Page 41 of One Night With You

‘You know – blackbird singing in the dead night. Something about broken wings and flying.’

‘You were only waiting for this moment to arise,’ I say. ‘Ha. Yeah.’

‘You’re doing all right, kid. You know that, don’t you? I take the piss and that but … you know, Millie was great, et cetera, but you did the right thing.’

‘Thanks for saying so,’ I say.

‘I know it was hard. You’re a good lad, sticking it out as long as you did. She’s a great match, just not for you. Not a lot of blokes would do what you’ve done. Work offered me the chance to go to New York for a year, and I said no.’

‘Really?’ I ask. ‘Why?’

‘I’m twenty-nine, mate. I don’t wanna be in my thirties and Billy No-Mates in a wicked place but where I don’t know anyone.’

‘But New York,’ I say. ‘That’s—’

‘Like I say,’ Ollie concludes. ‘Not everyone has got it in them.’

I nod. I had no idea Ollie had turned down America. I’m surprised. He’s so confident, so bloke-of-the-world. And he said no.

‘Thanks for telling me that,’ I say. ‘About New York, I mean.’

‘Just don’t tell Mum,’ he says. ‘It’s bad enough the stick I get about living down here. If she thought they were dangling the other side of the world in front of me she’d lose her head.’

‘Your secret’s safe with me,’ I tell him.

‘Anyway,’ he says. ‘I know I don’t say it enough but I’m proud of you, brother. You’re smashing it. I even envy your sad little romantic heart a bit. Only a bit, mind.’

‘Well,’ I say. ‘You never know, you might be about to meet the love of your life on this date. What’s her name, anyway?’

‘Priya,’ he says. ‘Met her on Happn.’

‘Got a photo?’ I ask, taking the moment to bond. He fiddles with his phone and hands it to me.

‘That’s her.’

I look at it. It’s the same Priya I went to the Victorian cemetery with and bailed on when she brought all her mates.

‘Oh, Ollie,’ I say, laughing. ‘On second thoughts, I don’t think you are. Good luck is all I can say.’

‘What?’ he asks, snatching back his phone. ‘What?’

‘Nothing,’ I say. ‘You have fun.’

‘No, tell me,’ he says. ‘I thought she seemed all right. She’s got bants.’

‘Look,’ I say, ‘it’s five to. You should go.’

He narrows his eyes.

‘See you on Saturday? I’ll send you the addy.’

‘Fine,’ he says. ‘Maybe I’ll bring Priya.’

‘Maybe you will,’ I say, still refusing to tell him what I think is so funny.

When I get home, I settle in on the sofa I bought from Ruby to watch some TV before bed. The flat is an okay size, by London standards, painted all white and with hardwood floors. It’s part of a converted Victorian house, and has some great original features like a fireplace – not used, though – and interesting cornicing. If and when I buy here, it’ll probably be closer to central. I only chose Ealing because that’swhere Ollie is. The flat is in a quiet block, with a couple about my age above me occasionally making their bed squeak on a Saturday night but otherwise I seldom hear them. Across the hall is a flat-share – two guys who never seem to be home at all. And the fourth flat is empty, I think, because I’ve never seen or heard anyone. It’s not a bad set-up. Clean, tidy, just posh enough but not quite bi-folding doors onto a landscaped patio. One day, I hope. One day soon.

I look at my phone after choosing something to ignore on Netflix, using it mostly for background noise. Ruby hasn’t texted back. I scroll through my socials, seeing if she’s uploaded. She hasn’t. I run a hand over the moss-green velvet of the settee, remembering the day I bought it.

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