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After a moment’s pause, where my heart thuds and the air grows thick, he replies, ‘Margaret Thatcher.’ I yelp and, startled, he leans back a little. Yeah,he’sstartled. One of our answers was a born leader who brought prosperity to a nation of underdogs. The other was Prime Minister of the United Kingdom. ‘I know I shouldn’t say that, and I’m not a Tory, but I really admire a formidable woman, you know?’
I’m of the opinion that if you ever have to justify your stance withI’m not a Tory, but…there’s a high likelihood you are, in fact, a Tory. Unfortunately, in the presence of alcohol my moral compass is way off-kilter, and I don’t think I could find true north right now if I tried.
My brain is suitably fuzzy by the time we’ve bitten into our final lime wedges, my eyes squeezing shut against the bitterness. When I open them, Oscar’s made a quick recovery and is looking atme with hungry eyes that send heat fizzing across my skin before pooling somewhere in my lower belly. I say the magic words. ‘Should we get out of here?’
Finally. He nods and I grab my bag and lead the way up the stairs, his hand at my lower back as we step through the door. When we reach the surface, I blink at the unexpected light. The early-summer sun is making its way to the horizon, teasing a sunset I know I’m going to regret missing when I’m on the Tube.
‘Are we going back to yours?’ he asks, hand moving to my waist. I think about my flat. The one place I can justbe.A sanctuary I refuse to contaminate with these kinds of hookups.
‘Let’s go to yours instead, it’s closer.’ I don’t know if it is, but he seems to believe me.
As I’m in the Uber on the way home afterwards, already deleting his number from my phone, I wonder if I may have taken the phrasefuck the Toriesa little too literally.
The work day’s been going too smoothly, so when the door opens sometime in the afternoon, I should’ve known something was about to go down.
Rudy’s in his harness, dutifully guiding Josie towards the counter where I’m refilling the snacks. I wring my hands, inexplicably apprehensive. ‘I didn’t know you were nearby. What’s going on?’
‘You’re on the early shift today, right? I had a meeting up in Farringdon and thought I’d drop by so we can travel home together.’ Her eyebrows wiggle like a cartoon villain’s. ‘I noticed you got in late last night.’
There is no way in hell I’m admitting who I went home with.Absolutely no way. Not when it turns out she was right about Oscar being, well,right.‘I was just at the pub with my friend. Date was a bust. You know how it is.’
She reaches the counter and lowers her voice, which, for someone whose two volume levels are “loud” and “louder”, isn’t actually very low at all. ‘Is Finn in here?’
A wave of realisation rolls over me as I remember what I told her the other day to get her off my back about the party. At the mention of his name Finn glances up from the laptop he’s been eagerly tapping away at for the past couple of hours, his face significantly closer to the screen than is probably recommended by most opticians.
‘Who?’ I hedge, hoping she won’t elaborate.
She does. ‘Your new friend at work? Your words, not mine.’ There’s no reason for the real Finn to come to the conclusion she’s talking about him, because in reality this mysterious friend called Finn is a figment of my imagination. But she keeps prodding. ‘Is he in here?’
I risk a quick glance in his direction. ‘No… ?’ Wrong move. I didn’t say it with nearly enough conviction.
She turns, and whether due to her incredible instincts or my terrible luck, she faces the table to the right of the door, precisely where the man in question is sitting; glasses perched on his nose, curls in disarray from the number of times he’s run his hand through them this afternoon. ‘Finn?’
‘Yes?’ His voice is cautious, but his eyebrows lift slightly in curious amusement.
‘Hi, I’m Josie, Ava’s flatmate.’ She reaches her hand out for him to shake, which is such a Josie thing to do that I’d laugh if not for the fact I’m currently planning my own demise. He returns the handshake, a smile threatening to bloom. ‘Has she invited you tothe housewarming we’re hosting yet or is she being habitually flakey with plans?’
‘She,’ his eyes flick towards me, ‘is being habitually flakey.’
What does he know about my “habitual”? There’s a moment of silence and suddenly I see a sliver of a chance to rectify the situation. I have three options.
One, I tell Josie I don’t really have a friend called Finn and I made him up for the purposes of the party. She’ll understand, but she’ll feel sorry for me, and frankly, so will this unsuspecting man who’s been pulled into this, because realistically I am a grown woman and there was absolutely no need for me to tell this stupid lie in the first place. I probably could’ve scrounged up an acquaintance instead of making someone up entirely like I’m seven years old and bragging about an imaginary friend.
Two, I let her know that I do have a work friend named Finn but he’s not here today. Unfortunately, this option runs the risk of her coming to the shop another day and finding out then that he (still) doesn’t exist.
Or, three, I engage in what is apparently my new favourite pastime, and drop another lie.
‘No, no, I invited you, remember, you said you couldn’t go?’ I prompt.
To his credit, Finn barely skips a beat and replies evenly, ‘I did say that, didn’t I?’
‘Yeah, especially when you found out it was a karaoke party.’ I shudder to show him how utterly tragic that would be.
‘When I—what?’ At the final two words his whole face lights up and I realise I have made a hideous mistake. ‘Uh, nope, I think I’d remember if you’d said it was a karaoke party.’
‘No, I definitely told you and you definitely told me you were busy.’
His eyes are positively gleaming. Oh god, what have I done?
