Page 74 of Last Night

A pause. Hard to say if it’s a transatlantic connection pause or a loaded pause.

‘Call me when you get to Scotland. On a private line,’ Romilly says, eventually, which I take as a forthright dig at me. Or maybe it’s merely Big Apple directness?

‘Your girlfriend?’ I say, once Fin’s pressed to end call.

‘Ex,’ Fin says.

‘Ah.’

From her frostiness towards me, I intuit that Fin ended it and she’s not over it, but who knows.

‘She has a little boy, from a previous relationship. I like to know how he’s doing,’ Fin says. ‘We stay in touch about him.’

‘Was she at your mum’s funeral? She had red hair?’

Fin looks surprised. ‘Yes. Were you there?’

‘Yes.’

‘I didn’t see you.’

This strikes me as a peculiar thing to say. If he didn’t know me in adulthood, he wouldn’t have known me by sight, so how would he know if he saw me? That event doesn’t strike me as one to pry into further, however.

‘Romilly,’ I say. ‘Unusual name.’

‘Her parents are French Canadian. Why did you make that face?’

‘What sort of face?’

‘A kind of “huh typical” face.’

I realise I did do this.

‘It’s just. “Romilly”. So cool. You were never going to date a Doris.’

‘Given Dorises are over eighty, no, probably not.’

‘You say that, but it’s becoming trendy again. Middle-class nurseries are full of Dorises and Mauds.’

‘I wasn’t planning on dating a five-year-old either.’

‘Everyone calls their kids grandma names or silver screen film star names now.’

‘Isn’t Eve an old movie name?All About Eve.’

‘I’m Evelyn, actually.’

‘Evelyn. That’s nice.’

I can’t tell if Fin being pleasant is him being pleasant, or being pleasant is a tactic of some sort, which I’m notWolf of Wall Streetenough to grasp.

‘Thank you. It is nice. Even if it sounds a bit like I listen toThe Archersand keep dried lavender sachets in my pants drawer.’

‘You’re fond of saying whatever’s in your head, aren’t you?’ Fin says, throwing me an accompanying smile to defuse the accusation.

‘You’re fond of never saying what’s in your head,’ I blurt, with a return smile.

Despite the fact he’s driving at eighty-two miles per hour, Fin manages to give me a stare of mild consternation. Is the shrink not used to being shrunk on?

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