Page 43 of Cover Story

‘Would you let me join the Bella Supper Club?! I wouldlovethat,’ Amber said.

‘Of course!’

‘Where’s your place again?’

Bel had a sense of losing control of the direction of travel.

‘Ancoats. One of those duplexes where everything is distressed brick and uplighting and downlighting.’

‘Like a converted loft-type place? I have such a thing for those, being from the suburbs.’

‘It’s so swaggy but my rent is criminal.’

‘Oh my God, I’d love to nosy around! Would you cook for me? Is this too cheeky?’

‘No. Absolutely,’ Bel said, looking towards a studiously blank Connor. She was cheerfully scribbling out a cheque she had no idea how she’d cash. ‘Bring Rick!’

As she said it, she thought,whatareyoudoing.Just say yes now, like it’s not a thing, and then kick it into the long grass?

‘Any chance you’re free next weekend?’ Amber made prayer hands. ‘I’ve got cover on the Saturday which literallynever happensand we said we should do something good with it.’

‘Uhm …’

Bel realised she was experiencing a high-performance collector-networker in her natural habitat. She was trying to make an overnight friend for a purpose, Amber did this as a hobby, if not a living.

Did Bel bluster her way out, or did she grab the opportunity and cannonball from the diving board? How large a problem was it for Amber to know Bel’s address, versus the sense of trust engendered by having them in her home? Toby said she had six weeks.

‘I think so?’ Bel said, stalling. ‘Con, can you remember?’

Connor produced his phone as if to check a diary, squeezing the button at the side to bring the display up. With a lurch of sickening dread, at that moment, Bel saw he had a sun-dappled photo of Jennifer The Girlfriend as his lock screen.

Oh. Holy. Fuck. How had they not noticed this during the Platt Fields planning? They were so absorbed by what they foundonhis phone, they didn’t examine the artefact itself. It must have become invisible to Connor in its familiarity.

Amber had seen, for sure. Connor had effectively held it under her nose.

‘Who’s that?’ Amber said, in confusion, darting a look at Connor, and then Bel.

‘Connor’s sister,’ Bel babbled, in panic, and then realised she’d in fact made it worse.Sure, everyone in his part of London has a romantic portrait of their sibling on their handset.

Amber’s look of confusion increased and everything they’d worked for now hung in the balance. Bel heard herself say: ‘She passed away.’

‘Oh, God!’ Amber’s hand went to her mouth. ‘I shouldn’t have asked, I’m so sorry.’

‘No, it’s fine, you weren’t to know,’ Bel said, reaching out to touch Amber’s wrist in reassurance.

Connor was stonily unreadable throughout the entire exchange, but as soon as Amber moved on, he said to Bel: ‘Let’s go.’

His manner felt ominous.

They had pre-agreed that they’d taxi together back to Ancoats, debrief, and Connor would journey onwards to Salford. They French exited into the balmy night (was it still a French exit when ninety-nine per cent of people didn’t know who you were? Maybe simply an exit).

The taxi driver was blaring a Ministry of Sound CD and making conversation about local crime, so their debate was delayed.

As they entered her flat, Bel threw the lights on and she saw Connor’s eyes widen at the interiors.

‘Cup of tea?’ she said, apprehensively.

‘No, thanks. What onearthwas that?’ Connor said. His tone was combative.

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