Page 61 of Love and Loathing

She turned, tear in her eye, found another woman, older, also wiping her eyes. They exchanged a rueful smile. “It’s not much, is it?” said the woman. “But it’s something.”

Evie helped close up the hall, carrying the tables to the side, stacking the chairs, then she picked up her bike from where she’d left it against the wall outside and wiped the wet seat down with her sleeve.

It was actually Romona’s bike, another old university friend whose sofa she was currently sleeping on, things being so awkward at Zig and Fi’s place that she’d decided it was best to leave until they forgave her. Or until Zig did; Fi was moresympathetic. Fi had hugged her when she walked in on that horrible night, crying, empty, lost.

“I don’t understand,” Evie had said, hardly able to talk at all. “I don’t understand why he didn’t even…”

“He’s scum!” Zig had raged. “What did you think was going to happen? They’re the enemy for a reason, Evie. They don’t care about anything—anything except money! And you had a chance to help us bring the worst of them down, and you blew it! For what?”

Fi hadn’t said much. Had made her a cup of awful tea, chamomile, nettle, fennel. It tasted like hedge. She could still taste it, weeks later, the acrid, musty taste, and Zig’s ranting voice, and Fi looking at her, expression saying:I’m sorry, but he’s right. You know it, don’t you?

It was all still so sharp that it could reach right into her chest and leave her breathless with pain any time she let it. Aubrey in the dark car, his shallow nod, resigned, hardly caring at all.I haven’t changed. It’s not my fault if you forgot.Driving her to the flat, handing her the bags.It was always going to end like this.

Yes. After their meaningless sex. All the meaningless things like sleeping in his bed, and him waking halfway through the night, refilling the hot water bottle, bringing her two more paracetamol without her even asking, just knowing, from the sound of her breathing, the tension in the back that had been curled against his chest, that she was in pain.

Scum, Zig said.A bastard, she’d called him. A garden destroyed and a billionaire’s pockets lined, and him nodding, agreeing with it all.Am I meant to defend the indefensible?

“Good night! Don’t stand there in the rain!”

Evie jerked back to awareness, turning and smiling at the woman from earlier. “Miles away.”

The woman smiled, waved goodbye, putting up her umbrella and disappearing into the crowd on the passing London street.

Evie didn’t want to go home. Not to Romona’s, who didn’t really want her there crashing on her couch while she was trying to entertain her new boyfriend. She’d been looking forward to seeing Roscoe. Having a drink, catching up, hearing how his financial start-up was going. It certainly seemed like a hellish amount of work.

Maybe she could help? She climbed onto the bike and pedalled, squinting through the rain. His office was in Greenwich, less than a mile away. She’d pick him up some food, find a quiet corner of the office and do some…photocopying. Or whatever one did in a bright, shiny new green investment firm. Surely it had to be better than an awkward evening at Romona’s.

The office was in a new building near the water, the lights of Canary Wharf in the distance, visible across the river through the grey haze of the relentless rain. Roscoe buzzed her in, sounding surprised, unenthusiastic.

“I’ve broughtcake!” she said indignantly into the intercom, annoyed at having cycled a mile out of her way, freezing cold and wet, fighting her way through the gnarly evening traffic with the food stuffed awkwardly into her small backpack.

The buzz of the door cut off any more protest, and she took the stairs, too impatient and unreasonably annoyed to wait for the lift. She pulled off her bike helmet as she marched up them, shaking out her dripping hair, and rapped impatiently on the door, damp cake box under one arm. The door was ajar, so she stepped into the room—and saw Aubrey Ford standing across the office, going completely still as he looked up from the papers in his hand and saw her.

Everything went sort of white, then jagged, like an old TV losing the signal. She turned away without saying anything, without blinking, without any thought in her head except,No.

She went blindly towards the lift, thoughts buzzing, and was met by Roscoe bursting frantically out. “Shit. I tried to catch you on the way.”

“I…” But that was as far as she got. She pressed the box into Roscoe’s hands and headed to the stairs.

Roscoe hurried after her, tucking the box under one arm and taking her arm in this other hand. “Wait. Evie. Come on.”

“I don’t want to see him.” Then, almost immediately: “Why is he here?”

“He’s working here. Well. Sort of. I can’t afford to pay him yet, so he’s just helping me out for free at the moment.” He lowered his head, met her eyes so that she couldn’t look away. “While he’s unemployed, Evie.”

“What?”

“He quit BG. Doesn’t work there anymore.”

“Hequit?He’s unemployed? He’s…he’svolunteeringhere?”

Roscoe grinned. “I thought you’d like that bit. I told him I should tell you. He wouldn’t let me.”

“So he…he’s going to work with you?”

“I’d offer him a job in a heartbeat if I could. But I’ve barely started the business. There’s no income yet. Like I said, he’s just helping me set things up. He has some interviews lined up.”

“More tax stuff?”

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