“You know,” I giggle.
“I know,” he says. And then, “I gotta run back to work. What are you doing later?”
“Not too much,” I tell him as I turn the corner toward Liverpool Street Station. “Bed for me.”
“Then good night,” he says.
“What areyoudoing later?” I don’t want this conversation to end, despite the fact that I’m nearing the station and the signal will cut out as I enter the Underground.
“Netflix,” he says. “A rare night in for me. Since I started telling people I’m leaving, suddenly I’m Mr. Popular and am booked up for drinks most nights for the foreseeable future.”
“What do you watch on Netflix?” I pause by the escalator, trying to hear our conversation over the multitude of tired-looking commuters.
“Documentaries, mostly. Some unexpected. Some interesting. Some both.”
I take a deep breath, inhale the cold night air. “Enjoy your documentaries.”
“I will. Enjoy your sleep,” he says.
“I will.”
Chapter 4
Miranda is open-mouthedin the pub at our usual table as I show her the picture of Davey. It’s Saturday night and we’re waiting for our food to arrive.
“Oh my God,” she says for the second time. “Is this actually him?”
Paul sips his beer and is done with waiting patiently. He’s given up craning his neck to see, but now he’s had enough and snatches the phone with the words “Fuck’s sake.” He takes a look, then raises his eyebrows. “He looks like he should be in a superhero film. Even I want to shag him now.” He laughs at his own joke and tries to hand the phone back to me, but Miranda pulls it from him, scanning the picture.
“How can you be sure it’s actually him?”
I laugh. “I can’t be sure, obviously, but—”
“What’s his last name? Let’s google him.”
“I…I’ve never asked him, actually.”
Miranda thuds her beer bottle down on the mat. “Still? You’ve still not asked him? You had one job to do.”
I had two jobs, and one was to extract a picture, which I did. Besides, I’m not doing this for her. This is for me. I do actually enjoy hanging out with Davey, even though it’s only on a phone line.
“Anyway, obviously you are now pursuing this man as apotential life partner?” she asks, and after a few seconds I realize she’s deadly serious.
“What? No.”
She points at his picture. “Why not?”
“He’s nice. We talk. But he’s thousands of miles away.”
“But not for long. Get in quick. Now! Before he arrives and someone else snaps him up. They’ll be like bees around a honeypot.”
Paul narrows his eyes. “Don’t beesmakehoney? Why would they crowd around a honeypot? Do you mean flowerpot?”
I stifle a laugh and Miranda just ignores him. “Don’t let him get away,” she says. “Really. I mean it. If he’s as nice as you say…”
“He is.” The pressure of this conversation is stifling.
“And he calls you when he says he will?” she prompts.
