Jodi didn’t look up. “Don’t worry about it. Sophie told me I’ve been a dick to you ever since the accident.”
“That’s a little harsh.”
“Is it? She seemed to think she was being kind.”
Rupert ventured further into the room. “When did you speak to her?”
“This afternoon. She rings me every day after work.”
“Ah, like she used to, eh?”
“Yeah?” Jodi finally tore his gaze from the laptop. “I like that. I was worried I’d never get to talk to her when she stopped staying over. I couldn’t work out how the three of us—and Indie—all fit together.”
“Like a melted welly boot.”
“What?”
“Your words, not mine.” Jodi stared, clearly mystified. Rupert let it go and sat on the bed, trying not to read over Jodi’s shoulder. “Are you hungry?”
“No.”
“Sure? I’m going down the chippie.”
“I’m fine—” Jodi started to shake his head, then appeared to think better of it. “Actually, can I come with you?”
As if Rupert could refuse. As if he wanted to, because despite his fears that Jodi’s newfound well-being was too good to be true, he couldn’t resist an opportunity to do something so normal with him, sloping off down the chip shop like they used to.
While Rupert had been contemplating what his life had become, with his head in the fridge, outside, it had grown dark. Jodi gazed up at the stars like he’d never seen them, apparently oblivious to the Friday-evening bustle of Tottenham’s streets. “I like nighttime better, don’t I?”
“Aye, you’re a night owl.”
“A night owl who’s scared of the dark? What a cunt.”
“We’ve been over that.” Rupert took Jodi’s arm to cross the road at the traffic light fifty yards away from where he’d been run down. “Besides, you’ve been taking the Tube, haven’t you? Doesn’t seem like you’re scared of anything.”
Jodi grunted. “Still sleep with the fucking lamp on, though.”
“So?”
Jodi’s only answer was a glare.
Rupert guided him across the road, then released his arm. “What were you doing on your laptop? Working?”
“Hmm?” Jodi blinked like he’d forgotten Rupert was there. “Oh, no. I was doing some memory exercises online. Trying to retrain my brain.” He pulled a face that, despite the dark scruff on his chin, made him look like a twelve-year-old.
Rupert chuckled. “How’s that going?”
“Shite, but I’m not surprised. Dr. Nevis told me I’m pretty much done with my neurological recovery. He doesn’t think I’m going to get any cleverer.”
Rupert frowned. “When did he say that?”
“A while ago.”
Rupert did the maths. “A while as in ... about two weeks ago?”
“If you say so.”
“Makes sense,” Rupert said. “You didn’t say a word all weekend after your last appointment.”
