‘I know that,’ he said snappily. So why did he feel so fucking mortified? Still, it was easy to say that when youhadmoney.
‘Damn,’ she muttered. ‘This traffic is awful.’ It inched along, bumper to bumper, the rain pounding the roof. It made the atmosphere inside the car claustrophobic. ‘How do you know Yvonne?’ she asked.
‘We grew up near each other, hung out with the same crowd.’
Just then her mobile rang and she answered it on speaker. It was Yvonne, checking if she’d got home safe.
‘I’m still stuck in traffic, but I’ll get there,’ Claire said. ‘Have fun. And thanks again for tonight. I had a lovely time.’
He noticed she didn’t mention having picked him up. ‘Why do you do that?’ he asked as she hung up and tossed the phone back into the centre console.
‘Do what?’
‘Why did you tell Yvonne you enjoyed yourself? You were miserable.’
‘Was it that obvious?’
‘Don’t worry. Most people don’t really pay attention to anyone else.’
‘It wasn’t really my scene.’
‘So why say you had a great time?’
‘It’s called manners,’ she said tightly.
They drove in silence for another few yards. She seemed nervous, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel when they weren’t moving.
‘How long have you been living in town?’ she asked eventually, and he got the impression she had spent the entire silence coming up with something to say.
‘You don’t have to do that, you know.’
‘Do what?’
‘Make small talk the whole way.’
‘Oh. Okay.’
They lapsed into silence, and she seemed to relax a bit. She spoke again only to ask directions when they got to Mountjoy Square.
‘This is it,’ he said, as they pulled up outside his building. He was relieved to see it wasn’t too bad tonight. There was just one skanky couple across the street ripping ten shades of shite out of each other, and a lone drunk swaying in the doorway. It could have been worse. It usually was.
‘You live here?’ she said, peering up at the tall Georgian house.
‘Yeah,’ he said, opening the door for a quick getaway, one foot already on the pavement. ‘Thanks for the lift,’ he said, over his shoulder, as he got out. ‘Bye!’
‘Um, hang on.’ She leant across and spoke to him through the open door. ‘Do you think I could come in and use your loo? I’m desperate, and you see what the traffic’s like. It’ll be ages before I get home.’
‘Oh well…’ He huffed. Sweet Jesus, could this night get any worse? He’d told her not to go out of her way, but she wouldn’t listen. He’d known he’d regret taking the lift. But he couldn’t very well say no, could he? He’d have to let her come in, and then she’d see how he lived. He wanted to curl up and die at the thought.
‘Please?’ she said, grimacing painfully for emphasis. ‘I’m about to have an accident.’
‘If you don’t mind leaving your car here,’ he said, hoping the dodgy neighbourhood would scare her off. ‘There may not be much left of itwhen you get back.’
‘I’ll have to take my chances,’ she said, turning off the ignition.
‘Okay,’ he said. Play it casual, he told himself. This was where he lived and, as she had said herself, being poor was nothing to be ashamed of. If she insisted on coming in, she would just have to take him as she found him. Besides, she wouldn’t be there long. She wouldn’t have time for a good look around. Once she’d used the loo, she’d probably leg it out of there as fast as her lovely long legs could carry her. It wasn’t as if he had to make her tea or anything. Wait…didhe have to make her tea?
He opened the front door, studiously ignoring the drunk, who was belting out what sounded like a mash-up of ‘The Fields of Athenry’ and ‘Poker Face’ at the top of his lungs. Once inside, he rolled his eyes at Claire to make a joke of it. He wanted to rush her upstairs so she wouldn’t have time to take in the mangy hall with its noxious smells and hair-raising noises. But he decided to give her a break and knocked on the door of his neighbour, Joseph, a Nigerian, who lived in the first flat with his wife and baby daughter. Joseph stuck his head out in answer to his knock, opening the door fully when he saw who it was.
