‘If it doesn’t feel like you, then it’s probably right,’ he says in jest.
Thinly veiled attack aside, it’s not the worst logic to go by. . . Although not the easiest thing to put into practice. If it doesn’t feel like me, how am I even supposed to think of it in the first place? The napkins still aren’t right. He puts them back and we turn into the crockery aisle.
He gives me a once-over. ‘We should probably lay out some further ground rules, though– stop you showing up likethisevery day. You need to check the weather and know when your bus is coming.’
I purse my lips, trying to hide my excitement at the thought of redownloading my apps.
‘A normal degree of planning is fine,’ he continues, grabbing a seashell bowl from one of the shelves. ‘Pose with this.’
He holds the bowl out to me as I stare back, flummoxed by the sudden interruption.
‘What do you mean?’ I ask.
‘Pose with this. I need a picture for Evie,’ he says, straight-faced, as I still stare back in confusion.
I take it from him in silence, holding it up to the side with the kind of pride reserved for championship trophies. His lip curls at my bravado, smile conveniently hidden by his phone as he snaps a photo.
‘Beautiful. Now, as I was saying, you can schedule things in as far as a week ahead, but you have to say yes to plans on the day if you don’t already have something in.’
‘Within reason,’ I say to remind him.
‘Of course, within reason. Let’s test it. You doing anything Saturday?’
‘I don’t think so. Why?’ I ask dubiously.
He stops the trolley in its tracks so he can reach into his bag and pull out a fresh leather notebook. He catches the surprise in my eyes as he opens it up, smiling at my evident bewilderment.
‘I’m keeping true to my end of the bargain too,’ he says, gesturing proudly at it. ‘Even brought my own pen– in a pencil case, no less.’
He wiggles it lightly in his hand before resting it against the handlebars, scrawling something down and handing the ripped page over to me. It’s an address, written messily but clearly enough for me to know that it’s nowhere I would recognise.
‘Grab some friends– you have those right? I can get you on the list for Saturday evening.’
‘A list for. . .?’
‘Don’t worry about that. Just be there at nine-thirty.’
A sentence that would be harrowing enough without the knowing glint in his eye. Notebook packed away again, he moves on. We’re nearing drink receptacles now, stretching all the way from plastic to fine china. He powers on quickly, forcing me to walk in double time just to match his pace.
‘This isn’t like, a sex club or drug thing?’ I ask.
‘It’s actually both. It’s a sex clubanddrug thing,’ he replies mockingly.
I squeal. ‘It’s a valid question! I don’t know what you’re into.’
‘I told you not to overthink.’
And it was bold of him to assume I was capable of that in the first place. He slows down ever so slightly, glancing behind to clock my deeply furrowed brow and pouting lips. It’s enough to trigger a long, deep and pained sigh.
‘It’s not a sex club. There are no drugs involved,’ he says dryly. ‘You will not be kidnapped or taken advantage of.’
‘Thank you.’ I nod back at him.
I rub the piece of paper between my thumb and my finger, carefully tracing over each letter of the address with my eyes. East London. That’s all I can really deduce without rushing to type it into Google Maps.
‘One more thing. . .’ I look up at him, pausing only to leave room for another of his exasperated sighs. ‘Dress code?’
He huffs impatiently. ‘Clothes. You’ve dressed yourself before, right?’
