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‘Oh, awesome. Five minutes,’ Finn says happily, sitting down on one of the benches. I drop down too, leaving one empty seat between us.
We don’t talk for a few moments. The tempo of Finn’s foot tapping against the floor doesn’t match the tune he’s humming and I kind of wish he’d stop. I take a few deep breaths to soothe the fatigue-induced irritation I predicted would come.
‘Isn’t it nice when you can just sit in comfortable silence withsomeone?’ he says, after no more than nine seconds.
‘Is that what this is?’ I ask tonelessly, watching a particularly robust mouse scurry along the platform and stop dangerously close to a middle-aged man in a suit, who, by all accounts, looks like he’s about one surprise rodent away from crying.
Momentarily distracted, Finn follows my gaze to the end of the platform. The man eventually notices the mouse and reacts in stereotypical London fashion. Which is to say, his eyes widen and he feigns a nonchalance that fools nobody around him.
Finn’s feet go back to tapping that discordant rhythm. ‘Just sitting here quietly, watching the world go by.’
Iwishhe’d sit here quietly and watch the world go by, but he’s clearly got a bee in his bonnet, and my patience is rapidly waning. Eventually, I say, ‘Spit it out.’
‘What?’ He stops tapping, resting both hands on his knees.
‘I think you’re working up to something. What do you want to say?’
He’s clearly been turning this over in his head, because there’s no build-up when he starts to speak again. ‘Why did your friend think we were close friends? That day she came in with her dog asking about the party?’
I try to read his expression; the tilt to his head, the tiniest furrow to his brow. He doesn’t seem like he’s making fun of me. I think he’s just curious.
‘It wasn’t you specifically. I just needed to give her a name and you happened to walk in at the right moment.’
He nods slowly, taking it in, clearly still confused. ‘But why did you need to pretend?’
Our train finally pulls in and I step on first, leaning into the alcove of the opposite doorway, while Finn stands a few feet away with his hand holding the bar above his head.
‘Because Josie thinks I’ve been cooped up for too long and she’s been trying to get me out of the house more. But she’s busy with work at the moment, and she’s leaving for a few months at the start of next year and I think she feels guilty about leaving me to fend for myself, for some reason.’ I let out a long exhale. ‘And she thinks making friends will help me, I guess.’
‘Doyouthink you should be getting out more and making friends?’
I can’t explain those desperate promises I made long ago. How I refuse to do anything to jeopardise the careful balance that’s kept me content enough these past few years, that’s kept life simple. How I switched off both the sun and the rain and turned my heart into the badlands, because if it’s inhospitable, no one will even try to get in.
Instead of saying this, I reply, ‘Whenever I want to get out of the flat, I find someone new, and then I spend time with them. A very small amount of time.’ I square my shoulders and lock eyes with him, daring him to say anything. From experience, men either find this attitude off-putting, or take it as an opportunity to make a lewd comment.
Finn does neither. ‘Sure. But on top of that, what about when you’re bored and want to hang out with someone for a coffee? Or a walk?’
‘I don’t think I’m lacking in the coffee department,’ I say drily. ‘And I’m not really an outdoorsy person.’
He shifts his grip on the bar above his head as we pull away from the station. He looks like he wants to say something but changes his mind, and eventually he surprises me by moving the focus to him. ‘I’m only asking because I’m in a similar boat. I don’t have many close friends either.’ I find this difficult to believe, and he registers something on my face that must tell him as such. ‘Honestly.I told you, I move around too much to make good friends. Which is completely my decision, but still. Most people are just friendly acquaintances. Julien’s the only one who’s stuck around, and that’s probably because our families know each other. His parents and my stepdad grew up together in Senegal.’ He shrugs. ‘Well, that, and the fact he knew me when I was a gangly nerd with braces, and you simply cannot unfriend someone like that. They have far too much ammunition against you.’
‘Right.’ I breathe again, letting my mind move away from the topic of my barren heart. ‘And now you’re a gangly nerdwithoutbraces.’
‘Exactly. Although,’ he peers at his own bicep, flexing slightly as if to check it’s still there, the muscle expanding to fill out the space in his sleeve, ‘maybe notsupergangly anymore.’
I want to roll my eyes. But I’m a drunk, heterosexual woman and he’s an objectively attractive man, so I still watch him do it. To my annoyance, he catches me looking. He raises his eyebrows in a question I’m not sure I want to answer, the hint of a smirk on his face, and I turn away as the doors open at Westminster.
The London Underground gods must be looking out for me, because an American couple grappling with approximately fifty-three bags gets on, positioning themselves directly between us. Almost immediately, Finn’s drawn into their conversation, and I briefly think he’d do well in the US, where people are generally friendlier and more open to a chat with a stranger.
Friday and Saturday nights are arguably the only time that conversation on the Tube isn’t completely frowned upon, which is good for Finn and his new friends, because all three of them seem to operate at a higher decibel level than the rest of us. I attempt to block out the noise by closing my eyes and testing myself to see if Ican run through all the stations on the Circle line in my head without a map. Unfortunately this game doesn’t last long, because with my eyes closed, my centre of gravity takes a nose-dive. I stumble to the side and Finn catches me mid-topple, warm hands wrapping tightly around my elbows and only letting go once I’ve regained my balance.
I glower at him as if it’s his fault I fell. His mouth twitches at the corners but his voice is level when he asks, ‘You good, Ava Monroe?’
When the doors open at Victoria we all get off, and Finn picks up two of the couple’s suitcases and places them on the platform. He gives them directions to the coach station and they say goodbye, thanking him profusely.
‘Look at that, I knew how to get them somewhere. Maybe I’m a real Londoner after all,’ he says smugly. The further our feet take us underground, the higher that tiredness rises, threatening to breach the surface. ‘Did you know the Victoria line is one of only two Tube lines that’s entirely underground?’ I don’t think he even wants me to respond; he just can’t handle the quiet. A few moments pass and he starts up again. ‘I love the Underground. How each line has different colour fixtures and seats to match its colour on the map?Extremelysatisfying to me.’
I make a grunt that might translate tocoolbut more than likely meanspleasestop talking.
