Page 22 of Falling Fast
‘It was an apology.’ He leans back, bracing his hands against the kitchen counter. ‘For what I said last week. I shouldn’t have implied that your job was trivial.’
‘Oh.’ I’m surprised by both his candour and the length of his sentences. ‘Thank you.’
‘And your questions weren’t bullshit. Some of them were actually quite funny. The point is, I was being a dick and I’m sorry.’
I open my mouth to agree before it occurs to me that I could get some leverage out of this. ‘Well, apology accepted. Does this mean you’ve changed your mind about social media?’
‘I value my privacy –’
‘And I respect that.’ I forestall him. ‘I would never ask you to talk about anything you’re not comfortable with, I promise. It would only be promotional stuff for the team.’
His expression wavers. ‘You’re really not going to give up, are you?’
‘Nope.’ I lift my chin.
‘OK –’
‘Bec– Wait. OK?’ I’m so geared up to persuade him, I feel almost deflated. ‘As in, you agree?’
‘Yes. I haven’t changed my mind about social media in general, but I have been thinking about what you said, about bringing attention to issues I care about, and you’re right, I should do that.’
‘Oh … that’s, um, great!’
‘Is something wrong?’ His lips twitch, like he’s enjoying how confounded I am.
‘No-o-o.’ I try to shake my head, but it kind of bobs up and down instead. ‘I just thought I was going to have to persuade you a lot more.’
‘I know. That’s why I’m giving in now.’ He quirks an eyebrow. ‘You seemed very determined.’
I pull my iPad away from my chest and stare sadly at the screen. ‘I made a list of arguments.’
‘A list?’ He looks from me to the iPad. ‘How many bullet points?’
‘Twenty-two.’
‘Impressive.’ He scratches his chin. ‘Can I see?’
‘Sure.’ I start to hand my iPad over and then freeze. Now that I think of it, some of my points might not have been 100 per cent professional. They might even have included such persuasive arguments as ‘Shut The Fuck Up And Do What I Say’ and ‘It Would Make You Less Of A Pigheaded Asshole If You Could Just’. To be honest, I might have had a little too much wine towards the end of my evening’s brainstorm.
‘Actually it’s a little rough.’ I yank the iPad back again. ‘I should probably type it up properly before you read it.’
‘Uh-huh.’ He gives me a look like he knows exactly what I’m thinking before he turns around and reaches for a leaflet on the counter behind him. ‘This is a local charity I support, for kids in care. If you could find a way to help them, then we have a deal.’
‘I definitely can!’ I practically rip the leaflet out of his hands. ‘I could set up a visit. You going there would get a lot of media attention –’
‘No.’ He interrupts me. ‘I want it to be about the kids, not me. And no gala dinner for a bunch of rich people either. I hate all that shit.’
‘OK.’ I purse my lips. ‘It’s just … The thing about rich people is that they tend to have a lot of money for charitable causes.’
‘I know, but I want to do something that draws attention and involves the local community too. The important thing is for these kids to feel like they belong. That means we need local businesses to accept and support them, to offer jobs and apprenticeships, practical things, not just money.’
‘That’s a good point.’ I look down at the leaflet and then back up again. It’s like I’m seeing him through neweyes suddenly (or maybe my old eyes, back when he was my favourite driver). I’m not surprised that he wants to do something so altruistic – not when he’s so allegedly ‘adorable’ – I’m just more impressed than I expected to be. Maybe he isn’t such a huge asshole, after all. Maybe he’s only a medium-sized one … A warm glow tries to ignite in my chest before I ruthlessly suppress it.
‘So what you’re saying is that if I organize some kind of local charity event, you’ll set up some social media accounts?’ I ask.
‘Account. Singular.’ He makes a face. ‘With the proviso that you have to manage it.’
‘Absolutely.’ I nod enthusiastically. ‘I’d be happy to. And I won’t post anything without your approval.’
