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“You what?!” Harry scoffed as Lucy snatched Tarquin’s phone from the chair.
“I was lonely, missing her…I hoped she’d come.” Tarquin deflated into a breathy, mumbled curse, his face crumpling. “Harry, why won’t she come? I need her.”
“Balfy, c’mon, we’ve talked about this. I know it sucks, but you’ve got to move on.” Harry offered an encouraging smile. “Why don’t you call that matchmaker again?”
“No! All I want is Leia. Only Leia. I love Leia.”
A chuckle burst from Lucy’s glossy lips. “What a wanker!” Her fingers spread over a crack running diagonally across Tarquin’s phone screen. “He didn’t text Leia—he texted Leyland Carpets by mistake! See?” She held up the phone, the text on his home screen. “They replied, too!” She read aloud.
Leyland Carpets: You miss us? You want us back? Ah, we love you, too, Mr. Balfour! We can’t come now, unfortunately, but will Monday suffice? Looking forward to supplying carpets for your pub restoration. Cheers!
“God, he’s a right old mess.” Harry cringed. “He needs to buck up and forget about her.” He leaned in. “Mate, I’ve been meaning to ask. The other night—at the pub quiz—what was Simon’s answer?”
“For what?” Lucy slipped Tarquin’s phone into her coat pocket. “The Madonna question?”
Harry gently shook his head and pressed on. “I heard you, Tarq, asking Simon if he’d spoken with Leia.”
“Can’t…can’t I have a private convo?” Tarquin muttered with a sneer.
“Not during the pub quiz, you can’t, no,” said Harry.
Lucy snickered. “Freddie was SO pissed Si got that Doctor Who question wrong.”
Tarquin let out a sleepy yawn.
“Balfy!” Harry softly gripped Tarquin’s knee, rousing him. “Why’d you go to the Southbank Centre? Were you meeting someone tonight?”
If you overheard me and Si, why are you asking? Tarquin embraced the bag of grapes, a glimmer of clarity breaking through the cloud of alcohol and painkillers.
Lucy tugged on the ends of her wool scarf. “I guess we’ll taxi to his and sleep over?”
Fuck. I don’t want them sleeping over! Tarquin blinked back into the conversation. “Simon told me nothing. Doesn’t matter. I know she’s with him.”
“Who’s him?” Lucy’s brow furrowed as Tarquin babbled.
Harry shrugged. “No clue.” He spoke behind his hand. “I made the guy up, remember?”
Lucy whispered in her boyfriend’s ear. “I feel awful. Can’t I tell him she’s in London?”
“You know you can’t,” he whispered back.
“The trees at the Southbank Centre.” Tarquin fought through a hiccup. “I went t’night…to feel close to her. Leia loves trees.”
Harry wearily sighed. “What’s he on about?”
Lucy’s eyes lit up. “Oh, that’s why he was there! The Hayward Gallery. You know, inside the Southbank Centre? They have a tree exhibit—installations, paintings. Cristina in our office raved about it the other day.”
Tarquin huffed. “Yeah, but it was closed.” Like Leia’s heart. “So, I thought maybe skateboarding would cheer me up…I paid some kid five hundred quid for his board.” His bloodshot eyes searched his best friend’s face. “Harry, it’s never gonna happen for me”—he hiccupped—“is it?”
“With Leia? I’m sorry, mate, but I don’t think so.”
He’s not sorry. Tarquin sagged in his blousy hospital gown. “Knew it. I’m gonna end up alone. Me and Chuzza…alone.”
Twenty-Five
LEIA
Four and a half weeks later, Thursday, November 14, 2019
