“Too true. Sadly.”
“Eleven seems so young now.”
“I know,” Adam said. “I still sucked my thumb. I had two tigers, stuffed tigers from the gift shop at Singapore Zoo. They were balding from being in my bed since I was small. And every night I waited till the other boys fell asleep so I could bring out my tigers and sort of sniff them, stroke their bald patches, get some thumb-sucking going.”
“And do you still do it? When you go to bed?”
“I would! I’d love nothing more. But something awful happened. When my parents split up, my mum moved back here with me. My dad stayed behind, and I spent one holiday a year with him. On the last one, just as I was leaving school, the last holiday before he died, he gave me a huge backpack for Christmas. It had a little, smaller bag that clipped on, sort of like a day pack. I had them in there, the tigers.”
“What were their names?”
“Tigey and Cuddles.”
They both laughed for a long time.
“This is already the worst story I’ve ever heard,” Coralie said. “It’s the saddest, most heartbreaking story ever. I don’t think I even want to know what happened.”
“By the time I got to Heathrow, the small pack had come off—gone. They were gone.”
“Awful, awful. But what about your thumb? You still have that.”
They both gazed down at it. “It’s nothing special on its own, though. Not without stroking the missing bits of fur, giving their ears a sniff, you know. The whole experience.”
So he was half an inch taller than the average British male (and fine with it), divorced (and fine with it), outside the iTunes podcast top ten in an obscure category (and fine with it)—and a thumb-sucker. Coralie pushed her wineglass to the side. She rested her palmon the table, close to his. He stretched his hand forward and touched hers. Their fingers gently interlaced. Now they gazed at each other. His pupils were enormous and black. She wished she knew how to draw. She’d love to draw his face. After a moment, he came round to her side of the table. They leaned forward, and she felt for a moment like she’d tip overinto himand join him—inside him. They kissed.
“Wow,” Adam said.
“Wow!”
“If Tigey and Cuddles could see me now!”
2
Outside the pub, she stopped. “God, why is it so cold? Which way are you going?”
“I live on Wilton Way—up past the park. What about you? Was that your flat next to the Cat and Mutton?”
“Don’t tell any murderers, but yes.” They started walking in the same direction. “It’s been awful, actually,” she found herself saying. “I thought British pubs had to close by eleven. But the noise kept me up until one last night. I can’t wait to get home to bed.”
She knew if they found themselves alone somewhere private, it would be game over. She didn’t have anyThe Rules–ish worries about not seeing him again if they had sex. It was more that she wanted the chatting and laughing to go on forever. Equally, she craved being alone, to take out her memories of their long afternoon and evening together to pore over—she could spend days going over these hours. Weeks. She didn’t say any of this out loud, but she saw him take it in, make sense of it, and agree.
They walked, their shoulders touching. As they got closer, Adam groaned. There was an A-frame chalkboard on the pavement in front of her flat.
GOOD FRIDAY?
GREAT FRIDAY!
TUNES TILL LATE
They turned to face each other. She could see their breath hanging in the cold air. “Why don’t you sleep at mine?”
She inspected him carefully. “But where will you sleep?”
“Um? At yours? I don’t care about noise.”
“I don’t even know your surname.”
“It’s Whiteman. Not Adam John Whiteman, who killed his grandmother. I’m AdamAlexanderWhiteman. That’s for when you google me. Do you need anything before I drop you at my house? Toothbrush?”
