—
Paul and Miranda and I are waiting patiently for George in the pub. We’re on our second round of drinks and Miranda has quick-fired questions at me mercilessly. Paul has cringed as Miranda drags out of me details about the holiday and about George. Miranda and I are loving every second of it.
“How big?” she asks, gesturing to Paul’s pint glass. “Here?” she puts her hand somewhere near the top and I shake my head, raising her hand higher.
“You lucky devil,” Miranda squawks and offers me a high five, which I accept.
Paul looks at his pint glass with disgust. “For fuck’s sake,” he says as he pushes the glass further away from him. “You can’t ask her stuff like that,” he chastises Miranda. “And you’ve broken every code there is by answering,” he moans at me.
“What?” Miranda turns to Paul. “I have to ask her this sort of thing now, because when she’s all in love and loyal in about a month’s time, I’ll not get any details from her.” She turns back to me. “Tell me everything.”
“Oh, please don’t,” Paul says and looks out the window into the darkness of the offices nearby.
“Eleven times,” Miranda says a moment later. “Eleven. Times. How did you not get a UTI?”
“I don’t know,” I laugh. “Luck.”
“I think the most Paul and I have managed was five times in a week. We were in Scarborough, do you remember?”
Paul looks horrified. “Miranda!”
I’m chuckling and then looking at my watch. Where is he?
“So,” Paul chimes in. “Other than the sex, which isepic,blah-blah-blah…is he nice? Do you like him?”
“Yeah,” I say, thinking. Although tired, work-hard George in London is a smidge different from relaxed holiday George in Thailand, but I don’t say that.
“I cannot wait to meet him,” Miranda says. “I’m going to fancy him immediately, get flirty and silly, and so I apologize to you right now.”
“Which one of us are you apologizing to?” Paul asks, folding his arms.
“Both of you, obviously,” she says, giving me a wink.
“Good-o,” Paul replies. “Just checking.” He mutters something under his breath and both Miranda and I look at each other and stifle a giggle.
“You did tell him where we meet and at what time?” Miranda asks.
“I did. It was he who suggested he meet you, so I know he’s up for it. He’s just late.”
“I’m starving,” Paul declares and flags the waitress down so we can get some nibbles.
When George walks through the door half an hour later he casts around for us, sees me, gives me a broad grin, and walks over. Although he’s late, that smile diffuses any pretend tensionMiranda had conjured up and nearly diffuses any actual tension Paul had allowed to rumble to the surface. George kisses me as I stand, mumbles, “Sorry,” and then Paul stands, smiles in return, and offers George his hand. The two men nearly shake each other’s hands off, it looks so vigorous. Then George breaks off, kisses the cheek Miranda offers and apologizes to them for his lateness. I notice that he offers no explanation, and I think it’s clear we’re all waiting for one but he goes straight in with, “What’s everyone drinking, can I get a round in?”
“Nah, it’s table service,” Paul offers. “Thanks, though.”
“Excellent,” George says and slides into the empty seat.
It’s clear George is riding theNever explain, never complainmantra to the end, as we’re not finding out why he’s late.
“You OK?” I probe.
“Sure. You?” he asks and sidles in to kiss me quickly.
“I am now,” I say as the waitress moves in to take our order, even though George hasn’t had a chance to look at the menu.
“It’s cool,” George says. “Got plenty of experience with Thai food lately, so I’ll just have…” He reels off a couple of easy dishes, and the waitress nods and scribbles before turning to the rest of us.
George is on form. He has Miranda in fits of giggles. Every now and again Paul casts me looks, the meaning of which I can’t work out. George is fun, friendly, asks questions about Paul and what he does when he’s not working. Not once does he ask either of them what they do for a living, which I once read in a women’s magazine was the most boring question you could ever ask at a dinner party. We talk about holidays, life and fitness schedules, which I’m impressed we venture onto organically, because George doesn’t even mention it. I squeeze his leg under the table and he casts me a contented look, leans over and kisses me quickly before answering Miranda’s question about how long he’s fanciedme.
