“Bloody buggery bollocks! Sorry!”
It was pretty much the most he’d spoken since we left his house. His quietness had started to weird me out. Something was bothering him, but I didn’t know what it was. Did he regret last night? Was it something I’d done? I picked up the ashtray and put it on the table over my shoulder.
“How can someone who has done ballet his whole life be so uncoordinated?”
“It only happens when I’m nervous or flustered or in a rush.”
Ludo pulled out a wet wipe sachet, which he apparently had in his wallet.
“So, which are you now, nervous, flustered, or rushed?” I asked.
“Well, Iwasnervous, but now I’ve ruined your shoes and got cigarette ash all over my hands, and I’m flustered as well.” He tore open the sachet and began wiping his hands.
“What have you got to be nervous about?”
“You saying we need to have a serious talk.” He leant over the table, almost whispering. “Right after we’ve had sex. That’s break-up language, Sunny—and we’re not even anything official yet.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“Yes, it is. ‘We need to talk.’ ‘It’s not you; it’s me.’ ‘I’ve been shagging my secretary.’ ‘You should get yourself tested.’ See? It’s break-up language.”
I laughed. I couldn’t help myself.
“I meant we need to talk about what Leaf and Karma told us last night,” I said. “It’s a huge story, Ludo, and it would be a career-defining scoop for either of us. We need to decide what to do about it.”
Ludo’s whole body seem to relax. His shoulders dropped; he sighed; the smile finally returned to his face. He passed me the wet wipe, and I cleaned my mitts.
“Can’t we just work on it together?” he said, reaching out across the table and sliding his slightly damp hands into mine.
“And publish it where?”
“We could work on it together and each write our own version of the final story and give it to our own papers.”
I considered this for moment but dismissed it.
“It’s too risky. Someone would publish first, and the one who missed out would never forgive the other. It’d ruin everything.”
“You think I’d do that to you?” Ludo said. His brow furrowed. He sat back and pushed his glasses up onto his nose.
“I think our editors wouldn’t care a toss about any deal we’d made between ourselves.”
Ludo leant forward again, his eyes intense with inspiration.
“So, we don’t tell them we’re working on it,” he said. “We do all the legwork ourselves, write our stories, and pitch and file them on the same day. Then we tell Father and JT we know for certain the other paper has the story as well and they’re running it the next day. That way they’ll run it the same day, and no one can gazump anyone else.”
I gripped Ludo’s hands tightly, enjoying the feel of them in mine—and the public display of affection—while I mulled over his suggestion.
“That might just work,” I said, finally. “They’d kill us if they found out, though.”
“I sincerely hope my father wouldn’t kill me.”
“JT wouldn’t think twice before killing me. If IKEA sold guillotines, he’d be at the office now, screwdriver in hand, staring at a leftover nut, trying to work out whether the machine was still lethal enough to separate my head from my neck. This has to be a total secret.”
Ludo nodded in agreement.
“And it’s vital we share everything we discover,” I added. “No holding back. Trust is going to be everything if we’re going to make this work.”
“Name one time I ever held anything back from you,” Ludo said. His eyes sparkled, and he was smiling. I almost didn’t have the heart to pull the pin out of this grenade. But I did, obviously, because trust requires absolute honesty. And I’d been dying for an excuse to ask him about it.
