‘So, Esther.’ He clears his throat and the change in tone is enough to make me focus. He’s looking at me seriously. ‘I’m having such a great time, I love chatting to you. Would you like to do it again sometime?’ He sounds nervous. ‘I mean IRL next time!’ He laughs awkwardly. ‘Like a proper date?’
I take a deep breath. This time around I will be an adult. This time I won’t hedge or date someone I don’t really like because I’m a pathetic coward. I will be honest and matureand tell him the truth. I’ll tell Will that he’s a lovely man and that it was fun catching up, but that I don’t think we’re a good fit. I’ll wish him all the best and we’ll say goodbye like adults.
‘Will,’ I begin sombrely. ‘I want you to know’ – oh fuck this is hard – ‘errrrrm, that, er, the connection keeps cutting out and I didn’t hear what you said.’ I quickly freeze in place, as if the screen has frozen, giving it a few seconds, before frantically hitting the disconnect button. Will’s face disappears.
Ah, feck it, I’ll text him a Dear John later.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
It feels like ages since we were in The Swab, watching Bibi not work. So much has been happening recently, so many exhausting emotions, it’s a genuine relief to find a bit of normalcy here, drinking gross wine and talking about nothing.
‘Can you serve those people at the bar, Bibi?’ Franco is asking her politely. She doesn’t give him the courtesy of eye contact.
‘Will do.’
He moves off awkwardly, knowing Bibi will not do.
Lou gives Bibi a little shove. ‘Why are you so mean to him, Barbarella?’
‘He deserves it.’
I roll my eyes and Lou laughs. ‘No he doesn’t! Really, you should be nicer.’
‘No.’ Bibi sighs aggressively. ‘But OK, fine, I’ll go serve some customers.’ She angrily shoves her wine glass away and stomps off.
In the void she leaves, Lou stares down at her phone, looking a bit lost.
‘Are you OK?’ I whisper, nudging her. She looks up, eyes searching for something in mine.
‘I keep dreaming about your great-uncle Michael – you know, the one who died? Whose funeral we went to all those years ago, when you first saw Idris on Tinder?’
‘Martin,’ I reply automatically, then quickly correct myself. ‘Merton. Great-Uncle Merton.’
‘Merton,’ she nods. ‘Ever since you started talking about Idris again, I’ve been dreaming about him.’
‘Huh.’ I don’t know what to say.
‘Yeah,’ she nods, a sort of relief in her voice. ‘I think it’s because I feel so guilty about how disrespectful we were at his funeral.’
‘You feel guilty about… that?’ I say it slowly. So she can hear how stupid it is. ‘You feel guilty about something from five years ago? You feel bad about a ninety-six-year-old man I didn’t know and you didn’t know even more.’
‘Yes,’ she confirms. ‘I don’t know why, I just really, really do.’
‘Lou…’ I begin slowly. ‘Is there anything you want to talk about?’ I search her face. ‘Anything you want to tell me? Somethingelsethat you’re maybe feeling guilty about? That maybe you’re redirecting into the great-uncle funeral thing?’
There is a long silence between us and she is first to look away.
‘No, I just feel guilty about Great-Uncle Mervyn.’
‘Merton.’
‘Right.’
Bibi returns, bringing with her a bottle. I smile gratefully up at her before checking my phone emails and sighing loudly for attention.
‘Still nothing?’ Bibi looks vaguely sympathetic.
‘It’s been over a week,’ I complain.
