Page 35 of One Night With You

‘Is that a bad thing …?’ I push.

‘Not up to me, is it?’ he says. ‘I’m not the one about to go on a date with her. Not that she’ll get a look-in now you know you’ll be seeing Ruby in … what? Seven days and four hours? Do yourself a favour: get a haircut before then. You look better when it’s shorter off your neck. And wear those Veja trainers!’

‘Okay, Queer Eye,’ I say.

‘Take my advice or don’t,’ he says. ‘But ask yourself: when has Uncle Jackson ever been wrong?’

He’s got a point. ‘Text me the name of your barber,’ I ask, begrudgingly.

‘My dude does afro hair,’ Jackson says. ‘I’ll ask at work for some reccs.’

‘Awesome. Cheers, pal.’

I hang up and head for the coffee shop Zola has raved about. The jig is up, though. I can distract myself with as many women as I want. But now I know it’s seven days, three hours and fifty-five minutes until I’ll get to see Ruby again, I’m not really bothered about anybody else. I write:

Dear Ruby Powell,

Your text made me howl,

All this communicating in rhyme is just fine.

I’ll be there at the party,

Dressed up kind of arty,

Anticipating a jolly good time.

She texts back one word:Cool x.

19

Ruby

Harry agreed thatAlmost Doesn’t Countis a great working title for our documentary, even if it doesn’t end up being the final one, and over an impromptu brainstorming session in the car we get into the details of what we’re trying to achieve, what we’ve got so far and where we hope the main story blocs take us.

‘Let’s remember our anchor,’ he says with his mouth full, salad falling out of the end of the sandwich he’s holding in one hand, sprinkling garnish all over his lap. The other is resting on the steering wheel as he drives from JP’s house – where we’ve picked him up – back to campus so JP can come see where we study. He might even stay for a lecture, if he isn’t too exhausted. He’s been asking and asking, and eventually William gave in and said it’d be okay. ‘We’re still not sure what our mission statement with it all is, are we, and I think keepingAlmost Doesn’t Countin mind could really help us decide on it.’

‘Take the second left,’ I instruct him, holding my phone in front of me. His car doesn’t have sat nav, so he drives and I Google-Map, letting him know where we have to go next. The man might have a car, but without somebody telling him where to go next, we’d end up in Scotland. ‘And you’re right.’

‘Wait. Second left, or second right?’ He gesticulates wildly with his sandwich and a slice of tomato flies over into my lap.

‘Oh, for God’s sake,’ I say, handing him a napkin. He swallows the last bite of his sub and takes it. ‘This left here. And I mean: you’re right about the anchor. I agree that we need it.’

‘Something tells me you don’t say that easily,’ JP quips from the back seat, where he’s strapped in around all our equipment. We took it to get some shots of him at home, stuff like getting his knitted waistcoat on and having a cup of tea. ‘Colour’, Harry called it, in case we need images to go with some of our earlier voice recordings.

‘Hey,’ I say. ‘You ever hear the saying dance with the one that brought you, JP? Well, I’m the one who brought you. Zip it.’

JP holds up his hands. ‘I might be old, but there’s no need to shout,’ he says. ‘Give the old codger some credit. I’ve got at least forty-five per cent hearing capacity, you know.’

He’s been like this all morning – cheekier than usual. I think it’s because he’s excited to be out and about with us. William made us promise that he’d never be left unattended in case he falls, and that we’d have him home by teatime. We have a list of what medications he takes and when, and instructions to text pictorial evidence of his wellbeing every hour, on the hour.

‘That’s the thing about getting old.’ JP had shrugged. ‘You’ve got to adjust your palate to appreciate humble pie.The adults become like children, and the children become the ones in charge.’

We sit in silence for a bit, taking in the urban scenery.

‘What are you smiling at,’ Harry says, as I swipe off of Google Maps and read a text. ‘If it’s from that Nic fella, I’m calling it now: one-night stand my arse – you’re smitten.’

‘Co-signed,’ says JP, the traitor.

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