Page 19 of The Lucky Escape

‘A gold bar worth a million pounds?’

‘Nope.’

‘Have you got me … a pastrami sandwich?’

‘I don’t even know what pastrami is,’ he said, and I didn’tadmit that neither did I. I just saw somebody order it in a movie once.

He took his backpack off his shoulder and rifled through it until he found what he was looking for: a small manila envelope.

‘Ta-da!’ he said, as he opened it to reveal a photograph of me at Yak Yak, dressed up as Tallulah, wearing a leotard and fishnet tights, a feather pushing up proudly from a bun pinned at the nape of my neck. I had a drawn-on beauty spot and was looking off-camera to the person taking the photo.

‘You’re laughing at me in this,’ he said, pointing, as I studied it closely. ‘I’d told you a joke so you’d smile, and when you did it was as if I’d been awarded an Oscar for services to drama camps. I’d been trying to make you laugh all summer. I think I had a crush on you.’

I batted him away. ‘You did not,’ I said, self-consciously. ‘You had a crush on my friend Jasmine. And I laughed at you all the time. I remember you being the funniest person there.’

I went to hand the photo back, but he told me I could keep it. I stared at it again.

‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘Good memories. I’ll put it somewhere I can see it, as a reminder.’

‘Not to sound too forward …’ he began, and I knew what he was going to say before he’d said it, and also knew in that exact moment that I wanted him to ask. Bad things didn’t happen when I was talking with Patrick. The future didn’t exist, only the past, and it was a relief. ‘If you ever want to hang outnotin this lobby, to reminisce, we should do that. We could find a draughty bus station, or a crowded sandwich shop …’ He creased up his brow, taking in myreaction. ‘Or … not …’ he faltered, knitting his forehead together in disappointment at my lack of enthusiasm.

‘I want to,’ I said, quickly, reaching out to touch his arm. ‘I do. I just hope it doesn’t sound presumptuous to say that … my situation …’

‘Just say it,’ he prompted, kindly. ‘It’s okay.’

I swallowed. ‘Embarrassingly,’ I began, and the mention of embarrassment made his lip quiver, just the tiniest bit, in amusement. ‘I’ve just been dumped.’ I didn’t want to give him mywholelife story, but I’d been promising myself I’d tell him what had happened. ‘So I’m not dating. If that’s … I don’t know if that’s what you meant. But I wanted to check.’

I felt so awkward. Patrick’s lip quiver turned into a smirk, and then he said, casually, good-humouredly: ‘What a fool he must feel now,’ he said. ‘Or she. Whoevertheywere.’

‘He,’ I replied. ‘It’s crazy, seeing somebody from the past, I think. You knew me when I was …’ I was going to say ‘happy’ but stopped myself. ‘When things were simple. Adulthood, man. It’s rough!’

‘I’m glad you told me,’ he said. ‘I mean, I’m sorry that happened. Being dumped is brutal. Losing somebody you love is very hard.’

‘I’m a mess,’ I admitted.

‘I know that feeling.’ I stole a glance at him. He made it so straightforward to be honest. He was funny when something was funny, but he didn’t use humour as a way to distract from the gritty stuff, or deflect true emotion. I didn’t know a lot of men capable of that.

‘If you do know this feeling, then I’m sorry.’

He studied the floor, and for a second I thought he was about to give me the details. He sort of opened his mouthto speak but then clamped it shut forcefully, as if the devil on his shoulder had silenced him.

‘I should let you get on with your day,’ I said, driving the conversation to a halt. ‘But, same time, same place another day?’ It came out wrong. I meant to say adifferenttime, adifferentplace, as in: yes, let’s go out and reminisce. I was an idiot. What was I doing? My tongue was looped in knots. Why did I feel nervous? I was allowed to have a drink with a friend, for crying out loud.

‘I’m here every morning,’ he said, getting ready to leave. I’d bruised his ego. I could tell he was trying not to show it, but I had.

‘Every morning?’ I asked. I’d only caught him occasionally, but we must have been working out at the same time all week.

‘Most, yeah. Helps keep the demons at bay.’

‘Good for you. I’ve certainly got demons who could do with a healthy bollocking, that’s for sure.’

He cocked his head, exactly like he had done the day we first talked – the way the dog does it.

‘What?’ I asked.

‘It’s just, you really haven’t changed since camp. It’s so strange. The way your face moves – how your eyebrows jump up and down your face, all expressive. It’s mad.’

I giggled. ‘My eyebrows?’ I wiggled them suggestively.

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