‘It’s just Charlie was waiting up for me the other night,’ he says. ‘Said you two had fun. He was full of it, actually.’
‘Full of what?’ I feel uncharitable, digging for details, but I still do it.
‘Admiration, for you.’
‘Oh.’ I brighten. ‘That’s nice. He was good company.’
Patrick revs his drill into nothing like he’s thinking hard before carrying on with his task.
‘Would you… mind if I was seeing him, properly, I mean?’
There’s more silence while he reaches for his soldering iron and does some intricate work fusing a bulb and a bit of metal flex together. I watch his nimble fingers moving and his eyes narrow with a furrow down his brow.
‘I might,’ he says eventually.
‘Why’s that, then?’ I push, totally unable to turn back now.
Again, he gets lost in his task, but as a twist of smoke rises from the solder and he fixes two bits of wire together in a molten clump, he lifts his eyes to mine. ‘You can do better than Charlie. He’s not the best partner a woman could have.’
‘Why?’ I’m genuinely confused now. ‘He seemed friendly and attentive, and he was, you know… open.’
Patrick sniffs a wry laugh. ‘He was definitely open to my last girlfriend.’
‘What?’
‘It was years ago now, but, yeah, we were getting to know each other, nothing serious like, but still, we liked each other, I think.’
‘And he stole her?’
‘That’s not how either of them saw it. Bold as brass, she told me she’d had a better offer, and off they went. This time of year as well. Ruined Christmas dinner at Mum and Dad’s, sitting there watching them pawing at each other.’
‘No!’
‘True,’ he says with a firm nod. ‘He has a habit of taking what he wants, and it’s never his fault when it goes wrong. I suppose he told you about Tina?’
‘Tina?’
‘His ex-wife? She caught him messing around in some country club kitchen with one of his friend’s wives. Bet he didn’t tell you that.’
‘He didn’t! Why did you let me go to the pub with him?’
‘I didn’t know you were.’
‘Or you’d have stood in his way?’
Patrick lowers himself to the table’s edge again, crouching and working the wire along to the next gingerbread build in the row. ‘Might have done,’ he says, eyes fixed on his work.
‘Patrick,’ I begin, as softly as I can. ‘I just saw him getting into his car.’
‘Gone, has he?’
I nod.
‘And he, uh, didn’t ask for your number?’
‘Nope.’
‘And you’re not… upset about that?’
