‘No, on a bench.’
There was a beat. The shame brought on by his silence almost overpowered her.
‘Stay there. I’ll come and pick you up.’
‘I don’t want to be any trouble,’ she said feebly.
‘I’ll be there in half an hour.’
The phone went dead. She wanted to buy more booze but her fear kept her seated. Instead she concentrated on counting how many people were sitting in the square during the lunch-hour rush. She kept forgetting which number she had reached and had to start over again, but it kept her mind occupied. The shame lurked wolf-like at the edge of her consciousness and she knew that if she wasn’t careful, it would pounce. Twenty-five minutes passed in this state of high alert and thenthere he was – Jarvis, trench coat flapping behind him as he strode towards her. He took in the scene with one cursory glance, then reached down and pulled her up by her elbows.
‘Let’s get you cleaned up,’ he said.
They got into a black cab. She didn’t ask where they were going until they pulled up outside a tall grey building by the river.
‘It’s my London flat,’ Jarvis said.
He paid for the taxi, then bundled her through the glass doors and into the lift, pressing the button for the fifth floor. The flat had windows overlooking the Thames. The furniture was clearly a selection of cast-offs from other houses. There was a threadbare red sofa and a baggy leather armchair situated at right angles on a Moroccan rug.
‘It’s not much, but it’s home,’ Jarvis said, laughing. ‘Well, when I’m in town anyway.’
Fliss flopped into the armchair.
‘Thank you,’ she said.
‘Don’t worry about it.’
‘Can I charge my phone?’
‘Of course.’
She handed over her charging cable and her Nokia, the battery now dead and the screen blank. Jarvis took both from her and placed them on the kitchen counter. But he didn’t plug them into the socket.
‘Now, can I get you something to drink?’
‘I don’t think that’s a good idea.’
‘Oh fuck, no, God, I meant water or tea or … I think there’s some Coke? Coca-Cola, I mean. I wouldn’t offer the other kind to someone in your, uh, predicament.’
She asked for water and drank it down gratefully when he brought her a glass.
‘Good,’ he said, looking down at her. ‘Good.’
He stayed standing and, after a while, she wasn’t sure what to do. The atmosphere shifted into something sharp and uneasy. Fliss realised she had rarely been alone with Jarvis and that she hadn’t thought to question where he was taking her.
‘You can stay as long as you like,’ he said.
She nodded, digging her fingernails into the palm of each hand.
‘Maybe I should call Ben?’ she said, staring at her phone on the counter.
‘Wait until you’ve sobered up a bit, yeah?’
She stared at her knees. Her jeans were dirty and she crossed her legs in an attempt to hide a brown patch on her right thigh.
‘Why don’t you have a lie-down in the bedroom? I’ll bring you a cup of tea.’
Fliss hated tea. It reminded her of all the things she disliked about England: it was weak and smug and bland.
