Page 60 of Still Me
“Really.” He had begun to sound tired.
“So, a man made a pass at me tonight. I knew he fancied me. So I told him straight off I was with someone. I headed it off.”
“Oh, you did? Who was that, then?”
“His name is Josh.”
“Josh. Would that be the same Josh who called you when I was leaving?”
Even through my slightly drunken fug I had begun to realize this conversation was a bad idea. “Yes.”
“And you just happened to bump into him in a bar.”
“I did! I was there with Nathan. And I literally ran into him outside the Ladies.”
“So what did he say?” His voice now held a faint edge.
“He... he said it was a pity.”
“And is it?”
“What?”
“A pity?”
There was a short silence. I felt suddenly, horribly sober. “I’m just telling you what he said. I’m with you, Sam. I’m literally just using this as an example of how I could tell that someone fancied me and how I headed it off before he could get the wrong idea. Which is a concept you seem to be unwilling to grasp.”
“No. Seems to me you’re calling me up in the middle of the night to have a go at me about my work partner who has lent me a book, but you’re fine with you going out and having drunk conversations with this Josh about relationships. Jesus. You wouldn’t even admit we wereina relationship until I pushed you into it. And now you’ll happily talk about intimate stuff to some guy you just met in a bar.Ifyou really just met him in a bar.”
“It just took me time, Sam! I thought you were playing around!”
“It took you time because you were still in love with the memory ofanother guy. A dead guy. And you’re now in New York because, well, he wanted you to go there. So I have no idea why you’re being weird and jealous about Katie. You never minded how much time I spent with Donna.”
“Because Donna didn’t fancy you.”
“You’ve never even met Katie! How could you possibly know whether she fancies me or not?”
“I’ve seen the pictures!”
“What pictures?” he exploded.
I was an idiot. I closed my eyes. “On her Facebook page. She has pictures. Of you and her.” I swallowed. “A picture.”
There was a long silence. The kind of silence that says,Are you serious?The kind of ominous silence that comes while somebody quietly adjusts his view of who you are. When Sam spoke again his voice was low and controlled. “This is a ridiculous discussion and I’ve got to get some sleep.”
“Sam, I—”
“Go to sleep, Lou. We’ll speak later.” He rang off.
12
I barely slept, all the things I wished I had and hadn’t said whirring around my head in an endless carousel, and woke groggily to the sound of knocking. I stumbled out of bed, and opened my door to find Mrs. De Witt standing there in her dressing-gown. She looked tiny and frail without her makeup and set hair, and her face was twisted with anxiety.
“Oh, you’rethere,” she said, like I would have been anywhere else. “Come. Come. I need your help.”
“Wh-what? Who let you in?”
“The big one. The Australian. Come on. No time to waste.”
