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‘Essentially, they’re a way of owning art, without physically having to own the art, and no one else can own it.’ He shows me a cartoon of a dog playing football and it takes everything in me not to laugh.
I noisily slurp the last of my drink through my straw, wondering if he’ll pay for the next round after I paid for the first. And the second. ‘So, it’s like if I bought the concept of a gin and tonic, but never got to taste it?’ He doesn’t get the hint. ‘And no one else would be able to order it from the menu either?’
‘I mean, actually yeah, that’s about right.’ I’m slightly offended by his use of the word “actually”.
Eventually he finishes his own drink, crunching on an ice cube before spitting it back into his glass. ‘Should we get another? My shout.’
Better late than never.
‘So, when did you start working in London?’ I ask, leaning against the polished, sticky mahogany of the bar with Oliver at my right. There’s deep laughter from somewhere behind me; that singular, unified laugh that groups of middle-aged men adopt when they’re together.
‘A few years ago, I was on a grad scheme straight after uni and then worked my way up.’
‘Oh, nice. I fully intended to—’
‘There are just nonstop opportunities here, you know? Entrepreneurs to be inspired by. Ideas in every corner. You can’t beat it. If you’re bored in London, you might as well be anywhere else. If you’reunemployedin London, you clearly aren’t trying hard enough.’ He’s brandishing his card at the bartender, who’s ignoringhim, whether intentionally or not, I can’t tell.
‘Sure, there’s a lot of opportunity, but it’s not always as simp—’
‘All these companies, all these jobs, and some people do fuck all. Like, imagine going to uni and getting a degree and then becoming a waiter or something.’
‘I went to uni and I’m a barista,’ I interrupt, finally managing to get a full sentence in. It’s not quite the burn I wanted it to be seeing as I dropped out in second year, but he doesn’t need to know that.
‘Schools should be pushing for economics and business degrees rather than fluffy subjects like arts and humanities,’ he says in a drawl.
‘Surely if everyone did economics and business degrees, you’d have a surplus of people with those degrees against the jobs they’re applying for? As a Business graduate, you’d know all about supply and demand, right?’ I finish innocently.
That’s when the person on my left expels a soft snort, and I sneak a glance to see a familiar figure leaning against the bar as he waits to order. I snap my eyes away from him and try to listen to the man on my right, who’s still going on about lazy people who don’t take the opportunities in front of them.
I’m saved from more of his septic spewing when the bartender finally notices him and he leans across the bar to yell his order in her ear at a ridiculous volume.
‘I don’t know if this is crossing a line,’ the figure to my left says, amusement in his voice. ‘But would you be offended if I told you that this guy seems like an asshole?’
I don’t look at him at first, continuing to pretend I have a vested interest in the rows of spirits lined up on the wall in front of me. Oliver is still leaning into the bartender’s ear, gesticulating wildly and over-pronouncing his “p”s. She surreptitiously wipes spitfrom her face before answering his question, and I stifle a grin when she yells into his ear just as loudly as he did, making him flinch.
I finally turn my head so that I’m eye-to-eye with Finn, watching his gaze quickly sweep over me, noting my non-uniformed self in a Never After band tee and midi skirt, presumably. I imagine it’s similar to how you’d feel when you’d see a teacher out in public as a child. He looks a little less dishevelled than earlier, his posture more relaxed.
‘Not offended, no,’ I begin. ‘This is just a hiccup. Because I’m generally an excellent judge of character. For instance, right now, I’m judging that your character should stay out of my business.’
‘I don’t think that’s what that phrase means.’
A smirk pulls at his mouth as soon as Oliver starts to talk to me again. ‘Ugh, this place is fucking ridiculous, they don’t have my favourite IPA. Can you believe that?’
‘Devastating,’ I deadpan, confirming to myself that I am not, in fact, an excellent judge of character.
‘So, uh, my card is playing up and I really need to take a slash. Could you cover me? You’re a babe.’
I cringe at the pet name and just as he’s turning his back to me I ask, ‘Did you order for me too?’
He glances over his shoulder, not even slightly sheepish, before replying, ‘I didn’t realise you were thirsty.’ I notice he doesn’t apologise to any of the four people he bumps into as he makes his way towards the bathroom.
For a second I pause, and then catch Finn’s eye to say, ‘I can change him.’
He laughs then, a proper belly laugh that sends his whole body flinging backwards like one of those flailing inflatable tubes outside a car dealership. I want to remind him that what I said wasn’t actually that funny, but he’s got one of those laughs that seeps into your bones like a day out in the sun, and god knows I could do with a bitof sunshine.
‘Please say that man is a business acquaintance and not a date.’
I squint at the bottles in front of me again, but I can feel Finn’s gaze on me. ‘He’s a business acquaintance… from Hinge.’
