Page 91 of Cover Story

‘What?’ Connor said, head snapping up.

‘The Northern Media Awards. Bel’s suitor obviously thought you were photogenic too. Offer him a throuple.’

He turned his laptop round and both Bel and Connor got out of their seats to look.

Aaron had clicked an image where a group were chatting and Connor was among them, seen in profile.

‘Fuck,’ Connor said. ‘I was so sure I was avoiding him!’

‘Captioned, I’m afraid,’ Aaron said, enjoying himself somewhat, picking another image and opening it so they could seeConnor Adams, reporterin the small print.

‘Bollocks!’ Bel said. ‘I’ll call the press office, ask them to take them down.’

‘They’ve gone out, though,’ Aaron said. ‘It’s in theManchester Evening Newsand on all them I Love Manny Instagram accounts.’

‘They’ll use ones of the celebrities, surely?’ Bel said.

‘Nah, they’ve run Shagger Bailey but this too cos their reporters are in it. Blame yourself for being a pretty boy,’ Aaron said, opening a browser window to show them the local paper’s website.

Bel and Connor exchanged a worried look. ‘I’m sorry,’ Connor said. ‘You told me to duck and weave and turns out I was shit at it.’

‘Not your fault, it can be really hard to tell. My last paper accidentally outed loads of affairs in panorama pictures of bars and restaurants.’

‘What you gonna do?’ Aaron said.

‘Pray,’ Bel said.

51

A mere fortnight left to endure and Connor would be home. Back to the floor-to-ceiling windowed open-plan office with beeping security arches and laminate passes, the Underground, his fancy local with onglet and Café de Paris butter on the menu instead of chips and gravy. And less rain.

TheTinker Tailorhalf-light ramshackle office on Deansgate with its dusty storage, art prints of mythological Manchester and a pot plant called Jason Not Orange would be a hallucination, an anecdote, a reference point.

If he saw Bel, it would be across a packed conference room, their doing a mutual startled wave of recognition and later a quick bout of that sort of British non-conversation when you knew someone but didn’t know them.Hi how are you yeah good thanks you not bad thanks it’s been ages wow yeah.

It made Connor wistful, even sad. He’d compiled himself a Manchester bands playlist so The Smiths could be partly to blame. He could hear Shaun saying: you obtuse miserabilist motherfucker.

There was the small matter of the undercover gig concluding first, with what seemed destined to be a trombone slide and a wet firework fizzle.

They arranged a drink in the same quiet, timber-ceilinged Didsbury pub which had hosted their previously fraught encounter. Connor recalled it being the tearful stage of Jennifer separation. They had progressed swiftly to irritation, where she was regularly updating him on why a rental she’d viewed wasn’t viable.Sure, condolences, but pick one, you have two weeks, is what he didn’t say.

This evening, Bel had arrived before him, sat in a Jessica Rabbit-ish strappy red dress, hair in loose waves swept back with grips, chin propped on palm. She smiled broadly at the sight of him and there was a tiny, yet perceptible, lurch of excitement in Connor’s stomach that he had provoked the smile. He relished the prospect of her company, even in straitened circumstances? That was new. Amazing what imminent departure could do for your mindset.

‘Even though I know you’ll be in character, it still comes as a surprise,’ Connor said, checking they spoke in solitude, taking a seat in front of his waiting pint.

‘Bella Niven is my Sasha Fierce,’ Bel said. ‘I see that the straightforward girly look makes more sense to your basic boy brain. I feel like I’m nine and my mum helped get me ready for a birthday party.’

Connor winked at her as he lifted his glass.

‘If this doesn’t happen, tonight …’ he said. ‘Are we just disappearing, as far as our new friends are concerned?’

‘You dump me, go back to London. I need space and the space need turns out to be indefinite,’ Bel said. ‘In my fiction I’m distraught enough to do some friend shedding from the Connor era.’

‘Ugh. Sorry for dumping you,’ Connor said, brushing beer foam from his mouth.

‘It’s OK. It was awful for me, though. You’d never actually properly finished with your ex and I caught you messaging her saying Manchester was temporary.’

‘Why do I have to be that bad?! I would never actually do something like that.’

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