When she gives him an enquiring look from her seat, he shows his phone and points to the door. If she asks who he had to call, he will blame Spencer, who’s badgering him with questions about the ski trip footage, afraid observant subscribers could challenge his vlog.
In the next room, Phil is sitting at one of the three tables dedicated to poker games and, based on the piles of chips in front of him, he’s making mincemeat of his opponents.
Charles walks to the red-lit bar counter at the back. He masks a few messages from Spencer and opens Instagram. Divya has immediately added their photo to a story. He looks like he banged his little toe against a bed leg, but she didn’t care as long as she was dazzling.
He swipes through the stories, rotating his glass, clockwise. Should he talk to Elsy? Confess to having someone else in mind while they’retouching each other? She wouldn’t take offence. On the contrary, she would request to be involved in his fantasy. Which would call for an explanation he’s not ready to—
He clutches his glass and swipes left, back to the previous photo, uploaded by Loris. A shot of his hand, drawing an elderly man sitting on the other side of a carriage aisle. The sketch is impressive, worthy of being screenshot and studied in detail. But the one detail that sends Charles’ bloodstream coursing clockwise is that Loris was travelling by Eurostar five hours ago.
Charles downs his scotch in one and presses the message option. Is Loris back in London, then? Is he—
‘Hi, Charles.’
He jumps and lets go of his phone, as if he had just been caught watching porn by his mother.
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.’
‘It’s alright, I’m— Oh. Hi.’
Charles jumps again when Liv gives his arm a gentle squeeze.
‘I tried to catch your attention when you entered the room, but your mind was on Saturn.’
‘Yes, it was…’
Dumbfounded, Charles squints himself back to Earth.
Liv has become the carbon copy of Mrs Downes – the woman who cleaned his grazed knees after his own mother had stopped.
‘What are you doing here? George told me you were heading back to Manchester.’
‘In the morning. The friends I was having dinner with lured me here by doubting my poker skills. Do you want a drink?’ she asks as a bartender smiles at them.
Charles is already tipsy, he should call it a night. But it would be rude to let Liv drink alone.
‘Macallan, please. Double. Neat.’
‘A small Chablis, thank you.’
‘How was Mauritius?’
‘Fun. We had numerous Mario Kart contests. Dad won them all. George might need counselling to quit whinging about it.’
‘I appreciate the heads-up.’
‘How was your Christmas?’
‘It was… The food was good.’ Charles stops Liv from opening her bag when the bartender comes back with their drinks. ‘On my tab, please. Ledwell.’
‘Thank you, Charles.’
He knocks his tumbler against her glass and dips his lip into the scotch without drinking any, his throat still burning from the one he didn’t savour.
‘George said you have questions about what happened to Fred.’
Charles coughs and puts his glass down. ‘I told him not to bother you with this.’
‘And you expect my brother to do as he’s told?’
