Page 39 of Little Miss Fortune

‘What can I do that’s not boring?’ I whisper to Toby.

‘What?’

‘I think my luck changed slightly when I did things that are entertaining to witness. What if I am the reason we can’t get it booked right now? Help me with this, and you are fully forgiven.’

Toby looks as if he is ready to laugh, but then a lightning bolt strikes across his face. ‘I am going to give you two options. Whichever you choose will solely depend on you.’

‘Go on, then.’

‘Option one, we go outside and ask random people for venue ideas.’

‘That’s so horrible. I hate intrusive street interviews.’

‘Or!’

‘Yes?’

‘You ask Malik out on a date.’ Toby crosses his arms and looks down at me smugly.

Neither option is great. But not for the reasons he thinks, however. I haven’t messaged Malik because I don’t know whether I see him in that light. I couldn’t possibly see anyone right now, not until I’ve successfully strangled this... whatever this is. It just wouldn’t be fair on Malik.

‘Right, Fawzia, we are going to go out and ask random people on the streets for their favourite venues,’ I shout.

‘Excellent, that’s the energy and passion I am talking about.’

Toby’s eyebrows shoot up, but he steps aside with his arms stretched out, showing me where to go, and then he will follow after.

All of the evening commuters are in a rush to get to the Tube and are extremely annoyed when I stop them for a question, my phone in hand, and my amulet lying quietly in my pocket.

‘I don’t know, sorry.’

‘I need to go.’

‘I don’t know what you mean, babes.’

‘Have you tried that place in Brixton?’

I sit down on a step, face in hands. I have tried to speak to thirty-odd people; not a single one was helpful, and the chime of the bell didn’t go off once. Toby wanted to help, but it needs to be me.

‘I think you’re going about it the wrong way,’ he says, lounging on the step next to me.

‘How else am I going to do it?’

‘Try to get everyone’s attention at once.’ He bobs his head at the street behind our building, brimming with restaurants.

‘No.’

‘Fuko, c’mon.’ He stands and props me up despite my protests.

He leads me into the nearest pub, his hands on my shoulders, arms straight, pushing into my back. ‘You’re surprisingly strong, lass.’

The pub has windows on one side only, requiring all the warm yellow lights to be on, despite the sun still being high. The wooden rounded bar and stools have not been changed in the last three or four decades. There are dark lacquered tables, slot machines, and darts. It mildly resembles the pub from Shaun of the Dead before they were eaten alive. How apt for this moment.

The TV is on. Kick-off for some football league hasn’t started yet, so we have about thirty minutes of engagement before we lose half the crowd.

‘Um, hi,’ I start meekly. Only a couple of heads lift up. ‘Hi, um, excuse me, everyone.’

Toby grabs an empty chair and places me onto it as if I were a display doll.