my fingertips . . . I feel as if my head were brushing the ceiling and my feet have lifted from the floor. I’m seized by a strange sensation of slipping my fingers into wet earth, touching elongated roots. I’m coaxing them, controlling them, pulling a fully formed tree fresh from the ground. Then, all at once, the roots are rebelling, wrapping round my wrists, tugging me underground. A rush of panic snatches hold of me—I start to shrink back and sink down so, by the time I reach the stairs, I’m small and insignificant again. What the hell was that? I think, as I hurry to get help.
7:48 a.m.—Goldie
Garrick dismisses me as soon as he reaches Mr. Penry-Jones, still prostrate on the carpet and whining like a little girl, clutching at his ankle. I leave Garrick clucking and fawning over his guest like a neurotic ma. I wait till I’m safe behind the door to room 17 before I burst out laughing, stifling the sound in my apron.
I go slower after that, though, distracted by my thoughts. I don’t know. It’s strange. As a kid, all I wanted was to be strong. Stronger than the adults around me. But, now that I might be, I find it oddly unnerving.
I save Leo’s room for last, the way I used to save sweets as a kid. I’ve not taken anything but I’ve done worse, since a violation of privacy is a far greater sin than theft. Okay, so I lied. Not only have I been through Leo’s personal things, but I’ve now read his personal thoughts, and some of them are quite surprising.
I’m still sitting on the single bed, when he walks into the room. Mercifully, I’ve just returned the diary to