Rather than get the metro, I walked, deciding the fresh air would do me some good and that the exercise would make me feel less guilty about my intention to spend the rest of the daysleeping. I was halfway home when the text message from Finn came.How’s Quasimodo?That was okay. No lies required.
He’s fine, I typed back. The cursor started flashing immediately.
What aren’t you saying?
I pulled a face at my phone.What do you mean?
You always have something else to say. So not saying anything is highly suspicious. Did you burn the flat down?
If I’d burned it down, Quasimodo wouldn’t be fine, would he?
Did you stay there last night?
Yes.
And?
And nothing. What do you want me to say?Even as I typed it, I damned Cormac and him getting me to agree not to say anything to high hell.
So the flat is fine?
It was when I left an hour ago.Apart from having a sleeping Cormac in it.
You’re hiding something.
I’d obviously seriously underestimated Finn’s capabilities if he could sniff out half-truths in a simple text message.
I groaned inwardly as I jogged up the stairs to my flat. The groan doubled when I reached it to find Henri sitting outside, messing about on his phone. Henri was one of my oldest friends, but if I listed them from needy to less-needy, he’d be right at the top, way above Finn.
He lifted his head as I approached and smiled when he saw it was me. I lifted a hand to stall any greeting while I typed out a message.I have to go. I’ve just got home to find Henri waiting for me. Which means there’s some sort of problem.At least it got me out of the conversation with Finn, even if plunged me into another situation I doubted I could handle in my current state.
Fine. We’ll talk later, and you can tell me what’s going on.
“Who was that?” Henri asked in French as I unlocked the door. He didn’t wait for an invitation before stepping inside.
“Finn.” I threw my bag on the floor and myself on the sofa, laying my head back against the cushions and enjoying the feeling of my aching skull being cradled.
Henri’s face immediately lit up at the mention of the name. He’d taken one look at Finn the first time I’d introduced them and developed the sort of crush a teenager would have been proud of. “How is he?”
“Still with Cillian. Still loved-up. Still very muchnotsingle.”
“I know that.”
“Do you?” I narrowed my eyes at him. “Because you’ve never been rational when it comes to Finn. It was like someone had slipped you a love potion and no matter what I tell you, or how much Finn ignores you, the effects just never wear off. What about when they get married? Will that get through to you?”
“Marriages don’t always last.”
I laughed, regretting it when the movement did absolutely nothing for my head. “So that’s your play, is it? Stick it out and wait for the divorce.”
“You were the one who said Finn deserved better.”
I let out a frustrated sigh. “I said that before I’d even met Cillian.” I rubbed at my thigh, the leg I’d once broken, and that had made life even more difficult during its rehabilitation, choosing this moment to provide me with some phantom twinges. Normally, it only played up when it was cold and wet, but it was making an exception today. Perhaps it had things to say about the overconsumption of vodka. “You’re not getting Finn. Not now. Not in the future. Not ever. He’s not interested. He never was interested.” Silence made me lift my head to find Henri regarding me with a wounded expression.
“Shit! I’m sorry. I’m hungover and I haven’t had a lot of sleep. I know you liked Finn, but the feeling wasn’t mutual, and you’dbe far better forgetting about him. He and Cillian are like that.” I held up two crossed fingers to demonstrate my point. “They’re in it for the long haul. Marriage. Kids. Till death us do part.” And why did that suddenly make me feel so damn sad? “One day, they’ll move back to England and neither of us will hear anything from them again.”
“Were you drinking alone?”
There was a genuine note of concern in Henri’s voice.
