Page 93 of Cover Story

‘Yes, but …’

‘If I give the iPad back, while grovelling, explain to me how there can ever be a police complaint? They’d need to report it at 2.00 a.m. And unreport it at 10.00 a.m. They will only know of the data theft if we find something newsworthy in it.’

Connor let out a heavy sigh.

‘Twenty-four-year-old Connor would be like wooh, yeah, you’re right, this is watertight,’ he said, ‘Thirty-four-year-old Connor says, fuck around, find out.’

‘Thirty-four-year-old Connor needs to rediscover his optimism.’

Shaun had said similar. He felt sure he didn’t mean like this, though.

‘I’ll do it all,’ Bel said. ‘The only thing you have to worry about is a drunk girlfriend. You’ve handled one of those before, right?’

‘Know what, Bel? Don’t take this as a compliment. But you’re without precedent.’

52

They’d ersatzed their way through Amber’s thirty-fifth party well enough but Connor loathed the lock-in, for multiple reasons.

The hostess herself was effusive as usual, clad in teal cheongsam dress and silver trainers, but as before, the number of guests meant her time was spread thinly.

Amber had her hair cut into a simple blunt bob she could tuck behind her ears, which provided Bel with a reason to coo and fuss.

‘Why have I never noticed you’re the spit of Riley Keough?’ Bel said.

‘Oh, extra Picklebacks for you!’ Amber said.

‘I would have to know who that is before I could notice it,’ Connor said, as they found a table, and Bel said:derp, she’s Elvis’s grand-daughter.

‘If I was Elvis’s grand-daughter I would one hundred per cent have kept my grandad’s surname,’ Connor said.

‘Not everyone is as status conscious as you,’ Bel said.

‘Oh, we’re back to that again, are we?’ Connor said, with an eyeroll, but no animus.

Slider burgers and trays of shots appeared, on the house. Connor had only ever been to lock-ins at his local at Christmas,where it was free rein of the jukebox and an honesty bar with cash and coins in a pint pot until 1.00 a.m.

Connor would have disliked the cokey braying noise of it all anyway, but this time he had more to worry about. Bel was truly committing to the bit.

She was throwing B-52 ‘bombs away’ shots down like there was no tomorrow. Keeping visual track of her working the room, he felt like a harried father with a kid at soft play. An analogy he’d not be using with Bel unless he wanted to be called a putrid patriarchal Finance Bro.

When someone had warned you they’d get quite pissed to look very pissed, it was extremely difficult to gauge how actually pissed they were. Eventually, she returned to his side, leaning her head on his shoulder. Connor said, brushing her hair out of her face and tilting her chin: ‘We can go home, you know.’

‘Can we?’ she said, looking up at him, as if this was news.

‘Yes,’ Connor said, not knowing which reality they were in. Then, in case itwasreality, added: ‘You have nothing to prove.’

Bel looked at him as if she was assessing his meaning.

‘Know why I didn’t go to my prom?’

‘Hah … oh God. Why?’

‘Bunch of girls at school bullied me really badly. Rich girl tall poppy thing you know, because I got good grades. They turned the boys against me too, I only ever had Shilpa. If I’d gone to prom they’d have made me … what do you call it? … the “main character” but in a bad way. So I went to see my aunt in London instead.’

‘Oh man, and I said that stupid Converse trainers thing. I’m so sorry.’

‘S’OK. Loved visiting Tamara. It was the making of me,’ she said, picking up her Porn Star Martini now, having to concentrate to keep the liquid level.

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