Page 14 of Cover Story

‘Uhm …’ Connor looked at her, in animated conversation with Aaron, and assessed what courtesy he owed her. He knew they were both mocking him behind his back, the photo on his desk had been moved. The thought of them sniggering at Maurice made his stomach muscles clench. ‘Honestly? Hard work.’

A waiting call started blipping, with the caller ID: OH FFS IT’S SHAUN. He’d forgot he’d changed his name to that in his address book during a drunken night out.

‘Argh, Shaun’s calling me, want me to take it?’

‘Fuck yes, thank you! Speak soon, Con.’

She rang off.

‘Oh, THERE you are,’ his brother said, with the slight vocal muddiness of a transatlantic connection.

‘Here I am. You’ve been harassing Jennifer?’

‘What’s going on with you two?’

‘How do you mean?’ Connor said, feeling motion sick, knowing exactly what he meant.

‘I’m not getting warm vibes from your girlfriend of five years’ standing, you know? I am getting a Talk To Connor one instead.’

Connor sighed, pain in his chest. Knowing something was ending and that it was better off ending didn’t stop it hurting. Nor, apparently, stop the mad urge to last-minute repair it.

Even if Connor could talk himself and her back in love again, he couldn’t return to being thesix-figure bonusConnor she wanted.

‘I’m up in Manchester, aren’t I? It’s tricky to make London plans,’ Connor deflected. ‘She says you’re over soon?’

‘Next month, thought I’d do a Wednesday to Sunday, stop off at Mum and Dad’s after. How long are you in the grim north for?’

‘Three more months. Well, two months, three weeks now,’ Connor said, savouring the countdown. ‘Why don’t you visit me here? It’s dull as fuck for me not knowing anyone. I’m renting a one-bed flat in Salford. You can sofa surf.’

He grinned, tip of tongue between teeth, despite himself.

‘Renting a one-bed flat, in SALFORD? THE SOFA? What is this, WORLD WAR TWO? Are we like those Sealed Knot nerd guys, doing BATTLE REENACTMENTS? I’ll get on the nice hotel search. Better yet, you can. Shortlist me the best three you’ve seen from drinks in their bars and I’ll get you a room too. I see why Jen thinks you’ve lost your mind. Gotta go.’

Connor found himself dismissed with speed a second time inside a minute. He glanced over at Aaron and Bel who were looking over at him and both quickly glanced away. In that moment, being jostled by strangers, Connor felt exquisitely lonely.

He squared his shoulders and headed back in to Platzski’s.

‘We’ve ordered some starters to share, hope that’s OK,’ Bel said, as Connor picked up his beer bottle, muttering thanks.

As he poured it out into a glass, he was approached by a very heavily made-up girl with a mane of curled blonde hair. She was surely only about twenty-five but had enough cosmetics and facial tweakments that Connor couldn’t quite judge. Northern girls were a class apart when it came to high-maintenance presentation, he was gathering. Bel Macauley was an anomaly. There were two more lookalike girls in tiny Lycra dresses held together by metal hoops, standing behind her, looking expectant.

‘Excuse me, has anyone ever told you– you look like the actor, Aaron Taylor Johnson? From the filmKick-Ass?’ the girl said, in a strong Manchester accent. Connor wanted to shrivel up and disappear into his own shoes, like aWizard of Ozspecial effect.

‘Do I? Thanks,’ he said.Oh, the fucking HAY the other Aaron here was going to make of this.

‘You’re a very lucky girl,’ she said, to a horrified Bel, before smiling coquettishly, flicking her hair over her shoulder, and her Sugababes trio clattering to the door.

They left a stunned, aghast silence in their wake.

‘If they think you’re with him, who did they think I am?!’ Aaron said.

‘Our son?’ Connor said, before he could stop himself, and from Aaron’s face, he could see mocking his height was an absolute red line.

9

Bel hadn’t witnessed a cold approach by an admirer like that for a very long time, she and Shilpa having aged out of going to the kind of places where men roamed like feral jackals in Superdry. She was reluctantly forced to award extra points for the fact that Connor’s fangirl assumed he was spoken for, so there was no angle. Just pure worship of pleasing masculine geometry.

The funny thing was, Connor Adams looked hideously discomfited by the praise, rather than foul-gloating Jilly Cooper rotter, as she’d have predicted. Bel toyed with the possibility he wasn’t vain, then shook herself out of this gullible notion immediately.

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