But he’s tired of being afraid.
‘Do you think I could leave early? My friend scored ticketsfor—’
‘Whatever,’ Gareth mutters, his frantic eyes glued to his PowerPoint presentation.
His tendency to treat Charles like a cumbersome piece of furniture would be demeaning if Charles didn’t rely on it to hide his potential from their boss.
He unfolds the piece of paper Loris gave him at the pub. His handwriting is terrible. Charles can only tell his ones and sevens apart because the second figure has to be a seven and doesn’t look like his ones.
He ponders for a beat and creates a new contact.
14:06Hi, it’s Charles. I’m sorry, it’s late notice, but if you’re still willing to be proven dead wrong, I’m free around 5 for an hour or so.
He sends the message – before second-guessing its form, content and consequences – and refocuses on his computer, to fake struggling on a task he completed twenty minutes ago. He doesn’t doubt the form, content and consequences of his emails to anxious millionaires. He doesn’t care, so they’re bound to be flawless.
14:11 WITH ONE LI better get out of bed
14:11 WITH ONE LWho’s the duck?
Loris is asking about Charles’ profile picture. A mandarin duck spotted on Hampstead Heath during a morning jog.
14:12I used to stalk him to chat about Olwinski but he grew tired of it and fled the country.
14:12WITH ONE LWeirdo
14:12 WITH ONE LThe duck I mean
14:13 WITH ONE LGreen door flat A.Bring beers!
Charles sends a thumbs-up emoji and enlarges Loris’ picture. He’s smiling widely, holding a rugby-themed birthday cake, his hair longer and fully bleached.
‘I suppose you’re done if you’re texting. Show me your drafts.’
Charles turns his screen towards Gareth with the apprehensive pout he now feigns to perfection.
***
If the door of Loris’ building has no intercom, it probably has no remote unlocking system either, which means Charles has to wait on a crowded pavement, holding a plastic bag that doesn’t conceal the pack of beers. The stress that seized him in the supermarket notches up. His parents would have plenty to say if he was seen drinking after work, and if anyone recognises him, they will have plenty to say to his parents.
The street lamps feel like spotlights pointed at him, so he stands very close to the door, his nose brushing the flaky green paint.
When it finally opens, he loses his balance and totters into a narrow hallway, forcing Loris to draw back against the wall to prevent a collision.
‘Is the mob after you?’
‘Sorry. It’s freezing.’
This excuse might not convince Loris, who’s only wearing flip-flops, loose sweatpants and a crumpled white t-shirt.
‘You didn’t get out of bed in the end?’
‘I did. I went for food at the deli.’
‘So it’s another cliché that French people get all dressed up just to take the rubbish out?’
‘No. This is me all dressed up.’
Charles smiles and follows him up creaking stairs, relaxing his shoulders now that he’s sheltered from gossipy acquaintances.
