By the time George steps into the shower I’m already falling asleep, but he nudges me awake as he climbs into bed, pulls me into his arms, and nuzzles me, until sleepiness is replaced by something else entirely.
—
George is looking at his phone while raiding the cupboards for coffee the next morning. “Do you only have instant?” he asks.
“Yes,” I say, putting on my makeup. “Special coffee comes from the café near the station, or from Joan on Saturdays and some Sundays.”
He sniffs. “Fair enough.” He resumes looking at his phone, narrows his eyes, and looks at me. “He’s called Dex, although we call him Dog. I honestly, hand on heart, cannot remember why now.”
I stare at him as I’m applying mascara in my little hand-mirror. “What?”
He waves his phone at me. “You asked me who my best friend is.”
I blink. “Yes. Yes, I did. Are you only just reading that message now?”
He nods. “I’ve got so many to catch up on.”
“Mr. Popular.”
“Sort of.”
He must be reading his other messages, as he laughs out loud at some and replies to very few. He pockets his phone in his sports jacket, zips it up. “Coffee at the station, did you say?”
“Mmm.”
“Come on then.” He starts jogging on the spot. “When are you going back to the gym, by the way?”
I watch him jogging up and down on the already painfully worn lino. “I’m thinking of starting spin on Fridays and—” I start.
But he cuts back in. “Come to me. I’ll train you for free. If you like?”
“Right. Yeah.” I look down at my stomach.
“I don’t think you’re fat, by the way. In case that’s where your mind had gone.”
I smile. It had. Hotel pancakes, and all that.
“There’s got to be some perks to shagging a personal trainer,” he jokes. “Make use of me.”
“OK, thanks.” And then, “George, do you want to go on a date?”
He looks confused. As if I’m speaking a foreign language. He’s obviously not read that text I sent, then.
“We went on a date. Remember Sirocco?” he asks.
“I do,” I say, thinking of that memorable rooftop experience in Bangkok. “Amazing,” I offer. “Shall we, perhaps, try another one? Perhaps rooftop dining can be ourthing? There’s this great restaurant in the City—” I stop talking because George’s eyes have narrowed.
“Uppity?” he says, without hearing what I had to say.
“I thought we liked uppity?” I suggest. “I thought we took the epic piss out of pretentious while secretly enjoying it, all the same.”
“I’ve not got much money, Hannah.”
“No, well, I’m not exactly a millionaire,” I say. “But I’ll pay if it’s—”
“Whoa!” George says. He stops jogging. “Did you just hear yourself?”
“What?” I ask. “Is it not OK to reciprocate? You treated me so well in Thailand.”
