Page 3 of August's Thief
And then, before I knew it, I was back behind the wheel of my car, with the addition of a nosy, talkative,criminalpassenger.
“Who the fuck are you, then? You’d better not be a psycho ’cos I’ve got things I need to do. People to see, places to be. Know what I mean?”
“I’m…erm.” God, it sounded ridiculous. I pushed on. “Er… CUPID sent me? The dating app? We had a date tonight?”
“Shit, yeah, did we? Fuck.” Dawson slapped his palm against his head. “Completely forgot. Sorry about that. As you can see, something came up. Can we go to Tesco instead?”
My life hadn’t veered out of its lane so much as hit a road bump and bounced into a totally foreign traffic system, one possibly belonging in an alternative universe. This whirlwind, now opening the glove box and sliding the car seat back and forth like he’d never sat on a bloody adjustable seat, was supposed to be my perfect match?
“Nice set of wheels, mate.” His blush-pink painted nails tapped approvingly on the Porsche dashboard. “Is it nicked?”
“No!” Flicking a switch, I fired up the engine, pressing my foot on the accelerator and applying much more throttle than necessary to reverse out of a police station car park. Like a kidin a sweet shop and wiggling in his seat, my companion fiddled with the air con. A jet of hot air blasted the both of us. Dawson beamed with delight.
“How old are you?” I asked as we entered the stream of traffic edging towards the centre of town.
“Twenty-six.”
My arse. “How old are you really?”
“Twenty-three,” he admitted and threw me a cheeky wink. “In six months from now. So, Tesco supermarket, yeah? I need some gear. Go left up here for a couple of miles and then third off the roundabout. Can’t miss it. It’s got a massive blue-and-red sign.”
“I know what Tesco looks like.”
He laughed. “Just checking, mate. What with you being so posh and everything. Unless it’s fake posh.” He frowned. “I told CUPID I didn’t want posh. How posh are you?”
No point lying, he’d been eyeing up my Patek Philippe since we set off. “Fairly,” I confessed.
“Do you know Prince Harry?”
“Um… yes? Although we’re not close. He’s my ah… second cousin.” A nugget of information I rarely shared, but the surprise it rendered tended to afford me a second to catch my breath. I pointed to my face. “I don’t often get invited to the family photo shoots, though.”
“Can’t think why,” Dawson responded with a chuckle. “Some of them royals look like the back-end of a horse. You wouldn’t stand out in a line-up, that’s for sure. Are you loaded?”
“Um… yes? I guess?”
He nodded as if expecting as much. “Cool beans. In that case, I’ll let CUPID off for sending someone posh. Anyhow, thanks for picking me up.”
“And paying your fine,” I pointed out.
Another laugh. “Yeah, cheers. I’d say I’ll pay you back, but then I’d be lying. I’m skint. I never pay the fines. Which means I do fuck loads of community service. Me getting arrested does the council a huge favour. You won’t find a scrap of litter in Bethnal Green. What’s your name, then? I’m Dawson.”
“August. August Angel.”
“Ooh, very swanky. Hang a left here. Corners nicely, doesn’t it? Wouldn’t have bought it in green, though. Fuck-off yellow’s the best colour for a Porsche.”
I felt dizzy by the time we arrived at Tesco. And determined not to let disappointment overwhelm me as my passenger leapt out. CUPID had been my last chance saloon. Chalking it up as one of my shortest dates yet, I didn’t notice Dawson open the door on my side until his high tenor lisped in my ear. “Are you coming, Gussie? I thought we were on a date. There’s a nice café out the front, open til nine. They do a lovely coffee and scone for only two quid. We can go there before I do my shopping, if you like. I’ll treat you, seeing as you coughed up for the fine. Unless you’re too posh for Tesco.”
I was not, and had never been, too posh for Tesco. Though I didn’t enjoy supermarkets, preferring to purchase groceries online to avoid the rude stares of random strangers and blunt comments from small children. While Dawson queued at the café counter, I chose a table for two, positioning myself with my worst side next to the window.
“What’s that shit on your face, then?” Dawson asked as he slid into the plastic seat opposite. Seemed I wasn’t going to avoid blunt comments after all. He pushed a mug of something brown and wet across the table, then proceeded to heap sugar into his own. “You can be mother,” he added, pointing to the little jug of milk. Then he began attacking his scone. “Romantic this, innit?”
I poured milk for both of us. “A burn.” In general, I left it at that.
In general, other people also left it at that.
Dawson stirred his coffee. “How?”
“In a car accident when I was a small child.” I stared out across the gloomy car park. “My father was an alcoholic and crashed into a tree. Him and my mother died. I don’t have siblings.”
