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He spreads his fingers and switches to holding out his hand for me to shake instead. I match his grip, momentarily relieved he doesn’t have the kind of limp handshake that my mum always taught Max and me to be disparaging of.
He leans back against his side of the train, a gloating smirk on his face. ‘For the record, telling your friend you’d invited me to a housewarming party was a really weird lie,’ he says, closing his eyes for a few moments before adding, ‘I hope I can say this to you, now we’re pals.’
‘Don’t say pals.’
‘Mates. Buddies. Amigos.’ I scowl, but he continues, ‘Comrades.’
‘Alright Karl Marx, pipe down.’
We pull into Stockwell and I step in front of Finn, waiting for the door to open on his right.
‘Chums,’ he declares at last, accompanied by a click of his tongue and not one, but two finger-guns. A second later he adds, ‘I actually don’t think I’ve ever said that word in my life.’
‘Yeah, there’s a reason for that,’ I bite back, stepping off the train.
I turn back to look at him leaning against the bench, neck bowed slightly to look down at me on the platform. Just before the door slides shut again, he says, ‘I think you’re gonna like me.’
It’s accompanied by a smile, but it feels like a threat.
10
are wine-drunk agreements legally binding?
A V A
As I stick myfinal poster up by the till I desperately hope our new summer frappés are unpopular, because making any kind of blended drink is the unequivocal bane of my working life. I’ve just moved back behind the counter when Finn breezes into the coffee shop, propelled by invisible sails and lit by a sun I can’t see. This is the first time I’ve seen him in the few days since the signing of our wine-fuelled treaty.
‘Morning!’ he says to no one in particular as he enters. Someone says it back.
‘Flat white?’ I hedge, when he reaches me. He seems to change his order depending on his mood, which is against everything I thought I knew about coffee lovers.
He leans his hip against the counter and peruses the poster before pointing at one of the new drinks. ‘Can I try one of those?’
‘Sure,’ I say through gritted teeth. I get the ingredients together to throw in the blender and add, ‘You know, most people have one or two favourite drinks and stick to them. Keeps it simple.’
‘I don’t like to pin myself down. Where’s the fun in that?’
He makes a poor attempt at comedy while his drink is blending; pretending to be talking but making it seem like the noise of the blender is drowning him out.
‘I said, when’s our next mission?’ he yells at the exact momentthe blender cuts out. Oh. Not comedy.
‘I’ve thought about it some more with a sober mind, and I’ve realised I’m all booked up.’ I grab a cup and start to pour the sugary concoction.
‘Ah, right. Until when?’
The snap of the lid clamping onto the cup makes me flinch. ‘When are you leaving London again?’
He narrows his eyes like he can tell where I’m going with this. ‘Sometime in the autumn, probably.’
‘Then I’m booked up until sometime in the autumn.’
‘You should stop thinking about me leaving, it’ll only upset you. Need I remind you we made a deal?’ He makes his way over to the straws while I ring up his order. When he rounds the corner again he smiles and waves at a middle-aged man sitting at one of the back tables.
‘Friend of yours?’ I ask, eyebrows raised.
‘Why, you jealous?’
‘Not in the slightest. Maybe he can take over from me and go with you on yourmissions.’
