Page 3 of Asking For a Friend

“Hello again.” The girl who cleared up the mess greets me with a smile. She glances to the back of the shop for a second but then looks back at me.

“Um, this is probably silly, but what does that guy—Lando, you called him—drink when he’s here?”

“Usually lemon and ginger tea. Sometimes he’ll have peppermint and liquorice.”

“Okay, thanks.” I walk away, then look back. She’s watching me with a little smirk. “He’s here a lot, you said.”

“Yep, every day.”

I leave and continue to the deli for my lunch. I know exactly where to go afterwards.

When I sit down at my desk, Ellis is back and grumbling. “How was Helena?” I asked through a mouthful of chicken wrap.

“Handsy, but I got her to see sense and told her if she wanted the Saatchi Gallery, she should plan two years ahead.”

“So, where is it now?”

“The Savoy. One of the smaller rooms.” He smiles and rubs his hands together.

After finishing the afternoon meeting, I drop my gift for Lando back at the coffee shop. He’s still there but, again, doesn’t seem aware of anyone else around him. The barista promises to give it to him. He’s almost as cute as the grumpy redhead.

“Sophie wants to know if you want to come to dinner?” Ellis asks as he puts his coat on.

I love his wife’s cooking, but I’m hoping for a phone call tonight and don’t want to have to hide it from my friends. “Gah! Why did you have to say that? I can’t tonight, sorry.”

“No worries. See you tomorrow.”

I check my phone every five minutes, even taking it into the bathroom when I have a shower, but he doesn’t call. At midnight, he still hasn’t reacted. Shit, he’s not going to. I’m going to have to think of something else.

Morning comes too quickly, and I’m up and out of the house in my usual rush, a habit that had always driven Ellis crazy when we shared a room. If I’d had a quid for every time he’d moaned at me, I’d probably be able to retire. I make it to the coffee shop with plenty of time to see if Lando has got there yet, but there’s no sign of him.

“He’s not here yet,” the girl from yesterday tells me. “He shouldn’t be long if you’ve got time to wait.”

“No, it’s okay. I just wanted to know if he got his gift. Never mind. Just an Americano and a lemon muffin, please.”

I’m out the door without any mishaps this morning, and it’s not a good feeling. I was really hoping to see him again.

I shove the box into my bag and take it home. I’d rather not open it in front of Simon. He’ll squeal with excitement and rush to text Kate. He mentioned that some guy said I’d understand. It can only be the man from this morning. The snarky side of me tells me to chuck the stupid box away, but the tiny part that still believes in love whispers he’s not a jerk and to be nice to him.

I push the key into the lock of my front door and walk in whistling. As soon as I close the door behind me, Flanaghan comes tearing down the stairs, yowling the entire way. He doesn’t stop until he’s winding his way in a figure eight between and around my legs. I hang my laptop bag over the newel post at the bottom of the stairs and scoop him up.

“Did you miss me, sweetie pie?” I croon as he butts his head under my chin. I stroll to the kitchen and let him jump down to the floor. First I feed him, then take off my coat and hang it up. I hate the fact that I need it. Usually, it’s never this wet in August.

After putting the kettle on, I rummage through my fridge for something to eat and find some paneer. Curry it is. I pull the block of cheese out and start to cook. It doesn’t take long to have everything simmering in a tomato and chilli sauce. The spices filling the room make my mouth water. I make a cup of tea and wander through to my living room, pull the curtains shut, and sit down. I love my home. It’s not a big house but large enough for me. I bought it with some of my inheritance and the rest from the sales of my books. The remote for the TV has fallen on the floor, which means Flanaghan was playing in here earlier. While I drink my tea, I watch some of the most depressing news. The quiet is calming. I can tune out the coffee shop noises but relish the silence at home. I usually have Spotify playlists on as I mosey around at home until I settle and find something to binge watch for a couple of hours before bed.

My ex-flatmates mock me, calling me an OAP at twenty-eight, but I don’t care. Learning to live alone and not be dependent on someone else’s opinion of me has taken me a long time. I’m no hermit, but I’m happy with who I am now. Thinking of my friends, it’s Scottie’s birthday this weekend, the big three-oh. I grab my phone and open up the group chat.

Hey, sluts.

Where are we going

to celebrate on Saturday?

Why we still think of ourselves as the slutty boys we were at twenty-one, I have no idea. We’ve certainly left that all behind.

My phone vibrates with a text from Scottie.

Afternoon. Celebrations at my place, then The King’s Head and The Glory. Where else, pretty boy?

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